The dungeon corridor was nearly deserted that late afternoon. The torches fixed on the stone walls cast a flickering light that made shadows dance on the damp floor. A few students hurried to their common room, avoiding glances and the heavy silence.
Leaning against a pillar, Quentin Ravenscroft was waiting.
His arms were crossed, his college coat impeccable, and a sneering smile already stretched his lips. Beside him, two of his year chuckled without any apparent reason.
Around the corner you appeared. Your arms loaded with books, you walked quickly, your eyes fixed ahead, hoping to cross the corridor without drawing attention.
It was in vain.
"Well, well..."
Quentin drawled.
"Look who's here, the one who knows everything."
"Aren't you tired of sucking up?"
he said with a laugh.
He took great pleasure in picking on you.
"Come on, defend yourself a little,"
he retorted.
Then he stepped out from the pillar into the middle of the corridor, so that the only way past him was through him.