we're back again

When: Firefire Festival (Early) Where: Refreshment Stalls With: Open to all!

If there was one way to get Dirk out of his muggle attire, it was dressing up! He'd visited the body painting booths first thing and his vibrant green skin matched the bark, moss and flower decorations over his arms and torso and, thanks to calling in a favour with the centaurs, he had four very well behaved pixies floating around him.

Needless to say, he was delighted.

Delight that only green as he realised there was a green smoothie for sale. Buying one with a laugh, he began to drink and noticed one of his pixies had flown over to the next person and was dancing before their eyes.

"Don't mind them," he chuckled, grinning broadly, "They're just real excited to be out of the forest for the day." He brushed his fingers over another pixie who made a sound like tinkling bells and danced in response.

Peter: James, I think there’s a boggart in my wardrobe.

Peter: I’m really sorry to ask, but can you please get rid of it?

Peter: I… I don’t think I can.

Remus: James, how do you feel about me crashing with you for a bit? Remus: If I find one more not Peter rat in my flat I'll go mad

Why the employees of the Ministry had to flush themselves down toilets was completely beyond her. It was such a sought after job, and yet they literally flush themselves every morning. Absolutely disgusting, in her own opinion, and Marlene had done many disgusting things in her life. And the fact that at the end of the day they're expelled through those same public toilets? Even worse. She shuddered at the thought, but tried her best not to think about it as she stood near the entrance, a large soda cup in her hand, waiting for James.

Marlene paced back and forth, hoping he'd emerge soon. She was getting antsy and her soda was nearly empty. Finally spotting him, she gulped hard on her drink, causing her to choke slightly and cough quite dramatically. She wasn't really looking to cause a scene, and yet all eyes were on her. With an awkward smile to the small crowd she threw up a hand, "I'm okay." She said before running up to James and grabbing his arm, trying to drag him out quickly, "I wanted go see if you would play some quidditch with me but apparently I've just made everybody in this bathroom concerned for my well-being."

These days, Rabastan was spending far more time than desired at the Ministry. Every time he entered the building, it felt like walking into the den of the enemy; one that he dearly wished to send up in fiendfyre and brimstone. He desired war more than ever. To Rabastan, the peace that occupied the wixen world was nothing but a silent grace; it was the calm before the storm, the deceptive appearance of defeat. But his passion for the cause had only grown, and there were many others who felt the same. It was only a matter of time before they rose again. When they did, the world would not see them coming.

Today, for once, he was not here to meet with lawyers about Rodolphus. A more mundane purpose had occupied his time, keeping him in the Department of Magical Games & Sports for the best part of the morning. Something to do with storing foreign teams' artefacts in Gringotts vaults, with or without their curses - or something like that. Truly, he was not listening all that attentively. It seemed a rather lacklustre use of his time. So he was pleased when the discussions ended and he slipped away into a side room whereupon he proceeded to search for a stiff drink. These Ministry hags always had something stashed away in their desks.

Just as he pulled a half-drunk bottle of scotch from a cupboard, a look of self-satisfied glee glimmering his expression, the door opened and he turned to observe James Potter. "I suppose you've caught me," he said, acknowledging the theft. Then he opened the bottle and summoned a glass nonetheless. "Well, would you like some?"

But he had never imagined how much work and planning went into organising simple games. Let alone international games where cultures clashed yet needed to be respected and some laws were too outdated to make sense. Add to that language barrier and you had a recipe for a disaster on your hands. And not the kind that James used to thrive on.

This was why he needed to get out after a long and rather unsuccessful meeting concerning the magical artefacts one of the teams had brought into their country. He needed a moment for himself, a moment to breathe fully before he had to return and note down all the agreements and provide all the documents and think ahead of even the Head of his Department as that was apparently what a good assistant did. He had not been expecting to see someone in his chosen hiding space.

As he opened the door to the side room he immediately noticed Lestrange in there with a bottle in hand and he froze - hand still on a handle. It took him a second to take in his surroundings and remind himself that the war was over. But it was hard, especially with people that he would bet good money on being part of the enemy force. The war was over, though, so he forced himself to let go of the handle, painfully aware of each of his fingers as he did so and stepped fully into the room.

But seeing a familiar face, one of his favourite faces in fact, was more than enough to put him at ease and make at least some of his irritation go away. "McKinnon, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," he greeted with his usual grin as he pushed his wand back into his back pocket. "Didn't hear you calling to be honest. It's too loud up there, especially when you're trying to force your way through a crowd that goes in the opposite direction." He shook his head as he glanced at the masses still trying to push their way into the stairway. If that's what a semi-final looked like, he didn't want to think about the finals.

Somewhere in the crowds had the witch lost her friend and now was on her way back to their seats in hopes of finding the other. Emmeline had always been one to easily slip into the crowd, although in this instant it had been entirely accidental. Her eyes had scanned for minutes before giving up and deciding on the plan with to meet up at the seats. A small paper bird had been sent off through the air, hopefully having better luck at finding the other. Instead, the witch had chosen to use the time on her way back to browse the merchandise section. Rumors of a broom seller had made the rounds, and if there was something Emmeline was known for it was certainly her interest in that. Sadly, the broom seller had turned out to be anything but a good catch. The prices were ridiculous. It took one glance to know this wasn’t the shops owner, some mere assistant with an opinion too high and mighty. The former Slytherin rolled her eyes before stepping back, only to notice another individual seemingly interested in the brooms.