A bitter guardian

Ignoring the boy, Horvath makes himself at home as if the place is deeply familiar, hanging his coat and hat neatly on the conveniently crooked arm of a full suit of armor that stands just inside the door, almost as if put there for that purpose. Deprived of these, he's in slacks and shirt and vest, with a knit scarf, and his hair is loose in curls instead of slicked back. He looks more like a professor than a dangerous sorcerer.

With a sigh he settles himself in a chair, stretching one leg out a little and setting the cane aside. Those cookies, however wonderful, aren't nearly as appetizing now as they were ten minutes ago.