Who: Greg and Bridget What: Arriving in the village When: Tuesday Afternoon Where: East forest/park area
It was a big day. Greg had woke up with a rare spark of energy thinking about his plans and what he was setting out to get done. He'd arranged some time off down at the pier, he had a whole pile of Muggle funds saved from the last few months, and it was time to get to work.
His dad's house had been pretty crap when he was growing up, and twenty years on it was still crap, older and even more run down. Not that Greg was complaining. He never did. It was his place, after all, and he didn't have to worry about nobody taking it from him. That was better than a lot of blokes he worked with, always working to pay rent or moving from place to place, sleeping in caravans or on floors in other people's flats. Greg was lucky having a place to go, even if it was a shit hovel that hadn't been taken care of proper in years. He tried, he replaced rotted wooden flooring and shored up sagging walls and fixed holes in the roof when they happened, but he'd never had time and money to fix the place up into something he'd be proud of.
Until now.
He had a list of supplies in hand, a wallet stuffed full of muggle paper money, and a car borrowed from a mate for the date to run him to the shops and back. He was going to end the week with a cozy little place without leaks or mold or anything else, and it made him downright cheerful as he walked out the front door and locked it behind him.
And when he turned from the front door, suddenly he was standing in a field.
He stood there a minute, keys in one hand and list crumpled in the other. He looked out at where the street and his mate's care should be, blinking at the sight of grass. He looked behind him, to the house he'd just stepped out of, and saw nothing but more grass.
He turned around in a circle, seeing trees in the distance, and the wide field, and clouds overhead, and the moment he registered those clouds he felt the rain cutting into him, cold and sudden.
Magic, his brain supplied after a moment of mute staring. Fucking hell, it was magic.
An old, worried voice inside of him instantly thought about aurors, and war, and maybe after all this time they were finally there to make him answer for his past. But then no, he doubted the Ministry decided to set up shop in some bloody great field. But it was magic all the same, and where there was magic there was someone doing the magic.
He sighed. Didn't even have his wand on him, and he was standing in a field in the rain, and sod it all anyway.
On one side of the field there were things set up, swings and all, like Wheatridge in Newcastle had been before they tore it down to build up more estate housing. He took a step in that direction, and blinked down at the grass when his foot slipped on something. A book. Sure it was a bloody book. Why not. Greg liked being a wizard and all, but damned if things weren't random and annoying when magic had a hand in it.
He bent and picked it up. The rain hadn't seemed to affect it, and inside the cover there was a note, all cheerful, telling him to write in it. Even had his name on it, because of course it did.
Greg scowled at the pages of the book, shutting it instantly. Sod writing in a book, he needed to find someone and figure out what was going on. With that he tucked the book under his arm and set out towards the swings, figuring nobody would be out there in this rain but maybe someone might be in sight from there.