Christabel had always appreciated the quiet room at the Crowdy Memorial Library, a sanctuary for thoughts and ideas to flow uninterrupted- since her return from the country she had taken to walking here each day and spending some time in the quiet room had proven to be rather good for her writing. She had already completed one novel and was rather a ways through another. It was an ideal place to craft intricate plots or delve into some obscure research item or other.

Upon entering, she had noticed a few other patrons already immersed in their work. The silence was comforting, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of her usual environments in Hogsmeade, Galway, and London - where either her friend set or family were a constant buzz of at best-spirited debate and at worst hostile arguments. She settled into a chair, smoothing her skirts, and began perusing the texts she had brought with her, while scribbling in her note book.

As the minutes ticked by, the soft, inaudible movements around the room barely registered in her consciousness. She was engrossed in a particularly fascinating account of a rather gruesome 17th-century murder when a subtle rattle broke her concentration. Chris looked up to see a young woman struggling with the door. The woman tugged at it again, her frustration evident despite the soundlessness of her actions. Chris's curiosity was piqued. She watched as another patron, a young man, barely acknowledged the woman's struggle before returning to his book with only a polite smile.

Then, yet another patron, a boy who seemed even younger, got up and approached the door to assist. One of her slender brows raised over the top of her book, the little drama by the door rather distracting.