Night Falls

Plump, full-grained caviar was crushed beneath a silver spoon, its ruptured mucus and sauce streaking long brown-black trails across the fine white porcelain plate, releasing a faintly fishy, salty smell.

"Harry, don't you think this looks like the soil we collected in Little Hangleton?" Ron asked in a low voice. He turned to Harry, animatedly pointing at the pristine plate before him—

The streak sprawled across the white porcelain was especially glaring.

Harry stared at the long mark and swallowed with difficulty. Suddenly, he had no appetite for the feast spread across the table. He could not help regretting choosing a seat next to this guy.

Hearing their conversation, Loren could not help smiling. He lifted his wineglass and raised his voice slightly. "Harry."

"Mm? Ah?"

"Happy birthday."

Everyone raised their glasses together. The clink of glass was crisp, soon subdued by the low, melodious violin music, the sound of bows crossing strings echoing through every corner of the restaurant.

The restaurant was located atop a hotel in London's Mayfair district, supposedly a renovated century-old building. Interlocking wooden floorboards lay beneath their feet, neat vertical stripes adorned the wall panels, and above them stretched a dome nearly thirty feet high, from which hung chandeliers inlaid with bronze metal.

The lighting was dim at the moment, balanced at precisely the right threshold. It did not leave anyone's vision dark, yet it kept the guests at neighboring tables indistinct.

The few waiters moving back and forth with dishes noticed that Loren's group was the only one dressed casually in the entire restaurant. All the other guests wore elegant, luxurious formal attire: the men mostly in black suits and crisp, high-collared shirts, the women in long dresses of every color, lace-trimmed stockings, and lovely but impractical shoes...

Hagrid, dressed in his homemade leather