It was, Atticus thought, a relief that the Ministry of Magic was finally doing something about this insufferable fog, and more of a relief still that his sister had elected not to partake. He walked out of doors with a bit more confidence, thus, as the fog would—he was quite sure!—soon be brought to an end. A lantern flickered in his left hand as he made his way from the inn to the centre of the square, the bustling activity within having given him something of a headache.

Carefully, the muggle perched on the side of the fountain, setting the lantern to rest beside him. Its warm glow illuminated his immediate area, though even the relatively near-by inn was now all but invisible. He sat that way for several minutes, relishing the quiet that the fog had brought to the street. While it was rather tedious, as weather went, Atticus did not mind it as much as the magic-folk did. He supposed that was hardly surprising.

The inkeep found himself drawn from that line of thought by the sound of a splash several feet away, but still along the ledge of the fountain. Instinctively, he moved to his feet, holding his lantern up to reveal a felled woman in the "depths" (if they could be called that) of the gurgling fountain.

"Miss, are you alright?" Atticus asked, concern evident in his voice as he moved to be closer to her. The lantern created a dome of visibility about them.