The stone corridor felt narrow and cold, even with the torches flickering against the masonry. Draconia walked with her chin lifted, her heels clicking against the floor as she navigated the turns. She could still feel the phantom heat of the antechamber on her skin, a sensation that lingered long after she had composed herself. The risk of the unlocked door had been a sharp, delicious edge, but now she was back in the public eye where every movement was scrutinized. She adjusted the drape of her robes, ensuring the green and silver pin of her Inquisitorial position sat perfectly straight on her chest.
A movement near the grand staircase caught her eye. A group of three students stood near the landing, their voices low and hurried. As she drew closer, she saw him. Harry was pressed against the stone wall, his back to the masonry, looking smaller than he usually did. He was not alone. Two other Inquisitors, a boy from Slytherin and a girl from Ravenclaw, stood over him like judges. They were blocking his path, their expressions tight and disapproving. Draconia slowed her pace, her heart performing a strange, rhythmic thud against her ribs.
"He was in the restricted area, wasn't he?" the Ravenclaw girl asked, her voice pitched high with a sense of righteous indignation.
"He was just standing there, looking like he didn't belong," the Slytherin boy added, stepping closer to Harry’s space.
Harry looked up, his eyes finding Draconia as she approached the base of the stairs. He did not look like a boy caught in a crime; he looked like a man who had grown tired of being caught. There was a defiance in his jaw that made her want to look away. He was not asking for her help, and that was the most frustrating part of the entire display. The three of them seemed to be closing the circle around him, a wall of authority and judgment that felt entirely unnecessary.
"What is the trouble here?" Draconia asked, her voice smooth and unaffected.
The Ravenclaw girl turned to her, her eyes bright with the excitement of the moment. "He was near the corridor leading to the library, Draconia. He looked as though he was sneaking around, avoiding the prefects."
"He was just standing there," Harry said, his voice flat. He did not look at her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders.
The Slytherin boy nodded aggressively. "He didn't even have a book. It looked highly suspicious."
Draconia stepped into the center of the group, her presence demanding a shift in the dynamic. She looked at Harry, searching for a sign of weakness or a plea for intervention. She found nothing but a hard, steady gaze. He was waiting to see what she would do, his expression a mask of stoic endurance. The three of them were watching her now, waiting for her to exert the power the badge gave her. They wanted a show of authority, a way to prove that the new order was working.
"Is there a problem with his presence here?" Draconia asked, her tone light, almost bored.
"He was clearly acting out of turn," the girl insisted, leaning forward. "Surely, as an Inquisitor, you see it?"
Draconia looked at the boy in the Slytherin robes, then at the girl, and finally back to Harry. The truth was right on the tip of her tongue. She could tell them that he had been out of place, that he had been acting with a certain lack of decorum that warranted a reprimand. She could use the badge to tighten the net. The impulse to protect him was there, a sudden and violent lunge in her chest, but the impulse to use the badge to solidify her own standing was just as strong. She felt the weight of the metal pin against her chest.
"He was merely lost," Draconia said, and the lie was so smooth it felt like silk.
"Lost? In this corridor?" The Slytherin boy laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. "He looks like he was hiding."
"He was waiting for a friend," Draconia corrected him, her voice gaining a crystalline edge. "He was waiting for me."
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it was heavy. The three students exchanged glances, their suspicion momentarily dampened by her absolute certainty. She saw the way Harry’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something like recognition or perhaps pity passing through them. She was not a girl who needed to be rescued; she was a woman who had just constructed a shield out of thin air.
"Are you sure, Draconia?" the Ravenclaw girl asked, her voice losing some of its sharp edge. "He didn't look very much like he was waiting for anyone."
"I can assure you, he was," Draconia said, stepping closer to him. She felt the urge to reach out, to touch his arm or the fabric of his robes, but she kept her hands clasped in front of her. "He was waiting for a direction. He seemed quite confused about the layout of the stairs."
"He's a terrible liar," the Slytherin boy muttered, though he stepped back a fraction.
"He doesn't need to lie if he just follows the rules," the girl added, though she looked less certain now.
Draconia watched them, her face a perfect, unreadable surface. She knew that she was creating a narrative that was entirely false, a story that served her purpose and his, but also served the image of the infallible Inquisitor. She was building a wall around him, and she was doing it by pretending he was beneath her notice. It was a calculated move, a way to keep him safe without making it look like she had a hand in his fate.
"If he is not causing a disturbance, then there is no reason to detain him," Draconia said, her voice firm and final. "He is perfectly harmless, if a little slow on his feet."
The group began to disperse, the tension breaking as the crowd of three drifted away toward the next landing. Draconia stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on the stone floor. She could hear their retreating footsteps, the murmurs of their conversation as they discussed her decision. She felt a strange sense of vertigo, a dizzying sensation of having successfully manipulated the reality of the room.
Harry did not move immediately. He remained against the wall, his gaze still fixed on her. He did not thank her, and he did not look relieved. He looked as though he had seen the inner workings of her mind and found them wanting. The lie had been a gift, but it was a gift that felt heavy in her hands. She had used her power to hide him, and in doing so, she had felt the sharp sting of her own deception.
"You didn't have to do that," he said quietly, his voice barely a whisper.
"Do what?" she asked, her heart racing.
"Make up a story for me," he said.
Draconia looked up at him, her eyes bright and cold. She felt the thrill of the lie, the way it had sat so perfectly in the air. She told them a lie so calmly that she scared herself.