Irene doesn’t understand how this started.  All evening she had been studying with Joy and Yeri, who happily devoured their chicken without any regard to her disgust.  After hours, the two went to bed, clingy and content with their meal, leaving Irene to repeatedly slam her head on the wooden table next to her bed.

She needed to pee.  So of course, she made her way out of her room, into the commons, and was about to walk past the painting, to the entrance, when it happened.

A Gryffindor is in the commons.  Her commons.  Irene’s eyes narrow on the girl who looks right back at her with sleepily alarmed eyes.  How that was even possible?  Her eyes narrow further until one twitches.

“You.”

The latter’s eyes grew wider and in the moonlit room, Irene could make out the movement of her neck in a rather obvious gulp.

“Um,” she mumbles, “hello.”