Things were more or less back to normal for Tycho Dodonus. At least as normal as it got when you had strange lapses in memory and kept dreaming about a man you were sure you had never met. He had seen this Fortitude Greengrass from afar since then. His chest had throbbed at the sight of him but he was still sure they had not met. Besides the man was married and did not seem to be within his usual social crowd that such things would not wholly matter.

And so the dreams persisted but Tycho had come to enjoy them despite the sore ache in his chest whenever he woke from them. Like his heart was breaking. It fueled his poetry, at least. He'd penned enough for a small book of poetry titled For My Brown Eyes which he'd had published after making sure nothing outright pointed to whom some of these poems were about. You know, besides the fact they had brown eyes.

As he strolled into the Whizzhards portion of the festival, he saw some copies of his book on one of the shelves. He was not usually one to feel shyness but he still felt a small flush of pride arrive in his cheeks. He turned his attention to the ghostly bard. "Have I missed much?" He asked in a whisper to someone nearby.