#non-event thread

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips as she tossed the paper onto the table in the tearoom, headline up for anyone who might walk past to read. ‘Nathaniel Wilkinson: A Messy Affair’. And a messy affair it had been - never mind the mess that had been left behind after his unfortunate car accident while he left his muggle lover’s home. A dreadful mess indeed, and one of her favourite dresses had been ruined. Lighting a cigarette, Sofia’s eyes flickered up as she spotted someone ogling her from across the room.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? And to stare at a woman embroiled in grief as well....che sconsiderato.”

Their usual haunt was particularly busy that morning, a buzz of noise that seemed to reach the ceiling. As soon as she stepped in, the waiters greeted her with a smile and led her back to the private booth that was hired exclusively for her brunch with Gilderoy. With money came status, and with status came power. Power afforded luxuries such as this - a private booth in an establishment where the line was snaking out of the door. She could never give this up, not now she had a taste for what pure-blooded life could truly be like. The upper echelons of wizarding society were far more enticing here than they ever had been in Italy. 

Dressed all in black with a black birdcage veil atop her head, hands covered by black lace gloves, Sofia was ever the picture of tragedy. Still dripping with jewellery and make up that was applied so precisely, and yet a woman who looked ever the picture of a grieving widow. A woman who’s love life was marred with such sadness. Nathaniel had died just days ago and this was her first trip out into public since then. She couldn’t miss her brunch appointment, no matter what. There was nothing more important than friendship, she supposed. Especially in a world where every man she married seemed to tragically die. Friends were all she had. And there was no other friend quite like Gilderoy.

Gilderoy who had introduced her to Nathaniel.

If he wasn’t such a shitty husband, she might have felt some semblance of guilt for ridding the world of Nathaniel. And yet here she was to face her friend, four days after Nathaniel died, with a mimosa in one hand and a cigarette in the other. As her friend approached their booth, Sofia looked up at him with a tight smile. “Gilderoy. It is good to see you, amico, so soon after our shared tragedy. I would have ordered you a mimosa, but I wasn’t sure whether you might want something a bit stronger. We do have to toast to Nathaniel, poveretto.”

where: random apartment building a few miles from aurora bay

cricket: [2:10 AM] shared location cricket: [2:11 AM] defcon 1 cricket: [2:11 AM] pls send backup

She'd stolen a granola bar on her way out for her troubles, which Cricket thought was more than fair.

She should've stolen two, really, for what she'd just experienced in there (and oh, was it an experience), and had half a mind to turn around and go back for another when the bright flash of headlights caught her eye. Though temporarily blinded, she took a step closer to the curb anyways; she'd been standing out there the last fifteen minutes and the street had been all but deserted, so she felt confident that the approaching vehicle belonged to her getaway car and it's blonde driver she'd sent out a 911 text and her location to.

(Not that it needed proving, but it just went to show that Lorelai was the better roommate for coming to get her. Their other roomie would've pretended to not know who Cricket was and make her pay for an Uber--an Uber, with these surge rates, in this economy? Truly villainous.)

"Oh my God, Lor," she was speaking even before she yanked open the passenger door, whispering as if Brandon (Brandon? Brandon) would be able to hear her from where he was sleeping on the fifth floor, "do I have a fucking story for--Lucky?"

Only as she settled into her seat did she realize that the man sat next to her was very much not who she was expecting to be behind the wheel...of what must've been his car...what are the odds he just happened to be around?

"Sorry, are you, like, super psychic or something? How'd you just randomly find me?"

It was becoming an all too familiar situation. 

One dead husband later, and Sofia was expecting a visit from the aurors office. After the death of Christopher, Kingsley had shown up far too quickly for it to be a randomly assigned case. More likely that any cases that involved the name Zabini automatically ended up on his desk....and so a new plan had hatched within her mind. Her marriage to Nathaniel had been swift - a smaller wedding than the other three, and he had been involved in a tragic accident far sooner than the others. She had put up with Christopher’s shit for far too long, and as soon as she’d realised it was likely Nathaniel might go the same way when he got bored of his new wife, a small confundus charm to a passing driver was all she’d needed.

A relatively boring death, all things considered. 

The car hadn’t hit him hard enough to kill him out right, but Sofia had watched as he bled out and then obliviated the driver and a passing cyclist who had stopped to help before making a call to St Mungoes. An anonymous tip. 

Unfortunately, it appeared the circumstances were still suspicious enough to warrant a visit. The newspapers had covered his affair in detail after Skeeter figured out why he would’ve been in that area of muggle London, and mixing that with two ‘witnesses’ that no longer witnessed anything at all, Nathaniel’s death had been labelled ‘suspicious’.

She’d taken her pick of black dresses from the wardrobe, choosing one with a plunging neckline and a lot of lace. Face painted perfectly, Sofia had settled in with a glass of wine and a cigarette when a firm knock sounded on the front door. A house elf appeared in the sitting room to announce ‘Kingsley Shacklebolt, Madame.’ “Bring him here.”

A moment later she heard a pair of footsteps heading towards the living room and Sofia stood, a second glass of wine in hand. “Good evening Kings. Wine? Auror work must be hard, never getting an evening off to relax...the wicked never rest, so it seems.”