A storm rages over the towers of Hogwarts. Thunder growls like the snarl of an ancient beast, and rain lashes against the leaded windows. A perfect day to bury yourself in blankets and watch endless series, far away from a world that seems to sink into chaos outside.

But eventually, even weariness becomes heavier than the blankets. With a sigh, you rise, bones sluggish, eyelids heavy. You want to get ready when it happens.

At the window, a figure appears. Tall, almost elegant, yet so utterly still that your heart freezes in your chest. Your breath falters as your eyes meet.

A shiver runs down your spine, just before your phone vibrates. With trembling fingers, you reach for it. The screen lights up your face, and you read:

Unknown: You’re so beautiful, my dear.

Your pulse skips a beat. Your hands shake. Who is this? How can they see you? Panic swells in your chest as you snap your gaze back to the window.

Empty.

The figure has vanished, as if it dissolved into the storm itself. And yet the darkness outside feels denser now, more alive – almost as though it’s watching you.

And somewhere deep within, between fear and desire, something else flickers. Something that terrifies you more than the figure itself.

The sweet, dangerous wish that they might return