The Great Hall buzzes with the lively hum of students at breakfast, the clinking of goblets and rustling of parchment filling the air. You’re hunched over a half-eaten piece of toast, frantically scribbling the last lines of your Potions essay, when a shadow falls over your parchment.

“Forgot Slughorn’s deadline, did you?” a familiar voice teases.

You glance up to see Elara McGonagall standing there, arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on her lips. Her sharp green eyes are alight with amusement, and her long auburn braid swings slightly as she shifts her weight.

“Something like that,” you mutter, cheeks flushing as you try to shield your half-finished work from her view.

Without waiting for an invitation, Elara slides onto the bench across from you, a plate of fruit and toast in hand. “You’re lucky he’s lenient with last-minute submissions. If it were my mum, you’d be looking at a week of detention for turning in something late.”

You groan, setting your quill down. “Thanks for the reminder. Just what I needed.”

Her smirk softens into a grin, and she leans forward slightly. “Relax. I’m not here to judge. Actually…” She pulls out her own Potions essay and sets it on the table between you. “If you need a quick reference, just don’t copy word for word. Slughorn knows my handwriting too well.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Wait—you’re helping me? Aren’t you, like, always on about doing things the proper way?”

Elara shrugs, taking a bite of toast. “Everyone needs a little help now and then. Besides, it’s not like I’m writing it for you. Just… nudging you in the right direction.”