#impstarter

aparatara diretamente no beco, a ansiedade a impedia de prosseguir com a caminhada religiosa e discreta a caminho do trabalho, ainda mais sabendo o que estava por vir e o que fora acordado entre os demais comércios. havia encontrado com george weasley pessoalmente para ajudá-lo com as “pretensões românticas” da WWW, e não via a hora de visualizar o resultado de tudo aquilo. ao surgir, o ambiente a envolveu de imediato. o beco parecia um outro lugar, a decoração dos estabelecimento e das lojas gerava um efeito caledoiscopico de uma paleta de cores vivaz, e o aroma...

os lábios delinearam o deleite exorbitante num sorriso, tentava observar todos os cantinhos do espaço ao mesmo tempo, e aquele era um dos únicos dias que não se importava em saber involuntariamente o que todas aquelas pessoas pensavam. os supressores ficaram em casa... assim como sua bolsa. “droga! accio.” retirou a varinha, de prontidão, fazendo com que os objetos que havia esquecido surgissem em seus braços, o mais importante deles era um cestinho dourado e adornado, pequeno, mas o que parecia modesto a primeira vista podia conter mais de uma cartinha para cada indivíduo presente.

chegara a doces de mel em poucos minutos, a multidão já se aglomerava nos espaços estreitos da loja. assumira sua posição de prontidão, organizando pedidos e distribuindo sorrisos. esbarrara com um cliente de supetão e, por alguns segundos, pareceu conhecer a figura. “wow, you look amazing! vai galantear alguém hoje?”

a neve acumulava-se nos fios prateados da cabeça como uma coroa de louros, e ela apertava o casaco de falsa pele ao peito com resiliência. não prestava atenção em muita coisa a seu redor, senão a lista de tarefas para quando atravessasse o beco diagonal naquele dia e talvez fosse isso que tornara a cena ainda mais caricata: um efeito dominó de cartas formando-se em mãos alheias aleatórias a fez esticar o pescoço e olhar para todas as direções possíveis como um felino.

alongou os dedos e estendeu o palmo logo rente e frente aos olhos, observando o floco dissolver-se e mutar no ar, no entanto, o semblante risonho de ansiedade por algo incitante dissolveu-se tal como os flocos no ar.

olhou de soslaio para a figura indistinta ao lado, antes de comentar aos maus ventos:

“What?”

Morgan arrived at the street promptly at 7:55 a.m., dressed in the most inconspicuous Muggle clothing she had been able to find: a denim jacket over a pale green button-down and khaki trousers. Her wand was tucked away inside a special internal jacket pocket. She hung back from the scene for a moment, wanting to wait and arrive exactly on time, spending the meantime surveying it in dismay.

Chaos reigned. It seemed as if the Muggle gawkers and reporters had dissipated, which was a nice change from her last crime scene, but there were plenty of passersby and people in official jackets picking through the rubble, and even the physical situation was in turmoil. Chunks of stone and plastic littered the block and there was a thick, white dust over everything in sight.

She spotted what she assumed to be the Aurors working security and bit back a jealous sigh. If only she were working more closely with them! Oh, well. She had to pay her dues in the other fields too, she had known that when she had chosen this internship.

Her watch struck 8:00 with a slight shower of glitter and she winced, pulling the sun-and-moon design back under her sleeve. She had forgotten about the gift's less-than-Muggle qualities. Hopefully no one had noticed.

Morgan made her way into the area, looking around with interest and not at all minding (in fact, barely noticing) when the dust naturally worked its way into her shoes and up her trousers as she walked.

"You must be an intern," said a woman holding a clipboard. She was unfamiliar, with short black hair and a strongly commanding presence. She was not Hobart Keckilpenny.

He had said he was going to be at the Ministry, after all. "Morgan Greenwell," she answered, offering a handshake, but the woman didn't even look up.

"Your gear's in that bag over there," she informed her with a gesture towards a yellow plastic bag leaning against the side of a nearby building. "I'm to remind you to report all evidence to an adult and not to use magic under any circumstances within a five-block radius." The woman's voice lowered as she said magic and Morgan glanced around again, wondering how many of the passersby were wixen. "Understood?"

The tips of Morgan's ears were burning from the word 'adult.' But she put on her best I'm-a-quick-learner face and nodded.

"Good. Get to work. We'll be in this area until the job's done, so let me know when you have to be getting back so I can replace you."

Morgan made her way over to the bag and picked through it in distaste. Blue plastic gloves, three disposable face masks, rags, and cleaning fluid. A broom lay balanced against the edifice and she looked it over with a sigh. She doubted it was going to be charmed the way Daphne had done the broom back at the manor.

In for a penny, she thought, and snapped the elastic on the topmost face mask behind her ears. Slipping on a pair of gloves, she grabbed the broom and made her way over to the center of the street, where she began herding the dust in the direction of the largest dust pile.