Not at first.

Hermione eased the third floor door open and peered through the gap. A classroom corridor, torchlit, empty as far as she could see. She slipped out and pulled the door shut behind her.

She resumed her covering position and began moving. The third floor had that particular evening quiet — classes finished, students elsewhere. The corridor curved ahead and she followed it, keeping close to the wall.

Then voices. Coming from around the curve, getting closer.

No time to reach the staircase — too far behind her. She looked quickly at what was available. There — an unused classroom, door slightly ajar. She crossed to it in three strides, pushed through, and eased it shut behind her.

The room was dim and abandoned. Desks pushed to the walls, a broken chair, cracks spider-webbing across one corner where the battle had left its mark. Hermione pressed herself flat against the inside of the door, both hands against the wood, and listened. The voices were right outside. She could make out individual words — something about Charms, about homework — casual, unhurried.

Please keep walking.

The footsteps slowed. Stopped.

Her stomach dropped.

They were right there, just on the other side of the door. She couldn't tell exactly where — corridor, doorway — only that they hadn't moved on. The voices continued, discussing something, completely at ease. Hermione stood pressed against the wood, her bare skin against the cold surface, not breathing. The door was rough against her breasts.

Then she felt it. The door handle turning against her palms.

She moved.

The storage closet was a few feet to her left — she'd clocked it when she came in. She crossed the distance, yanked the door open, threw herself inside, and pulled it shut behind her.

The classroom door opened.

Hermione stood in the dark, chest heaving, one hand still gripping the inside of the closet door. She could hear them now — multiple voices, footsteps, the scrape of furniture being moved.

One second. If she'd been one second slower.

She pressed herself back against the rear wall. Her hands were shaking. The adrenaline was already beginning its slow retreat, leaving something colder behind it.

She was trapped.