so make your siren's call

[clara]

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Well, it wasn't the first time Bruce had been deemed missing in action. Yet, Clara had a hunch that this time was different and that something severe had happened to her beloved great grey owl. Reading over her tall, looping handwriting, she was sure that the letter was without error or extra information. Writing Catrin, her mother, was always a chore. She needed to know every detail without excess words or fluff because if there was more in the letter than necessary, she wouldn't be able to focus on the main subject. The deep emerald ink read:

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Brow knitted in concern, she folded up the small slip of parchment as she stood in her dormitory. Clara grasped a lit candle from a studying carol and tilted it in such a way so some of the wax would drip onto the seam of the paper. Sealing it, she took the tiny mold of her family crest from the chain around her neck and pressed it into the still hot wax, causing a rook to appear in the forest green substance. A dull smile pulled at the corners of Clara's lips. She had to admit, she enjoyed the simplistic happiness that being apart of something bigger than herself gave her. All people bearing the surname of Rookwood were quite nearly required to use specific means of identification when sending letters. If you did not utilize the family seal in the closing of your parchment, it was greatly frowned upon. Clara always kept her copy of the mold around her neck. If she was to put it anyplace else, she would surely lose it.

Clenching the letter between her teeth, she shrugged on her taupe pea coat over her floral dress and buttoned up. It was still fall, but the wind was biting enough to give one quite a chill if not properly clothed. Just about to walk out of the dormitory, Clara stopped herself. She was forgetting something. What was she forgetting? Coat. Letter. Currency... Wand! That was it! The Slytherin had nearly forgotten her wand. What a crime that would have been! Striding over to the table aside her four-poster, Clara took her ebony wand from it's common resting place and placed it in her chestnut-shaded boot for safe keeping. Because she was wearing leggings there were no pockets to speak of and she was not about to carry the blasted thing around. The leather footwear was the next best option.

As suspected, the breeze was rather biting. Clara wasn't even half way on her walk to Hogsmede before her cheeks became flushed with the cold. Despite the chill, the little village was bustling with students, professors, and civilians alike. Wonderful, she thought to herself, hordes of people. All Clara wanted to do was go to Hogsmede, mail the bloody letter, and go back to the castle. There was no need to stay any longer with the crowds than necessary. Blimey, it was a hassle not having an owl. She easily forgot the luxury it was to own one. Bee-lining to the owl post, Clara had to push past a few hordes of third years gossiping about things surely trivial. Oh, to be young and stupid and only care about pointless drama that would be nonexistent in two weeks. Clara remembered when she was like that. She scoffed lightly to herself. So much has changed.

Opening the door to the owl post, she was immediately confronted with a wall of people. Blinking in surprise, she paused a moment at the door until someone in the throng shouted to shut the door. The Owl Post was never this packed. Through the murmuring crowd, she could glean that the shop keeper was dealing with an issue in the back and the intern that was supposed to work that day hadn't shown up. Clara couldn't imagine how horrible it must be. After working, herself in the Holyhead Owl Post for a few summers, she understood how it could be sometimes. Still, her patients was never something that stuck with her for long. She just had to keep reminding herself that if she was in the position, she would've greatly appreciated customer's cooperation.

As everyone in the shop was younger students and civilians, Clara didn't know anyone and she wasn't in the mood to make a new friend, she stood silently in the back of her shop, her hands in the pockets of her tan, warm coat. The concern for her owl again began to over-come her. Yes, he was just an owl but he was one of the few things in this world that Clara had yet to be infuriated with. He was an intelligent, loyal creature that she could always depend on. She sincerely hoped he was with her mum; there wasn't any other place he could possibly be - that she knew of. Unless, of course, he was injured. But that was absurd. Bruce was a very cautious, meticulous owl. He rarely - if ever - put himself into a dangerous situation. Even if it was an urgent letter, if there was a storm coming, he would refuse to deliver it until the storm passed. This caused a bit of frustration, but nonetheless, Clara respected him for it.

