The wind blew strongly outside as she rushed in the front door of her
London flat. Shaking out her long, perfectly straight brown hair, bits of
snow showered the owl that was waiting at her feet. She bent down to
retrieve the letter clutched in his beak, and fished in her pockets for
several bronze Knuts to pay him with. She continued to walk though the
hallway; not noticing whom the letter was from. Kicking her shoes off,
fixing a butterbeer, and finally relaxing in a chair, she looked at the
signature handwriting on the envelope that could only mean one thing...
