Candles floated overhead, casting a warm glow over the long tables. First-years gaped at the enchanted ceiling, while older students caught up after a summer apart.

At the Slytherin table, near the middle, a knot of sixth-years had claimed their usual spot. Draco Malfoy lounged with practiced indifference, Pansy Parkinson perched beside him like a queen surveying her realm. Mattheo Riddle and Theodore Nott were engaged in some low-voiced debate over a Quidditch article, while Astoria Greengrass laughed at something Blaise Zabini had just said.