14 October 1891 — Hogsmeade Village Path to Padmore Park

Honestly, she would forget her head if it wasn't attached to her body. Irene stumbled down the path from Hogsmeade village, her bag already full of supplies but she was nowhere near on her way home. Her hand subconsciously found its way to the top of her head as she hurried down the path from the shops to Padmore Park, dodging other witches and wizards whilst throwing the occasional "Beg pardon!" and "excuse me!" over her shoulder as she went. "Merlin, please be there, please be there..." she murmured as she confirmed that her hat was indeed, not on top of her head, and that she'd left it somewhere in the bloody park before she'd headed off to complete her shopping for the day.

The disaster at the Sanditon had depleted the last of her supplies. Using magic to scourgify the debris her brushes picked up only did so much. She'd had a bit of extra pocket money from the month, so it was of little matter that she had to make a larger purchase this month. What did matter was that the hat she'd left behind contained one of her mother's ribbons around it.

And so, with her heart in her throat, Irene hastened down the path, continuing to dodge the occasional human being or animal. She'd just managed to avoid taking out what looked like a small group of debutantes (likely coming back from getting ribbons at the market) when a horrible rip sounded through the air and her bag suddenly felt a great deal lighter. Irene stopped in her tracks, skidding to a halt as she looked to her right and saw the new supplies - rolled-up canvases, tubes of paint, various brushes, bottles of potion - tumble down a side path and into the trees. "No!" Irene groaned, visibly deflating as she saw the fresh white of the canvas splash into a nearby puddle.

She dove after the supplies, now resigned to get her freshly washed skirt dirty once more. And she'd been hoping to make this skirt last until her next wash cycle. Tuh! As she reached for her wand, Irene came to another horrible realization - her wand had been in her bag which was now completely empty. "Perfect!" She burst out, exasperated, and knelt down to begin retrieving supplies in addition to looking for her godforsaken wand.

She'd just settled on putting her bag down flat on the ground and tossing her supplies onto it when a shadow fell over her and she looked up.

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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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His voice reached her before she could see exactly who it was, and she felt immediately ready to hurl a glare at the owner of the boot who had stopped the potion bottle from running away. But instead, a smile tugged at her lips as she recognized the voice, and she laughed, grateful it was Elias who had stumbled upon her instead of some stranger, for she felt more at ease with the former. She felt herself relax slightly and she gave a roll of her eyes at his tease before directing her gaze to the supplies in front of her. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Obvious!" She responded, swiping absently at the blush in her cheeks as if it were a pool of watercolor paint she might be able to smudge away. Irene plucked a brush from the grass, raising it to her lips and giving it a little blow to rid it from the dust it had already gathered.

She had meant to soak these in solution when she got back to the studio, but the dirt would require an extra step of cleaning, and she pursed her lips before watching him stoop to pick up the now dirty canvas. "Oh, thank you, Elias." She said, sighing resignedly as she dropped the brush onto her pile of growing supplies. "Well, that'll add on some more work for when I get back to the studio." she grumbled, as if her work was anything but one of the highlights of her afternoon. Well. Perhaps Elias' emergence from the shadows took its place slightly above her agenda for the afternoon, but she would hardly let him know of that, and turned her attention to the slightly bigger problem she had.

"Do you see my wand around?" From her position knelt on the ground, the grass obstructed most of her view. Having her wand would expedite this process quite a lot.

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In spite of the situation, he had to grin a little at Irene’s response. That said, he’d considered the same thing before she asked the question, so he surveyed the ground for a few moments, turning on his heel, and then knelt down as well to present her wand to her.

“Here,” Elias murmured, passing it to her but continuing to gather up another couple of paintbrushes by hand – though painting was a far cry from the work he did, even for varnishing and that sort, there was something almost familiar in the feel of them; they were still tools, of a kind – and wiping the mud off the bristles and onto his thigh, never mind about making marks on his trousers.

He tilted his head at her. “Is it all salvageable, do you think?” He knew Irene well enough to know that both her money and her time were valuable to her: she rarely seemed to have enough of either. Like him, she had her odd habits, her staying up all night to work – maybe he could stop by her studio with her now and help with all this inevitable cleaning-up.

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Her fingers plucked up yet another wayward paintbrush as her eyes caught him kneeling next to her again, this time to present her wand to her. She felt herself flush, kept her gaze down as she accepted it with a smile. Though, perhaps he would just think she was flustered from her tools flying everywhere - yes, if he asked, that would be the excuse she gave. "Thanks ever so," She said, smiling fully at him this time. With a wave, all the little tools shot up into the air from where they were on the ground and started floating back towards her bag. Merlin, one had even managed to make it all the way down the hill!

