The moist humidity was enough to make most evening shoppers to tuck in early, but not Graham Montague. He had business to attend to. His hands were deep in the pockets of his black trousers as he strode toward his destination. The fog was so thick he could barely see more than four meters in front of him, barely making out the shadowy figures of straggling customers across the cobblestone street.
He stopped in his tracks as he passed the front window of Quality Quidditch, admiring the latest and greatest model in the window. "The Swiftfoot Three-thousand," he murmured to himself, squinting as he moved closer to the glass, hardly able to make out the broom's detail through the foggy windowpane. Overrated he thought to himself as he continued along the sidewalk. As a professional Quidditch player, he was confident that his team's management would surely order the best brooms fit for each player, regardless of price.
Finally, toward the end of the Alley, he spotted Nott's. The wand shop must be visited at night for special orders, he knew, as by day it was flooded by children and clumsy wizards and witches who tripped and snapped their wands in half.
He checked behind his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed as he pushed open the door and entered, allowing the door to close behind him before he walked toward his old friend at the counter. "Business is booming, I hear." He rocked back on his heels and looked around the shop, at the hundreds or thousands of wand boxes piled as high as he could see. He hadn't been inside a wand shop since his first trip to Ollivander's when he was ten.
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Date: 2010-08-20 05:06 am (UTC)He stopped in his tracks as he passed the front window of Quality Quidditch, admiring the latest and greatest model in the window. "The Swiftfoot Three-thousand," he murmured to himself, squinting as he moved closer to the glass, hardly able to make out the broom's detail through the foggy windowpane. Overrated he thought to himself as he continued along the sidewalk. As a professional Quidditch player, he was confident that his team's management would surely order the best brooms fit for each player, regardless of price.
Finally, toward the end of the Alley, he spotted Nott's. The wand shop must be visited at night for special orders, he knew, as by day it was flooded by children and clumsy wizards and witches who tripped and snapped their wands in half.
He checked behind his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed as he pushed open the door and entered, allowing the door to close behind him before he walked toward his old friend at the counter. "Business is booming, I hear." He rocked back on his heels and looked around the shop, at the hundreds or thousands of wand boxes piled as high as he could see. He hadn't been inside a wand shop since his first trip to Ollivander's when he was ten.