Where: Ronanâs art gallery When: 23rd April, early hours Who: Melaina && @ronanrussoâ
There were some shifts after which returning home immediately just werenât possible, even when it was the sort of hour of the day nobody should be wandering around the streets. It wasnât all miraculous recoveries and watching families be reunited in the hospital, however. There were people whose prognosis wasnât so pleasant and scenes that werenât so easy to watch and at the end of a night filled with such moments, the last thing Melaina wanted to do was to go home to a house filled with ghosts. Not actual spirits, but the haunted memories of life. The hollow reminder that her father wasnât there, because he was at this point in Azkaban. Only her and her baby and the house-elves who were currently watching over him or preparing her a meal so that she could eat when she got home, or catching up on their own sleep.
It was too much, to think of going back there immediately so instead she wandered, hugging her cloak around her body and keeping her hood up simply to stop anybody from bothering her. A light caught her eye, movement, the signs of life, and as she drew closer she saw colours and pictures. Art. She was so engrossed with one piece of work that she could see through the window that she almost didnât notice that she was no longer alone but she looked over towards the door of the place and tried to ignore the late hour in favour of greeting the man. âHello. This is beautiful. Is it yours?â
