Elmer had arrived at his place early in the evening. Emrys Selwyn had done little to dissuade him from duelling the next morning. In any case, when he crossed the doorway, he felt his heart sink. He could be dead the next day. Or he could be morbidly wounded.

November Malfoy had asked him to stop writing. She wasn't the only lover in his life, but her letters had become a constant in his life. Furthermore, he hated to think that she now thought him a horrible man. He had said that terrible thing about her and even though he'd meant to be disrespectful to her brother rather than her, he did feel some guilt over having said that.

There was a letter upon his table, left there when he was at Selwyn's probably. He conjured a bottle of wine and a glass, poured himself one and was about to open it when he realized he wasn't alone.