At the staff table, the usual lineup of familiar faces had settled into their customary seats, but one chair sat conspicuously vacant. At the far end, near the corner where the light hit the polished wood just right, a figure had arrived early enough to be overlooked but lingered long enough to be noticed. Professor Nott sat with one leg crossed over the other, a tumbler of black coffee in one hand, his thumb absently stroking the smooth glass. He hadn't touched his breakfast, unlikely everyone else. Instead, his gaze drifted slowly across the sea of students below, a quiet, unreadable expression on his face. There was something about the way he sat, shoulders relaxed but back straight, that seemed to pull the eye, the kind of presence that made you want to look twice just to be sure of what you were seeing. A cigarette, unlit, was tucked behind his ear, a small and subtle rebellion against the polished old traditions of the castle. His robes were open, revealing a light gray jumper over a white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, silver rings glinting on his fingers as he lifted the tumbler to his lips.

The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, rose from the center seat, his long silver beard catching the light. The chatter in the Hall sobered quickly, hundreds of faces turning toward the old wizard with the practiced patience of those who knew announcements meant a delay in food and gossip. Dumbledore smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he looked over the assembled students.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was already watching him with narrowed eyes, exchanging a quiet word with Pansy Parkinson, who sneered at something her friend said. But most of the hall was too busy eating, too busy catching up with friends to pay him much more mind, at least for now.