The wizarding world was as perpetually strange to Djura as a forest would be to a dolphin. Everyone who walked this higgledy-piggledy street, friend or foe, was a stranger to him — and thus he had shrugged off the nagging familiarity that the victim of the pickpocket was someone he knew. These soggy cobbles were a world away from the grand houses of England, where both adults present had met before.

Djura turned dark eyes to her wand. The wife of the Earl of Adinbury was... a witch.

"Countess..." he responded slowly, respect but uncertainty in his deep voice. So she had met with him in the past, all the while concealing this grand secret. She was too young to have met Djura's wife, Baroness Calliope, but if she had perhaps she would've been able to use "magic" to save her life. The thought threatened resentment.

"The boy picked his mark well, then", he observed, looking down at the pickpocket whose arm remained in Djura's grasp. Sure enough, the lad wasn't quick enough to wipe away his expression of self-satisfaction that he'd stolen from a Countess.