The Hall hummed with the familiar morning bustle — clinking plates, the flap of owl wings, and the murmur of conversation weaving through the rows of long tables. You sat beside Ron and across from Harry and Hermione, picking absently at a half-eaten scone.

Ron’s voice cut through your thoughts, heavy with curiosity. “Where were you last night?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

Harry leaned forward, lowering his voice but not enough to shield his words from Hermione's perked ears. “I saw you on the map last night,” he said. “In the dungeons. With Draco.”

The scone nearly crumbled in your hand. You forced a laugh, though it came out shaky. “Then the map lied.”

Harry's brow furrowed, eyes sharp beneath his messy fringe. “The map never lies.”

You set the scone down, heart thudding louder than the chatter around you. “Well, it must have. You don’t seriously think I would meet Draco at night? What are you even implying?”

Harry hesitated, then leaned back, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right. You would never… I probably just imagined things.”

“You must have,” you said firmly, as though sheer conviction could erase the flicker of doubt hanging between you all.

Hermione studied you for a beat longer, eyes narrowed with that knowing look she so often wore when something didn’t add up.

But as the conversation shifted and breakfast carried on, you made the mistake of glancing toward the his table.

There, across the room, Draco lounged casually, platinum hair gleaming under the enchanted ceiling’s soft morning light. His expression was indifferent, lips curled faintly as Pansy prattled beside him. But his gaze — locked on you, unwavering — told a different story altogether.

Your pulse quickened. You looked away quickly, hoping no one else had noticed. But deep down, you knew.

The map never lies.