Baron Crossridge made his way into the centre of Irvingly that day with something of an ill will, always disinclined to walk in the opposite direction to the trees. He supposed Salem Square was not so different to the centre of many normal towns Djura had visited in his life, though Irvingly wasn't a normal town. But it was easy enough to notice nothing but the normal parts as he walked in the direction of the Post Office, silver cane clinking on the cobblestones beside him as he did so, ignoring any glimpse of wizard robes or passing owls, his straight back and frown lines keeping strangers and neighbours from wishing him a good afternoon.

Djura had been feeling oddly unfulfilled of late, and was on the hunt to find out why. Hence venturing to the Post Office in place of a servant; some small, everyday errand that he felt might give him a little satisfaction.

But he intended to encounter no magic at all in the interim. What a curse, therefore, that a great barn owl should suddenly fly towards him and transform dramatically into a flustered, golden woman who quickly asked him if he'd seen... a bird. The creature from which she'd just transformed. "Is this a joke?"