May 23rd, 1888 — Lovegood House, Wellintgonshire
Abraxas Crabbe was resolved to get his way on this—not, as many children his age did, by being a brat, but by being entirely sensible regarding how he went about it. He had drafted a list of arguments as to why his stepfather should side with him (a list that was presently tucked under his left arm as the right moved to rap on the study door) and ensured his appearance was tidy before appearing at the study’s threshold. This, the elven-year-old had decided, would be as a business meeting—a business meeting at which he would come out ahead.
“Good afternoon, Uncle!” he offered brightly, but reservedly as he was invited in.