The halls of Hogwarts buzz with the usual chaos, but you barely register it. The exhaustion from Quidditch practice weighs heavy on your limbs, every muscle aching as you finally retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your dorm.

With a sigh, you collapse onto your bed, the mattress swallowing your tired frame. For a few moments, you simply breathe, staring at the canopy above, your heartbeat still thrumming from the cold air and the rush of the game.

Eventually, you force yourself up, sluggishly peeling off your practice robes and changing into your pyjamas. That’s when you notice it.

A folded piece of parchment. A single red rose.

They sit neatly on your nightstand—too neat, too deliberate. Your brows furrow. You don’t remember leaving anything there. No one should have been in here.

A strange chill crawls up your spine as you reach for the parchment with hesitant fingers. The air feels different now, heavier, like the room itself is holding its breath.

You unfold the note, your eyes scanning the delicate, looping script.

"You looked beautiful today, darling."

The ink is fresh.

And the rose... is still dewy.