The docks were an odd place for the bookshop owner to find himself, particularly when it wasn't the time of year for his travels. He wasn't brave enough to find himself further than France or Ireland while the snows continued to prove themselves to be unpredictable. The flakes that now fell and collected in his beard seemed to prove his point. The skies had been clear in Hogsmeade.

No, he was braving the elements for a different purpose.

Zach was sure his staff were starting to become suspicious. After all, it was the second time this week that he had insisted he needed to pick up a shipment himself due to supposed "fragile" or "volatile" books. When he returned with ordinary novels, he had weakly jabbered on about delays. He was a terrible liar, even on a good day.

After wandering about Diagon Alley, he had found himself yet again loitering at the magical docks. It had been five days since he had last seen or spoken to Jo. Five days since he'd had even an inkling about her whereabouts. They'd tiptoed around for so long that he'd been waiting for an explosion. He hadn't anticipated that she would just disappear.

He was worried. For a week, Jo had appeared less and less. Every meeting had been tense. Jo had seemed off, spiraling into a mood he could scarcely understand. A day without a word from her had him on edge, but it wasn't until the second and third day crept by that he first visited the docks. Jo had spoken about leaving. Perhaps, she wished to follow through.

If she truly wished to go, Zach wasn't sure he had it in him to stop her. She was meant to wander. How could he have been so misguided to hope she might want to spend some of the time between her adventures with a stodgy, old bookseller?

She was probably already gone.

But was she well enough to go?

All he wished was for her health and happiness, and it seemed he was inept at providing either.

With pursed lips, Zach turned to go, a crate tucked under one arm. A pair of sailors strode by, and he barely gave them a glance. He had given up on searching the coming and going crowds for a woman with striking eyes. In fact, he might have wandered past Jo if she hadn't been right in her path.

It was with tired eyes that he looked up, his face quickly morphing between surprise, relief, and then a resigned sort of sadness. Her presence at the docks with her trunk meant only one thing.

"Jo," he forced himself to say, voice somewhat rough, but the tenderness was still there. "Where to, then?"