Disclaimer: I own nothing; just frolicking in the world of HP.
Draco and Blaise sat in the corner of a curry shop that sat along Diagon Alley. The place was busy, experiencing the Ministry's lunch crowd. The two men looked like they were enjoying each other's company, since it had been a long time since they last conversed.
"Is Slughorn still privileging students with that club of his?" Blaise mocked, remembering the exclusive perks of being in the Slug Club.
"Of course he is, I remember you use to rub that one in," Draco laughed as he thought back to his sixth year, mentally skipping over the bad memories for the few good he could establish during that time. Luckily, his later experiences at Hogwarts had improved drastically due to his mentorship by Professor Slughorn, as well as his distance from Harry Potter. After Draco successfully completed his N.E.W.T.S., he continually returned to the Hogwarts to conduct experiments in the lab and go over research with Slughorn. He bided his time at Malfoy Manor avoiding overt confrontation with his parents who had slowly learned to be less demanding of their son. As long as he was happy, they remained content with his decision to research potions. His father, Lucius, was secretly proud that his son had gained a name as an expert potioneer, and was thankful his mistakes didn't ruin his son's chances for a respectable career.
The Slytherin brothers discussed work for the majority of their lunch hour, realizing they had little to say about their current social lives. Each had been too consumed in their jobs to maintain stable relationships over the years, but they both vowed to remedy that in that next decade.
The lunch crowd in the restaurant began to die down and the street of Diagon Alley began to fill up again with the hustle and bustle of magical patrons as they exited restaurants and prepared to return to work. Only a skip away, however, was the muggle world, unaware of its counterpart but engaging in the same hustle and bustle activity of the lunch hour.
After leaving her flat, Alice had decided to take a casual morning stroll, stopping at a nearby park for an hour or so to read before heading towards Charing Cross Road to investigate. She figured the lunch hour was the best time to people watch so the detour allowed her to relax and gain some much needed fresh air. She took a bus that let off along Tottenham Court Road and she expected to find Charing Cross Road up ahead. When she found the street, she was at first surprised that it seemed a little run down, but on closer inspection the quaint shops and restaurants lining each side had a unique charm which she could only describe as being Londonesque. For a moment, she remembered shopping on similar streets with her mother when she was a child, before the mental breakdown occurred. Alice smiled as she entered the street on the right side, feeling a good vibe from the memory.
The sun seemed to hide behind the buildings slightly, making the street darker than its predecessor, as if clouds had suddenly rolled into the clear sky. Alice reached into her bag to pull out the many article clippings she brought along scanning them for details. One picture showed the supposed location of a strange bat-like creature, which was cartooned in by the editing staff. It was spotted lounging on a stately tree with a unique knob protruding from its side. The tree was in front of two shops, a record store and one that looked apparently abandoned. She decided to look for both the shops and the tree to start. The lunch hour was starting to begin and Alice was forced to move along with the crowd, her eyes beneath her sunglasses constantly scanning both sides of the street for a match. About halfway up she spotted the record shop on the other side of the road and sure enough that was the tree. Peddling back to the crosswalk, she proceeded across looking intently at the abandoned shop's front. Something about it seemed odd. She noticed several people entering its door; one of them was wearing a unique set of garments, a long robe of sorts. Alice stopped and continued to observe before going any closer. There was no sign on the store front, and from its condition it looked as if it had been abandoned for decades. "Curious," she thought. Soon, another pedestrian entered the store front which then prompted her to do the same.
Upon opening the old door she gazed in upon a cottage style pub with large wooden tables in the center, on the sooty walls were framed photographs and paintings, large iron chandeliers with candles hung overhead. It reminded her of pubs in the English countryside which hadn't changed for hundreds of year. It even had that familiar smell of smoke and alcohol mixed with that of beef stew and freshly baked bread. The lighting was dim and Alice quickly slid her sunglasses on top of her head before stepping inside. The noise suddenly grew quiet as she appeared; several customers looked her way only to again return to conversation shortly after. Several continued to monitor her movement through the room. She found a small table to sit at not too far from the entrance and slowly pulled out her netbook and mobile phone from her bag.
Near the kitchen entrance Hannah Longbottom witnessed the whole scene. Her husband Neville was sitting at a nearby table reading that morning's The Daily Prophet, completely unaware.
"Psss," Hannah whispered anxiously, tapping her husband on the arm, "a muggle just came in."
Her husband slowly lowered the paper and gazed towards the woman at the table. "Well, see if she wants something to eat," he whispered back, not terribly concerned about it. He figured she was probably a squib or the Muggle-Repelling Charm would have worked.
Hannah apprehensively went over to where Alice was sitting, "May I get you anything?" she said with a feigned smile.
"A cup of coffee, please," Alice said with a noticeable Americanized accent. Hannah nodded silently. "You wouldn't happen to have internet connection?" she questioned, suddenly noticing the blonde woman looked a bit uncomfortable.
"Sorry, no we don't," Hannah replied quickly and then left to retrieve the coffee.
Her husband, who continued to read his newspaper, turned in the direction of his wife and whispered, "See, that wasn't so hard." It wasn't long before Hannah had placed a cup of coffee in front of Alice and made her way back to the kitchen, glad the encounter was over.
Alice put her netbook back in her bag, leaving her mobile phone out to check the time. "12:40." She remembered Mr. Mylton Jr. took early lunches so it was a good time to call him to confirm everything was set in accordance with his email. Her book had finished its first print and would presumably be shipped to local bookstores and online venues this week. Taking a sip of her bitter coffee, Alice searched for Mr. Mylton Jr.'s contact number on her phone and leaned her face towards the wall to help blanket the noise. The pub customers had grown a little louder since she sat down, but it would probably be easier calling in there than outside on a busy street, she thought.
"Mylton and Sons Publishing Company, this is Thomas Mylton Jr. How may I help you?" Chimed a pleasant older man's voice on the other end.
"Hello Mr. Mylton Jr., this is Alice McNally, thank you for your email. I'm extremely excited to hear that the book passed printing stage, I was wondering…"
"I'm sorry, who is this again?" Asked Mr. Mylton Jr. cutting Alice off.
"Alice McNally sir…from Oxford." Alice said, wondering if the pub was too noisy after all.
"McNally? I've never done business with a McNally, are you sure you have the right number dear?" He said, not breaking his pleasant demeanor.
"Yes, I've been working with you for several months on publishing my book, Hinting at Magic…" Now Alice was feeling a bit worried, she removed the phone from her ear to double check that the number she dialed was indeed Mylton's.
"Ma'am, I apologize but I do believe you're mistaken. All the best to you! Cheers!" He hung up the phone.
Alice sat listening to the sudden silence from her phone before the noise in the pub brought her back to reality. Slipping her phone back into her bag she slowly looked around at the characters in the room. A trio of old disheveled women sat at a booth in the corner drinking sherry and quietly conversing. Every now and then their beady eyes would shift her way. A few large and dangerous looking fellows at the bar began conversing louder, and she was unsure if there would be a fight. Suddenly, this place didn't seem safe at all.
The phone call and this sudden awareness of her safety had upset her stomach. She decided to add sugar to the coffee to take away its bite. While swirling her spoon in the dark liquid, her eyes spotted some paper which she had placed her bag on top of when arriving. Cautiously sliding it out from under her bag she realized it was a newspaper but not the London Times, it was The Daily Prophet. Her eyes went wide but she decided to leave it partially concealed under her bag and take it with her when she left. Trying not to arouse suspicion, she took another sip of coffee and pulled out the book, How the Mind Works; opening it to a random page, she pretended to read. She thought, "Just finish your coffee, leave some money, then you can leave..."