Down the first floor corridors.

The corridor was empty when she emerged. She paused just long enough to assess — torchlight and fading evening light from the windows, shadows deepening in the corners and along the walls. The transition hour, when natural light was giving up and the castle's magical lighting was taking over. Dimmer than midday. More shadows to use.

Replacing her left hand over her crotch, Hermione began moving, staying close to the wall where the shadows pooled deepest. Her bare feet were silent on the stone. Her plan now was straightforward: navigate through the first floor corridors to the side hallway, find the servant staircase, continue upward. She knew this part of the castle well enough to move without hesitating.

The first portrait came up quickly — an old wizard in elaborate robes, currently dozing in his frame. Hermione slowed, watching him. Living portraits saw everything and talked freely. If he woke and spotted her, the news would travel the portrait network before she'd made it another corridor. She dropped low, moving onto her hands and knees, and crawled beneath the frame as quickly and quietly as she could. The cold stone pressed against her palms and knees while her breasts just hung loose, reminding her of her state of undress. He didn't stir. She stood back up on the other side, resumed her covering position, and kept going.

A second portrait further along — a stern-looking witch, also sleeping. Hermione went down again without breaking her pace, crawled beneath, stood up. She was getting faster at it.

Then voices.

Hermione froze. The sound was coming from somewhere ahead — multiple students, echoing down the corridor. She couldn't tell how far, but they were getting closer. She looked around quickly and spotted the alcove a few feet to her right, a suit of armor standing in the shadows within it. She moved to it immediately, pressing herself into the space behind the armor, her back against the cold stone wall.

She stood still, barely breathing, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible in the narrow space behind the metal figure. Three students came around the corner — younger years, from the sound of them — talking about a Quidditch match, completely absorbed. They passed the alcove without glancing in. She watched them through the gaps in the armor, three sets of robes moving past, oblivious.

When their voices faded she stepped back out and continued.

The corridor curved, and Hermione followed it, keeping her mental map of the castle running. She was close to the side hallway now. The servant staircase was within reach.

Voices again — different ones this time, coming from behind her. Closer than the last group, and moving faster.

Hermione didn't hesitate. There was another suit of armor ahead, standing beside a tapestry, and she ducked behind it without breaking stride. The stone wall was cold against her bare back. She pressed the armor slightly with her shoulder to make sure it wouldn't shift, then held herself absolutely still.

These students were close enough that she could make out individual words — something about a Transfiguration essay, someone complaining about the length. Two of them, she thought. They passed within a few feet of the alcove. One of them paused almost directly opposite her hiding spot, and Hermione's breath stopped entirely. The student was checking something in their bag, just standing there, close enough that a glance sideways would have found her.

The student found what they were looking for, kept walking. Their voices disappeared around the curve.

Hermione waited a beat longer, then stepped out.

She recognized the area now — that worn patch on the wall, that particular torch sconce. The side hallway was just ahead.

Then she heard it — footsteps and voices behind her, coming from the direction she'd just come from. Coming quickly. She was in the open, too far from the hallway to reach it before they rounded the corner.

But, there was a quilt just beside her on the wall.

Hermione went for it in three quick strides and slipped behind it

The space behind the quilt was narrow — just barely enough room for Hermione to press herself flat against the wall. The fabric was heavy, thick brocade, and it hung opaque in front of her, hiding her completely from anyone in the corridor. Or so she thought.

She looked down. Her toes barely peeked out beneath the quilt's lower edge. But, there was nothing she could do about it.