She glanced to the clock above the cash register. It had been at least fifteen minutes since anyone had seen the face of the shopkeeper. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Clara shifted her weight. There has to be something someone could do about this ridiculous pile up. Really, how hard is it to put people's letters into their appropriate slots and charge the appropriate amount of money? Was she the only one in the Post that knew how to manage the shop, aside from the shopkeeper himself? Twenty minutes? That was it. Clara's patience broke. She pushed herself to the front of the line. The cash register was abandoned. Shaking her head of amber waves, she sighed and walked around to behind the counter. Taking off her coat and hanging it on a hook near the door to the back room, Clara took a moment for composure before waiting on the first customer. She just hoped the shopkeeper wouldn't be angry at her for sparing him the pleasure of experiencing everyone's worn patience from being left waiting.

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[breezy]

It was one of those days. Elijah exited his mother’s office after a brief embrace, rounding the corner with his hands shoved into the pockets of his ebony slacks. His homework rested untouched on his desk. There was as much of a chance of his completing it as the Chudley Canons had of coming out on top of their quidditch league that year. Hogwarts had emptied save for the occasional first and second year. But they were no fun. As soon as Elijah’s frame crested on the horizon they would dart in the opposite direction, abruptly ending any flow of conversation amongst their friends. He scoffed; it wasn’t as though Elijah bit hard.

Surveying the empty hall Elijah eased his pace tilting his head back. The portraits above merely stared back at him, eyeing him with curious disapproval muttering about ‘roaming trouble’ and ‘should be studying.’ With a forlorn sigh he froze in place. The wheels of his mind churned slowly; rust shavings littered the basin of his thoughts until his vision blurred and a slight migraine prickled at his brow. Elijah jolted. Grimacing he rubbed at throbbing temples. Normally sulking within the confines of his dormitory was a pleasure that Elijah preferred to indulge within. But today he avoided this luxury; his mother had inquired if he had written to his father as of late. Of course that had been a negative. There was a palpable rift between the two; a rocky gorge that Elijah knew petty words could not fill. If he were to enter his bedroom automatically his body would grab a parchment and quill, hands locked on auto-pilot, while his brain internally screamed for him to cease and desist. He could never refuse his mother. Elijah’s lips bubbled up into a pout. Fingers itching farther into the depths of his pockets he pulled out a paper wrapper; it was clean except for a cauldron cake smudge in the upper corner. Carefully he scrapped it off with a nail but bitterly realized there was still a vague brown stain. An idea formulated within his mind.

Twirling his wand between his fingers he etched words into the paper, substituting enchanted sparks for a quill. In neat hand writing, far beyond the ability of his own, a short messaged etched across the wrapper fading into a soft pink. Elijah furrowed his brow. Not exactly the color he had in mind but Elijah was in no mood to head back to the common room for a retry with a real quill and paper. Ice-blue orbs cut across the 'letter' in a single sweep.

Father,
I’ve been elected quidditch captain. Isaac blew up your cauldron. The ashes are in a shoebox buried in the rose garden.
Sincerely,
Elijah

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Satisfied Elijah shoved the note back inside his pocket. As he took a step towards the owlrey a thought struck him like a pickaxe. He was fresh out of envelopes! He considered using one of his mum’s but she’d disapprove of the manner of his letter and the lack of length. Drumming the pads of his fingers along his jawline, Elijah heard the familiar jingle of loose change in his pants. Patting the coins he grinned wickedly in realization; there was enough to send an owl out in Hogsmeade! His own owl, Pax, had been tragically killed in his third year by an eagle. The poor barn owl was small for its breed and could perch in the palm of Elijah’s hand with a contented hoot. Despite the inconvenience of no longer owning an owl Elijah had never inquired for another; something about it continued to settle poorly in his stomach.

With a refreshed sense of direction Elijah spun on the balls of his feet and sulked off along the beaten path towards Hogsmeade. The sun blasted cruelly causing multi-colored to erupt before his eyes as Elijah stumbled out of Hogwarts like a newborn lamb. When his wobbling had concluded he quickly straightened himself, adopting a dignified air, before jogging off. He ducked beneath protruding branches, minding his footing along the root infested path. The cool air stung at his lungs making it near impossible to breathe. He slowed, peering up through the cracks of the tree’s canopy. The white gleam of sunlight nipped his vision. Elijah exhaled slowly running a hand through his dark locks. The trip to the wizarding village seemed to last an eternity, each foot step taken in slow motion. Relief spurted across his features as Elijah caught sight of bobbling heads and high-pitched laughter.

