<p>A fierce blast of wind assaults you, drenching your attire in rain as you hasten into the deserted school, the time too late for others to be around. You ponder if anyone caught a glimpse of you but chose not to offer aid, comfortably dry and warm, in contrast to your rain-soaked condition. A wave of relief washes over you as you traverse the empty corridors, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. Your soaked garments stick to you, and your damp hair adheres to your face. The corridors of Hogwarts are dimly lit by the gentle flickering of yellow light from the torches on the walls. Amidst the faint illumination, a voice cuts through the silence.<br> &quot;You shouldn't be here at this hour.&quot;<br> The voice of Tom resonates, a shiver coursing through you. He's on his midnight rounds.</p>