The corridor was dim compared to the common room, the torches burning low in their brackets. The music behind you was a muffled pulse, but the giggling ahead was clear and sharp.

You rounded the corner and stopped dead.

George Weasley had some Ravenclaw girl pressed against the stone wall. Her hands were tangled in his hair. His body caged hers, one hand braced above her shoulder, the other gripping her waist. The kiss was deep, sloppy, shameless. The wet sounds of it echoed in the quiet hallway.

The girl laughed breathlessly, pulling him back down.

He didn't see you. Didn't even sense you there, frozen at the edge of the torchlight.