Irene leaned back to make way for an overly enthusiastic paintbrush to zoom past her and narrowly miss clipping her on the nose while she contemplated Elias' question. Pressing her lips together in assessment of the state of her supplies, she shrugged. "I hope some of it is, but that canvas may prove to be a bit stubborn." She said, pointing her wand at said canvas and making it unfurl in the air. Without thinking, she flicked her wand and made it spin in mid air in hopes of getting all the mud off it.

It had been half an idea, not a full one, and Irene gave a sudden cry of surprise as it obeyed, but proceeded to shower them with mud and droplets of water. She let out a cough - one of the drops of mud had flown into her mouth. Perfect. With her cheeks even more red, Irene grimaced apologetically at Elias. "I'm so sorry."

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   Elias Grimstone

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Elias ducked his face as the mud went flying off the unfurled, levitated canvas; but he couldn’t help but laugh, either, at the unforeseen results of Irene’s attempt to clean up and her cry of surprise.

She apologised, once the canvas had stilled, and Elias raised his eyebrows. “I’m fairly certain you did that on purpose,” he said (in jest, of course). It was not much vengeance for his teasing before, anyway, since the muddy raindrops had caught the pair of them equally. There was a little water on his collar, a few drops of mud on his hands and forearms, where he had rolled up his sleeves to help. But Irene had gotten a good spattering herself, Elias noted, reaching over to sweep a dash of mud off her cheek with his thumb, only absently aware of the flush beneath it. Embarrassment, probably – but, canvases aside, a little mud had never hurt anyone. In fact, it reminded him a little of the first time he’d encountered Daffodil Potts at work in her garden, soil smeared unknowingly across her face... a corner of his mouth tugged up just thinking of it.

Elias dragged himself back to the here and now: kneeling on the ground and mud splattered, both. “Let me help lug all this home?” he suggested, for although Irene had rounded up most of her things again, he didn’t trust her bag not to split on her again, and – “Then maybe we can avoid another disaster.” He grinned. Not that he was any less disaster prone, in all honesty; but he did think he might be able to help working the stains off that canvas for her.

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Irene's mouth popped open slightly as she felt the prickling of something more than embarrassment march down her spine. "I did not!" She waved her hand slightly frantically at his accusation — before she realized he was joking, something that she herself likely would have done had she not been...well. A deeper flush crept up into her cheeks and she reached up to duck her head behind her hand. But not before Elias reached out and brushed the dirt away from her cheek with the pad of his finger. Oh, Merlin. She froze under his touch, blinking rapidly as she saw his blue eyes unfocus slightly, as if he was remembering something, or...thinking about something.

There was a slight jerk in her chest as thoughts raced through her mind, searching his expression for...something, anything.

And then he smiled slightly, and she couldn't think of anything except to return his smile and duck her head once more, this time, actually reaching up to wipe what dirt she could off her cheeks. In doing so she also hoped to press the flush out of them, as if it was a blotch of paint she hadn't meant to get on a piece of the canvas. The protest that bubbled up in her chest was only out of habit, until she remembered this was Elias, and she knew he wasn't doing this for the sole reason that he felt sorry for her. So she allowed herself to smile again, gratefully this time and nodded. "As if you could become a charm to ward off any sort of disaster?" She teased back.

Yes, that felt more natural. She could feel the blush escaping her cheeks, now. Irene flicked her wand at her bag which haphazardly obeyed, flying in a rickety sort of manner into her open arms. "I shall believe it when I see it, Elias."

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He had to laugh – at her protests, at her embarrassment, at the whole daft situation. It was rare to find people with whom one could be entirely themselves, but he supposed he felt that way about Irene, somehow. They were – alike enough to understand each other.

And certainly far enough into friendship to be beyond any gestures of obligation, politeness or pity, so Elias shouldered the roll of muddied canvas and waited patiently for her to shoulder her bag, satisfied that she hadn’t protested. He was overdue to see her anyway, so the walk into Pennyworth would afford him opportunity for just that.

Although – if all she was going to do was tease him back, maybe he ought to rethink this. “You never know,” Elias replied with a crooked grin, plucking up a paintbrush from where it was being pushed up out of the bag in her arms and sticking it behind his ear to carry, half to be helpful and half to make her laugh, “maybe when you put two disaster prone people together they cancel each other out somehow.” Like magnets, or some law of motion; maybe they became disaster-neutral, at least. “What’s all this for, anyway?” he asked, as he fell into step with her. “Are you working on anything new?”