Hogsmeade was crammed with students. Bitterly Elijah kicked at the ground angry to be an atmosphere that he hated so much. Aloof and emotionally disabled Elijah could never socialize well enough amongst those his own age, or much with anyone at all. He friended few and pissed off many. It was simply in his genetic code. His muscles instantaneously twitched, locking his limbs to his sides. He waddled along the cobbled street like a humanoid stick, face scrunched in hateful discomfort. Shoulders belonging to random strangers rammed into his sides followed by muffled apologizes but he didn’t care, he never would, each and every time he would shoot a death glare towards his offender. A child darted across him attempting to catch up with her mother accidently cutting through his path. Elijah towered above the girl hands outstretched in an effort to shove her quivering body away. She screamed darting into the thicket of wizards and witches. Despite having younger siblings Elijah wasn’t compatible with those under the age of 11.

Eventually Elijah hopped up the stoop of the owl post, glad to have finally reached his destination. Extending an arm he grasped the golden knob and tugged. The bell above the doorframe jingled in declaration but the sound was swallowed whole by the aggressive murmurs emitted from the sea of customers expanding before him. Elijah blinked. There seemed to be more people in the little shop than out on the street, if that was at all possible. His foot extended out in an effort to feel for a gap of space to shove himself into. Quite abruptly the motion jerked him forward and Elijah nearly flailed into the living mass. He was sucked into the current of shuffling bodies and thrown forward onto a woman draped in fox fur. Her brow rose in distaste at his messy hair and unshaved face; a soft shade of black grew along the outskirts.

Impatient Elijah gazed out at the counter, already garnering rude thoughts towards the management when he saw her. Clara was offering assistance to a frantic male with frizzled dread locks that were dyed an unnatural red. Elbowing the crowd aside Elijah shoveled himself towards the counter. His mouth was stretched in a taut line. “The hell are you doing?” he snapped. His eyes charted the unfamilar curves lining the hinges of her mouth. In a clipped tone Elijah said, "What's eating you?" Despite the abscence of warmth within his voice Elijah peered at Clara knowingly.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[clara]

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It was safe to say that Clara didn't know where to begin. The carol was a mess and there wasn't a modicum of standard organization to the shop, she was quickly beginning to notice. There were regulations on most of the Owl Posts but this one appeared to be running its own agenda. Then, who was she to judge? Ever since her grandfather died, her mum managed the Holyhead branch in such a way that no normal human could navigate it without having been previously told of where everything was placed. So, if she could handle her mother's nutter way of arranging the Owl Post, this should be a cake walk.

Then it struck her. What the hell was she doing here? Clara had no reason what so ever to help this shopkeeper out. Heck, she didn't even know his name. Since when was Clara a good person... and to others she didn't formally know. Then again, this beat waiting in line. She could not idle for too long without getting incredibly impatient. By fixing the problem and waiting on people it would be the best choice in comparison to the amount of annoyance that came along with waiting. There. That made a bit more sense. Clara was doing the right thing for a selfish reason, solely. No need to panic, she wasn't going through an identity crisis just yet.

Pulling her ebony wand out of its hiding place in her boot, Clara, with a simple incantation and a snap of her wrist, began adjust the letters that were already sitting in chaotic piles on the desk next to the register. With credit to the simple spell, a tornado of self-sorting parchment flourished behind the carol as she attempted her best to not get smacked in the face with a rogue envelope. Once the letters escorted themselves into their proper cubbies that lined the back wall, she took to waiting on the first customer. Clara did her best to plaster a smile on her wind-bitten lips. The short, squat woman garbed garishly in ghastly coruscating colors placed a neat stack of peach-colored envelopes next to the register and fished for a galleon out of her beaded handbag. As she collected the woman’s money, it was explained to Clara that this particular set of letters were invitations to a surprise celebration in honor of a friend that had miraculously survived a nasty case of the dragonpox. This was completely trivial information to Clara. Regardless, over the years she had begun to understand that people tended to explain the reasoning behind their sending letters or – in this particular circumstance – eleven apricot-shaded invitations perfumed with the scent of honeysuckle blossoms. It wasn’t until she flicked her wand at the pile and they flew to their respective places along the wall, that she noticed that they were charmed to smell such a way. Clara scrunched up her nose; it was much too over-done for her taste. Not that they look – and smell – lovely... But judging by the woman’s attire, however, this was standard operating procedure. She didn’t understand how such extravagancies could be standard operating procedure. True, Clara enjoyed the finer thing in life but this was excess to the point of unnecessary glitz. Still, she didn’t know if she should be fascinated or horrified by the woman’s choice in communication material. “My I have my change?” The woman’s impatient, wheezy soprano shattered her internal monologue.

