18. The silent partner

The corridors of the Ministry seemed more cold, dank and echoing than usual, but Hermione told herself that was probably just her imagination. She flitted down the corridor to her office, like a ghost caught out in the open after daybreak. Once inside, she shut the door behind her and sank down behind her desk. After a few moments of staring blankly in front of her, she took out her work and laid it out on the desk.

She had made scarcely a mark on the paper when a knock at the door made her look up.

'Uh … come in?' she called out. Not very convincing.

The door opened. It was Julia Massey from her department. She smiled gently, almost sympathetically, Hermione thought, as she breezed into the room, her long blonde hair hanging loosely down to her chest. She was wearing a silvery grey tea dress in a vaguely 20s or 30s style.

'Hi Hermione,' she said in her high, slightly childlike voice.

'Hello Julia.'

Julia stopped just in front of Hermione's desk, her hands clasped together. Hermione surmised that she had been sent by Fuchsia and Jocasta to quiz her as she was on better terms with her than either of them and therefore more likely to get something out of her.

'Um … so how are you?'

Am I really going to confide anything in her? Am I going to be evasive or stroppy? She looked at Julia, realising that she didn't know what the girl really thought of her.

I'm going to be nice. But first I want some information on her.

She got up from her chair and went over to a filing cabinet in the corner of the office.

'Sorry, I've just got to get something for later on,' she said, bending down and opening one of the drawers at random. 'Why don't you sit down?'

'Thanks,' Julia replied, sitting down on the visitor's chair.

Hermione lowered her head, her hair half falling down across her eyes. Already she could scarcely see what was in front of her, the words of the incantation spilling out of her, the circle whirring faster and faster.

Once she was in, she stood up quickly and walked back to her desk, a file in her hand that she didn't even remember taking. She was feeling lightheaded again.

'I suppose you heard,' she said, looking straight into Julia's eyes. Julia looked away for a moment, seemingly a little embarrassed that she was sitting there. Their secret agent.

She could see them now quite clearly, Julia, Fuchsia and Jocasta, plus that Lorelei Boykin.

'Someone's got to ask her,' Fuchsia was saying.

'But do you think she'll admit to anything?' Lorelei replied. 'She's pretty twisted.'

Twisted am I, Lorelei, is that so? What do you know about me? You've barely ever even spoken to me.

'Julia, do you think you could give it a try?' said Jocasta, giving her friend a big-eyed, plaintive look. Julia had her doubts. Qualms about doing it.

'It's not like I'm all that close to Hermione. I'm not sure she would tell me anything.' It's a bit dishonest, Julia had thought to herself.

Nice of you to think so, Julia. But you're still here in my office, scavenging for gossip.

'But she likes you,' said Fuchsia. 'As far as she likes anyone.'

'Apart from Harry Potter,' Lorelei commented. They had sniggered about that among themselves.

'All right then,' Julia was saying. 'But I'm not going to really pester her about it. If she doesn't want to tell me, that's it.'

How decent of you, Julia.

Julia smiled and twirled her finger around the end of one of her long locks of hair. She wore a silver locket on a chain with a blue stone at its centre, nestling in her chest. It matches her eyes.

'Heard what?' she asked innocently. Hermione smiled.

'Don't worry, Julia, you don't have to try and protect my feelings.'

Julia tilted her head a little to the side. Will that help you to see into me better?

'I didn't think you'd really want to talk about it.'

'Oh, I don't mind. And I can't hide from it anyway.'

Speaking of hiding things … A feeling of jealousy surged into sight. For a moment Hermione didn't want to look. She knew it was wrong to look, but she wasn't going to allow herself to feel guilty over Julia and her friends. The feeling of jealousy didn't dissipate; instead it swirled about in the empty space of the room, pressing up against Hermione's mind, asking to come in. I have to let it in. Now it revealed itself, unpacked itself in her thoughts: it was the jealousy that nagged at Julia's subconscious, not her jealousy of someone else, but the jealousy she inspired in another.

Miranda, why can't you just like me?

