The chatter in the Great Hall was unusually low for a Monday morning. You were sitting across from Harry at the Gryffindor table, halfway through a piece of toast, while Hermione was rattling on about O.W.L. schedules and the “importance of steady revision.”

Harry wasn’t listening. His gaze was fixed somewhere between the pumpkin juice jug and nothing at all.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said quietly.

“What thing?”

“Looking like you’re here, but your head’s somewhere else — usually involving Voldemort.”

His eyes flicked up to yours sharply at the name. “Careful.”

“You say it,” you shrugged. “Why can’t I?”

Ron plopped down beside Harry, slamming his bag onto the bench. “We’ve got Umbridge again first period,” he muttered like it was a personal insult.

“Brilliant,” you groaned. “Another hour of ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts’ without the actual defending.”

Hermione gave you a look. “You should still take notes. We’ll need them.”

“Yeah, for all those upcoming tests where we’re attacked by multiple-choice questions,” you shot back. Even Harry smirked at that.

By the time you got to Umbridge’s class, the tension in the air was so thick it might as well have been fog. Pink walls, kitten plates, and that sugary smile — all of it made your skin crawl.

Halfway through the lesson, Harry snapped at something Umbridge said about “attention-seeking stories” regarding Voldemort’s return. The room went still. You could see his knuckles whitening around his quill.

“Harry,” you murmured, a warning in your voice. But he kept going, his voice rising until Umbridge’s face pinched like she’d bitten into a lemon.

It was only a matter of minutes before he was sent out.

You caught up with him in the corridor after class. “I know she’s a nightmare,” you said, “but you’re going to land yourself in detention for a month at this rate.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, like he was trying to decide whether to tell you something. “She’s lying to everyone, and they believe her. You believe me, right?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Since first year.”

His expression softened just a fraction, and you both fell into step, heading to the next class. Neither of you noticed the way some of the portraits followed you with their eyes, or how the castle itself seemed to be listening more closely this year.