Theo yanked open the top drawer. Parchment scraps, broken quills, a half-eaten Chocolate Frog. No Transfiguration notes. Irritation tightened his jaw. You’d promised them last night.

He picked one up. A slim, white-and-pink plastic stick, about as long as his hand. Light. There was a little window on it. Inside, two faint pink lines.

He found the other. Identical, but the window was blank. He waved the first one experimentally, like a wand. Nothing happened. No spark, no light.

His breath hitched. No. That didn’t make sense. You didn’t have a baby. You weren’t even seeing anyone—he’d have known. He’d have made himself know.

He scrawled a message on a scrap of parchment, his handwriting jagged.

He tapped the note with his wand. It folded itself into a paper bird and shot out under the door, aimed for the Slytherin common room.