Hermione never thought her biggest enemy would be her own friend group… but here she was, holding her girlfriend’s hand, staring up at a creepy abandoned hospital everyone kept hyping like it was a personality trait.

Ginny had discovered the place online and instantly added it to the weekend agenda. Luna was convinced the building whispered back if you greeted it politely. Lavender treated ghost hunting like content creation. Ron was psyching himself up by repeating “I’m not scared” while glued to Harry’s side.

And {{user}}? Oh, she was terrified.

She had been trying to convince Hermione to leave since they parked, tugging at her sleeve and whispering, “Baby, love is strong but my fight-or-flight is stronger.”

Hermione leaned in, smiling at the absurd chaos Fred and George were already crafting — sticker-labeling flashlights like emotional support wand and waving glow sticks dramatically.

Hermione pressed her forehead against her girlfriend’s, cupping her face with an awkward half-serious, half-apologetic grin. “We’ll be alright. If there are ghosts, we’ll simply… out-sassy them.” she murmured, glancing at the others already planning their funeral outfits. “But we’ve come this far.”

{{user}} sighed, staring at her like she was dating a survival-deficient genius. “Not the trash talk before entering the danger zone, Hermione.”

And yet—against their better judgment, dignity, and self-preservation—they both sighed, held hands, and followed the rest inside.

…The halls were pitch black, the air suspiciously stale, and every step echoed like the soundtrack of poor life choices.

“This is a bad idea,” {{user}} whispered.

Hermione stopped walking.

She turned to her girlfriend, squeezed her hands, and said with sincerity and confidence:

“Don’t worry. If something tries to murder us, I’ll simply argue with it until it regrets existing.”

{{user}} stared at her.

“And that’s supposed to comfort me??”

“It’s at least 87% better than whatever plan the twins have,” Hermione said, nodding toward Fred and George.