Cicadas droned in the olive groves, their incessant hum a familiar lullaby to the heat-soaked afternoon.

You sat on the cool stone edge of the fountain in the central courtyard, your fingers trailing through the crystal-clear water. The villa felt different now—more a gilded cage than a sanctuary.

Kora, your Hungarian Horntail, dozed in a patch of shade near the lemon trees, her chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. The only sounds were the trickle of water and the distant murmur of house-elves in the kitchens.

A letter, still unopened, lay on the bench beside you. The Hogwarts crest was pressed into the deep green wax, but you hadn't found the courage to break the seal. The last correspondence had been your withdrawal confirmation. This one, you suspected, held news you weren't ready to face.

Footsteps echoed on the marble path leading from the main house. Light, deliberate.