You moved through the corridors and there was something untouchable about the way you carried yourself.

Ahead, Harry turned the corner with Ron and Hermione at his side. They were mid-conversation, but he stopped abruptly when he caught sight of you.

"Who is that?" Harry asked, his voice low.

Hermione followed his gaze. The look that crossed her face was instant and knowing. "I wouldn’t, Harry," she said quietly, shaking her head. "She’s off limits."

"By who?"

He barely got the words out before the temperature in the corridor seemed to shift. Not colder. Just heavier. Like the air itself knew something was about to change.

Mattheo stepped out of the shadows behind you first—expression unreadable, his presence protective, the kind that didn’t need words to be felt. Then came Tom, calm and composed, his gaze cutting straight through Harry like he already knew how this would end.

Draco followed, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smirk. Blaise was silent, but there was weight in his stare. Theodore moved like a shadow, eyes locked on the three ahead as if he were calculating every possible outcome.

Lorenzo leaned against the wall with the ease of someone who didn’t have to try to be intimidating—he just was. And Regulus walked closest to you, his gaze not on Harry but on you, protective in a way that said he’d burn the whole world if it meant keeping you safe.

You didn’t slow your stride. Didn’t speak. You didn’t need to.

They walked behind you—not just as a presence, but as a message. One none of them needed to say out loud.

Hermione glanced at Harry again, her voice softer now, like she understood more than she was letting on.

"She’s not alone," she said. "And she never is."

You disappeared down the corridor, surrounded by the quiet power of the seven boys who moved with you.