Weekends always passed too quickly, and before they knew it, a new week had arrived. Dolores Umbridge returned to the castle that morning, acting as if absolutely nothing had happened, and cheerfully greeted the professors at the staff table.
The staff's attitude towards her had softened considerably, as word had spread that she had successfully secured a substantial batch of emergency 'funding' from the 'Ministry of Magic' to repair the castle's structural decay.
Professor Vector had even gifted her a set of new "Frolicsome Feline" ornamental plates, the popular, cat-themed moving decor to adorn her office walls. These were enchanted Wizarding plates featuring colourful kittens wearing unique, animated bows. They did not stay still either; they gambolled, frolicked, and let out soft, tinny 'meows' across the white porcelain faces.
Umbridge had previously stated in the staff room that she was famously obsessed with kittens but explicitly found real cats "too troublesome" to care for, opting for animated decorations instead, just as she did in her Ministry office.
Though most of her new Galleons would go towards school repairs, there would be plenty left to distribute as bonuses among the various academic departments.
But as it turned out, the professors had been far too naive.
'Bang, bang, bang!'
Professor McGonagall had just finished her morning 'Transfiguration' lecture and returned to her office, carrying a heavy stack of student parchment assignments, when rapid, aggressive knocking interrupted her peace. Frowning, she swung the heavy oak door open.
"Professor Umbridge, what can I do for you?" Seeing the woman clutching a large, overflowing wooden box of financial documents, McGonagall instinctively sensed immediate trouble.
Sure enough, once Dolores sat heavily across from her and theatrically produced several stained sheets of parchment, the thinly veiled accusations began. "Professor McGonagall, while reviewing past expenditure records for the 'Transfiguration department,' I've noticed several glaring discrepancies. I'd appreciate your immediate clarification."
"You suspect I've taken school funds for myself?" McGonagall's expression darkened considerably, her Scottish brogue sharpening. Such a suspicion was a profound insult. She had devoted half her life to the preservation of Hogwarts, and now a 'pink woman' was subtly accusing her of lining her own pockets.
Watching her tremble with righteous anger, Umbridge's plastic smile widened. "Please don't overinterpret my words, Minerva. As the financial auditor, it is simply my civic duty to understand the school's expenditures. After all, spending tens of thousands of Galleons... annually on raw materials hardly seems reasonable to the Ministry."
"What exactly is your concern?" Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, making a tremendous internal effort to remain composed rather than physically throwing the woman out of her office.
Umbridge looked down at the parchment figures, a stubby finger tracking the ink lines. "Two years ago, you purchased exactly five hundred hedgehogs, three hundred rabbits, and massive quantities of wooden boxes, tubes, and other matching items, citing teaching materials as the reason. Don't you think these... numbers are somewhat excessive for a single term?"
Professor McGonagall struggled to recall the exact inventory. Had Umbridge not manually dragged the numbers up, she wouldn't have known they had bought so many teaching aids two years prior. Gradually, her face twitched as a sudden, clear realization dawned upon her.
Umbridge secretly rejoiced at the twitch, firmly thinking she had struck a nerve and uncovered embezzlement.
Yet just then, Professor McGonagall spoke, her voice dropping into a hard, rhythm, "Are you personally acquainted with a Mr Seamus Finnigan?"
She pondered briefly, her brow furrowing. "You mean Potter's dormmate? The 'fifth-year?"
Professor McGonagall gave her a penetrating, highly critical look, now entirely certain Dolores had come to Hogwarts specifically to target Dumbledore and Harry under the guise of an audit. "Precisely. Fifth-year Mr Finnigan. Two years ago, he was in his third year, when the practical curriculum focused heavily on transforming objects into small animals."
Umbridge immediately wore an expression of total disbelief. "Professor McGonagall, are you seriously suggesting all these hundreds of teaching aids were purchased because of Finnigan alone?"
"He was the primary factor," Professor McGonagall corrected with a sharp, icy tone. "Mr Finnigan possesses an extraordinary, albeit unguided, talent in pyrotechnics. The unfortunate drawback being that his magic has an innate ability to cause spontaneous explosions at any given moment. In that.... one academic year, the raw teaching materials he completely destroyed equalled an entire class's worth of inventory. If you don't believe my word, Madam Auditor, I suggest you compare the expenditure on these exact items across previous years."
