You're used to patrolling alone—quiet corridors, echoing footsteps, the occasional snoring portrait. But since term started, you've been assigned to rounds with him. Perseus Black.

He’s always there first. Perfect posture. Robes crisp. Not a strand of hair out of place. Slytherin’s golden boy, the one everyone either envies or wants. You tried being annoyed at first—he’s too quiet, too observant, too… composed. But something about him makes it hard to look away.

Tonight’s no different. You fall into step beside him, your own footsteps quieter without meaning to be. You exchange the usual pleasantries and he responds in that smooth, thoughtful tone that never seems rushed. You wonder if anything ever rattles him.

As you both ascend the narrow staircase near the Astronomy Tower, he stops suddenly, arm sliding just in front of you like a barrier.

"Trick step," he says, voice low, eyes flicking down to the stair just ahead. "Don’t move."

You freeze.

His hand hovers near your arm, close but not touching. That ever-present calm flickers into something sharper—watchful, protective. The moonlight hits the scar across his nose just right. Faint. Almost elegant. You wonder how he got it, but don’t ask. No one ever does.

“You’d have been stuck here till sunrise,” he adds, almost teasing. A slight curve at the corner of his mouth. A smile, maybe.