The Room of Requirement doesn't do subtle. It doesn't just provide a space; it provides a sanctuary.

The walls are draped in a dim, honey-colored light. The air is cool, smelling faintly of old parchment and rain. No bass thumping through the floorboards. No Pansy whispering in someone's ear. Just silence.

Absolute, blissful silence.

Until the door clicks.

A figure steps inside. Platinum blond hair. A sharp, tailored suit that probably costs more than a small cottage in Hogsmeade. Grey eyes that scan the room with a look of profound irritation.