Seated in his favourite armchair in the drawing room and nearing the final chapter of the book he was reading, Baron Crossridge glared daggers towards the tradesman's entrance as a knock went unanswered. Djura did not abide by tardiness, and he would be having words with his staff. But for now he'd have to sort it out himself, and with the air of a large lion disrupted from sleep, Djura got to his feet and went to answer the tradesman's door himself, silver cane clunking alongside him.

The willowy lad on the other side of the door was evidently a postal worker, though the Baron had never before set eyes on him. In any other circumstance Djura would have been glad to know his existence, for he understood the wizarding community used magical owls to deliver their post, and that was something Djura resented. But he was disrupted from his peace, and the postman was bearing a package clearly marked danger, and so he regarded the lad with ill will.

"What is this?"