Graham's boots, still wet from the snow, squeaked against the marble flooring of the entrance hall. He was sure the house-elf would be mopping that up straight away once he led him to the room with the crackling fire.
Graham was instantly warmer in that room, removing his hood as he stood by the door that closed behind him. He hesitated, staring at the back of a regal armchair, able to see the top of a man's head and his arm hanging over the side, clutching a glass of what appeared to be liquor. The tip of a black boot was also visible, and Graham, usually up on the highest wizarding fashion, recognised it as fresh dragonhide.
He cleared his throat, feeling his heart hammering a bit faster. Aside for one brief, vague conversation with Theo Nott, he hadn't spoken of his potion to anyone, and he only hoped that the rumours were true-- that he didn't make this trip for nothing.
"Good evening, Master Lestrange... We met well over a decade ago, when I was just a boy. You knew my father well. Sigmund Montague. I do hope you don't mind me paying you an unexpected visit at this late hour."
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Graham was instantly warmer in that room, removing his hood as he stood by the door that closed behind him. He hesitated, staring at the back of a regal armchair, able to see the top of a man's head and his arm hanging over the side, clutching a glass of what appeared to be liquor. The tip of a black boot was also visible, and Graham, usually up on the highest wizarding fashion, recognised it as fresh dragonhide.
He cleared his throat, feeling his heart hammering a bit faster. Aside for one brief, vague conversation with Theo Nott, he hadn't spoken of his potion to anyone, and he only hoped that the rumours were true-- that he didn't make this trip for nothing.
"Good evening, Master Lestrange... We met well over a decade ago, when I was just a boy. You knew my father well. Sigmund Montague. I do hope you don't mind me paying you an unexpected visit at this late hour."