Now she saw Julia's less attractive and less successful sister. Jealousy poisoned their meetings and hung in the air even when they spoke over the phone. It's not fair. I've never given her any reason to be jealous of me. And it's not like Mum and Dad treat me any differently from her. Hermione contemplated the sister's face: rounder, slightly ruddy, angry grey eyes, reddish hair cut in an untidy bob. She was the best part of six inches shorter too, dressed simply in a shapeless hoodie and cheap jeans. She could make more of an effort over her appearance. It wouldn't be so hard. The eyes flashed with displeasure and pain when Julia walked into the room. And just because they didn't offer her that job at the Ministry, doesn't mean she can't try again. It's not my fault. I always try to be nice to her.

'I can guess what people are saying,' said Hermione, smiling faintly across the desk.

'Can you?' said Julia.

'But it isn't true.'

'So you aren't seeing each other?'

Hermione folded her arms with a brisk gesture.

'No! Why is it people think a man and a woman can't be close friends, best friends even, without something else going on.'

Julia propped her elbows on the desk and leaned her face a little closer to Hermione's.

'But hadn't you and Harry supposedly got a bit …?'

'Distant?'

'Uh … yes.'

'All we really ever did was to agree that it would be better for everyone if we stopped hanging around together so much. To make it much easier for certain people, who could never quite believe we were just friends, despite the facts. We had to do it, to stop certain people from being jealous. Do you know what I mean?'

Julia nodded, her attention totally focused on Hermione.

It might be a good idea not to dress so smartly when you come round, Mum had told her. And maybe it's not such a good idea to bring your boyfriends round to the house so often. I know it's not your fault, love. Don't think anything of it. I just want the two of you to get on.

'It is slightly dishonest, what Harry and I did,' Hermione continued. 'That's why I don't feel good about what's happened. I know I'm partly at fault. It was done with good intentions, but it was probably a mistake. It was bound to come out in the end.'

Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Miranda had said to her once, when their mother was out of the room. You can't hide anything from me. Just because you've stopped showing off your expensive clothes and going on about your amazing social life doesn't make you any less superior about it.

Julia's mouth was scrunched up very small and her eyes seemed bigger than usual.

'So you see, it's not so exciting after all,' Hermione said. 'It's a mess, but not the mess everyone thinks it is.'

'I understand,' said Julia softly.

'Can I ask you a favour?' said Hermione. 'I really don't want to spread rumours about Ron or Ginny. It wouldn't be fair. They've suffered enough already. Is that ok with you?'

'Oh sure,' Julia replied, getting up out of her seat and pushing her hair back over her shoulder.

'Oh, by the way,' she added. 'Harold would like a word with you.'

'Uhh … ok, thanks. I'll go and see him in a couple of minutes.'

Two minutes later Hermione swept out of her office and into the corridor. The eyes of the others were on her in an instant. She walked down the corridor as quickly as she could manage, nodding politely to every face she encountered. She felt sure that the disgust she felt at what she had just done must show on her face. I feel like I'm up to my eyeballs in it. And quite naturally, the stronger the guilt, the more powerful she felt. She even caught a glimpse of Julia looking meekly out of Fuchsia's office. Even the sight of her with her co-conspirators did nothing to temper the disgust.

Harold Hawkwell's reason for needing to see her struck her as flimsy. As she sketched out a solution to an administrative problem she could swear he had already asked her about, she had the distinct impression that his dark, runny eyes were probing her gaze for something else. Had she sunk to new depths of paranoia or could it be that he too wanted to gawp at her?

Once out of his office, a new procession of polite but inquisitive eyes paraded past her in the corridor. As she approached the door to the stairwell, her pace had quickened so much that she could be setting a new wizarding record for walking the corridors of the Ministry, if anyone cared to record such things.

When she arrived back in her office she found a memo had deposited itself on her desk. She looked at the memo but could scarcely see it. How will I make amends? It was the only thought that seemed to be getting processed. At last she managed to distract her mind enough to make it snap out of its refrain and focus instead on the unread memo on her desk. The memo unfurled itself obligingly as soon as her hand came into contact with it.

You may be in need of some good news today. We located Rachel Thirlwell.

xxx Argenta

She scrawled a reply and dispatched it straight away.

That's excellent. When should we meet?

Argenta's reply soon followed.

Isaac's away at the moment. He said he's made an appointment for tomorrow, so you should speak before then. How are you otherwise?

Fine. Just need to focus on something else.

Fair enough. Just to check: the rumours aren't actually true, are they?

The rumours had even made it to Argenta, in her splendid isolation in Muggle Relations.

