The halls of Hogwarts were cloaked in silence, broken only by the flickering torches and the distant echo of footsteps. As Slytherin's prefect, night patrols were routine, something you handled with precision. But tonight, something felt… off.

Whispers disrupted the stillness near the entrance to the dungeons. It wasn’t unusual for students to sneak around past curfew, but the urgency in their voices suggested more than just mischief.

—“Are you sure this is the place?” a nervous voice murmured.

—“Yes, of course,” another replied, more confident. “We just need—”

The sharp sound of your shoes against the stone floor made them freeze. A second later, they spun around, attempting to flee, but they didn’t get far.

—"Running away? How disappointing," a dry, low voice remarked.

Snape stepped out of the shadows, his cloak billowing with each deliberate step. His gaze fell upon the students like a crushing weight.

—“Detention,” he announced flatly. “Saturday morning. No exceptions.”

The students stammered weak protests before Snape dismissed them with a mere flick of his hand. Only then did he turn his attention to you.

—“Diligent as always,” he noted, his dark eyes studying you with something unreadable.

A tense silence stretched between you before he inclined his head slightly.

—“Not everyone in Slytherin values order,” he added in a quieter tone, as if his words carried a hidden meaning. “Being a prefect does not put you above power plays.”