You are standing beside the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, your back pressed firmly against the restroom door. Your heartbeat is steady, but your hands are clenched into fists at your sides.

Across from you, Cormac glares, his jaw clenched tight. He looks past you to the door behind you.

“I know Hermione is here,” he says, his voice low—but his patience is fraying.

You lift your chin. “She’s not.”

His eyes darken, flicking to the door again. He takes a slow step closer. “Step aside, {{user}}, or I will—”

“Careful how you finish that sentence.”

Harry steps forward, positioning himself beside you, his eyes locked onto Cormac with unwavering focus. His wand isn’t drawn, but his fingers twitch at his side, ready.

Cormac tenses, his glare shifting between you and Harry.

From behind the door, there’s a faint shuffle—Hermione. She’s listening.

The flicker of hesitation in Cormac’s face is brief, but it’s there. With one last glare, he turns and stalks toward the door, shoving it open harder than necessary.

Harry exhales, his stance relaxing slightly. “Are you alright?”