At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat with her back to the doors, wedged between Ron and Harry. She was reading while she ate, which was normal — but lately she'd started sitting with her back to the doors, which was not.

Y/n had spent the entire day working up to this. Charms, Transfiguration, even the walk down to dinner. Courage, gathered in small handfuls, hoarded, spent. Now or never.

Across the Hall, Y/n set down their fork and stood.

Ron noticed first. He always noticed first, when food was involved — someone abandoning a full plate was a matter of public concern. He nudged Harry.

Y/n stopped at the end of the table, across from her. The bench load shifted; conversations dipped and turned. A few seats down, Seamus and Dean went quiet with the particular silence of people pretending not to watch.