Sceptical yet intensely curious, Umbridge checked the previous years' records in her box. The consumption of hedgehogs and rabbits had indeed decreased by twenty to thirty per cent the moment Finnigan advanced a grade. "A single student wasted so many resources?" she murmured, remaining unconvinced but eyeing the older witch suspiciously.
Without looking up from her stack of papers, Professor McGonagall replied dismissively, "Those are the undisputed facts. If you don't trust my records, ask the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students who share his periods; Finnigan's explosive reputation is quite notorious in his year.... Was there anything else? I have actual work to attend to."
Pretending not to notice the blatant hint to leave, Umbridge pressed on, pulling another parchment from the box. "Why do you subscribe to thirty individual copies of 'Transfiguration Today' annually? The yearly subscription costs exactly twenty Galleons per copy. Could there be some undisclosed, lucrative financial arrangement between you and the publishers?"
"You don't know?" This time, it was Professor McGonagall's turn to stare at Umbridge in absolute, mocking astonishment.
The pink toad blinked blankly. "Know what?"
"Oh, I completely forgot." Professor McGonagall suddenly let out a sharp, dry chuckle. "You only scraped an 'Acceptable' in your fifth-year Transfiguration O.W.L. You never qualified to attend my advanced N.E.W.T. class, let alone knew about the existence of the exclusive Transfiguration Club."
Umbridge's face flushed a violent shade of purple as she felt her intelligence being publicly slighted. Suppressing her rising anger, she pressed on, "What does this have to do with the advanced class and that club?"
Professor McGonagall gave a light, elegant snort. "Students who qualify for the 'Advanced' class and my club are promising talents. They deserve immediate access to cutting-edge transfiguration knowledge. Naturally, I subscribe... to the newspaper for them to study. As for my personal copy, it comes directly from my own salary, not school funds. Madam Inspector, surely the 'Education Department and the Ministry of Magic' wouldn't oppose investing in outstanding students?"
"Of course not," Umbridge forced a tight, plastic smile, muttering some quick political platitudes before beating a hasty retreat from the office. The first financial confrontation ended with Professor McGonagall's complete victory and her own disastrous start.
But her targets weren't limited to the Transfiguration department. Unfortunately for the staff, there were other options. In the following days, she aggressively approached Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and the others. She had, however, very kindly forgotten to inspect Professor Vector's office altogether, even going so far as to allocate a slightly bigger portion of the Ministry fund directly to her 'Arithmancy' department.
This blatant favoritism made Professor Burbage refuse to pass over the golden plate containing the fresh apple pie to her best friend Vector at dinner that evening, her arms crossed in silent jealousy.
Particularly, Professor Trelawney, who had been a reclusive shut-in at the North Tower for years, was loudly demanded by Umbridge to provide a fully itemised list of all tea leaves and crystal balls used over the decade. Why did the school break over a dozen expensive crystal balls annually? Why must loose tea leaves be used for 'Divination' instead of cheaper alternatives?
These rapid-fire questions drove Trelawney nearly hysterical. In a fit of tearful rage, she threw her newly corked bottle of cooking sherry which she insisted was Red Gungar tasting wine, straight at Umbridge's face.
Dolored ducked, but she left the tower thoroughly satisfied; this frantic, unhinged effect was precisely what she wanted to showcase to the Ministry. With Snape, however, she adopted a much friendlier, cooperative attitude, subtly building rapport by constantly mentioning her own Slytherin alumni status. "We're all family here, Severus," she would purr.
"I actually saw Snape smile."
Outside the 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' classroom, Susan Bones recounted what she had witnessed to the upcoming Gryffindors who were arriving for their joint lesson with Ravenclaw. "Umbridge was practically clinging to Snape's arm near the dungeons. They were both laughing happily. He even called her 'senior'. Who knew she graduated from Slytherin? No wonder she's so utterly... horrible to everyone else. There's even a widespread rumour she is taking revenge on the school because she was passed over for Prefect and Head Girl during her own school years."
This was the 'fifth-years'' second official Defense lesson with Umbridge this term, and her reputation had already spread like wildfire through the houses. Every single lesson consisted solely of textbook recitation.
