𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒔 ,

LOCATION : diagon alley TIME : 19th of may FEATURING : open ! @startertms

The late spring light clung to the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, as Daphne stepped out of St Mungo’s, exhaustion settling over her shoulders. Her shift had ended later than expected—or rather, later than contracted. She was always at odd hours ever since her rotations in the maternity ward had started, which now felt like the new normal.

Her thoughts were still half-caught in the cries of the last newborn of the day (or rather, the first, as her day had already given way to a new one), when a realisation struck her: time was slipping through her fingers. What day was it? Had she missed it already? No—surely not. She still had time. Didn’t she?

She moved through the alley without truly looking, mind drifting from shopfronts to memories, to the kind of gifts that could have made up for her mistake. How could she have forgotten to plan for her sisters’ birthday? (And hers, too.) She barely noticed the noise around her until— a shoulder touching hers, altering their equilibrium.

“Oh,” she breathed, trying to steady herself, one hand reaching out instinctively not  to fall—  on the floor, or on the person she had bumped into . She raised her gaze — and for a brief moment, her steps faltered again, while standing, as the world around her seemed to pause, like a breath held under starlight. Was she surprised, or worried? “Apologies," she whispered. "Are you well?” she asked, the apology in her voice edged with something warmer—  motherly, even.

LOCATION : diagon alley TIME : 19th of may FEATURING : open ! @startertms

The late spring light clung to the cobblestones of Diagon Alley, as Daphne stepped out of St Mungo’s, exhaustion settling over her shoulders. Her shift had ended later than expected—or rather, later than contracted. She was always at odd hours ever since her rotations in the maternity ward had started, which now felt like the new normal.

Her thoughts were still half-caught in the cries of the last newborn of the day (or rather, the first, as her day had already given way to a new one), when a realisation struck her: time was slipping through her fingers. What day was it? Had she missed it already? No—surely not. She still had time. Didn’t she?

She moved through the alley without truly looking, mind drifting from shopfronts to memories, to the kind of gifts that could have made up for her mistake. How could she have forgotten to plan for her sisters’ birthday? (And hers, too.) She barely noticed the noise around her until— a shoulder touching hers, altering their equilibrium.

“Oh,” she breathed, trying to steady herself, one hand reaching out instinctively not  to fall—  on the floor, or on the person she had bumped into . She raised her gaze — and for a brief moment, her steps faltered again, while standing, as the world around her seemed to pause, like a breath held under starlight. Was she surprised, or worried? “Apologies," she whispered. "Are you well?” she asked, the apology in her voice edged with something warmer—  motherly, even.

there's  something  familiar  about  the  girl  who's  shoe  she's  stepped  on,  but  clem  is  too  flustered  at  first  to  really  put  her  finger  on  it.  she's  walking  with  purposefully  smaller  strides  to  try  and  avoid  it  happening  again,  the  forced  pep  sounding  out  of  place  the  second  it  comes  out  of  her  mouth.  she's  really  not  sure  what  to  say  :  there  aren't  any  words  that  really  encompass  the  feeling  that  seems  to  settle  over  everyone  at  the  memorial,  even  taking  into  account  the  brief  moments  of  respite  they  get  when  they're  all  chatting  and  forget  the  event  that's  brought  them  together  today. 

then  the  puzzle  pieces  click  into  place,  and  clementine  realises  what  makes  this  particular  ‘stranger’  look  so  familiar,  as  opposed  to  the  usual  maybe  we've  been  at  the  memorial  at  the  same  time  before  or  maybe  you  were  one  of  the  kids  who  searched  for  judy  or  maybe  i've  served  you  coffee  once  or  twenty  times.  she's  a  touch  shocked  to  see  how  much  of  mary  she  can  spot  in  her  features.      

it's  a  sting  to  be  back  here.  clementine  had  come  every  year,  stayed  for  the  full  length  of  the  memorial  weekend,  until  they  lost  judith.  the  last  couple  of  years  since,  she'd  stayed  for  a  day  but  somehow  it  felt  disrespectful.  both  to  judy  and to  those  who  had  been  lost  before  –  for  the  former,  it  felt  like  no  one  had  the  space  or  will  to  acknowledge  her  loss,  and  for  the  latter  it  felt  inappropriate  to even  want  to  mention  judy.  it  was  a  lose-lose  all  around.  this  year,  well,  she's  trying  to  do  better.  the  solidarity  that  went  into  this  event  was  so  vital  in  the  first  few  years  after  the  war,  and  there's  a  part  of  her  desperate  to  re-capture  that.

cara  had  been  lost  in  thought  since  the  moment  she'd  arrived.  her  gaze  tracing  the  grounds  with  a  quiet  heaviness.  the  speeches  had  stirred  something  inside  her—curiosity,  grief,  something  she  couldn’t  quite  name.  the  faces  of  those  lost,  the  words  spoken,  it  all  felt  so  foreign  to  her.  she  hadn’t  grown  up  in  this  world,  hadn't  been  a  part  of  all  the  suffering  that  had  touched  so  many  here.  and  now,  with  her  protective  shields  finally  lowered,  cara  found  herself  standing  amidst  it  all,  wanting  to  know  and  understand. the  footsteps  behind  her  pulled  her  out  of  her  reverie,  but  before  she  could  step  aside,  she  felt  someone’s  heel  press  down  on  the  back  of  her  shoe. cara  glanced  over  her  shoulder,  her  hand  instinctively  brushing  off  the  area  where  her  shoe  had  been  stepped  on.  her  lips  pulled  into  a  slight,  rueful  smile  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  other  woman,  still  slightly  off-balance  from  her  own  moment  of  distraction. “no  harm  done.”  cara  responded,  her  tone  soft  but  warm,  not  quite  the  briskness  of  her  usual  self.  “it's  alright,  really.” she  paused  for  a  moment,  considering,  before  adding,  almost  quietly,  “i  suppose  we’re  all  a  bit  lost  in  our  own  thoughts  today.” cara's  voice  was  gentle,  like  she  was  speaking  more  to  herself  than  the  woman  who  had  stepped  on  her  shoe.  the  weight  of  the  event  hung  heavily  in  the  air,  and  cara  felt  it  weighing  on  her.  as  strange  as  it  felt  to  be  here,  she  knew  this  was  something  she  had  to  do.  she  needed  to  be  part  of  this,  even  if  she  couldn’t  yet  fully  understand  it.

