DON'T PANIC!

[Padril Crennent]

Sometimes, just sometimes, Padril loved London. The narrowed streets, the tiny houses, it was so picturesque. He could feel the history reaching out from the walls and threatening to engulf you in a world where there were heroes and villians and everything was oh-so-simple.

Padril sat outside Florean Fortescue's, an ice cream sitting on the table and little notebook in his hand, a self-inking quill poised above it. He had to write an opinion piece on London in the modern age with "his usual flair" the editor ordered. There was a catch though, it had to be positive. It was a feel-good article. Which slightly disgusted Padril, because he honestly hated the colourless and obnoxious city. But here he was, thinking positive thoughts on a sunny day and like absolutely nothing was wrong. Nope, England was just fucking perfect and so was his eventless life.

He wasn't living and he knew it. He dropped the notepad on the table with a sigh and leaned back in the chair, collecting his thoughts.

[Aethie White]

Aethie was running.

Well, not so much running as skipping joyfully down the street. She'd just left the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom had informed her that she'd been promoted to Assistant Manager - essentially, she ran the place when Tom wasn't there, and all the cooks and other bartenders had to listen to her. And the best part was, she would receive a pay rise of three Galleons an hour!

It was stupendous. With the extra money she'd be making each month, she could finally afford to move out of her crap one room flat that was uncomfortably close to Knockturn Alley. She was beaming as she veered into Florean Fortescue's (still called despite the fact that Florean had disappeared - and was most likely dead - several years ago) to pick up a Daily Prophet, and an ice cream to celebrate her success.

"Peanut butter fudge mint sundae, please," Aethie ordered. "With extra pistachios. Oh, and a Daily Prophet." She paid for the ice cream and paper, then made her way out front to the sunny patio, dropping into a cast-iron chair underneath a cheery yellow umbrella, and stretched her legs out on the chair opposite her as she flipped the Prophet open to the rentals page.

Her ice cream levitated out to her a minute later and she eagerly dug her spoon in, using her wand as she did so to draw little red circles around the ads she wanted to check out later. She began to hum absentmindedly to herself.