Yes. However, another complication arises.

The quilt was thick and heavy, brocade by the feel of it, and it hung close enough to the wall that Hermione had to press herself flat to fit behind it. She did, and the fabric settled back into place in front of her, hiding her completely. Her arms fell to her sides. For the first time since leaving the alcove outside the kitchens she didn't need to hold her covering position — the quilt did it for her.

She looked down. Her bare toes peeked out beneath the lower edge. There was nothing to be done about it.

The footsteps turned the corner.

There were several of them — young voices, first or second years from the sound of it, chattering with the particular unselfconsciousness of students who had no reason to think anyone was listening. Hermione stood absolutely still. She was acutely aware of what she was: a prefect, a war hero, naked and hiding behind a wall decoration while children walked past. If they found her like this — these younger students, who looked up to her, who she was supposed to set an example for — the humiliation would be of a different order entirely.

She focused on staying invisible.

"I can't believe mine dripped all over my notes!" one of them was saying.

"At least I've still got this pumpkin juice," another replied. "Mine's almost empty, but still."

They were passing her now, close enough that she could hear the fabric of their robes moving. Hermione didn't breathe.

Then — a sharp exclamation, a stumble in the footsteps, and the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting stone. A lot of it.

"Oh no — my juice!"

"Careful!"

"It's everywhere—"

Hermione heard the pumpkin juice spreading across the floor — the wet rush of it finding the natural paths between the uneven stones, flowing outward, seeking lower ground. She tracked the sound of it getting closer. Then the cold hit her feet, sudden and total, the liquid flowing around her toes and over them, soaking into the skin.

She didn't move. Didn't flinch. Stood absolutely still with cold pumpkin juice pooling around her bare feet while the students exclaimed and clustered on the other side of the quilt.

The smell rose with it — sweet and distinct, and immediately, involuntarily, she was back in the Great Hall. The long table, the candlelight, the particular taste of pumpkin juice with dinner. She'd had quite a lot of it. She remembered that now, watching the liquid spread slowly across the corridor floor in front of her, the smell of it filling her nose.

And somewhere in that moment, between the memory of dinner and the cold wet reality of standing here, she became aware of something else. A pressure, quiet and insistent, that she hadn't noticed before. Low in her abdomen, sitting there patiently, waiting to be acknowledged.

As if this couldn’t get any worse, thought Hermione.

She acknowledged it and then set it aside. It wasn't urgent. She'd held through longer stretches — double Potions, three-hour exams. She could hold through whatever remained of this journey. Gryffindor Tower had bathrooms - she could use one when she got back. For now, she just had to keep moving forward.

She refocused on the students.

They were debating the spill now, clustered around it, one of them crouching to look at how far it had spread. That one was close — very close to the quilt, close to where Hermione's juice-covered toes were barely visible beneath the fabric's edge. She watched the shadow of them shift on the floor and didn't breathe.

"Should we clean it up?"

"With what? I haven't got anything."

"Just leave it. Someone else will deal with it."

"Come on, we'll be late—"

"Sorry about the mess..."

The crouching student stood. Footsteps moved away, down the corridor, the voices dropping in volume as the group continued on their way. Hermione tracked them until she couldn't hear them anymore, then waited longer still, counting silently, making certain.

When she was sure, she peered carefully around the edge of the quilt. The corridor was empty in both directions.

She stepped out. The pumpkin juice had left her feet cold and sticky, each step pulling slightly at the stone. The puddle spread across the floor behind her, catching the torchlight. She looked at it for a moment, then away.

The side hallway was just a few strides ahead. Hermione brought her left arm back across her breasts and her right hand over her crotch, and walked toward it.