It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gentleman in possession of a melancholy disposition must be in want of solitude.
Such was the case with Mr. Victor Frey, whose spirits had of late been exceedingly low, and whose present temperament bore the marks of most profound wretchedness.
In times of distress, it was the young mans custom to seclude himself in a forgotten hunting lodge, situated at the farthest reaches of his family's vast estate. Though his relations at Frey Manor believed him to be engaged in the pursuit of game, nothing could have been further from his intentions than to traipse through the underbrush in search of quarry.
The previous day had found him sprawled upon a threadbare rug before the hearth, partaking of an excessive quantity of wine. The day prior had passed in much the same manner, and the young Mr. Frey had resolved that the present day should follow a similar course.
One can scarcely imagine his astonishment when he was roused from his slumber on the floor of the adjoining chamber by a commotion happening by the fireplace. 'This fireplace,' thought he, 'ought not to produce such a clamour.'
Indeed, Victor had taken great pains to ensure that the floo connection to his abode remained in a state of disrepair.
As he emerged from the shadowy doorway—his appearance disshevveled, his complexion sallow, his eyes bearing the bloodshot redness of overindulgence, and his frame far too slight for a gentleman of his stature—it was not beyond the realm of possibility that he appeared as frightful spectre to the child who had unceremoniously fallen onto the cabin floor.
Mr. Frey let out a undignified shriek and recoiled, as though it were the urchin, rather than himself, who was a terrifying apparition.
"Merlin above!" he cried. "Who are you!?"
Agitated, he fumbled about in search of his wand, only to discover it absent.
Such was the case with Mr. Victor Frey, whose spirits had of late been exceedingly low, and whose present temperament bore the marks of most profound wretchedness.
In times of distress, it was the young mans custom to seclude himself in a forgotten hunting lodge, situated at the farthest reaches of his family's vast estate. Though his relations at Frey Manor believed him to be engaged in the pursuit of game, nothing could have been further from his intentions than to traipse through the underbrush in search of quarry.
The previous day had found him sprawled upon a threadbare rug before the hearth, partaking of an excessive quantity of wine. The day prior had passed in much the same manner, and the young Mr. Frey had resolved that the present day should follow a similar course.
One can scarcely imagine his astonishment when he was roused from his slumber on the floor of the adjoining chamber by a commotion happening by the fireplace. 'This fireplace,' thought he, 'ought not to produce such a clamour.'
Indeed, Victor had taken great pains to ensure that the floo connection to his abode remained in a state of disrepair.
As he emerged from the shadowy doorway—his appearance disshevveled, his complexion sallow, his eyes bearing the bloodshot redness of overindulgence, and his frame far too slight for a gentleman of his stature—it was not beyond the realm of possibility that he appeared as frightful spectre to the child who had unceremoniously fallen onto the cabin floor.
Mr. Frey let out a undignified shriek and recoiled, as though it were the urchin, rather than himself, who was a terrifying apparition.
"Merlin above!" he cried. "Who are you!?"
Agitated, he fumbled about in search of his wand, only to discover it absent.
![[Image: tumblr_prevmr6QGG1rbb9x4o1_540.gifv]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/e313ade0f09cafa2606e7c4cdb7cb507/tumblr_prevmr6QGG1rbb9x4o1_540.gifv)