The coastline of Dorset County was tipsy with July's warm breeze, its white cliffs like a neatly sliced butter cake steeped in azure tea.
Here, far from the bustle, even the cries of the seagulls sounded especially languid.
Among the rolling green hills not far from the coast lay a home that outsiders could not detect at all.
Douglas stood on a seemingly unremarkable slope of wild grass, carrying two exquisite mahogany food boxes.
The sea breeze lifted the hem of his dark gray trench coat, revealing the finely tailored silk waistcoat beneath.
Douglas took out a strip of parchment.
The writing on it was Dumbledore's-the secret protected by the Fidelius Charm.
As he silently recited the address, the air rippled like water.
A peculiar stone house covered in ivy slowly pushed the surrounding space aside and appeared before him, as though growing out of the ground.
Its roof was crooked, white smoke rose from its chimney, and its yard was filled with strange plants that could not be found even in the Hogwarts greenhouses. They whispered in the wind like wind chimes.
Douglas straightened his coat collar, which the sea breeze had ruffled, and, carrying his food boxes, had just taken a step.
"Creeeak-"
The door was suddenly flung open from inside, so fast that it might have been rammed by an angry Graphorn.
An elderly man with graying hair and a thin but still upright frame rushed out.
He wore a mud-stained tweed waistcoat, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and still clutched a weeding trowel that writhed like an octopus's tentacle.
Newt Scamander.
The world-renowned Magizoologist was now staring warily at Douglas outside the door, with the sort of look one gave a poacher.
"Ah, Douglas... Professor Holmes."
Newt's voice was slightly hurried, carrying the particular