All assignments were boring, unoriginal book reports. At least Quirrell and Lockhart's old books related to practical defense against dark magic; Umbridge's so-called Ministry theories didn't touch the mechanics of magic at all.
Susan hadn't lowered her voice in the crowded corridor. Several nearby Slytherin students heard her commentary and glared fiercely at the Hufflepuffs, but the exact second their eyes swept over Lucifer standing in the middle of the crowd, they instantly swallowed their anger and looked away, completely terrified of provoking him.
Hannah Abbott tapped her creative little brain, her eyes shining with dramatic intrigue. "I've never seen Snape look so genuinely happy before. D'you think... he might actually 'fancy' Professor Umbridge? They'd make a terrifying couple."
Lucifer's expression turned intensely peculiar as he regarded Hannah with a look of mock admiration. Truly, she was Hufflepuff's literary maestro, no matter the grotesque nature of the pairing, she was the undisputed queen of the kitchen gossip circle, actively shipping Snape and a pink toad.
At that exact moment, crisp, rhythmic footsteps sounded at the end of the stone doorway as Umbridge entered the hallway, her pink cardigan reflecting the torchlight. The students immediately filed inside classroom to avoid her gaze, while the Hufflepuff girls fled down the corridor to their own period.
Lucifer adjusted his bag, casting a brief glance back toward the window as he slid into his seat beside Hermione. The dynamic within the castle was shifting, and the storm was growing closer by the hour.
xxxxxxx
In Gryffindor's second 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' class that day, Umbridge's first glance fell squarely upon Lucifer. This boy had boldly bolted from her study period last time, leaving an open challenge to her authority.
Lucifer, for his part, quietly suspected that Umbridge had spent her entire salary currying favour with her superiors, leaving herself so poor she only owned one cardigan. Since the term began, she had never once changed out of that pink, open fronted sweater.
"Mr. Morningstar, do you have some confusion?" Umbridge, who had been observing the teenager closely, noticed his peculiar expression and asked with a sharp, sugary smile.
He merely tilted his head, then put on a perfectly serious tone. "Professor, are you afraid of the cold? With outdoor temperatures over twenty degrees and a blazing fireplace in the room, aren't you worried about getting heatstroke wearing that heavy sweater all the time?"
The classroom fell completely silent for a beat, then instantly erupted into muffled laughter. Their classmates' gazes towards Umbridge grew increasingly amused. If Lucifer hadn't mentioned it, they would have never consciously noticed. They had just found it naturally nauseating that a toad-like witch wore such loud pink clothing, who among them would consider whether she might actually be overheating?
"Morningstar, my personal health is none of your concern," Umbridge said, her voice dropping into a sickly sweet, warning, "This is a 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' class. Please refrain from discussing irrelevant topics."
Lucifer looked at her as if she were an absolute idiot. "If you hadn't asked me directly, would I have said anything?"
At that very moment, Umbridge's fake smile fractured completely. Glaring fiercely at the snickering Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, she slammed her short hand hard on the desk. "Class is starting now! Students will maintain proper decorum! Mr. Longbottom, your tie is falling out of your vest! Two points from Gryffindor."
Initially, Hermione felt a bit uneasy, her fingers tightening around her quill out of worry that Lucifer might pick another explosive argument with Professor Umbridge, as he had during the last lesson. Though she thoroughly detested the woman too, the professor's high political position made such public confrontations incredibly risky for a student.
To her immense relief and everyone else's absolute surprise, Lucifer remained perfectly quiet throughout the entire class after that. Even Professor Umbridge seemed to have moved past the previous confrontation, acting as though the shattered desk and his walkout had never happened.
This turn of events came as a welcome relief to Hermione, but it left a few of the surrounding students deeply disappointed. Sharing the class with the Ravenclaws, they had eagerly anticipated seeing Lucifer make another terrifying scene, especially after hearing the wild stories about him storming out last time. For these students, dull, repetitive lessons 'full' of useless textbook reading and note-taking offered zero excitement, and they had desperately hoped Lucifer might liven things up.
The lesson, however, proceeded entirely without incident. In fact, what shocked the room even more was that toward the end of class, Professor Umbridge actually awarded Gryffindor five points when Lucifer correctly answered a dry theory question.
