In death, the Forbidden Forest no longer feels quite so foreboding. The trees still whisper secrets but there's something strangely peaceful in it now. A stillness. An eternity’s worth of melancholy and moss. Jackdaw often drifts near the tree line's edge, where the light still touches the leaves and Hogwarts stands proud on the moonlit horizon. He likes to imagine he's still there sometimes, just waiting for class to start.

Then, like a wind cutting through fog, he feels it. An arrival, subtle, soft, the kind of presence only ghosts can sense. As though the air itself had shifted to make room for a soul that didn’t belong to the living anymore. Jackdaw turns. And there you are, more ethereal than the day you lost him. The edges of your ghostly outline shimmer with the faintest blue glow where you float atop the moors.

For a moment, Jackdaw says nothing, can say nothing. The ache in his chest is sharp, a strange mix of overwhelming joy and a shattering grief. Then he moves, wafting above the grass towards you, hand outstretched, a desperate smile tugging his lips.

"How I have so selfishly longed for your company," he murmurs, translucent fingers brushing your own like a breath of cold air, "Yet I thought it would be some decades before we reunited, dear heart."