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There was a tiger in the prefects’ bathroom.

“RAAWR!”



A very vocal tiger.

Faintly, Elsa spared a moment to appreciate that her first reaction had been to slam the door shut.

Eyes wide as saucers, she stared at the gigantic feline–who, unhindered by the attention (whether it be from Elsa or the positively incensed mermaid on the wall), continued prancing across the blocks of colorful foam encasing the bath. As well snapping at bubbles.

While periodically letting out bellows that could shake the castle’s foundation.

Of course, Elsa thought numbly, why not?

Foreboding began to curtail the shock, and her eyes skimmed across the tiger’s sopping wet, reddish, fur to its face, where a smattering of white dots were collected around its nose.

Her nose.

A steady progression of red was trickling into Elsa’s face.

She very suddenly wished to be elsewhere.

Any place at all where it was less apparent that the freckles of Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain were just as endearing on her Animagus form as they were when they happened upon each other in the halls.

In very different ways, she hastened to note. The onslaught of enraptured affection was most certainly for the girl. Finding Anna-the-tiger unconscionably adorable as she puffed up her chest for another roar and dove into a mound of bubbles was something else entirely.

As became evidently clear when it was Anna-the-girl who surfaced.

Wearing as much clothing as one would expect from someone taking a bath.

And humming. Humming, with her eyes closed in an expression of contented bliss that bordered on indecent. Her hands ran through–beautiful–red tresses, combing out the suds and exposing the damp underside of her jaw.

Elsa-the-reprehensible-voyeur stood rooted to the bathroom tiles.

Immobile, mortified, and in great need of air.