Lyra's voice echoed, bouncing off the high, vaulted ceiling. She was already kicking off her platform boots, her silver-blonde hair a wild mess from the journey. Beside her, Scorpius was brushing soot from his designer coat, looking every bit the pampered heir he was.

A house-elf appeared with a soft pop, wringing its hands. Its large, tennis-ball eyes darted between the three of you.

The silence that followed was heavy, expectant. The house felt different than you remembered. Bigger. Colder. From somewhere deep within the manor, you heard the faint, unmistakable sound of a door closing. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, began to echo down the long gallery that led to the foyer.