In the spring of 1982, Lestrange Manor lay shrouded in a thin mist.
Mist rose from the stream in the valley and crept up the slopes, wrapping the castle's towers and walls in a gray-white veil. Moss covered the flagstones at the manor's entrance, making them slippery underfoot.
Roy Lestrange had risen early. He planned to go to Diagon Alley today to play chess with old Piers. Ever since Voldemort's death the previous winter, the entire Wizarding World had settled into peace.
Over the past few months, most of the Death Eaters had been dealt with as well. Lately, he had been preparing to revive the family's herb business in Asia—it had been interrupted for a time by the pure-blood families that had sided with Voldemort and targeted them.
Today, though, he still intended to play chess with his old friend.
Roy was considering handing the business over to Victor when he noticed someone standing at the manor's entrance.
"L-Lord Behrens?" Roy could hardly believe his eyes, and his voice trembled.
Weiznan Behrens stood before the entrance, his gray robes stirring in the morning breeze.
His appearance had finally changed. He now looked to be in his thirties, with a few very fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. They were not really signs of age, though, but rather—as if time had brushed lightly, carelessly across him, again and again.
Yet those silver-gray eyes were exactly the same as they had been decades ago.
Roy stared at Will, his lips moving several times before he could get a word out. He stepped aside. "Please, please come in!"
Will entered the manor and stepped into the castle's entrance hall. He glanced at the painting hanging there—the one of him holding Corvus—and chuckled softly before following Roy into the corridor.
They