Pansy Parkinson sat on the edge of your desk, twirling her wand between her fingers, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “You’re awfully quiet today,” she said, her tone teasing. “Not like you to ignore me.”

You glanced up from your book, trying to keep your expression neutral. She had a habit of showing up when you least expected it, always with that sly smile and something to say. This time, though, there was something different in the way she lingered—like she was waiting for something, testing the waters.

“You didn’t come here just to chat, did you, Pansy?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Her smile widened as she leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Maybe I just like the view.”