#smokeopen

Adelaide stood still, watching people rush through Diagon Alley. It was interesting, she thought. Today was a day irreparably seared into her mind, but watching others walk around, shopping and laughing, it was clear that they had all but forgotten. Perhaps the Prophet would run a little memorial story, and that would jog their memories, but by and large, the Diagon Alley attack was in the past, ancient history.

“I’m not actually objecting to sleeping with someone, but I’d rather not live with them, you know?” he complained, swirling his sugary, extra-caffeinated coffee so that the extra tablespoon of maple syrup he’d just added would properly melt. “And so far all of my prospective roommates have either vanished the minute they figure out I’m veela, or immediately dropped their trousers. Not to mention that I haven’t even closed on a place yet. How is it that there’s a war on and my biggest problem right now is this?”

“Some people may dream of being able to relive their years at Hogwarts, but I don’t recommend it.” Chances were, they didn’t consider what it would be like to be treated as children again and Valentina didn’t care for it in the least. She was glad to be back at work, to feel like she was doing something useful other than standing around waiting to intimidate students that dared stick gum on the underside of a desk. “Although I’m not sure if attending Church’s trial counts as working. I’m supposed to be a witness tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, you’re not the only one that needs a drink or three after all the trouble that’s going around lately.” Patrick said as he topped off the glass sitting on the bar, barely avoiding spilling it before leaning his elbow on the flat surface. The wood needed to be redone, it was one item on his very long list of projects in order to bring the pub up to its potential glory, but Patrick was mostly grateful that he hadn’t put in a lot of repairs only for the place to end up trashed in the riots.

Zara strode around Borgin and Burke’s, looking for nothing in particular. Sometimes she would come into the shop to offload an item from a job that she either collected by happenstance when hunting for another item or if the person who hired her for the job decided afterwards that they no longer wanted to pay. Today, though, she was simply looking around.

When he was little Alastor Moody often wondered who he was, at the end of the day. He knew what a Moody was, and the legacy that held. He knew what was expected of him, and he knew the pain that was written into his bones like an ending that was there from the beginning. The last refrain of a song, before the rest of it was sung. 

Luka had been on a walk through Diagon Alley, when all of a sudden there was a loud piercing sound that filled the air. He didn’t know what it was, until he heard another crash near him. Rocks. Someone was throwing Rocks. 

“I’m thinking maybe I should have a side business in real estate. Maybe that would stress Remus out less than me arguing with people for a living.” Zephyr said as he stared contemplatively at the front door, trying to decide if it should be painted and, if so, what color. While there wasn’t anything wrong with the loft he and Remus had moved into, Zephyr still kept his eye out for little projects that he could do for a way to customize it for them and make it feel unique for them and like home, but it was hardly as big of an issue as it had been at their last place. “I made a nice profit selling off our old house compared to what I bought it for, and I’m pretty sure Delilah could get me in touch with some people if I wanted. With the war going on, I bet there are plenty of places that could do with being fixed up and flipped. Could be a new hobby.”