Eloria stomped loudly down the hall, swearing under her breath. Once again she attacked the elevator button. Her finger began to throb after her vicious attack on the elevator's pushbutton system, and so she stood, arms crossed.
"Stupid British. A few weeks. Always found themselves superior to others..." said Eloria. Her once cheery, yet somewhat frightened face now wore a rather large frown and an intense stare now. Thinking of how arrogant the British were throughout the past 200 years, Eloria walked into the now open lift that stood before her. Fuming the entire time, she didn't notice the man with a thick moustache bump into her, or even the black hair witch who stepped on her foot. Eloria was too mad to care anymore. Occasionally, she muttered random phrases under her breath, which caused the other passengers in the elevator to stare at her.
"Them and their infuriating "two Monday's from now"....let's just insult one of the top ranking Auror's in America...though they are probably so full of themselves they didn't even bother to read that on my paperwork...or the fact I am capable of..."
But before she could finish, the female voice chimed while the elevator doors opened, and the Atrium glistened before her. Eloria felt the only way she was going to release some of this tension was to curse someone, and after realizing she couldn't do that until she had taken the test, she became even madder than before. Eloria stormed over to one of the many fireplaces that lined the hall, surprising herself even that she didn't crack the tiles she was stepping on. For the first time she noticed that she still held the small piece of parchment in her hands that Higgins had given her. Looking at it, she read the somewhat slurred, but legible "Floo Powder on top of mantle; The Leaky Cauldron" that was written in blue ink on the small fragment of paper.
"Fine then. Floo powder," Eloria thought to herself, her eyes scanning the mantel that hung over the elaborate stone fireplace that was before her. Noticing a small box with an elaborate coat-of-arms engraved in it, she cautiously reached in. After the time a friend thought it would be funny to stick a toad in her pencil box, Eloria never put her hand willingly into anything in which she could not see the contents. Yet her hand did not feel a toad, but rather a fine powder. Taking a handful of the stuff, she threw it into the fire.
"I hate, I loathe, I despise traveling by floo powder," she muttered, so only she could hear. Stepping into the green flames as if they would eat her alive, she took one last glance at the piece of parchment she was now clutching in her hands. Her sweat had smeared the writing even more, but she could still read. She grasped her briefcase as if to reassure herself that everything was going to be okay.
Her voice slightly wavering as she said, "The Leaky Cauldron." In a flash, she was consumed by green flames.

Eloria stumbled out of a small fireplace. Her face, hands, and clothing was coated in a layer of dust, dirt, and ash. Her eyes were watering and Eloria began coughing uncontrollably. She couldn't see where she was. She heard voices, but was unable to understand a single word because of her loud coughing. Her arms extended in front of her, she stumbled about, looking for a solid object. She knew she was allergic to ash as well as the floo powder iteself, and she knew that she shouldn't travel by Floo Network. She hated how she remained totally open and unprotected for a lengthy bit of time afterwards. If it was one thing she had learned from the AAWA, it was never be unprotected.
Unable to see or speak, Eloria could not protest when she felt someone grabbed her by the shoulders, and began guiding her. She was maneuvered around what she could only guess were people until she a pair of rather rough, wrinkled hands placed her own hands on what felt like a wooden barstool. For a moment her coughing ceased, yet before she could even open her mouth she let out a loud sneeze. As her coughing began to start up again, she hoisted herself up onto the stool. Sitting there, in an unknown place, unable to explain her situation, Eloria felt helpless. After a good length of sneezing, coughing, and eye-watering she began to regain the use of her senses. Yet after looking around a bit, Eloria wished she still was having an allergy attack. She was in a small, somewhat cramped, grimy pub. There were a few people sitting at the small tables, drinking and talking. They all glanced at her, and then resumed their conversations. She found herself sitting alone at the bar, with an old man standing beside her, staring.
"You okay, miss?" questioned he old man. Taking a glance at his hands, Eloria reasoned he must have been the one who led her to her seat. Taking a moment to brush off some of the dust that coated her body, Eloria looked gratefully at the man. For no reason he had helped her when she was helpless. Eloria concluded that maybe Britain wasn't so bad after all.
"I'm fine now. Allergies to ash you know. Um, where I am? And might I be so bold to ask who you are?" said Eloria, as she looked around the place.
"You are in the Leaky Cauldron. Bar, pub and lodging. My name is Tom, the landlord," said Tom, walking behind the bar. He began to wipe off some wet glasses. "And how might I help you?" he added, smiling a rather large, toothless grin.
