Y/n sat where she always did—not at the head, but just off-center. A position of quiet command. Her posture was flawless, her hands resting lightly on the table as she surveyed the room without seeming to look at anyone at all.

To Y/n’s right, the space was conspicuously empty. A chair pulled out, a place setting untouched. Everyone at the table knew whose seat it was, and everyone was pretending not to notice its vacancy.

Down the table, Draco Malfoy was holding court with Crabbe and Goyle, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. Blaise Zabini sat across from him, idly stirring his tea, his expression unreadable.

The doors to the hall swung open. A hush didn’t fall—that would be too obvious—but a subtle shift in the atmosphere did. Conversations dipped, glances slid toward the entrance.

At the far end of the Slytherin table, Regulus Black sat alone. He was reading a heavy, leather-bound book, his dark head bent, utterly removed from the noise around him. He hadn’t looked up when Theo arrived.

From the Gryffindor table, a burst of laughter echoed. James Potter was demonstrating a Quidditch move with a sausage, much to the delight of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. Sirius caught Y/n’s eye for a half-second—a complicated, unreadable flash—before turning back to his friends, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

The post owls began to stream in, a flurry of wings and parchment. A large, official-looking eagle owl descended, landing with a soft thump in front of Y/n. It held a single, thick envelope sealed with dark green wax.

The seal was unmistakable: the crest of House Black.