This unexpected turn of events left some students wondering if the infamous "brick-falling" incident had been nothing more than a wild rumor spread by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to make fools of the other houses. To them, the lesson seemed no different from the usual, mind-numbing tedium. The only noticeable change was Umbridge's new habit of occasionally rubbing the top of her bandaged head, the only physical indication of her past injury.
As the week continued, Hermione did her best to compete with her rival, but it was getting increasingly difficult. She also noticed Harry was becoming more and more irritable with his daily detention, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why it was taking such a heavy toll if it was only lines.
To occupy her frantic mind, she had volunteered to patrol the corridors the night before on Thursday. Lucifer had gone with her, stepping silently through the shadows. During the quiet trek, she had hesitantly asked him if he was still planning to use his time-turner device to touch another version of her, the timeline's Emma, tonight. He had simply said yes. It was completely silent and awkward after that; she felt 'entirely' replaced, a growing rift forming between them.
During the patrol, they had caught a sixth-year Hufflepuff and a fourth-year Gryffindor hiding in a cramped broom cupboard. Ten points from both houses had been sternly taken off.
The incident had only made Hermione remember the one time she had been trapped in a small cupboard with Lucifer. But back then, they had gone back in time and couldn't afford any reckless tomfoolery. That night, her anxieties had twisted into a horrific nightmare: she was bound to the wall upside down, her mouth completely removed by his magic, forced to watch helplessly as Lucifer and another self of her made love in the dark.
Friday came with a 'false' ray of hope, and she was once again neglected, left to simmer in her own doubts.
On Saturday morning, the first ten minutes after most students woke up actually had bright sunshine. But it quickly became sullen and sodden, just as the rest of the dreary week had been. The only real saving grace for the day was the scheduled Gryffindor Keeper tryouts, but that did nothing to lift the moods of Harry or Hermione.
Lucifer knew that Ron was secretly trying out for Keeper, but he was the only one who possessed the information.
Until Ron chose to reveal it to his other two friends, it was going to remain completely under wraps.
"On the bright side, this is your last day of detention," Hermione said softly to Harry as they sat down for dinner after classes that evening.
"All the good it does me since I'm missing the Keeper tryouts right now..." Harry grumbled, aggressively moving a cold potato around his plate.
"Well, just don't get detention again and you'll be able to go to all the future practices," Hermione shrugged, offering the most logical line of thought.
"Yeah..." Harry agreed, but she felt his response was mainly just a flat compliance so she would finally shut up.
She huffed, but said absolutely nothing else to him. The moment he left the Great Hall to head down to Umbridge's office for his final session, Hermione stood up and went out into the Entrance Hall, deciding to go down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the tryouts. Naturally, she expected to see Lucifer down there. 'Probably just went down to see Katie Bell play, though... typical male,' she thought bitterly to herself.
When Hermione arrived at the rainy pitch, she did indeed see Lucifer sitting out in the stands already, completely dry despite the damp air. She walked up the wooden stairs and sat directly beside him on the bench. "Good evening," she said politely, keeping her voice controlled.
"Evening, Hermione. Come to see who makes Keeper?" Lucifer asked her, not turning his head.
"No, I want to stare at you," she said bluntly, her amber eyes locking onto his profile.
Lucifer, in response, completely ignored her intense gaze and simply turned his face further over to look down at the grass where Ron was pacing nervously.
"....." Hermione's jaw tightened, but she did exactly as she said; she stared at him. He was still so completely, insanely beautiful, and she knew she would always think that about him, no matter how much distance grew between them. 'Maybe he deserves better...' she thought sadly, a wave of profound self-doubt washing through her. 'Someone like Emma who doesn't have a horrible, stubborn mouth. Someone who will never insult his friends...' She let out a long, heavy exhale, her shoulders slumping as she tried to garner his attention.
"Something wrong?" he asked casually, his eyes still tracking the players below.
"It's me... when isn't something wrong?" She whispered, looking down at her knees.
The tryouts started soon after. The other two potential Keepers, named Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper, went before Ron's turn. Lucifer observed very quickly that Hooper complained and whined a great deal after every missed Quaffle. He wasn't a bad flyer, but his negative attitude was completely unbearable for a team dynamic.
Vicky Frobisher was much better at her attempts, but she loudly announced to Angelina Johnson that if Quidditch practice ever got in the way of her Charms Club, she would choose the club every single time.
