It was the day after the "Midnight Lesson" prank, and the excitement still hadn't died down. Students buzzed with theories, giggles, and whispered admiration. Even some of the teachers wore suspicious smiles, except for one who didn't find it amusing in the slightest—Professor Sinistra.
The Astronomy professor, usually calm and methodical, had been in a rare mood since the prank. She had been in the tower when the blackboard in Merriman's class began glowing the night sky—right during her actual class. And Sinistra, meticulous as she was, had narrowed down her suspect list with chilling accuracy.
Which is why, as the trio settled into their Astronomy lesson that evening under the dome of the enchanted ceiling, Hadrian felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air.
Professor Sinistra moved through the room like a hawk surveying its prey. She paused near Hadrian's desk and tapped her wand lightly against it.
"A clever bit of spellwork last night," she said, her voice quiet, crisp. "Charming, even. Shame if it came at the cost of Hufflepuff's lead."
Hadrian froze. So did Dora and Iris. The rest of the class, focused on drawing orbital paths, didn't notice.
Sinistra tilted her head, locking eyes with Hadrian for a moment longer than was comfortable. Then she moved on, as though nothing had happened.
The three of them didn't speak until they were back in the Hufflepuff common room, huddled on one of the squashy couches near the hearth.
"She knows," Iris whispered, gripping a pillow tightly.
"She suspects," Dora corrected, though her voice lacked its usual certainty.
Hadrian looked toward the glowing hourglass jar that represented their house's current standing in the point rankings—Hufflepuff was still in the lead, but only by a narrow margin.
"We can't afford to lose a single point right now," he said, raking a hand through his hair. "Not when we've worked so hard."
Between their classroom excellence, strategic participation, and wildly successful (if dangerous) pranks, they had clawed Hufflepuff to the top. But it was a balancing act, and every prank risked tilting that balance too far.
"I didn't realize how exhausting this is," Iris admitted, slumping back into the couch. "The essays, the spellwork, memorizing constellations, and dodging suspicion from professors?"
Dora nodded, a book of Charms revision notes flopping closed in her lap. "It's like we're running three marathons at once—with a dragon waiting at the finish line."
Hadrian smiled faintly. "But… it feels worth it, doesn't it?"
The girls nodded slowly. There was something magical about knowing they were outwitting the staff, earning house points through brilliance, and preparing for exams with more energy than they ever thought they had.
"Still," said Hadrian, "we scale it back a little. Smaller pranks. Less risk. No teachers dancing with armor this time."
"Agreed," Iris said.
"But we do keep the Marauder spirit alive," Dora added with a tired smirk.
Hadrian leaned back with a chuckle. "Always."
They sat in silence for a while after that, watching the fire flicker and hearing the quiet shuffle of other Hufflepuffs studying or relaxing. Despite the risk and fatigue, a quiet satisfaction settled over them.