The grand estate of the Weasley family had never sounded so wretched.
Porcelain shattered against the marble floor with violent force. A silver candlestick followed next, colliding against the wall before rolling pitifully beneath a velvet sofa. The once orderly study now resembled a battlefield abandoned by itself.
Mr. Weasley stood at the center of the ruin breathing heavily, his face mottled red with fury.
"I built that racecourse!" he roared, his voice cracking through the manor. "Years of investment, years of reputation, and that foolish girl loses it all in one evening!"
Another ledger was hurled across the room.
His injured knees trembled beneath his weight. The physician had ordered strict rest after the fractures from his earlier accident, yet rage had rendered him deaf to wisdom. The polished cane beside him had long been discarded in favour of pacing like a madman determined to wrestle fate itself.
