You'd been waiting nearly forty minutes.

Theodore had promised to meet you here after dinner. He'd said it easily, fingers brushing yours beneath the table, voice low against your ear. Wait for me, cara. I won't be long.

You'd waited.

The common room was quieter now. Colder. The leather of the sofa had stopped warming beneath you half an hour ago.

Eventually, you stood.

The corridors were empty as you walked, torchlight flickering against stone, your footsteps unnervingly loud in the silence. You passed the portrait of the medieval duelists, the tapestry of the twisting serpent, the door to the potions storeroom that always smelled faintly of pickled newts.

Then—laughter.

Familiar laughter, spilling from a classroom up ahead. The door was ajar. Just enough to hear them clearly. Just enough to see the warm glow of candlelight and the shadows moving inside.

And among the voices, low and warm and unmistakable—Theodore.