He leans his shoulder against the cold stone archway, arms folded. A trickle of what might be impatience pulls his mouth at the corner. Not impatience—anticipation. He'd been watching the common room for the last hour, forcing himself to read a book he wasn't reading. He kept his breathing low. The last of the younger stragglers had slunk off to bed nearly twenty minutes ago. Only the occasional soft hoot from the owlery ran through the dungeons.

He fixes his gaze on the girls' dormitory stairwell.