a.n.: So... Something to begin with. Almost three hours were killed to register myself and to have this small part translated. I'm feeling like a slug today...
Soft light of the moon penetrated the window of the ancient estate, surrounded by carved steel fence and thick wild forest. The lake was situated on the territory of the building, it was reflecting the yellow-white disk, on which there were noticeable hazy spots of the rough surface. Something big vigilantly moved under the water, sending to the top some light ripples, and the trio of black wolves with scarlet eyes sniffed suspiciously. Making sure that everything is in order, they put their heads down on the soft grass under the first trees of the forest, while muttering peacefully. And turned their attention back to the moon. Pale night light's beam passed one of the uncurtained windows of the second floor and slipped on the soft, creamy white carpet, slowly disappearing.
Spacious room was filled with dark shelves made of lacquered wood. A huge collection of books, ancient manuscripts and scrolls filled every shelf, cherished by it's owner. Near the fireplace, consumed by the fire, there stood a pair of armchairs. It's quite comfortable to sit in them, to take a mug of hot tea from the coffee table and to open the long forgotten book, listening to the crackling coals in the fire. Jerked reddish flame tongue illuminated a supporting wall, in the upper right corner of which the bloody print-rune was clearly visible. Long dried out and soaked into wood inscription disappeared from sight in a second.
The nineteen years old curly-haired lady, dressed in a white bathrobe, distracted from the tome, and the attention of brown eyes automatically shifted to the old carved doors. Having her eyelids covered, she took a feather with a sheet of parchment from the table and with a pair of smooth movements she made a drawing. Looking at her creation, the girl hid it in the flyleaf, right under the front cover, and set the book on the table. Twisting the Self-Writing Quill with fingers, she put it in the ink and took unfinished tea, rising from her chair. The person slowly approached the window and looked out into the street, warming her hands with a hot cup's surface. Soon she returned to the fireplace, losing to find the right man in the alley.
A few minutes later she left the room, carefully closing the door behind. Quiet footsteps were gradually fading, until they finally disappeared near that lobby, where the West Wing of the manor began.
House elf appeared in the library with a loud clap, wiped the dust off the table, ventilated the room and disappeared, putting out the fire with a click of a long thin finger.