No, they're not. But there's more to tell. I'll tell you in person.

Only if you want to.

I do. I have to try and be honest now. But funnily enough, we had good intentions.

Good intentions. Oh yes, they can be very nasty.

It wasn't quite yet getting dark as Harry slipped out of the Ministry and plunged into the masses swarming the early evening London streets. He pulled his hood up and lowered his head, eager to put as many muggle bodies as possible between him and the wizarding world. The entire day had been one of whispers behind his back and snide looks in his direction. One witch he had never spoken to before in his life had walked right up to him in the corridor and told him that she thought his behaviour disgusting, that she had never thought him of all people to be capable of cheating on his best friend. But judging by the murmured snatches of conversations he had caught in the offices and corridors, plenty of people were not at all surprised. Some seemed almost jubilant about it. He knew what they thought had happened. It wasn't true, but nor was it true that nothing had happened. And what had happened was a bit weird and hard to explain. He hadn't seen Hermione, but he could imagine that her day had probably gone even worse.

The faces of the muggles surrounding him had a calming effect on him. He slackened his pace, so that he was no longer overtaking and barging past people, or repeatedly stepping down and back up the curb in order to make progress through the crowds. He had been walking for at least ten minutes before it occurred to him to check if there was anyone following him. And for the fifth time that day he wondered whether his messages were being intercepted. As much as he hated to admit it, he was expecting the press to take an interest. Is that really the first thing I think of? How sad. As he approached the end of Ludgate Hill he took a sharp glance behind him. He was quick enough to see the edge of an overcoat disappearing out of sight, either down an alley or in through a shop door. Cursing under his breath, he turned the corner onto the first side street he saw. The street lay deep in shadow, overlooked by two tall office blocks. It was short, ending almost immediately in a flight of steps. He climbed the steps two at a time and continued into the tangle of backstreets that lay at the top of them. He glanced back down the street for a moment, glimpsing the tower of St Bride's rising above the deep channel made by the tall buildings. Then it occurred to him that his attempts to lose the person following him were likely to be completely pointless. His pursuer was bound to be using magic to stay on his trail. He could wander about on random streets all afternoon and would still never be rid of him.

He made his way back out onto Ludgate Hill and hailed the first cab he saw. 'Exmouth Market' he said quickly, naming the first destination that came to his head. The cab driver looked at him with displeasure but didn't refuse him and he hauled himself inside the taxi. The taxi crawled in the traffic, making little progress. He glanced out at the window, squinting suspiciously at the pedestrians going past, wondering which one of them was his pursuer. Finally the taxi turned the corner and hit a slightly faster moving stretch of traffic. He took out his mobile phone, remembering how long he had held out before getting one, and slowly typed out a text message, trying to make it as vague as possible. Can you be at Armin's in half an hour?

The taxi pulled up on a street parallel to Exmouth Market. He hurriedly paid the driver from the stock of muggle money he always carried, and got out of the cab. It began to drizzle as he strode past the shop fronts, some of which had changed and become smarter since he had last paid any attention to them.

The shop window for Vlaminck's Esoteric and Occult was small and its window display so low-key and dusty that it could easily be missed. But the 'closed' sign taped up in the window took him by surprise. That was odd: it had been Armin himself who had invited Harry and Hermione to pay him a visit at the shop. He glanced up and down the street in the vain hope that he might catch sight of his former employer then reached into his pocket for the key. He was about to insert it into the lock when he decided it would be better to wait for Hermione. He decided not to knock either. Maybe Armin had closed the shop early on purpose.

He turned and leaned against the shop door, looking out at the rain coming down past the awning and smiling apologetically at a passer-by who looked at him rather suspiciously. The rain was getting more persistent, scraps of it wafting in under the awning, leaving his trousers and jacket damp and clammy. After several minutes, the equally forlorn figure of Hermione came into sight as she drifted down the street, the hood of her jacket pulled tight over her head. She looked quizzically at Harry, before frowning at the closed sign and the locked door.

'Closed? Why is he closed?'

'Don't know,' said Harry, stepping forward to meet her. 'He should be open, it's the middle of the week. He's always open at this time.'

Hermione glanced up the street then turned back to Harry, pulling him by the jacket under the eaves of the shop.

'I bet we're being watched,' she hissed. 'Someone was following me.'

'Me too,' said Harry.

