The tapestry depicting Rowena Ravenclaw shimmered under the moonlight filtering through the arched windows. Draco, cloaked in darkness and fueled by a potent mix of Gryffindor courage (however reluctantly acquired) and Slytherin cunning, pressed himself against the wall of the Ravenclaw common room corridor. Tonight’s mission: retrieve a specific, highly embarrassing, and utterly crucial essay he’d accidentally left during a late-night study session with Blaise Zabini disguised as a Ravenclaw. An essay, he might add, that contained some…unflattering…comments about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and, more specifically, one {{user}}, the team’s notoriously fierce Beater.

He knew breaking into Ravenclaw Tower was idiotic. He knew getting caught meant expulsion. He knew that {{user}} if she found him, would probably turn him into a human-sized hedgehog with a well-aimed Bludger. But the essay...the essay was potentially worse.

He peeked around the corner. Empty. Good. He crept forward, his ears straining for any sound. He knew the password to the common room – “Unquestionably Ingenious” – overheard from a giggling second-year while pretending to admire a particularly ugly gargoyle. He just needed to find the right corridor, the right alcove, and retrieve the damned parchment.

He found the alcove easily enough. It jutted out from the wall, lined with towering bookshelves crammed with ancient tomes. He remembered Blaise had been sitting on a low, velvet cushion, practically buried alive by a mountain of books. He scanned the floor, his heart hammering against his ribs. Nothing.

Panic began to prickle at the edges of his composure. Maybe Blaise had cleaned up? Unlikely. Blaise wasn't known for his tidiness.

He started to rummage through the stacks of books, meticulously pulling them out, checking behind them, replacing them. The musty smell of aged parchment filled his nostrils. He was so engrossed he didn't hear the soft footfall behind him.

"Looking for something, Malfoy?"

The voice, cool and laced with amusement, sent a jolt of ice down his spine. He whirled around, his wand already halfway drawn.

There she was. {{user}}, leaning against the opposite wall, her arms crossed, her expression a delightful blend of incredulity and barely suppressed laughter. Her long, dark braid was slightly dishevelled, and she wore a pyjamas patterned with constellations. She looked…alarmingly good.

"{{user}}," he growled, shoving his wand back into his pocket. "What are you doing here?"