` The autumn rain lashed against the tall, iron-framed windows of the Nott Manor's drawing room. A fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the Persian rug.
`
` A silver tea service sat untouched on the low table, the steam from the spout curling into the chilled air. Two armchairs faced the fire. One was occupied by a gaunt man with silver-streaked black hair, his sharp, patrician features fixed on the flames. Augustus Nott.
`
` The door creaked open.
`
` A house-elf, tiny and twitchy, bowed so low its nose nearly touched the floorboards.
`
Tippy
` in a trembling squeakMiss Tuana, sir. She’s arrived from the station.