Morris Avenue has always been a perfectly ordinary street, where the only thing untoward to ever have occurred was the rustling of a rose bush disturbing the peaceful slumber of a particularly fat black cat on a breezy autumn night. However, that's only the case if you happened to overlook the crumbling castle turret squeezed in between number 6 and 8 Morris Avenue.
Unfortunately for the owner, that is just what Aliaster Tuttle of the Department of Unlawful Magical Property had decided not to do as he strolled down the garden path, past a few ugly plastic pink Flamingos and towards the ominous blackened oak front door.
With a handlebar moustache, gold rimmed spectacles and a bowler hat firmly placed upon his balding head, Mr. Tuttle could never be mistaken for a kind and generous man and if anyone ever made that unfortunate mistake he would no doubt correct them. He took his job seriously and tonight would be no exception.
First of all that Goblin head door knocker just had to go thought Tuttle. Absolutely tasteless, the Goblin Liaison Office would have to be woken up for this.
"What d'y'a want?" Sneered the door knocker, in the only way a goblin ever could.
"Outrageous!" exclaimed Tuttle. "I'm on official Ministry business you hear, and you -"
Cutting off Tuttle, the door knocker snapped back. "You wha'? …I've got no hands or legs; you're speaking to a bloody door knocker… Do yourself a favour and straighten up those tatty old robes of yours, pull yourself together and state your business".
Never in his life had anyone ever dared speak to Aliaster Tuttle like that, it was unheard of, but then how many times had he spoken to door knockers? Flabbergasted he pulled out a roll of parchment from within his robes and sure enough, he straightened out his robes and realigned his bowler hat.
With a bony finger, he pointed at the door knocker. "You mark my words; I'm going to report this". Composing himself, he pulled open the foot long piece of parchment in front of him and began to recite word for word what was inscribed.
I, Aliaster Tuttle of the Department of Unlawful Magical Property,
Do give the owner of the illegal property in question notice,
That due to his blatant disregard for law and order,
His residence shall now (or in the very near future) be seized,
And the residents evicted.
It was rather unfortunate for Mr. Tuttle that due to the combination of the parchment obscuring his view of the front door and the liberal coating of oil on the hinges, he neither saw nor heard the door swing open, the annoyed owner step out and point his wand straight at him.
Yours truly; the Ministry of Magic. Have a nice day.
Mr. Tuttle lowered the parchment, and in a flash of light straight from the tip of a wand, he disappeared. All that was left of him in his place was a very stern looking pink plastic Flamingo that wouldn't (strangely enough) look out of place if it happened to be wearing a tiny bowler hat.
A wizard with a mane of tawny hair, bushy eyebrows and sporting a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles limped towards the front door from within the property. "Was that really necessary?" asked Rufus Scrimgeour.
"Absolutely".
(EDIT: Later on I'll add further descriptions for the owner, and also lengthen this scene significantly – ie complete the chapter… there's lots more to it - so it flows a little bit better)