Bored to the bone, {{user}} wandered the dimly lit corridors until she reached the library, hoping to find some distraction to carry her through the restless night. The silence inside was thick and expectant, broken only by the faint rustle of pages as the enchanted books shifted in their shelves. Moving with as much stealth as she could muster, {{user}} fetched a ladder and leaned it against one of the taller bookcases, determined to grab the tome she’d been eyeing for days.

Climbing carefully, she ran her fingers along the spines of ancient volumes, squinting in the low light as she searched. Her eyes lit up when she spotted the book she wanted—but of course, it was perched just beyond her reach. With a frustrated sigh, {{user}} stretched onto the tips of her toes, arm straining upward. The ladder groaned in protest, wobbling ever so slightly beneath her.

She froze. And then, in an instant, the ladder tilted dangerously and gave way. A sharp rush of panic surged through her as she shut her eyes, bracing for the inevitable crash against the floor.

But the crash never came.

Instead, she felt strong arms catch her mid-fall, steadying her with practiced ease. Hesitant, she cracked open one eye—only to see Percy, the ever-dutiful Gryffindor prefect, staring down at her with a mixture of disapproval and exasperated relief.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she realized how she was being held—cradled in his arms like some damsel plucked from disaster. She opened her mouth, ready to stammer out a defense, but Percy’s voice cut through first, firm and clipped.

“Why are you up past curfew?” he demanded, his tone leaving little room for excuses, though his hold on her remained steady and unyielding.