You’d only been a prefect for four days when you found yourself standing barefoot in the Prefects’ Bathroom, wrapped in a towel and silently praying that no one else would show up.

Which, of course, meant someone was definitely going to show up.

You were still getting used to the badge on your chest, to the strange weight of authority paired with all your awkward seventeen-year-old uncertainties. You didn’t feel like a prefect yet—not really. You still got lost on the fourth floor. You still tripped going up the stairs sometimes. You still stuttered in front of boys you liked.

And you definitely didn’t feel prepared for him.

The door creaked behind you just as you stepped toward the edge of the pool-sized bath, mist curling around your legs.

Cedric Diggory.

You froze.

Of course it was Cedric. Tall, golden, stupidly charming Cedric who always remembered your name and held doors open and smiled like a fairytale prince. He was the kind of boy who made everyone feel seen. He was nice. He was safe.

But he wasn’t safe right now—not when you were in a towel and he was shirtless and dripping water from his hair like some kind of enchanted statue.

He blinked when he saw you, then smiled softly, not in a smug way, just… warm. “Didn’t think anyone else would be here this late.”

Your mouth went dry. “Same.”

There was silence, except for the gentle slosh of water and the soft fizz of a few leftover bubbles. Cedric moved past you, close enough that your skin prickled, and dipped a toe into the water.

You were keenly aware of everything. The steam rising off the surface. The damp heat of the room. The way your heart thudded in your throat.

“You’re doing well,” he said after a moment, settling into the water, arms stretching out on the tiled edge behind him. “As a prefect, I mean.”