The smell of toast and raspberry jam hung in the warm morning air as sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Potter home. The kitchen was alive with quiet, domestic clatter—Ginny flipping bacon with her wand, Albus slouched in his seat with a spoon halfway to his mouth, Lily curled up cross-legged in a chair reading upside down.

James sat at the end of the table, a buttered crumpet in one hand, scanning the Daily Prophet with that lazy, half-interested look he wore when he should be revising. Then his eyes caught the front page.

“PUREBLOOD MANOR MASSACRE — SURVIVOR AT LARGE” Ministry Classifies Incident as Type-X Magical Threat; Rosier Heiress Missing

His crumpet stopped halfway to his mouth. “Oi,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “You lot see this?”