There was a morose, cloudy look in her eyes.

'Do we know this invitation is genuine?'

Harry pursed his lips.

'If it isn't, it means someone in the Ministry knows about Armin.'

'You're right,' said Hermione tersely. 'It's probably just me being too paranoid.'

'You've got good reason to be paranoid.'

'Maybe,' she replied before adding, 'don't you have a key?'

'I do, but I was waiting for you to get here.'

Her expression softened.

'Thanks,' she said. 'But it's probably a bad idea us being seen together like this.'

'Even now?'

She glanced out suspiciously at the passers-by on the street.

'Even now.'

He was about to say something when the door opened behind him. Armin Vlaminck's thin, ruddy face peered around the door, his pale blonde hair hanging down either side of his face.

'Come in,' he said in a low voice, opening the door just wide enough to let them in. They stepped into the bookshop, shivering and shaking the rain out of their clothes.

'We've been expecting you,' said Armin mysteriously as he shook their hands and beckoned for them to follow him through the shop.

'We?' Harry asked.

'You'll see in a minute.'

'I'm not sure I like the sound of that,' Hermione remarked.

'It's to do with the Seven-Pointed Circle,' said Armin.

'What about it?' Hermione insisted.

'There's someone who wants to meet you and talk about it.'

'Is it a man or a woman?' asked Hermione.

'A man.'

He led them through the cramped hallway that led to the upstairs flat then up the stairs in the living room.

Out of the corner of her eye Hermione caught sight of Harry checking his wand. That probably won't help us much.

Armin opened the door into the living room of the flat and ushered them inside.

'We're having a sort of board meeting,' Armin explained.

The living room was as cramped and cluttered as the shop itself. It served as an additional store room and a repository for Armin's vast personal collection of books, music and films. The table that sat in the window, which was usually overrunning with papers and books, had been cleared of its clutter. Sitting at the table was a soberly dressed man somewhere between 50 and 60, with tanned skin and a clipped grey beard. As they entered, he rose and made a little bow.

'Hermione, Harry, this is Mr Zurabian,' said Armin, gesturing at the grey-haired man. He was rather diminutive, no more than about five foot six, and wore a smart grey suit. Coal black eyes flashed from his tanned face. As Hermione looked at him, the eyes she felt fixing her gaze seemed to express unfathomable age.

'Very pleased to meet you,' said Mr Zurabian. He kissed Hermione's hand and reached out his hand to shake Harry's. As he did so, a strange light seemed to flicker in his eyes, and he hesitated for a moment before finally shaking Harry's hand. He sat down quickly again at the table, took out a handkerchief and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. Armin pulled up two chairs for Harry and Hermione.

'Mr Zurabian is part owner of Vlaminck's,' said Armin, who stood behind them, lingering in the middle of the living room.

'A mere sleeping partner,' said Mr Zurabian with an urbane smile.

'He's being modest,' continued Armin. 'He's the biggest investor in our business and has donated half of the rare materials in our archive.'

'I am a businessman, among other things,' said Mr Zurabian, smiling at Harry and Hermione. 'But this is of little concern to the matter at hand.'

'The matter at hand being the Seven-Pointed Circle,' said Hermione briskly.

Mr Zurabian nodded quickly, his eyes twinkling with interest.

'Quite so.'

'I'm just going to make some tea,' said Armin from across the room.

'A very good idea,' said Mr Zurabian, raising his head in Armin's direction.

Armin left the room and went next door to the flat's small kitchen. Mr Zurabian turned back to Harry and Hermione.

'I've been looking forward to meeting you in person,' said Mr Zurabian, looking at Hermione. 'Until now I've only caught glimpses of you.'

'Glimpses of me?'

'Walking beneath the red sky.'

'So you've seen me,' said Hermione cautiously. 'But I've never seen you.'

This was a worrying development, one that she cursed herself for not giving more attention to.

'I could hardly avoid seeing you,' said Mr Zurabian. His tone was urbane, friendly almost. 'When someone new strays into my vision, I make it my business to know their business.'

'And what is my business?' Hermione asked, staring pointedly at him.

'Trying to preserve the secrecy of wizards.'

Hermione exhaled shallowly.

'I suppose it's no surprise you know about wizards,' she replied. Mr Zurabian bowed his head slightly in reply.

'Then you know about Lillian Herrick.'

