The soft grass of the transfiguration courtyard was dotted with patches of sunlight filtering through the branches of tall trees. Quiet sounds of a lazy afternoon filled the air— soft murmurs of students chatting, the occasional flutter of wings as an owl took flight, and the gentle rustling of leaves stirred by a cool breeze.

On a low stone bench beneath the outstretched branches of a broad tree sat Cedric, utterly at ease. He held a bright orange in his hands, carefully rotating it as he used his thumbnail to score the peel. Small droplets of citrus oil sprayed into the air with each tear, releasing a sharp, sweet scent.