[Ophelia!]
Things had been going well -- eerily well, in all honesty. 'Work' - inasmuch as what he did for the Dark Lord could be called 'work' - had him pleasantly on-time, although he had a few ticking annoyances plaguing the back of his mind that he'd have to take care of sooner rather than later.

He palmed the box in his pocket before he apparated to the door of the house he shared with Ophelia, glancing into the hall as he stepped inside. Grayson would be the first to admit that he kept an odd schedule, so there was no telling whether his girlfriend would even be home. He smelled food, but that was more than likely a house-elf preparing the evening meal at the time it had been told to earlier in the morning by Grayson himself.

Stepping into the living room area, he drew off his gloves and shoved them into the sleeve of his overcoat and hung the thing up on its proper hook. He wasn't one to announce his presence, but Ophelia had probably heard the activity if she was home. He slid down into a chair, opting to wait rather than call out to her.