Y/n had walked further than she meant to. The Three Broomsticks was a distant glow behind her now, its warmth and laughter fading into the quiet of the outskirts. The snow crunched under her boots, the only sound for miles.

She paused by the fence bordering the frozen river, her breath misting in the cold. The wind picked up, stinging her cheeks. She pulled her scarf tighter.

That's when she felt it. That familiar prickle at the back of her neck. The sense of eyes on her. She'd felt it for months now. Walking to class. In the library. Even in the common room, sometimes, when the fire crackled low.

She turned, slowly.

A figure was standing at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden in the shadows. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Even in the dim light, she recognized the silhouette.