A Ministry owl, its feathers sleek and official, tapped its beak once against the high, arched window of the classroom. The sound was a sharp, intrusive punctuation in the middle of Professor Flitwick’s lecture on the Counter-Charm for Conjunctivitis.

Every head turned. Owls during class hours meant one of two things: a family emergency, or something from the Department of Magical Education. Neither was good.

Around you, whispers began to rise like steam. Your roommate, Elara, leaned over from the next desk, her eyes wide.

The wax cracked under your thumb. The parchment unfolded, the handwriting crisp and formal.

It began not with ‘Dear Miss L/n’, but with your full name, as if stating a fact.

The Board of Governors of the Athena Conservatory of Magical Performance, in conjunction with the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as Principal Dancer of the Ballet Programme, effective the coming academic year…

The words swam. Principal Dancer. The air in the Charms classroom seemed to thin. You could feel Elara’s stare burning into the side of your face.

The letter went on. Details of a full scholarship, courtesy of the Malfoy Family Endowment Fund. A private dormitory in the newly constructed Slytherin annex. Required arrival dates. It was a contract, a summons, a life sentence wrapped in gilded parchment.

At the very bottom, in a different, sharper script, was a single, added line.

Do try not to disappoint us. — D.M.