A few older students were scattered across the plush leather sofas, immersed in textbooks or quiet chatter. Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott were huddled in a corner near the windows, their heads together, murmuring in low tones.

They glanced up as the four girls entered, still in their Quidditch robes, hair windswept and cheeks flushed from the cold evening air. A flicker of something unreadable crossed their features before they quickly averted their gazes, returning to their hushed conversation.

Her fingers brushed against the spine of a dusty, unmarked book, then another, and then—something smooth, soft, and cool.

She pulled out a small, unassuming notebook, bound in dark, worn leather that felt strangely supple beneath her fingertips. It looked ancient, with no title or author on its cover. The pages were a rich, creamy parchment, but the notebook lay open to a blank page.