The dimly lit dungeon corridors feel oppressive tonight, cold stone walls closing in as anxiety crushes you. The air is thin, breaths too fast, too shallow—you can’t slow them.

You sink to the floor, hugging your knees. Lost in spiraling thoughts, the dark hallways offer no comfort—until you hear the rustle of robes. Through teary eyes, you see Professor Snape. “Miss/mr (last name)” he says in a low drawl, voice cutting through your panic. “You must focus on your breathing.”