"Oh! Yes, of course! Sorry!" Clara murmured haistily, giving the woman the proper amount of sickles and knuts. After that, she decided to not worry about why people were the way they were. She wasn’t currently in the position to psychoanalyze every single person that would tramp, disgruntled, up to the cash register. Soon the people blended together into one massive blur. A first class package here, a series of newsletters on the effects of wrackspurts there. It was all the same eventually. Still, no matter how fast she worked people would always keep piling in the door. She felt as if it was national utilize the Owl Post day. The crowd had thinned a bit. But blimey! Where was the shopkeeper? Maybe he did as Clara had originally dreaded and flown the coop.

“The hell are you doing?” the familiar, gruff voice made her jump with surprise. Her icy cerulean eyes snapped up to meet their mirrors. Grinning coolly at her fellow Slytherin, Clara contemplated and weighed how to potentially respond to such a question. In all honesty, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing either.

“Well! What does it look like I’m doing?” she snapped back, raising her chin as if to deflect the sure to come firing of taunts she would inevitably to receive. But that’s when she realized she didn’t want to be there. It had been quite some time since she had seen Elijah. Clara was there to mail a letter not to be stuck at the Owl Post doing a job that wasn’t even hers. She peered around the shop; there were mostly students left. It was far too much work being selfless and- “What’s eating you?” his words were chillier than a flag pole on a subzero temperature day but buried underneath was actual concern, she knew. He was most hostile when he didn’t know how to properly express himself.

“What? Wha- Whaddya mean?” Clara stuttered. She abhorred stuttering. Why had she stuttered, even? Glancing back up at him, her fingers played with the corners of the letter clutched in her hands. Clara tucked a stray chestnut wave behind her ear. It was in his expression; he knew. She was hardly able to get any words about and he already noticed that something was bothering her. As far as she was concerned, she let off nothing to for anyone to realize that she was completely worried about her favorite pet. Still, he knew. Clara gave him a weak smile before glancing down her handwriting that spelled her mother’s name carefully on the front of the envelope. This is what she loved about him so much. Elijah was the type of person that seemed aloof and entirely out of touch but it was all just a ploy. Some front that he put up to make others believe that he was stupider than he actually was.

Without even asking, Clara took the letter that was held in Elijah’s own hands, put the appropriate amount of money in the register, and sent both of their letters off to their designated slots in the wall. “Come on,” she said, taking her coat off the hook, making her way from around the carol, and grasping Elijah’s hand, a devious glint in her eye, “Let’s see how long it takes before someone throws a tantrum.” Abandoning her post, Clara dragged him along behind her out to the front of the shop. She flashed a smile back at him as her free hand grabbed the door knob, “Once everyone realizes he isn’t coming back anytime soon, they’re all going to head to The Three Broomsticks to drown their unhappiness about not being able to mail mummy-kins about surviving their first potions test.”

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[breezy]

“Well what does it look like I’m doing?"

Elijah peered up towards Clara beneath dark lidded eyes. A soft sigh shot out between his parted lips. Eager hands prodded against his back in an attempt to claw themselves forward and send out their mail. But he stood still as a statue, rooted to his spot, staring impassively towards the female Slytherin. A chorus of frustrated whispers wafted out from the ocean of anxious bodies spilling quietly over him. He elbowed a rather large wizard who had attempted to shove him out of the way; Elijah cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. “It looks like your foolishly attempting someone else’s job,” he stated dully before shoving his now free hand back into the pocket of his pants. Unlike most of the other students that clustered about the shops in Hogsmeade, Elijah stuck out like a sore thumb and was still clad in his Slytherin uniform. Using the fingers of his other hand he loosened the tie swathed about his neck and allowed it to dangle freely across his chest.

She raised her chin in defense, tipping it up like a shield to ward off his inevitable acidic comments. Elijah merely arched a dark brow. Clara knew him too well. Desiring to throw her for a loop he said nothing more on the matter and gave his shoulders a slight shrug. The heat emitted from the excessive population came off in thick waves making Elijah experience spells of vertigo and his limbs twitched at his sides longing to escape the mass.

