On the second-floor porch, a single chair faced the gardens. Wind chimes sang their hollow song, and the clouds rolled low, thick with unshed rain.

A house elf appeared at the threshold, wringing its knuckles.

Below, the front door clicked shut. Footsteps echoed through the foyer, paused, then continued toward the east wing. The elf flinched at the sound and vanished with a soft pop.

Somewhere deeper in the estate, a clock began to chime the hour. The clouds finally broke, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall against the porch railing, ticking like impatient fingers.