"Name's Eloria Felton. Right now all I really want is a good, stiff drink," said Eloria, who was once again attempting to clean herself of the dust. Even though she normally didn't drink, her father disapproved and she knew it ruined one's liver, she felt the occasion called for one.
Chuckling softly, Tom asked, "What will it be? Firewhiskey? Sherry? Ale?"
"Whatever is strongest," said Eloria, now laughing herself. Eloria realized how good it felt to laugh.
Eloria began to look about as Tom poured her a shot glass of an amber liquid. An old witch sat hunched over in a small corner. A group of younger looking wizards were avidly discussing some matter at a round table to her right. The fireplace where she had just made her entrance was now gray from the ash she had stirred up. Obviously not a lot of people came to the Leaky Cauldron via the Floo Network. Taking a sip of the drink Tom placed in front of her, something in the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning around she saw an enormous man with shaggy black hair.
"He must be at least 10 foot tall, maybe even 12..." thought Eloria. She turned back around to face the aged bartender.
"The Ministry told me I could stay here for a while...until I find a place of my own. Do you happen to have any room?"
Now filling a gigantic tankard with ale, Tom looked up at the dirty, tired woman who sat before him.
"Yes, plenty of room. How long will you be staying, and do you need anything special in the room?"
"Well, at least two weeks, probably longer. A desk would be nice...oh, and so would a fireplace." Eloria hoped that Tom would remain as willingly to accommodate her. Yet far from being taken back, Tom's face lit up.
"Got the perfect room for you. Room 7. After your done," said Tom, gesturing to the shot glass that Eloria was clutching, "I can take you up there."
Gulping down the last of her drink, she nearly slammed her glass on the counter. Smile spread across her face, Eloria jokingly said, "Done." Laughing, Tom stepped out of the bar and stopped in front of Eloria, who hopped off of the bar stool.
"Your other bags miss?" He looked down at her briefcase and scanned the surrounding bar area and fireplace.
"This is it," Eloria said, eyeing the large hairy man again.
"That's it? And you're staying a few weeks?" Tom's eyes widened in surprise.
Handing her the briefcase over, Eloria said, "Do I look like a witch or not?"
Not expecting the briefcase to weigh much, when Tom took the handle from Eloria, it sunk to the ground. With a grunt he hoisted it up on his hip and hobbled over to a wooden staircase. In between breaths, Tom spoke.
"Not...implying anything...miss. Just...merely wondering...you see...many...times...people plan to stay a while...they...have...lots of luggage."
He led her to a door with a brass number seven on it. Taking an old fashioned key out of his pocket, he unlocked and opened the door, revealing a fairly large, cozy-looking room. A bed was in the corner, and a desk next to that. A dresser was tucked away in the other corner. A fireplace was across the room from a full length mirror and door, presumably leading to a bathroom.
"Perfect, thank you very much," said Eloria, taking her briefcase back from man as well as the key, she walked in.
Placing her briefcase on the bed, she yawned and said "Sleep. That's what I want. That's what I need. Sleep." Taking her wand out of her robes, she lazily flicked it.
"Abdo Sarcina."

Nothing happened. She flicked her wand again, this time as if she were swatting a fly and repeated, "Abado Sarcina." Still, nothing happened. Eloria was growing impatient. Stomping her foot this time, flicking her wand as if she were going to hurl it across the room, and she shouted, "ABADO SARCINA!"
Her briefcase opened, and hoards of clothes flew out of it, and folded themselves neatly into the dresser drawers. Yawning again, she pointed her wand at the dresser.
"Accio Pajamas." Nothing happened yet again. Eloria was very, very tired and she looked somewhere in-between crazed and furious. Jumping up and down, she pointed her wand at the dresser again.
"AC..CI...O....PA...JAM...AS!"
A pair of flannel pants and a large black shirt which read "Auror Academy of Western America, Class of 1978" in bold white letters flew over and landed on the bed in front of her. While she was changing, she noticed a large red mark that was beginning to turn blue on her leg.
"Blasted briefcase. Must have bumped into me using the floo powder," she said, rubbing it. "Gotta see if they have bruise balm around this place. Or any place I can buy it. I will never travel the Floo network again. Father always said it was a stupid mode of transportation." At this point Eloria gave a large yawn, and went under the comforters. Whether it was she was so tired or that she was just relieved to be here at last, Eloria felt that no other bed in the world could be as soft and comfortable. Mumbling to herself, the last thing she said before she fell asleep was "Maybe...Britain isn't so bad."