A thin layer of frost lay like a sheet across the field outside the church, silvery under the afternoon sun. Bragi Holm apparated by the trees, overlooking this picturesque sight, the letter still clutched in his hand. He looked at the letter one more time, sighed, then folded it delicately into his coat pocket. The young fellow had recently received word that his grandmother had passed away back in Denmark... three weeks ago. His parents had not informed him, nor summoned him to the funeral, so not to disturb his "exciting new life and work in Great Britain". This had been almost as sore to read as the loss itself.

Having not really known what to do with himself today, other than cuddle his cat by the fire, Bragi had decided he needed a nice long walk and a change of scenery. And so he'd apparated to a place he'd never been to before, and yet stood quite nearby to Hogsmeade; the town of Irvingly. Aided by nothing but a watercolour painting he'd seen of the Church of St. Fergus, Bragi had ended up here... strolling through a cemetery. How dully fitting.

Bragi spent a while strolling silently between gravestones, his boots lightly crunching on the frost, reading names he didn't know, and wondering if they still had family that missed them.

Margaret Goyle