Seamus Finnigan strolled down the narrow Hogwarts corridor, hands tucked into his robe pockets and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was the kind of morning where trouble felt just around the corner—something he had a knack for finding. The air was thick with the scent of parchment and faint wisps of leftover potion smoke from the dungeons, stirring a thrill in him. He’d heard rumors about Peeves planning something spectacular for lunchtime, and Seamus thought he might just tag along, ready to add his own brand of chaos. As he walked, he caught his reflection in the glass—a freckled, sandy-haired lad with a spark in his eye, looking for all the world like he was up to something. And maybe he was.