From your position halfway down the sweeping staircase, you watched the scene unfold below. Your parents stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their smiles bright and practiced as the heavy oak door swung open.

Theo Nott came in last, a quiet shadow behind the performance. He closed the heavy door, cutting off the gust of cold air. He shrugged off his travelling cloak, revealing dark, impeccably tailored robes, and ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a dusting of snow. His eyes, a cool, observant grey, didn't immediately join the chorus of greetings. Instead, they swept the hall, taking in the high ceiling, the portraits, the holly, and then, they found you on the stairs.