* noxtms / STARTERS !

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.

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.

" happy birthday, bug. " a small cupcake rests in the centre of the circular table, a gawdy pink and green candle is precariously balanced atop a fondant ladybird with a flickering flame; an atlas moth kite sits propped up against the leg of the table between two pairs of legs with a hastily tied bow holding it together. a smile brightens moira's tired features as she looks across at her seven year old. today was basil's birthday. with an over-exaggerated big breath in, basil blows out the candle with a quiet little hurrah from nearby patrons, his rounded cheeks pulled up into a bright grin - cheeky boy. " i'll get us both a butterbeer as a treat, hm ? "

the late afternoon light stretches long shadows across the cobblestones of diagon alley. lisa walks around with no real purpose, hands tucked deep into the warmth of her coat, the familiar hum of the street washing over her. she used to come here with intent, with lists, with plans. now, she just wanders, a little aimless in her steps. she slows in front of a window display, gaze settling on the robes displayed behind the glass. the laces and the satins catching her fancy for a brief moment. her breath fogs the window, a momentary veil before movement shifts in the reflection. she turns, meeting the other's gaze. “nice to see you here. anything in particular you’re looking for here?” her voice is softer now. “or just searching for something you haven’t named yet like me?”

The air in Hogsmeade carried the crisp bite of early autumn, the scent of warm butterbeer and freshly baked pastries drifting through the streets. Cara pulled her cloak a little tighter around herself as she stepped out of Honeydukes, a small bag of sweets crinkling in her grasp. She hadn’t planned on stopping in, but old habits were hard to break, and a bit of sugar never hurt. She lingered just outside the shop, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she glanced around. The village was alive with its usual weekend bustle—students laughing over steaming cups of tea, shopkeepers calling out their latest wares. It was the kind of energy that made her feel a little less like a stranger, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what had drawn her here today. Pulling a sugar quill from her bag, she twirled it between her fingers before flashing an easy smile at someone who stood nearby. “There’s just something about magical sweets, isn’t there? Sweeter than anything you’ll find anywhere else.” She tapped the quill against her palm, considering. “Or maybe that’s just nostalgia talking.” she hummed thoughtfully before extending the bag in their direction. “Care for one?”

Nisrine sat at the bar, the soft clink of glassware and quiet hum of conversation in the background as she took a slow sip from her drink. She'd arrived early to meet her aunt for drinks— besides, it gave her a chance to savor the quiet before the evening's inevitable energy kicked in. She glanced at the clock on the wall, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. It wasn’t unusual for her aunt to be late, but Nisrine couldn’t help but smile to herself, wondering how many more minutes she'd have to kill before that familiar face appeared. The door opened, and a figure slid onto the stool beside her. Nisrine turned, the corners of her lips curving upward. "Was starting to think you'd forgotten about our little drink," she said, only to blink, her smile faltering slightly. "Oh, you're not—" She paused, raising an eyebrow, as her gaze shifted, trying to place the person next to her.

events with her family were not part of her favorite past time, sure she was well practiced in it but she did not choose to begin splitting her time between worlds solely to please her fawley family. so, instead of arriving with her family as a whole like they intended, nisrine opted to arrive separately. even with all that considered, she would be lying if she’d voiced any distaste for this event — she hasn’t, of course and would save said words for the special couple to hear personally, if she had any. instead, she plans to observe and enjoy as much as she can — they do have a free bar, right?

just like that, the universe had answered her silent question, with a small turn of her chin — there it was. . the bar. her eyes lit up, her smile matching as brims etched upward at the sight. perfectly manicured digits drummed lightly against the bar top. ‘ espresso martini, please. ’

open starter, anyone is welcome to reply!

if anyone were to ask him why he was here, ron wouldn’t be able to come up with an answer. he’d likely fumble over his words and his cheeks and ears would tinge red with embarrassment. he had no reason to shop for a new broomstick. it wasn’t like flying was a hobby of his, and he hadn’t played a proper quidditch game in ages. plus, he had his old broom stuffed in his closet at his flat. ron used to have harry’s as well, but he gave that back to his friend after he returned from the dead. still, he had been strolling down diagon ally’s streets, and seeing brigg’s brooms brought back so many memories.

All Damien could focus on was the gentle tapping of his fingers on the bookshelf. He was looking for a book in particular, one for research, yet he completely forgot it. Physically he was there, mentally he was a million miles away. His eyes had a thousand yard stare until he managed to feel the presence of someone around him.

"Don't bother." He says after collecting himself. "It's all shit picks here, anyway."