“What? Wha- Whaddya mean?”

“Your words aren’t forming,” Elijah shot dryly, combing his fingers through his hair. “Is it Bruce?” It was a complete guess, an arrow in the dark, but Elijah had a strong intuition that he had hit the mark dead center. The owl normally slipped beneath Clara’s watchful gaze only to reappear a short day later. He always came back. But impending danger crested the horizon and perhaps it had sunk its claws deep in the owl’s breast. Thoughts of his own beloved messenger, Pax, flitted behind his eyes forming stirring images of the past. The hinges of his mouth drooped feebly. In his heart Elijah prayed that the same fate had not befallen Clara’s treasured pet; she had always taken proper care of the bird and attended to his every need. Plus Elijah himself had been given permission to occasionally borrow the bird when writing to his father, however sparse that was, and he had always been grateful. “You want to look for it or something?”

He watched somewhat confused as she stuttered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. The hell was she playing at? Quite abruptly for his sluggish tastes she shoved his letter into the proper bin after taking his money; Clara grasped her coat from the hook and slung it about her shoulders.

“Come on, let’s see how long it takes before someone throws a tantrum. Once everyone realizes he isn’t coming back anytime soon, they’re all going to head to The Three Broomsticks to drown their unhappiness about not being able to mail mummy-kins about surviving their first potions test.”

She grasped his hand and tugged him away. Their bodies swam through the crowd who’s mouths bit angrily at the air as the only service they had received walked out the door. He puckered. It was indeed an intriguing notion to survey the irritated aura floating in the owl post like an ominous storm cloud, but his thoughts were still caught on the owl. A small smirk ghosted across his mouth at her last comment. The younger students would in fact be quite upset at not being able to get in touch with their parental units, something that only bettered with age, and doubtlessly their homesickness could only be remedied by a tall glass of butterbeer accompanied by a foam mustache that would cause a laugh amongst their mates. Then they would shuffle drearily back to their dorms in silent disappointment, shoving chocolate frogs and other sugary sweets into their oral crevice. Elijah ducked his head as they exited beneath the doorway. He was uncertain of where they would go to witness the phenomena. There was an empty, wooden bench outside the shop but it was sadly layered with owl feces that over the summer months had accumulated in size and stink. His nostrils flared at the mere thought. But were they not magically inclined? It would take a mere flick of the wrist and a few sparks emitted from the tip of a wand would be more than enough to solve the putrid dilemma. Despite this fact Elijah wasn’t surprised that it hadn’t been cleaned yet. It was incredibly gross and a sore on the eyes. But some things you couldn’t tip toe around forever.

The thought made his stomach clench in cold guilt. Of course only he would connect a bird shit bench with his own sexuality; a secret he had kept within himself with the exception of Clara and his mother. The mere idea of expressing himself to anyone else sent his body convulsing with chills. Isaac would never let him live it down; he’d use it against him as a weakness, claim him unworthy and make him a mockery in the quidditch locker room. Elijah’s mind churned roughly in quick thought and he felt his heart rate begin to speed. With a subtle shake of his cranium he dispelled the anxiety from the recesses of his mind and focused on the matter at hand; a shop full of pissed off wizards and witches and a potential owl missing in action. It had seemed that his worries had eaten him alive for an eternity, but they would not today. It had been awhile since he had last spent actual quality time with his friend and Elijah was determined to make the most of it. Regardless of his apathetic nature, Elijah cared deeply for a select few in his life and he knew it was becoming more and more obvious that he was slipping away. In these dark times he couldn’t afford to severe any relationships, especially the thread that held him to Clara.

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[clara]

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A thread inside of Clara snapped. Her quick breach of eye contact, to cast a fleeting look to the side, indicated that. And she hated it. She hated that he was just so obliviously capable of turning her into someone she did not want to be. When Elijah would carelessly toss her a glance – as one would throw away an old, written on, piece of parchment – shatter would any hopes of putting on a front. As the self-dubbed queen of lies, Clara greatly prided herself in being able to connive herself through any situation. Something about Elijah, however, forced her to do otherwise. She couldn’t lie to him – not even if she wanted to; he would be able to call the fib in the first syllable she spoke. He just knew her too damn well.

“It looks like you’re foolishly attempting someone else’s job.”

