Across the room, perched on the arm of a worn velvet sofa, Oliver Wood was holding a half-empty cup of pumpkin juice. The high from his team's win was still etched on his face, but it was rapidly souring as his gaze remained fixed, unblinking, on the scene by the fire.

Oliver's jaw tightened. He slammed his cup down on a nearby table, the contents sloshing over the side. He stood, his movements stiff with a sudden, coiled tension.