The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and polished wood.
Sunlight poured through tall, narrow windows, spilling golden squares across rows of desks filled with restless students. The Academy bells had only just ceased ringing when the heavy oak door creaked open.
Freya entered.
The woman commanded attention instantly—not with flamboyance, but with presence. Her boots struck the stone floor with weight, each step echoing faintly in the vaulted room. A long black coat swung around her ankles, and though her hair was neatly bound in a bun streaked with gray, the way she carried herself radiated experience.
She looked more like a battle-hardened scholar than any classroom instructor Draco had known.
Her gaze swept across the rows, sharp and assessing, as though she were measuring each student for armor that would either protect or fail them.
"Settle down."
The room hushed immediately.
