Steam curled into the air in delicate wisps as Harry slid into the enormous prefects’ bath, the heat from the water hitting his tense muscles with a relief so intense he actually groaned. The room was dimly lit, the enchanted candles lining the high stone walls flickering gently in golden sconces, casting long, lazy shadows over the shimmering, mosaic-tiled floor. The ceiling arched above him like a cathedral, enchanted to reflect the night sky outside, tonight, it was overcast, with rolling clouds dimming the stars.

The bath itself was more like a pool, a deep, opulent rectangle sunken into the floor, lined with taps of all shapes and sizes, some pouring foam, others rose-colored water, some churning out fizzing lavender or mint-scented liquid. Harry had twisted a few of them aimlessly when he arrived, letting the stress of the week swirl down the drain with the perfume-laced bubbles. Now the surface of the water was blanketed in thick, frothy foam, smelling faintly of eucalyptus and something sharper, maybe sandalwood.

He let out a heavy sigh, his back settling against the cool tile edge. His eyes fluttered shut. For once, there was no pressure, no secret missions or eyes watching him like he was a walking prophecy. Just hot water, silence, and the illusion of peace. Until the door creaked. His eyes snapped open, heart punching hard against his ribs. “Fuck,” he muttered, sitting up quickly as the water sloshed around him, bubbles clinging to his chest. He’d forgotten to lock the bloody door. Brilliant.

Of course he had. He’d been so out of it, head spinning from the mounting pressure, sleepless nights, and everyone looking to him like he had all the answers. He didn’t. He was just trying to breathe. “Oi! Occupied—!” he started, voice sharp with panic, but the words caught in his throat. Because he saw who it was. And now he had an entirely different problem.