3rd October, 1890 — The Hog’s Head
Leila could have sworn she’d imagined the glimmer of bluish light in one of the dingy rooms upstairs at the inn, just some strange reflection through the window. But the sky was grey and darkening outside, not blue, so she knelt down and peered under the bed.
Her fingers teased it out with some trepidation. It was a ring, and not the sort of simple wedding band of some of their better-off clientele, but a sparkling thing, exquisitely studded with sapphires. Had someone set foot in the Hog’s Head owning this?
Leila was half-decent at picking out the patrons of the place who stuck out like a sore thumb even when they were trying to blend in, for there was usually something that gave them away - after all, she had been a good middle-class girl once, herself. But there was an equally likely alternative here to a scandal of that sort, which was crime: someone was a thief, or someone was doing a dubious deal and had stashed it there in the meantime, counting on the Hog’s Head to have a particularly inefficient housework policy. (It did, but.)
The least trouble would be to leave it there. She could hand it in to the Hogsmeade constables; she could figure out who here knew about it. She was almost tempted to hang onto it long enough to pawn it herself; Merlin knew she could use the funds. Still undecided, Leila held onto it as she descended the stairs to the pub floor, clenching it reflexively in her fist - perhaps a little too tightly, a little too fast - when she was met with an inquiring gaze on her.
Her fingers teased it out with some trepidation. It was a ring, and not the sort of simple wedding band of some of their better-off clientele, but a sparkling thing, exquisitely studded with sapphires. Had someone set foot in the Hog’s Head owning this?
Leila was half-decent at picking out the patrons of the place who stuck out like a sore thumb even when they were trying to blend in, for there was usually something that gave them away - after all, she had been a good middle-class girl once, herself. But there was an equally likely alternative here to a scandal of that sort, which was crime: someone was a thief, or someone was doing a dubious deal and had stashed it there in the meantime, counting on the Hog’s Head to have a particularly inefficient housework policy. (It did, but.)
The least trouble would be to leave it there. She could hand it in to the Hogsmeade constables; she could figure out who here knew about it. She was almost tempted to hang onto it long enough to pawn it herself; Merlin knew she could use the funds. Still undecided, Leila held onto it as she descended the stairs to the pub floor, clenching it reflexively in her fist - perhaps a little too tightly, a little too fast - when she was met with an inquiring gaze on her.