Ida hated to be back in Hogsmeade - and hated that she hated it.
The town had so many happy memories for her: Hogsmeade weekends with the girls, teatimes, so many friends lived here, High Street had her favorite bookshop. But just across the street there sat the edge of Padmore Park, and even in the bright light of day – she couldn’t shake it. The visions of what happened that horrific night of Silas’ murder never faded out of her mind’s eye. So— she opted to stay as physically far from the park as possible. This limited her visits to Hogsmeade to the days she spent at Flint, or whenever it was absolutely necessary.
Today was the latter: Ida received notice from the associate at Dervish & Banges that her item’s repair was finished. The note came in late, when Ida was already on her way to the Flint Institute Floo. Expecting her prompt return to the Dashwood’s in London like usual, her chaperone at the institute already took her leave for the afternoon. Ida frowned at the slip of paper in her hands, making mental trade-offs between retrieving it now or later.
“Drat,” she cursed quietly. Generally she wouldn’t care much about this inane detail like having a chaperone - a young woman of the middle class hardly had many worries compared to the scrutiny leveled against most of her friends. Given recent events though, she was mortified to have attracted even the vaguest amount of interest from the ton. Speculation, maybe, over what this strange unknown girl could possibly offer – especially to have caught the slightest interest of the younger Prewett.
“This is stupid,” she announced to no one but herself in the now-empty classroom, and dropped her hands from her face. Why worry about this so much? It’s not as though she was up to anything actually risky, nor did she particularly care what any of these people thought (the elite – try as she might, welcoming as her friends were, she would never really be like them would she?).
Today would be a busy day at Hogsmeade – busy enough that she can slip in and out unnoticed, probably, and head straight home before getting uncomfortably close to the park. That’s all.
About an hour later, Ida turned out of Dervish & Bangs stuffing a small parcel into her satchel. She was quite pleased - and the repair was less costly than she imagined. And proudly, it was with her own money that she made this type of ‘big girl’ purchase – on the cheap she thinks, to have started with something others thought were broken beyond repair.
“Ah!” she started from her train of thought with a fright, and whirled around on her heels towards the assailant. Not an unknown one, because the second she heard his voice she knew exactly who was at fault. “Cliff, what the hell!” she nearly scolded. He scared the daylights out of her. But a harrowing look soon simmered into plain exasperation as he ducked behind her, like she was some kind of human shield. Her wand might be made out of the same wood possessed by martyrs, but she wasn’t about to fall on her sword for the likes of a dog.
Though, she did glance around for an angry old man.
Seeing none, “What kind of candle? What kind of criminal activity are you all wrapped in now?” The woman started to forge ahead onto the sidewalk of Main Street, guessing that he might fall in step rather than stay exposed hunkered down like a lunatic. She knew him to be a man perpetually on the run from police, after all, so he should be quick on his feet.
The town had so many happy memories for her: Hogsmeade weekends with the girls, teatimes, so many friends lived here, High Street had her favorite bookshop. But just across the street there sat the edge of Padmore Park, and even in the bright light of day – she couldn’t shake it. The visions of what happened that horrific night of Silas’ murder never faded out of her mind’s eye. So— she opted to stay as physically far from the park as possible. This limited her visits to Hogsmeade to the days she spent at Flint, or whenever it was absolutely necessary.
Today was the latter: Ida received notice from the associate at Dervish & Banges that her item’s repair was finished. The note came in late, when Ida was already on her way to the Flint Institute Floo. Expecting her prompt return to the Dashwood’s in London like usual, her chaperone at the institute already took her leave for the afternoon. Ida frowned at the slip of paper in her hands, making mental trade-offs between retrieving it now or later.
“Drat,” she cursed quietly. Generally she wouldn’t care much about this inane detail like having a chaperone - a young woman of the middle class hardly had many worries compared to the scrutiny leveled against most of her friends. Given recent events though, she was mortified to have attracted even the vaguest amount of interest from the ton. Speculation, maybe, over what this strange unknown girl could possibly offer – especially to have caught the slightest interest of the younger Prewett.
“This is stupid,” she announced to no one but herself in the now-empty classroom, and dropped her hands from her face. Why worry about this so much? It’s not as though she was up to anything actually risky, nor did she particularly care what any of these people thought (the elite – try as she might, welcoming as her friends were, she would never really be like them would she?).
Today would be a busy day at Hogsmeade – busy enough that she can slip in and out unnoticed, probably, and head straight home before getting uncomfortably close to the park. That’s all.
About an hour later, Ida turned out of Dervish & Bangs stuffing a small parcel into her satchel. She was quite pleased - and the repair was less costly than she imagined. And proudly, it was with her own money that she made this type of ‘big girl’ purchase – on the cheap she thinks, to have started with something others thought were broken beyond repair.
“Ah!” she started from her train of thought with a fright, and whirled around on her heels towards the assailant. Not an unknown one, because the second she heard his voice she knew exactly who was at fault. “Cliff, what the hell!” she nearly scolded. He scared the daylights out of her. But a harrowing look soon simmered into plain exasperation as he ducked behind her, like she was some kind of human shield. Her wand might be made out of the same wood possessed by martyrs, but she wasn’t about to fall on her sword for the likes of a dog.
Though, she did glance around for an angry old man.
Seeing none, “What kind of candle? What kind of criminal activity are you all wrapped in now?” The woman started to forge ahead onto the sidewalk of Main Street, guessing that he might fall in step rather than stay exposed hunkered down like a lunatic. She knew him to be a man perpetually on the run from police, after all, so he should be quick on his feet.
![[Image: 5jMCu3I.png]](https://i.imgur.com/5jMCu3I.png)
stefanie made this beautiful set <3