26 February, 1895 — Diagon Alley
Ezra had been having an interesting few months. The candy from New Year had been benign by the standards of the investigation department, but while he was under its influence it had certainly been disruptive to his life — he'd spent two weeks thinking he was cursed or going crazy, or both. The incident at work from the end of January and seen him entangled with a healer far more closely than anyone would have liked, and that had taken weeks to sort out. And then the mysterious watercolor, allegedly painted of his soul mate. It was wrong, he knew that. Probably just an odd prank. It was still strange, and following on the heels of a year full of strange occurrences it had weighed on his mind more heavily than it might have at another time.
The streets of Diagon Alley were full of slush today, remnants of the last snowfall that had partially melted, frozen over again, mixed with the dirt and grime of the street, and become something thoroughly unpleasant. Compared to some of the freak blizzards they'd suffered in years past Ezra knew he couldn't complain, but he was still rushing to finish his errands and get back to the nearest floo. Most other people had the same idea; everyone was bundled up against the cold and bustling by as fast as was safe on the patchwork of cobblestones with ice clinging in the cracks.
Ahead of him someone opened a window on a second floor, probably a shopkeepers residence above their place of employment. The motion dislodged some of the icy snow remaining on the roof, which began to slide down towards the street as a single smooth grey mass. Ezra was clear of it, but the woman in front of him wouldn't be.
"Protego," he called. His wand had already been in his outside jacket pocket but still he only just managed to get it out in time. His wand motion was sloppy and he feared he hadn't saved her from all of it, in the end, though he evidently had prevented at least the bulk of it from hitting her over the head. With the size and weight of it, it might have knocked her out if he hadn't intervened. He stepped forward, over the mountain of snow that had just fallen off the edges of his shield charm. "Are you alr—" he started, then stopped abruptly when he got a look at her face. It was, unmistakably, the woman he'd received a watercolor of earlier that month.
"— alright," he said after an entirely egregious pause. He cleared his throat. "Are you alright?"
Open to a woman Ezra doesn't already know well. Theoretical loose connections like Hogwarts overlap are fine. Not necessarily hurling, but it could be!
The streets of Diagon Alley were full of slush today, remnants of the last snowfall that had partially melted, frozen over again, mixed with the dirt and grime of the street, and become something thoroughly unpleasant. Compared to some of the freak blizzards they'd suffered in years past Ezra knew he couldn't complain, but he was still rushing to finish his errands and get back to the nearest floo. Most other people had the same idea; everyone was bundled up against the cold and bustling by as fast as was safe on the patchwork of cobblestones with ice clinging in the cracks.
Ahead of him someone opened a window on a second floor, probably a shopkeepers residence above their place of employment. The motion dislodged some of the icy snow remaining on the roof, which began to slide down towards the street as a single smooth grey mass. Ezra was clear of it, but the woman in front of him wouldn't be.
"Protego," he called. His wand had already been in his outside jacket pocket but still he only just managed to get it out in time. His wand motion was sloppy and he feared he hadn't saved her from all of it, in the end, though he evidently had prevented at least the bulk of it from hitting her over the head. With the size and weight of it, it might have knocked her out if he hadn't intervened. He stepped forward, over the mountain of snow that had just fallen off the edges of his shield charm. "Are you alr—" he started, then stopped abruptly when he got a look at her face. It was, unmistakably, the woman he'd received a watercolor of earlier that month.
"— alright," he said after an entirely egregious pause. He cleared his throat. "Are you alright?"
![[Image: 5WWaDR1.png]](https://i.imgur.com/5WWaDR1.png)