The only reply Clara could muster was scrunching up her nose into a sneer. She could have used some snide comment in her defense but it would have been futile. Elijah’s simple answer only made her more so realize how absolutely brainless she was being. A evanescent flushed color bloomed on Clara’s cheeks. She had to be daft for taking on a task so selfless. “I need a butterbeer.” she murmured, pulling her coat closer around her and pushing to get out of the ridiculous crowd. At this point in time, alcohol would be the only thing that would keep her from losing herself completely. Clara didn’t know what it was, it could be all of the studying or how much she hadn’t seen Elijah, still she hadn’t been feeling all herself the past week or two.

“Your words aren’t forming.”

“I know,” Clara spat, her voice caustic with bitterness. She hated many things but high on the list was tripping over her own words. Stuttering was simply downright embarrassing.

“Is it Bruce?”

Momentarily stunned at his accuracy, Clara stared at her fellow Slytherin wide eyed. “Yeah,” she breathed her shock obvious in her voice, “How’d you know?” It was no secret that Elijah and Clara knew the other way better than they knew themselves. Still, it was startling that he could pinpoint not only that something that had her worried, but also the very thing – or bird – causing the worrying. Sometimes she wondered if Elijah was secretly seer but never said anything about it. Clara snorted to herself at the thought. Elijah? A seer? What an absurd idea. It would be more acceptable proposal that he would be attracted to girls than him being a seer.

“You want to look for it or something?”

Clara’s icy sapphire eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. Tentatively, she shook her head, “I think I want to wait until I hear word back from mum. My guess is he’ll be with her and she didn’t think to send word.” It wasn’t a lie. Clara expected him to be with Catrin but there was an anxious, sinking feeling that had grown with each passing day that Bruce hadn’t yet returned. She shook her head again, just wanting to forget about it. The more she would think about it the more she would worry.

Once finally out of the stuffy, angry-person cluttered shop, Clara heaved a breath of fresh air. She loved the crisp, musty scent so characteristic of the fall months. It reminded her greatly of her first year at Hogwarts which was full of all the joy any twelve year old could hope for. Still clinging to his hand, she gently tugged Elijah away from the storefront and towards the direction of The Three Broomsticks. Where he went willingly, there was something about the way his hand felt in hers that made him seem as though he was anchored to something. Perplexed, Clara peered up at him from under furrowed brows. Following his stare, there wasn’t much to look at aside from a bit of shrubbery and a filthy bench. With a confused frown, she murmured, “E, is something bothering you? Unsure of what was causing his discomfort, Clara knew one thing, it was good of them to run into one another. Their woes and sorrows could be easily drowned in the knee-buckling effects of excessive amounts of butterbeer, not to mention, being in each other’s company was always quite the sedative. The raw and unadulterated honesty between them was nothing short of refreshingly comforting. At least, for Clara it was anyway. That’s why, she guessed, that she liked Elijah so much. There was no hiding anything. No room for secrets. Where it could be frightening to have someone to know you so well, there was an odd reassurance in knowing that despite all that they know about you, they still admire you. But more than all of that, Clara loved that she was the only one – aside from his mother – that knew. She felt so honored that he would trust her with something that was, quite obviously, a large part of his life that he kept secret from everyone and anyone possible. Still, Clara didn’t understand why he couldn’t just let others know. It would make life so much less stressful. Then, using a phrase that her grandfather used to say, she reminded herself as she did so many times before, you don’t know what you would do if you were in his shoes.

Squeezing his hand before releasing it, Clara gave him a genuine smile. “Come on,” she declared, inclining her head towards the bar, “Let’s go people watch and drown our problems in alcohol.” With an eager pace, without bothering to see if he would follow, Clara did not waste time in traveling the few shop-fronts down to the Three Broomsticks. As expected, the establishment was busy with customers. It was still early in the day yet so it was not packed with the partiers. There would be a few hours still before it would become near impossible to move around the pub. There were a few empty tables but Clara paused a moment just beyond the threshold of the door to survey the best options. A small table just off to the side, but still very much amid the hustle and bustle of the Three Broomsticks, caught her eye. A pleased smirk graced her lips as she snaked her way through the disorganized array of tables. Plopping down into one of the chairs, Clara looked to Elijah. “E, why don’t you be the gentleman and get us two butterbeers?” the command formulated into a question was accompanied by a syrupy sweet smile, that he was sure to roll his eyes at.

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