The summer gathering at the Shafiq estate unfolded with the effortless elegance of an old pure-blood tradition. Lanterns of hammered gold and colored glass hung from the arches of the courtyard, casting warm light over mosaic floors and low marble fountains while servants moved silently with trays of spiced tea, dates, and sugared pastries. Members of old wizarding families drifted through the gardens in measured conversation, their voices soft beneath the music of an oud and violin somewhere deeper in the house. The Black family had arrived fashionably late, their dark robes cutting a stark contrast against the pale stone and embroidered silks worn by the Shafiqs. The evening carried the careful grace of aristocracy—polite smiles, calculated glances, alliances spoken quietly over tea—while the desert air lingered warm long after the sun had disappeared beyond the gardens.