From the outside in

[Keyair Cienfuegos]

Somewhere in the navy grey of the late Autumn evening, there was a sudden snap, and a tall wizard stood at Hogsmeade Station. He had never been here before - that much was obvious. For one, he was dressed not in traditional British Victorian fashion, but in loose clothes of a much lighter material, including a bright green cloth shirt whose strings began almost halfway down his chest. For another, his skin was several shades darker than those who lived here; not that any of them were currently around.

For there was no train in the station at the moment; it was entirely empty, a condition exacerbated by the lateness of the evening and the dampness of the sky. Indeed, as Keyair Cienfuegos glanced up at the billowing clouds, startling blue-green eyes alight with interest, a new shower of drizzle dampened his face. He smiled. He had never ventured beyond the Caribbean in all his years, and now suddenly he was in the most foreign place he had ever experienced.

It was strange to think that only twenty seconds ago he had been in the scorching daylight of southern Haiti, giving his children one last hug goodbye and promising his wife that he'd send her an owl with money before the week was up. Twenty seconds and Keyair's world had changed. He finally averted his eyes from the sky, and saw the sign pointing into town. Then he glanced up at the grassy bank that loomed above the station - and he began to climb it.

Only when he reached the top did he finally turn around, and he was met by a sprawling, glistening view of Hogsmeade. Lantern lights were dotted around the streets like fireflies in the darkness, and even from up here he could hear the dulled voices of marketeers and tavern-goers finishing their days and starting their nights. Keyair took a seat on a large boulder, a grove of pine trees at his back. The rain was cold, and glued his shirt to his shoulders, but he didn't care. He could look at this scene forever.

It was, after all, his new home.

  

[Emery Adair]

The last shipment of furniture had arrived, finally! While there was certainly easier forms of transportation, the horse cart was the most cost-effective, and Emery understood the needs of keeping even herders fed, when it came to the economy and society. The road into the village passed by the station, and the cart seemed to have gotten stuck in a rut, much to its driver's chagrin.

A muggle himself, though with a halfblood child, the driver sent his boy to town to notify Emery of the mishap. It didn't take him terribly long to arrive, wand in hand and ready to move the cart and send the man on his way. The entire excursion was a welcome break, from being closeted away in his study with ledges and correspondences to wade through.

Drawing his coat tighter about him, Emery turned and walked along the path, enjoying even the shmearny autumnal evening. As he climbed the hill past the station, occasionally shooing droppings from the horse off to the sides with little flicks of his wand. Despite the stroll, his mind resumed to business.

The tallies from the London museum are uneven, likely due to the last canopic jars not making the list. I will need to speak with Carson. The listing began. Edwards, his valet, is still ill, and there is the house opening next week. If he is not well by then, Sebastian, a footman, will have to step in. Still need to select a cook. Maude is too old to carry on these duties on her own for much longer.

Little did he know that he had walked straight into some mud, and with a soft curse, he stepped off into the grass at the side of the road, scraping his feet along the damp rushes. Only when he was satisfied did he look about himself again, to see a figure at the top of the crest. Curious. With a casual but ready grip upon his wand, and a flick and uttering of 'lumos', he proceeded to climb, stopping a respectful distance away to admire the view of the village below.

  

[Keyair Cienfuegos]

The English drizzle ran down his neck, and was swift to soak his shirt right through. Cotton; so inappropriate for this weather, and so ideal for the hot golden skies of southern Haiti. But Keyair didn't care. Caribbean warmth, it was said, was really on the inside, so he kept it still. And if and when he really did begin to cool down, he would warm up in a trice with a simple spell. Or perhaps a pint of Hal's Spice if they had a tavern round here.

Would they have even heard of Hal's Spice in Hogsmeade? Discovering this was yet another thing he had ahead of him. And on the likely chance they didn't stock his favourite drink, he was looking forward to sampling whatever it was they had on offer.

Keyair ran strong hands through his close-cropped hair, feeling that he was (of course) soaked to the skin, and before considering finally turning his attention from that beautiful evening view, his attention was diverted automatically. By a figure, it seemed, ascending the bank, wand alight. The stranger (who appeared to be blond and white - incredibly foreign-looking to the Haitian) was no threat, because he could not resist a glance at the view.

Keyair smiled slightly. "Hello my friend", he called down to him. The two very-different gentlemen did not interact other than this initial greeting, but they shared a moment of mutual observation, both looking out over the drizzle-soaked town. Keyair's new home.