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Irene grasped the bag in her arms, adjusting the supplies and peeking into the bag to make sure nothing breakable was on the bottom. She blinked rapidly as there was a disturbance by her forehead and realized it was because Elias had taken one of the paint brushes and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil. She laughed at the grin on his face, rolling her eyes slightly for effect. "Lose that and you'll owe me another one, Elias." she warned, her tone void of any sort of genuine threat as she shouldered her bag and continued forward. "And besides, surely whatever trouble we would attract would just find somewhere else to fester, wouldn't it?" That wouldn't be too kind for the poor souls who had double their bad luck!

As they walked back out into the crowd, Irene adjusted the bag on her shoulder, shifting it to her outside arm as her mind automatically ran through the list of projects she had waiting back at the studio. "Well restoring the paintings at the Sanditon with Louisa finished off the last of my supplies, so I had to pick up some more," A smile slipped onto her features again as she glanced up at him. "And then some..." She dug into her pocket with her free hand and pulled out — "Lemon drops!"

Without warning, she tossed one to him with her free hand before popping one into her mouth. "As for new things, I have a new landscape I'm working on." Her eyes skirted their surroundings, catching a singing bird glide past them and into the trees of Padmore Park. Perhaps she would put a bluebird in the landscape. Seeing them fly around in the paintings was always rather mesmerizing.

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She was joking about him owing her if he lost it – Irene would never ask for anything, he knew her well enough to know that. But Elias grimaced internally at the mention of all the work she’d put into restoring for the Sanditon, hoping she’d been paid well for all that she’d done. She always worked hard, and yet – did have rather disastrous bad luck in most things.

He laughed aloud as she tossed him a lemon drop, lurching for it to prevent anything else falling in the mud today, and he popped it in his mouth as well, pushing it into the corner of his cheek to grin at her. “Thanks,” he said cheerfully. “I’m sure those were very necessary.” Not a shopping trip if she hadn’t bought her favourites, was it?

There was a spark of interest in his eye at the mention of a landscape. Elias, admittedly, was usually more interested the process of art restoration than in the paintings she tended to restore – in the craftsmanship rather than the precise beauty of the art, like the workman he was – and portrait-sittings with living clients seemed like hell for the artist. (Elias simply couldn’t imagine making a commissioned broomstick for someone if he had to suffer them sitting there watching him throughout.) But a landscape, a landscape he could always appreciate, even with his untrained eye. “And how’s it coming on? What’s it of, anywhere I know?” Perhaps it was local; perhaps it was somewhere within flying distance, and worth a visit.

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Lemon drops - in Irene's opinion - were always necessary, particularly when she had to put a significant dent in her pocket money after a rather large restoration job. Admittedly, it was rather fun to be hired on the restoration - it had provided for some much needed time outside which she could spend chatting with Louisa and her grumpy viking who kept spewing idle threats at the both of them. And the significant paycheck didn't hurt either, really.

Irene watched the fluttering bluejay over Elias' shoulder move to another tree before catching the look in his eye and she automatically smiled, a warm feeling of excitement blooming in her chest. "Oh, I'm only in the preliminary steps of sketching it," She began, "But it's of this beautiful little cove I found on the edge of the Black Lake." Her eyes glazed over slightly as she envisioned it. All her time spent wandering around Hogsmeade and the lake for scenes to paint and she hadn't encountered this oasis of a location before. In reality it was...rather romantic, which hadn't struck her until now because of — well. "It's tucked right next to the Headmaster's barrier, so you really have to be looking to go find it but if you turn left when you see the Hogwarts gate, it'll be down a little path just to the right and behind a tree with a knot that looks like a heart."

At this she blushed, though she kept describing the location to him. She put her hands out in front of her, as if framing the eventual painting. "Just to your right is the castle peaking out from behind the trees, and the lake looks so large that Hogwarts might as well be floating! And to go at sunset..." She sighed, her hand tracing the line the tops of the trees made just ahead of them. "The color, Elias...it's beautiful, and so varied on different nights, it might as well be a different world." She found herself so eager to capture the exact moment in time that she'd discovered it. The water lapping quietly at the shore would be the most challenging to embody, but she was sure it would warrant hours spent in the little cove, so the challenge it posed was of little trouble to the artist.

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Irene was an artist through and through; if Elias hadn’t known it already, he would have seen it spilling out of her now. It was hard not to smile at it – he knew he must sound much the same, when he rambled about his work – but it was almost difficult to pay attention to the scene, and not just bathe in the warmth and passion of her tone as they walked, a dreamy feeling settling on everything they passed.

