Scorpious Hemlock sat in a very rickety arm chair at a very old desk. He sipped his very warm tea, while reading a dust covered, leather bound book. His lanky frame had piled itself in a sort of curled position, with one arm wrapped around his head, and one leg stretched out on the arm rest. His pale blue eyes scanned the pages, slowly taking in the information that the book possessed, while his overactive brain calculated different ways of performing certain spells.
 Around him, lightning flashed through his filthy windows, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. A merry fire crackled happily in the hearth casting the room in a warm, happy glow, while steam sneaked out from beneath the black pot where some sort of stew was bubbling. A small, black cat was curled on Scorpious’ lap, breathing soothingly. A soft pure rumbled in his throat whenever Scorpious would absently stroke his head.
 Books rearranged themselves up on their shelves. Some of the older ones flipped their pages to clear away dust from the binding, while others sank further into the shelf, protecting themselves from the humidity coming from the rain. Above his head, dozens of candles lazily floated around, bobbing this way and that, adding to the cheery light. Succulents, struggling for life, cascaded down from the tops of the many bookshelves which had somehow been shoved into the small space. They dangled from the ceiling and fought for sun on the windowsills.
The room smelt of fire, books and damp earth. The rugs were tea stained and thread bare, but they somehow made the room feel homely and lived in. Nothing could disrupt this peaceful atmosphere.
A sharp rapping at the door caused him to freeze, his cup halfway to his mouth. Every single one of the candles began to shriek and wail, and he was filled with an unnamable dread. He had a visitor!
