She encounters yet another complication.

The staircase was narrow and utilitarian, stone walls close on either side. Hermione climbed at a steady pace, not running but purposeful. The worn steps were cold beneath her feet. The cool air of the enclosed stairwell moved against her bare skin, and she could feel her nipples hardening against her arm covering.

She passed the second floor landing without pausing. The door was right there, and for a moment she was aware of it — the option it represented — but she kept climbing. The second floor had the tutoring sessions she'd helped organize. Students would still be moving through those corridors, packing up, heading back to their common rooms. Too much traffic.

The third floor landing. She passed that one too, eyes on the darkness above.

The continuous climbing was making itself felt in ways she'd rather ignore. The pressure on her bladder was getting a bit worse with each step. Still, she managed to remain focused on the stairway.

The fourth floor door was at the top. Hermione reached it slightly winded, one hand pressed to the wall, and immediately noticed what was wrong: no handle. She pushed against the door experimentally. It didn't shift. She pushed harder. Nothing. Then she saw the carving on the surface — intricate, deliberate — and recognized what it meant.

Password required.

She stood there for a moment, breathing.

Of course. The servant corridors on the fourth floor were staff-only, which she should have anticipated, and she didn't know any passwords for them, which she should have thought of before climbing all the way up here. She tried to remember if she'd ever heard one mentioned. Nothing came.

She turned away from the door and started back down.

________________________________________

The descent brought her back to choices. Second floor or third floor — those were her options.

Second floor: the tutoring sessions. Students finishing up, spilling into corridors, unpredictable. The shortcut behind the tapestry that led toward Gryffindor Tower passed near there too, and that passage got occasional traffic. More people, less predictability.

Third floor: unused classrooms, the Trophy Room that nobody visited in the evenings, the Charms corridor with its classes long since finished for the day. Quieter by nature, more abandoned in atmosphere. Better odds.

Third floor, she decided. It's the safer option.

She reached the third floor landing and stopped. Through the door was a classroom corridor — she'd be back in the populated areas of the castle, exposed again after the relative safety of the enclosed stairwell. She took a breath, steadied herself, and reached for the handle.