Elias was walking without thinking – he knew the park and the surrounding streets of Hogsmeade well enough to let his mind and his eyes wander – so it was not until he was right beside her that he realised whose little split-bag disaster he had stumbled upon.

Still, he expected he could have deduced it, purely from the contents of the bag now littering the path; the paints and brushes made him think of one person in particular. And there she was. A little flustered today, maybe, but it was certainly Miss Crawley.

“Perfect? Are you sure?” Elias teased gently, as if he hadn’t heard the irony in the word. He gestured at the sprawling mess of things on the dirty, puddle-ridden ground, catching a potion bottle on the roll with his foot and leaning down briefly to set it upright before it could break open. “This doesn’t look like the easiest way to carry your things to me.”

Lest she think he had only stopped to joke about it – but Irene knew him well enough, she would forgive him that – Elias took a quick step sideways to reach into the puddle and fish out her splashed roll of canvas for her before the situation got any worse.

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