He nodded again.

'An interesting character,' he remarked, a wry smile on his lips.

'Quite a dangerous one though,' Harry put in.

'Not by the standards of that place,' Mr Zurabian replied. Suddenly his face seemed graver and older.

'What do you mean?' Hermione asked.

'You go striding in, quite oblivious to your surroundings. Even Lillian Herrick treads carefully there. There are some whose attention you do not want to arouse.'

'Is this some kind of a threat?' said Hermione.

'Not at all,' he replied. 'I am not one of them. I am no adversary to you.'

At that point Armin returned, carrying a tray laden with cups of tea. He set them down on the table and sat down on an armchair in the more cluttered part of the living room, listening to the conversation in silence.

'As I was saying, Miss Granger,' Mr Zurabian added, glancing around the company with a wary look. 'I am not your enemy. I want to help you, as far as I can. I wish to give you something. That is why you were called here today.'

Hermione looked at Harry. His gaze was as taut and serious as she imagined hers to be. But although she was poised to take evasive action, she didn't really feel it would be necessary.

Mr Zurabian sat up slightly in his chair and his eyes seemed to turn opaque. For a few moments he sat in perfect stillness. Then as his eyes seemed to clear again he opened his fist. In his palm lay a plain, tiny silver key. He extended his hand.

'This is for you,' he said to Hermione in a voice of gentle reverence.

'What is it?' she said.

'The key to my house,' said Mr Zurabian. 'You understand me, of course.'

'I do,' she replied, not taking her eyes off the key. 'Though I never thought that a house in that place would actually have a real key.'

'It's a symbol of course,' said Mr Zurabian. 'I could have given it any form. But since it is a sort of key, why not give it the shape of one?'

Hermione reached out and took the key.

'Hermione,' said Harry. 'What is this about?'

She looked up and smiled at him. At the same time her gaze was far away.

'Under the red sky', she said softly. 'We all have a house, or at least a place where we can build one. Yours is the island you told me about. I have one too, though it's completely undeveloped. Mr Zurabian, it seems, has one too.'

Mr Zurabian smiled.

'For most, the house, as it is called in the texts, is a bare, undeveloped expanse of earth. For some it may be a garden that we cultivate. A few have erected actual houses. Some of them are splendid feats of imaginary engineering. I myself have spent a long time building mine.'

Hermione held up the key in her hand.

'Why are you giving me this?'

'In case you ever need to take shelter there. Believe me, I don't give it out lightly.'

'Whom should I shelter from? Lillian Herrick?'

'I am not here to intervene in your business with her. But I admire you, and I believe that when you walk beneath the red sky, you need some place of refuge.'

'From these others you mentioned, then.'

Again the vitality seemed to drain from his face.

'Yes, from them,' he replied.

'Who are they?' Harry exclaimed. Suddenly he felt very irritable, but without any clear reason.

'Let us not speak so much of them,' replied Mr Zurabian, looking at Harry with a look of mingled curiosity and fear. 'They go where they will. Mostly in that place, but sometimes here, if they wish. They live chiefly to satisfy their wills and their appetites. Here they come mainly when the dead bodies start to pile up.'

'Dead bodies?'

Mr Zurabian nodded.

'The last time they were attracted here was when Voldemort's killing was at its peak.'

'Are they human?' asked Hermione.

'Yes, they are human … like you or I,' replied Zurabian. 'But since they spend so little time breathing the air of the waking world, they are very long lived. The first and oldest of them is nearly a thousand years old.'

'A thousand?' said Hermione. 'I thought if you neglect your physical body too long down there it dies.'

Mr Zurabian nodded, his eyes closed briefly.

'That is true,' he replied. 'But they have ways to avoid death.'

Again Harry felt something stirring in him. A strange, inexplicable anger swelled up for a moment then seemed to abate somewhat.

'What are their names?' he said pointedly, almost demanding the information.

Mr Zurabian shook his head.

'I have no name for them. They are old, and they speak an old tongue. They may have a name for themselves, but only those who are initiated into their number may know it. '

'How would you know that, unless you're one of them?' Hermione remarked.

'A fair question,' replied Zurabian. 'I know them because once, when I was young I sought to join them. But I turned away before my initiation was complete, thank goodness.'

'So you say, anyway,' Harry replied.

