The dim Halifax drive seemed remarkably still on this particular evening. The dry, chill February air snapped coldly against concrete and long-dead vegetation. From the porch of one of the plain but attractive looking houses, a half-mangled wind chime clattered. It seemed to echo it's broken cries only to itself and to the wind, as there did not appear to be a single living creature outside. One after the other, street lamps began suddenly blinking out.
Although at first this seemed to be a series of random blinking lights, perhaps due to faulty wiring or storm activity nearby, they began to slowly begin to follow a pattern. As soon as one light was completely dimmed, it would fire back up - while the next one completely darkened. This followed a straight line path until it reached one street lamp - right in front of a desolate, empty lot. Placed more or less in the middle of the neighborhood, the lot seemed to be the designated place to throw unwanted junk. Old flattened spare tires, empty crisp packets, and abandoned grocery sacks dotted the yard. The lawn had clearly not been attended to for several months before winter, and the once thick luscious coat of grass and growth was now a crystallized, ice-dusted garden. As the light right in front of the lot blinked out, the wind gave a particularly hearty moan.
A small muffled pop sounded out, seeming louder in the silence than it would have otherwise. Along with it, a man suddenly and quite dramatically morphed into existence. Taking a single step to steady himself, Frederick Sable reached out one hand and gently slicked back his hair. Feeling that it was placed back adequately, the man instinctively adjusted his tie. He knew that small details - whether consciously perceived or not - were important in any situation. The way apparition always seemed to slightly dishevel the hair and tie, no matter how hard he worked at it, was always a bothersome element to the otherwise amazing convenience of it.
Sable stood for a second under the powerless street lamp, completely bathed in darkness as his eyes darted around quickly. The street was definitely a lot more calm than it had been just twenty-four hours earlier. The large group of confused muggles in the streets, babbling on about someone they knew nothing about..
The Auror had always felt particularly close with muggles. Something about their naivety and it's corresponding innocence had always resonated with him strongly. The simplicity with which they seemed to lead their lives always seemed to call him. Though he knew it was always important to stay mindful and live in the moment, from time to time he couldn't help but let his mind wander. Imagining himself as a regular guy - a vacuum repairman or a shoe salesman, perhaps - taking the train home from the city after work. Maybe he would have a wife and a young child in this other life, waiting for him at home so that they could eat dinner in front of the television together. Something so remarkably plain had always sounded very comforting to the man. Something so far removed from dark magic and dying children and any of the other recent horrors of the wizarding world.
The man shivered underneath his over-sized coat as his wand slid from his sleeve into his left hand. Pointing it towards the empty lot, he very quietly whispered an incantation into the night.
"Lumos!"
Though it was said softly, it was still said with conviction. Sable had never been one to take magic lightly. No matter how plain the spell, the man meant it whenever he cast one. The magic seemed to respond in kind, as well. The light that escaped from the tip of his wand seemed just a hair more bright - a tad more straight than if he had only mumbled the word.
The silvery blue beam shot forward, illuminating a tiny patch of grass like a small spot light. Sable stepped forward and, staring intently ahead, moved adjusted the light slowly across the grass in front of him.
It wasn't the first time he had forgotten his notes before. He had always been made fun of, both in school and otherwise, for his unbreakable connection with his notebook. When he was young and it was jokingly referred to as his diary by the other students, he had been writing for himself. Just notes on his studies and observations of the world around him. There hadn't even been intentions to go back over these notes later, really. Something inside him just knew that he needed to be recording things.
"Diane is going to kill me." The man muttered to himself, perhaps a little too loudly for the hour. There seemed to be no sign of the tiny notebook anywhere.
In recent years, since beginning his ministry work, his writings had been utilized much more. Diane, an elderly secretary that had been an invaluable underling during his time with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was now his dedicated reader. After she had retired, and Sable had been promoted, she had demanded he continue to send her his short hand notes. After some squabbling over clearances at the Ministry - and a great many trials and tribulations for Diane - she was finally granted the privilege to read and archive his thoughts and observations once again. Whenever he finished a notebook, he simply mailed it off to the woman. If work allowed for it, he would take it to her home in London personally and have more than a few cups of coffee with her. From the comfort of her own home, it would take just a few short days before she had taken his short hand notes and turned them into a tirelessly long narration of his life.
He couldn't let this be the first time he permanently lost his notes. He also did not even want to consider where they could be if they had been picked up here, in the middle of this muggle neighborhood. There were many protective charms, of course. Preventative measures just in case such an incident were to occur. Fred had been casting the same spells on all of his notebooks for two decades. He had just never had to put them to the test before.
A large freeze-dried leaf screamed loudly as it was blown across the cement in front of him, almost startling the man for a moment. He sighed quietly and stepped forward towards the empty lot. He had worn his good shoes again. It seemed to Fred that any day he decided to wear his good shoes would almost certainly become a day where he would end up trampling through someones garden, or coming into contact with some misplaced magical creatures manure. It never seemed to fail.
Each step deeper into the yard crackled more frozen grass beneath his feet, all of it overgrown and yellowed and sickly. Sable brought his wand down to angle the light directly in front of his feet as he walked. He was careful to give a quick glance around every few paces. The last thing the man needed was a muggle seeing him. The Obliviators would never forgive him if he were to cause yet another magical mishap in this neighborhood.
Stopping suddenly, Sable smiled to himself brightly. Though he was usually known as a pretty quick-witted and competent wizard, sometimes his common sense simply slipped from his grasp. When it returned though, as it had now, the man seemed endlessly pleased by his own intellect.
"Accio Notebook!"
Instantly, a pile of garbage seemed to vibrate to life about twenty feet ahead of the man. With a tiny shock of white light, an object burst from the pile and flew straight at him. Fred winced and brought his arm up to shield his face. The small detective notebook bounced off his arm and fell flatly to his feet. Sometimes, his excitement could get the better of him when casting spells. In moments like this, it was not surprising for him to accidentally put a little bit too mucheffort into summoning something. The man was just relieved he hadn't summoned every notebook from every home on the street. That always seemed to cause him problems.
Sable bent down and picked up his notebook. As he slipped it into an inside pocket of his overcoat, he flailed his wand wildly for just a second. The magically conjured light blinked out of existence like he had just removed a battery from a flash light.
A few crunchy paces later, the man was standing at nearly the exact spot he had appeared in just a few moments earlier. Underneath the darkened street lamp, comfortably invisible to the muggle world resting around him. He had a long night of paperwork ahead of him. The bureaucratic technicalities to a long-dead dark lord randomly appearing in muggle territory on a Tuesday night seemed never-ending.
Seemingly effortlessly, Sable plucked a small coffee cup from the air and instantly took a sip. The black coffee made his insides scream - the burning heat traveled smoothly from his mouth down into his throat and then settled, bubbling and acidic, in his stomach. He smiled. He loved the feeling. The simple pleasure he received from this coffee mug was immense. It seemed to be like the enchanted coffee inside - endless, and unable to be poured out anywhere except into himself.
The man took one more quiet look around the drive and then his smile grew. The peacefulness he felt at this moment on this block was exactly what made all of his work as an Auror worth it. Passing his coffee into his right hand as his wand reappeared in his left, the man gave a quick swish and vanished into the night with a small, satisfying pop. The only evidence the wizard had ever been there was a small plume of steam, left behind by his cup of coffee.