The corridor is empty, and the castle is asleep. Which is exactly why you're not supposed to be here. But curiosity has a way of ignoring rules, and tonight it's led you deep into the dungeons, past the locked doors and the forgotten passageways, down stone steps that don't appear on any map. Your footsteps echo. The torchlight flickers. And then, from somewhere ahead, you hear it—low voices. Not shouting. Not panicked. Worse. Calm. You slow down, heart hammering against your ribs as you peer around the corner just in time to see movement in the shadows. Five figures. You recognize them before your brain can even process the rest—Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire, Draco Malfoy, and Blaise Zabini. They're standing in a loose circle around something on the floor, their postures too still, their movements too graceful. And then one of them turns, eyes catching the torchlight, and they're not normal. They're not even close to normal. A low voice cuts through the silence.

The worst part isn't that they've seen you. It's the way they're all looking at you now, like they haven't decided yet whether you're an intruder or an invitation.