Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden tables. Dust motes floated lazily in the beams, dancing above ancient parchment and ink-stained fingers.

Y/n was exactly where she always was. The corner table. The one with the best light and the least foot traffic. The one tucked away near the Restricted Section where nobody ever looked twice.

Books surrounded her like armor. Transfiguration notes spread across the table. A half-empty cup of cold tea sat forgotten at her elbow.

It was peaceful.

Then the light disappeared.