London had become home for her, and in more ways than one. Irene thought that moving there, leaving Hogsmeade behind would leave as many marks on her as leaving for Italy had. But instead she’d found community; family. Every day she took a different path to work. Sometimes it would be by floo, and other times by broom. And some days, if she felt the urge, she would walk. Stopping by The Ivy Leaf in Diagon Alley to grab a pastry had been a habit she was all too happy to pick back up; it helped that Miss Edgecombe and Miss Tuttle were occasionally there with funny stories about their latest baking antics to put her in a good mood.

She’d just left the bakery taking bites of the raspberry pastry she’d just purchased when her shoe nudged something, making it skitter a few yards away. Pausing, Irene hurried to pick it up before another person kicked it even further. It looked familiar to her; well taken care of, and for some reason she had the image of this very wand moving before her very eyes. Blinking, Irene pocketed her pastry before moving towards the direction the wand had come.

Was it possible he was here? She picked up her pace, hurrying into the alley where she found him. Hunched over, expression twisted with pain.

“Mr. Iago,” She murmured, approaching him, her arm outstretched. “Mr. Iago, are you alright?”

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