The soft glow of the Hogwarts torches flickered along the stone corridor as Hermione halted mid-step, her breath catching in her throat. Directly in front of her stood someone, whether by chance or fate, beneath a sprig of enchanted mistletoe, its tiny berries glistening like scattered pearls.

She swallowed hard, heat rising to her cheeks as she glanced up at the mischievous plant, then back at the person before her. "Oh," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

The moment stretched between them, charged with an unspoken question. The rules of mistletoe were clear, but Hermione’s mind was already racing with a dozen counterarguments, loopholes, and ways to escape the situation unscathed.

And yet… she didn’t move.