The corridor was eerily silent, save for the mocking laughter of a few older students—Slytherins, by the look of them—circling around you. One of them shoved you to the floor, their voices dripping with contempt as they upturned your bag, scattering its contents across the cold stone. A rough hand pressed your face into the ground, and the laughter grew louder.

"Enough!"

The Potions Master emerged from the shadows, his black cloak billowing as he strode forward, a dark scowl etched on his face. His voice was ice-cold and authoritative, sending a chill down the spines of the Slytherins.

"Pick on someone your own size," he sneered, his gaze sharp. "The Headmaster will hear of this, and I'll make sure you regret it."

With a flick of his wand, the students were forced to step back. "Get up," he said to you, his tone slightly softer but still firm. "This is not the place for such disgraceful behavior."