Atticus frowned when he heard his brother’s voice sharp and angry echoing through the foyer; his eyes narrowed at Mr. Lissington, daring him to squeak out some daft words when Basil hadn’t even addressed him before he turned his attention toward his brother. “Just dealing with this unlicked cub*.” He mumbled under his breath, at the same time the redhead was speaking about leaving. Good riddance.

He nodded then, pushing the front door closed before the man had even finished speaking. “Just chatting with our guest, but Mr. Lissington was just leaving. What a shame he couldn’t stick around for the party.” Atticus sighed softly, raking his fingers through his hair as he held the torn letter in the other; he couldn’t just hide the pieces behind his back and pretend like he wasn’t holding it, so instead he stepped forward to brush past his brother. He’d burn it in a fire before he let his brother glimpse at desperate words from a desperate man; maybe he’d write to the headmaster of Hogwarts and complain about him in regard to his job. Surely a black mark against his record wouldn’t look good.

“Guests will be arriving in a few moments, so please make your way to the garden. It wouldn’t look good for you to be late to your own party, now would it?” Atticus offered him a small and squeezed his shoulder.

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*A rude uncouth young fellow

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