The house sat at the end of that road like something from a painting. Warm brick, climbing roses, a wooden sign swinging gently by the gate that read Chez Nous in faded letters.

Three figures stood at the gate. Lucius Malfoy, cane in hand, stared at the garden with an expression caught between confusion and disgust. Narcissa clutched her purse, her perfectly manicured fingers white at the knuckles. Draco, seventeen and sulking, kicked at a loose stone.

Lucius raised his hand. Knocked three times. The sound echoed inside.

The door swung open.

Cornelius shifted his son to his other hip, the baby wailing now rising and falling like a siren.