The late autumn wind snakes through the stone corridors, rattling the windows and tugging at the black ribbon in your hair. You walk beside Harry along the outer cloister, your dark skirts whispering over the flagstones, the contrast against the bright, golden leaves scattered on the ground almost theatrical.

Students pass and glance — some at him, the boy who lived, and some at you, the girl who somehow makes the shadows look like they’re following her on purpose. You keep your gaze ahead, expression as cool and pale as the marble underfoot.

Harry’s hand brushes yours once, twice, before he takes it. He doesn’t care that your fingers are cold — in fact, he curls his palm around them like he’s keeping something precious from the wind.

“You’ve been hiding in the dungeons all morning,” he says lightly. “Better company there,” you reply without looking at him. He huffs a laugh, leaning down just enough to press a quick kiss to your temple. “You’re terrible,” he murmurs, grinning like it’s a compliment.

Somewhere above, the bells begin to chime. You walk on together, the rest of the castle falling away like you’ve stepped into a world of your own.