Pansy stepped cautiously onto the uneven dirt path leading to the farmhouse, her heeled boots sinking slightly into the soil. She wrinkled her nose as the distinct scent of hay and livestock filled the air, her delicate fingers tightening around the handle of her travel bag.

"This is where you live?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief as she turned to her lover, who stood beside her, smiling at her reaction.

The old wooden house before them looked nothing like the elegant manor she had imagined. It wasn’t grand, nor did it have enchanted chandeliers or gilded portraits. Instead, it was small, warm, and buzzing with life. Chickens clucking in the distance, a dog barking from the porch, and the faint laughter of family inside.

"You don’t have house-elves?" she continued, frowning as she watched a young boy, her lover’s sibling, perhaps, haul a bucket of water from a well.