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by: Hazel Brookwood
Hazel Brookwood ventured out of her flat, her eyes cast downwards and her breathing shallow in her scarf. She didn't want to lock eyes with anyone or be given the opportunity for someone to speak with her. All she needed was to get to the bookstore as fast as she could before it happened. It was warming up and she could feel the sun on her back, but she refused to leave the house without her scarf. Rebecca had made it for her for a graduation present for Hogwarts and she was grateful that she had something that partially could hide her face.

It wasn't like she was trying to hide or anything.... well maybe she was, but truthfully it was just because she didn't want to be bothered. She didn't want to accidentally say the wrong thing that would result in something bad happening to her. If that were to happen, she'd never have the chance to see Rebecca again.

Finally, she reached the bookstore and was almost to the door before someone bumped into her, sending her crashing to the cobblestone ground. She had thrown her hands out to catch herself, scraping her palms in the process. She hissed in pain, unable to stop herself from wincing.

She heard a muffled "Sorry" but she didn't recognize the back of the person who had knocked her down. Looking down at her hands that were now dirty and muffed with small scrapes that were bleeding a little, she took a deep breath and got to her feet.

That was probably the first real conversation she'd had with someone outside of her job in years. It was funny, she thought. It had been one-sided but it felt like it had been an hour's worth of talking. Already, she was tired.

Pulling her sleeves down over her hands, she turned towards the bookstore once more. She didn't want to be late.
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by: Darius Nott
He made a habit of being early. Still, was it too much to ask that these mudblooded shopkeepers do their job and show up for work? The sign on the door said that the shop opened in two minutes, and yet, the shop was cold, dark and empty. Sir Nott scrutinized the gold-and-gem pocket watch attached to his waistcoat as if it knew why the shop keeper was late.

Movement up the street drew his attention. There was the girl, running. Darius smirked when she ran into a man and fell. She rebounded and was back on her way to opening the shop. He glanced once more at his watch. She wasn't late yet. Almost.
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by: Hazel Brookwood
Hazel paused shortly at the sight of a man standing outside of the bookshop's door, obviously waiting for the shop to open. Because Hazel never looked into peoples faces, afraid of how they may be looking at her, she didn't recognize him. Not wanting to keep the man waiting, she hurried her footsteps and pulled her key from her pocket.

"Excuse me," she said under her breath, frightened to see his reaction to her tardiness. She was normally ten minutes early to open the shop up and sometimes allowed customers in before the shop technically opened. She sincerely hoped that the man didn't mind. Besides, they technically were still closed for another two minutes.

Fumbling with the key, she unlocked the door and opened it. Waving her wand, the shop came to life. "You may come in Sir," she spoke to him, eyes on the floor as she held the door wide so he could pass.
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by: Darius Nott
Mousy little thing. At least she was properly subservient. It was always a good sign when the common people knew their place in the world. Granted, she was a witch. She'd not have been allowed a business license to begin with if she wasn't. At least half blood, actually. Darius smirked as she held the door and greeted him, eyes cast down. It was proper.

The old man glided into the store and began to peruse the shelves. All of the potions books in the shop already had a place in his personal library. The herbology books, however...there were some new finds here.

Darius carefully inspected the tomes. They may not have been volumes that he owned, but were they useful? It appeared so. At least, it did for one particular book. He tucked it into the crook of his arm and continued his hunting.

What he needed was something intriguing. Something to study in the dark hours, to send his mind into fits of wonder or intrigue. In short, he needed a good story.

The fiction section becomes, but so did the histories and biographies...what to do? Hmm.

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