“I’ll be better.” He repeats, perhaps he’ll believe it as well. Damien leans lightly on a bookshelf and pleads in his thoughts for it to not tip over. “Oh, definitely fate. Finally lost its patience and pushed us back together, I’d say.”

He laughs gently and nods. “Happily. Anything but fate, I beg of you.” He moves out of the way so she can go in front of him. “We could talk about the utterly random array of books you’ve picked out."

A grin tugged at her lips at his comment, her gaze drifting toward the modest stack of books she’d collected. “Utterly random?” she echoed, brows lifting as if scandalized. “I’ll have you know this is the result of years of deeply refined instinct and questionable taste.” She let the moment hang, a quiet laugh escaping as she stepped past him, leading the way toward the little tea counter tucked into the corner of the shop. “Though I’ll admit—fate might’ve had a hand in the one about soul bonds. I swear it leapt off the shelf at me.” Her glance tipped back toward him, warm and easy. “But you’re safe. For now.” A beat. “Unless you insult my book choices again— then all bets are off.”

Her next words settle and Damien feels this heaviness in his chest. For years, he has run from everything and anyone. Then he finds Cara and they're forced apart against his best efforts. "I was just starting to feel like it was getting lonely here." He admits. The unspoken, before you've arrived now, he allows to hang in the air. "They're...okay. They're okay now. I could be better I suppose, but alright all things considered."

Cara’s lips quirked slightly at his first remark, a quiet acknowledgment of the truth in it. “I guess some things don’t change,” she mused, letting her gaze drift over the bookshelves before settling back on him. But then he said it—I was just starting to feel like it was getting lonely here. And for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. The words hung between them, unspoken yet understood, and something in her softened. Her fingers traced absent patterns against the book’s worn cover. “I’m glad they’re okay,” she said first, because she knew that mattered. And you? She studied him, taking in the weight behind his words. “And you’ll be better,” she added, quieter but certain. A beat passed, and then—because she never was one to let the air grow too heavy—she let out a breath of something between a sigh and a small laugh. “Maybe we both just have impeccable timing.” She hesitated, then with a small, knowing smile, added, “Or maybe Fate knew something we simply didn’t—or couldn’t admit.” Her fingers finally released the book as she shifted slightly toward him. “Join me for a cup of tea? We can talk about books, or—” her lips twitched, playful now, “anything but fate, if you’d rather.”

Cara had been nursing a hot butterbeer, fingers curled around the warm mug as she let the rich, spiced scent rise with the steam. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the movement around her until the person beside her spoke, their voice cutting smoothly through the din of the Leaky Cauldron. She turned toward them, an easy smile tugging at her lips as she took them in. “More than I probably should,” she admitted, amusement threading through her tone. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen you here before.” Her gaze flickered to their nails as they tapped against the bar, the sharp edges catching the dim lighting. “Not a fan of butterbeer?” she guessed, arching a brow. She let the question linger before adding, “I’m Cara, by the way.” Because conversation was always easier with a name, and she’d never been one to turn down the chance to meet someone new.

Nisrine’s fingers traced the rim of her glass, the amber liquid inside catching the dim lighting of the pub. She hadn’t been paying much attention to the comings and goings of the room—not until a voice pulled her from her thoughts. Dark eyes flicked toward the source, taking in the person beside her. A smirk ghosted across her lips at their question. “Depends on who’s asking,” she mused, tipping her glass slightly in their direction before taking a sip. “But let’s say often enough.” Her gaze dropped briefly to the way their fingers tapped against the bar—pointed, precise. Interesting. She set her drink down, head tilting slightly as if appraising them. “And you? Passing through, or?” The words were light, teasing, but there was an edge of curiosity to them, an unspoken invitation for them to shape the narrative however they pleased.

"Were you hoping to find me a different day?" He asks, attempting a joke. He was nervous suddenly. His palms felt hot, it was embarrassing. "I didn't know you were coming back."

A soft laugh escaped her, quiet but genuine. "Maaaybe," she admitted, tilting her head slightly, her words dragging on as she considered the thought. "Or maybe I just liked the idea that when we finally ran into each other again, it’d be on our own terms. Not that I’m complaining." Her gaze flickered over him, something unreadable in her expression before she offered, just a little softer, "I’m happy to see you." His next words made her hesitate, fingers brushing idly against the cover of the book that still kept her hands occupied. "I didn’t know I was either," she admitted, huffing out something between amusement and thoughtfulness. "I stuck it out, finished my training, but… France was starting to feel a little lonely." She let the words settle before offering a small, almost self-aware smile. "Guess I figured it was time." She hesitated, a moment before continuing— part of her worried if she hadn't, their conversation might just fade away in the same light they had. "How's the family by the way— and you, how are you?"