March 30th, 1888 - Magical Dock Just Outside London, England

There was a gravitational singularity at one of the magical docks by the Thames, which was, in shorthand, a Big Fucking Problem. Typically caused by the natural entropy of aging spells whose capacities had been stretched, Zelda had seen these before but had not yet been called in to deal with them. But with her office-mate for the day stuck handling fiendfyre in Wales - MA&C was really having a Day - Zelda was the only person immediately available to deal with it, and so she apparated from the Ministry of Magic to the dockfront with a crack!

She arrived. It was easy enough to spot the sailboat - while it was not unusual to see flying magical boats, this one was obviously in a bad way. It floated far above the dock and water from the river was streaming up towards it, as were ropes, sticks, and small objects. Zelda squinted to see wisps of cloud also flicking in to circle the sailboat. The boats near it were rocking awkwardly in the water as if they, too, would start floating aimlessly towards the other boat. (This was, of course, a possibility. Zelda made a mental note to keep her distance, for now.)

And there, also on the dock, was a skinny man with a wild mane of hair. Zelda's heart stuttered. "Mr. Darrow!" she yelled, trotting towards him in her purple Ministry robes. Her cheeks were pink. She hadn't seen him since he really kissed her, and she was once again reminded quite starkly of how she wanted very much to really kiss him again. Except she was at work, and that was how you got fired for being a whore. And if she ignored the boat long enough, it would start trying to suck up not only the people and the boats and docks around it, but also the buildings of muggle London.

So she settled for: "Please tell me that isn't your boat."

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