Meghan Avery is sixteen, newly of age of consent and already accustomed to solitude. With jet-black hair that falls like silk down her back and striking, almost unnatural blue eyes, she looks delicate at first glance — barely five feet tall, all softness and curves — but there is a quiet resilience in her that comes from growing up alone. Her father, Thomas Avery, Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, loves his daughter deeply, but his position consumes him. Meetings run late, international tournaments pull him away for weeks at a time, and the vast Avery manor often feels more like a museum than a home. Most days, Meghan eats alone, wanders echoing corridors alone, celebrated only by the loyal house-elves who raised her in all the ways her father could not.