Mr Zurabian looked at him stiffly.

'I understand your distrust of me,' he said gravely. Then his gaze turned to Hermione.

'What are your thoughts?'

'I suppose you can see them.'

'I could but I am not looking.'

She studied him again for a few moments then looked at the key, which gleamed in her hand.

'I can't trust your appearance,' she said. 'That could be manufactured to serve any purpose. But I think I trust your intentions.'

Mr Zurabian smiled briefly and nodded.

'But I still want to ask you a few things.'

'That's understandable.'

'What brought you to the Circle in the first place?'

'The thirst for knowledge. The promise of being able to perform acts that were beyond what is natural. The prospect of putting off death.'

'And joining this mysterious group was a way to achieve that?'

'Yes,' said Mr Zurabian, 'but their method was too terrible.'

'And that's why you didn't complete your initiation?'

He nodded.

'Why?'

'It would have involved eating human flesh.'

The words hung in the room. There was a look on Mr Zurabian's face as if the proposition had just been put to him again anew.

'How old are you?'

'Older than I look.'

'Do you know Gondulph Belhaine?'

'Yes, I know him. But he doesn't know Mr Zurabian.'

'I understand,' Hermione replied. 'Does he walk beneath the red sky?'

'He knows of its existence, but he does not walk there.'

'Have you warned him of the danger awaiting the wizarding world?'

Mr Zurabian looked hurriedly around him.

'It matters not if they hear. I am a marked man anyway. What I have spoken of to Gondulph Belhaine is nothing but the merest of hints. Because the vaguest of hints is all that I can grasp. All that I want to grasp.'

'Can Lillian Herrick be stopped from carrying out her plan?'

'From throwing open the gates of your world? Perhaps. But I fear you would need more time than you've got.'

'How much time do we need?'

'More time than she is prepared to give you.'

'So we should give up?'

Mr Zurabian shook his head.

'You know very well that this act of exposure is only the beginning.'

Hermione looked sadly at Harry then back at Mr Zurabian.

'You mean I have to go where she wants to take me?'

His eyes seemed almost dizzying in their blackness.

'Until it's no longer clear who's leading who. Then you may find that it is you who has taken the lead.'

The room fell into silence.

'Have you never considered giving this up?' said Hermione once she could bring herself to break the silence.

His face was keen and inscrutable.

'Give it up and die, you mean.'

'Yes.'

'I have considered it countless times over countless years. But I have never been able to walk away.' He smiled weakly. 'Don't follow too closely in my footsteps, Miss Granger. You have too much to live for here in the waking world.'

They lapsed again into silence. Hermione half-slumped back in her chair, but didn't take her eyes off Mr Zurabian. At last she leaned forward again, holding up the key between her fingers. The next instant it was gone from her hand.

'You won't mind if we don't exchange keys?' she said calmly.

He chuckled at this.

'No, of course not.'

Then he glanced down at his watch.

'I'm afraid time is running short.'

How can time run short for him?

He swayed lithely to his feet and stepped out from behind the table.

'I wish you good luck with all your endeavours,' said Mr Zurabian. 'And I'm pleased to have met you, Mr Potter,' he added, the same stiffness in his gaze. When he turned to Hermione his expression was more relaxed.

'I will be at home anytime you wish to visit.'

'Thank you,' she replied.

He nodded and stepped away from the table.

'Mr Zurabian,' said Harry suddenly. The older man turned and looked at him.

'Yes?' he said softly.

'What is it about me that bothers you?'

He glanced at Hermione then back at Harry.

'Forgive me,' he said, almost obsequiously. 'I admit that I cannot help … flinching in your presence.'

'But why?' said Hermione.

Mr Zurabian looked slightly embarrassed. He tried to fix Harry with his gaze but couldn't hold it.

'It's because I felt death in your handshake,' he said at last.

'Death?' echoed Harry.

'You passed to that side and returned,' said Mr Zurabian. The fear in his voice was palpable. 'You came back with the trace of death upon you. I feel it so strongly because I am so old, and so close to death myself.'

Before Harry had a chance to question Mr Zurabian any further, the man was already halfway out of the room, shaking Armin's hand, and promising to keep in touch.

'Thanks for everything,' said Armin. Then Mr Zurabian was gone. They heard his even tread on the stairs, followed by the sound of the door closing gently downstairs.