You step away from the window and let the empty corridor swallow your footsteps. The stone passage is chill and narrow, lined with suits of armor that seem almost to breathe in the dim dawn. Your scar gives a faint pulse as you pass a closed classroom door, and you slow, listening for anything out of place. Somewhere ahead, a whisper of movement skims the walls like fingertips.

The corridor bends toward a darker stretch near a cluster of portraits, each painted face turned suspiciously still. Dust hangs in the air, untouched by morning traffic, and the silence feels deliberate now, as if the castle is holding its breath. You notice a sliver of pale light leaking from beneath a door that should be shut tight. Whatever is stirring in Hogwarts is closer than you thought.