The dungeons of Hogwarts were never truly silent.

Water dripped somewhere deep in the stone. Torches hissed softly. Greenish light slid over the damp walls, turning everything a little eerie.

You and Damiano walked side by side, your shoulders nearly brushing, both of you moving with the lazy confidence of students who knew exactly how far they could push the rules.

“Tell me again why we’re not in the common room like normal people,” he murmured.

“Because normal people don’t sneak out to practice dark art,” you replied. “And you said you were bored.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “I always say that.”

You stopped in front of a narrow door half-hidden behind an old suit of armor. Inside was one of the unused potion classrooms — dusty, forgotten, perfect.

The door clicked shut behind you.

“Okay,” you said, dropping your bag on a table. “If this actually works, it could protect us from curses. Real ones. Not just school stuff.”

Damiano’s expression shifted — less joking now, more focused. He knew your past, the things you didn’t like to talk about. That was why you learned spells like this. For safety.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is, we do it together.”

“Huh, since when did you get so emotional?” you asked.

“Since I met you.”