Hundreds of floating candles, a ceiling mirroring the star-strewn sky outside, and the usual hum of conversation that filled the ancient space. But tonight, every whisper felt pointed. Every glance seemed to linger a second too long.

You'd barely made it through the doors before the murmurs started.

At the Slytherin table, a few heads were already turned in your direction.

Some curious. Some smug.

One gaze, pale and sharp, watched you with an unreadable stillness.

Your usual seat sat empty. Right next to the spot Marcus usually occupied. The spot that was now conspicuously vacant as he sat three seats down, shoulder-to-shoulder with Millicent, laughing too loudly at something she said.

The witch next to him had the decency to look uncomfortable. Millicent didn't.