The cold winter had come to Hogwarts without asking permission, dyeing every tower, every trail and every branch of the Forbidden Forest with a thick white cloak. The snow creaked under the footsteps of the students, who, wrapped in scarves in the colors of their houses, were enthusiastically preparing for the expected visit to Hogsmeade.

Laughter echoed through the hallways, and the warm scent of hot chocolate floated in the air. It was a perfect day to get lost in the shops of Zonko and Honeydukes, or to get into Las Tres Escobas in search of a butter beer. But not everyone had reason to smile.

Atop the tower of Gryffindor, Harry Potter watched the white landscape behind a foggy window. His fingers grazed the icy glass, following his companions as they walked along the path to the village. The letter of permission, which never arrived, was still a bitter memory in his trunk. Uncle Vernon had not even bothered to respond.

Alone, but accustomed to loneliness, Harry stepped back, letting the curtain slowly close. The castle, quieter than usual, seemed to share its melancholy.