reckless abandoned.

The last few days had been spent in Venice, enjoying a break from city life with the intent of returning for the summer fayre. Celebrating the end of summer when someone like her preferred fall above all else did seem like a good occasion. That, and a desire to uphold the way she was viewed by the world around her. Those that knew, knew. As for the others, she'd gladly walking through the shadows with a smile on her face.

She kept her smile easy, bright with drink and the warmth of friendship, but the words lingered under her skin. She couldn’t picture herself a mother-- too young, too reckless, and with the war pressing in, it felt impossible anyway. After all she’d lost, the thought of building a family of her own was one she would never dare chase. But none of that touched her face as she lifted her bottle in toast. “To secrets. And to you, love."

The tea had gone cold again.

Madhuri blinked at the untouched cup beside her, the faint curl of steam long since vanished into the stale library air. She nudged it absently, watching the ripples on the surface tremble like startled pond water, then sighed and leaned back in her chair. A crumb from the half-eaten blueberry muffin balanced precariously on the edge of a page labeled “Kraken, Courtship Rituals: A Brief Overview”.

Brief. Hah. That chapter alone had taken her three weeks, four field expeditions, and one mildly traumatic encounter with a lovesick cobra lily.

Her fingers smudged a line of ink as she scribbled into the margin of her notes -- “Possible link between doxy migration and lunar eclipse patterns? Cross-reference with up north/Scandinavian maps.” The library’s candlelight flickered overhead, catching the green shimmer of a pressed leaf tucked between the pages of an older journal. One she’d borrowed from a traveling historian with more confidence than sense.

Somewhere far off, a door creaked. Then silence.

She frowned, reaching for her tea out of habit -- still cold, of course -- and stood, brushing crumbs off her tunic. The parchment on her desk rustled faintly as if in warning. Or was that the breeze again?

No breeze. She wasn’t alone.

Madhuri wrapped her hands around her book and lifted it above her head as though it would protect her. That's when ...

Agatha nearly bumped into a young witch hurrying in the opposite direction, her stack of papers tilting dangerously. “Oh! My apologies,” she said quickly, regaining her balance, her cheeks warming slightly. She offered a polite smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I don’t believe we’ve met—Agatha Selwyn,” she said smoothly, her tone courteous, almost inquisitive.

Malcolm didn't like to do promotion but it was part of the bigger picture and he was willing to market Cachette like it was meant to. They weren't done with it quite yet as there had been some hurdles in the way, but they were getting closer to an opening date which meant putting it on people's radars. "La Cachette, remember that name," Malcolm said as his friendly house elf handed out flyers for a save-the-date. "It'll be the best place you've ever been to in only a few weeks."

The End of Summer Fayre was loud in all the right ways — chatter, laughter, the crackle of fireworks in the distance. Marlene hadn’t expected to enjoy it, not really. She hadn’t expected to feel much of anything, if she was honest. And yet here she was, bottle already in hand, a flicker of lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in too long.

Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the night. Maybe it was just easier to let herself sink into the noise and pretend that tomorrow wasn’t waiting for her. Whatever it was, she decided not to question it — just to hold on to the rare good mood for as long as it would last.

She leaned against a wooden post near one of the food stalls, legs bare under a short dress, her boots scuffed from the cobblestones. A crooked grin tugged at her lips as she tilted the bottle in greeting at whoever drew close. “Tell me a secret and I’ll let you steal a sip. That’s the price of admission.” The witch teased, an open invitation to whatever the day might bring her way.

There was a lot of nostalgia in the air, but also sweets that were caked in sugar, beer sticking to the rims of people's glasses, and the sound of fun laughter. Mary was also happy that it was a great day to do some on-the-ground reporting with a mix of alumni and the community. "Excuse me, I'm here with the Daily Prophet today. Mind answering a couple of questions?"

Alice had a hard time leaving the house for too long without Neville, getting anxious when he wasn't in front of her and she could physically tell that he was fine. He was one month old now, strapped to her chest in a baby carrier as she walked around the festival. She was excited to be getting out the house, looking forward to see her friends. Seeing someone she recognised she smiled, walking over to them, taking Neville's little hand that was wrapped around her finger moving it as if he was waving to them. "Hi. It's good to see you."