Elias resisted the urge – with all his might – not to interrupt her to ask what kind of tree?, knotted hearts or not.

He held his tongue, though, and tried to picture it as Irene described, trying not to look too stupidly fond of her as she spoke. And she might have detailed how to get there well enough that he could try, but – “Well, I’ll wait to see your finished painting to see if it’s as glorious as you say,” he teased – he’d seen her work, he was entirely sure she could do it justice – “unless you ever want the company while you work. I would like to see this secret spot of yours,” he quirked an eyebrow in honest curiosity, before slipping back to teasing, “but I wouldn’t want to intrude, spoil the atmosphere for you.” Her work came first; and he refused to make a nuisance of himself when it came to people’s work. But perhaps when she was finished, she could show him the place.

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She'd known Elias long enough to know when he was curious — his eyes lit up, the corners of his mouth twitched as if he'd caught a glimps of something and he must investigate more; even his stance corrected itself (slouched as he often did) — which, when it was about something Irene herself was passionate about, she latched onto it in the knowledge that he often experienced the exact same feeling. At his offer, her expression faltered, and she forgot to hide her pleasure as she beamed at him.

"Oh, but I would love some company," She exclaimed, her hand coming up to clasp the strap of her bag to contain her excitement. Perhaps had she not been so passionate about the landscape itself, she'd have reigned in her enthusiasm about the prospect of Elias coming along with her, but as it stood, the day had been a rather riveting one.

Usually it was just her and her paints, brushes and the landscapes, which she much preferred. It was always nerve wracking to have someone peering over her shoulder as she worked. But Elias wasn't just anyone was he? Hadn't she just been glowing over the fact that he'd caught onto her enthusiasm and had done nothing but encourage it, when many would merely offer the regular run-of-the-mill banalities? "But, of course I should understand if you had your own work to attend to instead," She added quickly for fear of encountering a disappointment should a scheduling conflict occur. "After all, you must have quite a few orders on your table, mustn't you?" He was probably too busy for any such outing. Yes, that was likely it.

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He hadn’t expected so impassioned a response, but he could hardly fault it: he wouldn’t sure he would have been as open as she had, but he was inordinately pleased that she didn’t seem to mind the thought. In fact, given the way she was smiling like that, it rather felt like she liked the notion.

A warm feeling rose in his chest at that – he supposed he was flattered, or relieved, or gratified. He didn’t question it any further than that, didn’t even get a chance to assure her he would before Irene was trying to talk her way out of it.

Elias nudged her arm with his, in playful reproval of her. “You’ve invited me, don’t try and take it back now,” he said, with a look that said I know what you’re doing. “Anyway, I’ll do my best not to bother you,” he added sincerely, “and look, I’ll bring a broom, take it on a test flight when you get too engrossed.” He chuckled, and then glanced sidelong at her again as they walked. Irene was quite a private person, he thought. So was he; it was easy to recognise in other people. But just now she had opened up a little, burst out of herself, and – “I’d like to see you at work,” he admitted.

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She might as well have been as transparent as an invisibility cloak. As he nudged her, reassuring her he would come along, Irene felt herself flush again (thank Merlin it was warm enough and she'd just recovered from collecting her art supplies that he might not search for meaning in it too much), and her lips inched into another smile, sheepishly this time.

"Alright," She conceded with a nod. He seemed rather interested in the idea, and she trusted him. "I think I should like to show you how I work." It was a feeble attempt at turning his words back to him, opening the doors once more, this time more firmly. She would always trust friends over strangers, and yet knowing Elias was something of an artist himself comforted her even more. He worked relentlessly (oftentimes tirelessly, like her) on his craft — how many iterations of the Stormchaser must he have worked on before he perfected it? — and so did she. Every breath and stroke was a different thought, and different feeling; a rush to capture inspiration before it flitted between her fingers, gone until it decided to return.

The idea of letting him in on the process was something that she was quickly warming up to, and not only because he revealed he would like to see her work. She always would ask Louisa what she thought about this painting and that, but to get an outsider's opinion — one whom she trusted — would be invaluable. "A test flight?" She caught on, inclining her head curiously. "Have you completed the newest version of your prototype?"

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He would have backed down if she had really seemed to mind; perhaps he was pleasantly surprised when she gave into it. But she knew him – they were friends, were not entirely dissimilar – and she must trust him not to judge her for anything.

“Too early to say,” he said musingly, non-committal. He wasn’t sure he was quite satisfied with how it handled, but – then he was never entirely satisfied with anything. “But you’ll see for yourself when you invite me along,” Elias promised playfully. He would hold her to it now.

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