You’d slipped away after Slughorn dismissed you early. Neville’s cauldron had melted into a smoking puddle of doxy eggs and boomslang skin. No more Potions for the day.

Mattheo’s dormitory door was right at the end of the boys’ staircase. Fifth year. Second door on the left.

You knocked out of habit. Two quick raps.

No answer. He was probably napping. He’d been tired lately. You twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

Astoria’s dress robes were on the floor. His tie was tangled in them.