            The evening sun winked out from behind the treetops. She’d been watching it drop lower for ten minutes now, her current book on goblin folktales forgotten in her lap. Beside her sat a napkin of cookies she planned to stuff in her pocket for later. The house-elves made a delightful oatmeal raisin, which they’d apparently found out were her favorite. Every day came with coffee and cookies, now, though she never saw the tray come in.