Lucifer knew that kind of divided loyalty wouldn't get her a spot on the team. As long as Ron didn't perform completely sorting-hat level atrocious, he would easily secure the position.
"...Maybe I should try out to be a Beater next year?" Hermione asked more to herself, her fingers twisting her robes as a sudden, desperate urge to compete with Katie Bell for Lucifer's attention flared up in her chest.
She received absolutely no verbal response from him, the silence really beginning to hurt her fragile ego now.
"Harry... have you noticed him behaving... odd or different lately?" She asked quickly, changing the topic to something serious, hoping to force him to respond to her.
"He has," Lucifer said, his tone flat. "But if he wants to tell us what's happening, he will. We can't force it out of him." He didn't entirely agree with his own casual words; his primitive instinct wanted to sit Harry down in a chair, force-feed him a vial of 'Veritaserum,' or manually break into his mind to gather the information. But he knew that wasn't an ideal thing to do to an ally.
Besides, he possessed plenty of his own massive secrets that he hadn't shared with Harry, so he wouldn't force the scar-headed boy to reveal something he wanted to keep private.
"I guess so..." Hermione murmured, knowing he was technically right, but she still felt a deep anxiety about the distance between their friends.
They sat together in a heavy silence, watching Ron give it his absolute all during the high-pressure tryouts. To everyone's surprise, the ginger boy flew with a sudden, desperate precision, blocking the Quaffle repeatedly and doing much better than what really anyone on the pitch would have ever expected from him.
Not the greatest, and he honestly might perform worse in an actual match, but he performed the best out of the three. After tryouts, a victory party was going to be thrown regardless of who won, but the atmosphere was far more enjoyable with Ron having successfully become Gryffindor's new Keeper.
Hermione didn't ever really care much for the rowdy common room parties, so she resolved to sit quietly next to the roaring fireplace with Lucifer sitting across from her, a bottle of butterbeer held loosely in his hands.
Ron walked straight up to them, his face split into a massive, triumphant grin. "Can you believe it? I actually made Keeper!"
He received absolutely no verbal response from either of them.
"Merlin, can you both stop ogling at each other for just once?" Ron grumbled, tossing his hands up. He quickly looked toward the portrait entrance of the Common Room as it swung open. "Harry must be back. I'm going to go over and tell him the good news," he said, his voice rising into a slightly higher pitch than it was a moment ago. It wasn't louder, but it was distinctly higher pitched.
'Weasley must know something we don't...' Lucifer thought to himself, his dark eyes fixed onto Hermione.
The bushy-haired girl was currently staring emptily into the burning firewood, her posture slouching with a deep, crushing wave of regret and loneliness. Harry walked straight up to their corner a minute later, right after Ron was dragged away toward the stairs by Katie Bell to see if Oliver Wood's old flying robes would fit his lanky frame.
Lucifer would be a little surprised if they did, given how incredibly tall and thin Ron was getting this term.
"Hey," Harry said flatly, sinking heavily into the empty armchair across from them.
"I am sorry," Hermione murmured, her speech slightly slurred from the intense exhaustion of how isolated and lonely she was feeling inside.
Harry looked completely bewildered, not knowing what to say for a second. He noticed Hermione's eyes were a little teary, and she was staring fixedly down at middle--Lucifer's lap.
"S-So, just before I left Umbridge's office, she touched my arm..." he blurted out quickly, feeling incredible after witnessing this kind of shameless, awkward behaviour between his two friends.
Hearing those specific words, somehow both Hermione and Lucifer snapped out of their thoughts, instantly listening closely to what Harry was telling them. When he finished his explanation, she said slowly, her voice quiet, "You're worried that Voldemort is actively controlling her the way he controlled Professor Quirrell during our first year?"
"Well," Harry said, dropping his voice into a tight whisper as he glanced around the noisy party, "it's entirely possible, isn't it? She kept rubbing her head the whole time. I know the falling brick had hurt it badly, but still, her reaction was total overkill."
"I guess..." Hermione said, but her tone remained thoroughly unconvinced.
"I don't think he's possessing her, Harry. Not in the way he was with Quirrell, at least," Lucifer said smoothly, taking a slow sip of his butterbeer. "In fact, I honestly don't think the Dark Lord has anything to do with this specific situation. I mean, the man is properly alive again with a body of his own... What earthly need would he have for a fragile possession?"
"I suppose it's possible she's operating under the 'Imperius Curse', but..." Hermione trailed off, her brow furrowing as she looked at Harry. "Your scar has hurt since last year when absolutely no one was touching you, Harry. Remember?"
"Voldemort's spiritual influence was much weaker last summer," Lucifer reasoned, leaning forward. "And Dumbledore explicitly said the pain had to do with whatever the Dark Lord was feeling at the exact time. Maybe the connection has something to do with the magical scar he left you the very first time... he failed to kill you. It was probably just a complete coincidence that Voldemort was experiencing an intense emotion at the exact moment she touched your arm."
"She's evil," Harry said flatly, his jaw clenching. "Completely twisted."
"Why exactly do you say that? What happened during your detention?" Lucifer asked, his eyes narrowing into cold slits.
Hermione instantly caught the defensive look that flashed across Harry's face as he pointedly refused to look Lucifer in the eye. She didn't know what was truly going on inside Umbridge's private office during those long hours, but it was glaringly obvious that it was not something he wanted her boyfriend to find out about.
"Nothing happened. It's just from how she conducted herself during my hearing at the Ministry," Harry answered quickly, his voice flat.
Hermione looked over at Lucifer, noticing that his eyes were tracking Harry with a sharp intensity. She looked back at the messy-haired boy and thought to herself, 'I want to know what happened... Harry lied just now, and Lucifer knows he did as well. But if Harry doesn't want to tell us the truth, then we can't force him to press the matter...'
"Fine," Lucifer said carelessly, leaning back. "You don't wanna tell us, don't."
"But you should absolutely tell Dumbledore that your scar hurt again, Harry," Hermione said to him, trying to push past the lie.
"I'm not bothering the Headmaster with this, honestly. Besides, the pain wasn't even that bad—"
"That's completely beside the point, Harry," Lucifer cut him off, his voice dropping into a firm and, commanding, "The mere fact that it hurt at all says Voldemort is feeling something powerful... What exactly that is, it's impossible for us to say, but you have a responsibility to tell Dumbledore."
"Yeah, because he'd just love to be bothered by me," Harry said stiffly, a bitter edge to his voice. "That's all he seems to care about me anymore, isn't it? My scar. He won't even look me in the eye when we pass in the hall."
"That's not true, Harry. Dumbledore cares about you deeply," Hermione said calmly, trying to soothe his anger.
"I think I'll just write a letter to Sirius about it instead, see what he thinks," Harry muttered, adjusting his glasses.
"If anything, that is definitely not something that should be put into writing," Lucifer warned sharply, considering again whether he should hand over the WhatsApp or not, "Moody explicitly told us to watch the post... Is there another way to talk to him or convey the message without arousing Ministry suspicion?"
"Actually... there is, yeah," Harry said, a sudden realization lighting up his face as he looked thankfully at him. "I know a way to talk to him directly without any risk of owl interception through the fires."
"Good. He should know, definitely," Lucifer said, a small smile returning to his face as he supported his friend. Hermione, watching the interaction, actually gave the boy with glasses a brief, envious look, wishing Lucifer would look at her with that same easy camaraderie.
"....Well, I'm going to head up to bed," Harry said, stretching his arms as he stood up from the armchair. "I want to try to get an early rise tomorrow. There's a mountain of homework I've not been able to get done because of this week." He bid them both a quiet good night and tramped up the stone steps toward the boys' dormitories.
Left alone in the quiet corner, Hermione let out a heavy sigh and slumped completely back into her chair, her shoulders dropping. "...I haven't felt even remotely energetic for the past hour..."
"You should go to bed, then," Lucifer said to her, his tone flat and unreadable.
"Isn't that just your own way of saying that you are not going to make love to me tonight....." She muttered, a bitter, jealous tear pricking the corner of her eye. She stood up, letting out a heavy yawn and stretching her arms over her head, unknowingly looking incredibly cute while doing so.
She looked down at him with a sad, desperate defiance. "Well, fine. Just tie me up later. That's all you ever feel like doing to me anyway."
Without waiting for his response, she walked straight up the girl's staircase, ducking through the hidden sliding panel halfway up to change paths, quietly navigating the secret corridors until she reached warded door of their private quarters.
xxxxxx
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