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Zafirah Harrowbolt sauntered down the wide, open space of Diagon Alley. An early winter sun had just moments ago peeked above the higgledy-piggledy rooftops, pouring an orange light onto the street’s cobblestones, which shone wet with dew. Only a mere few other witches and wizards bustled past, going about the beginning of their ridiculously long day.
A Tribute to Gravity
CRASH! A strangled shriek was all that escaped from Zafirah as the air was knocked from her lungs as she collided with the floor. Immediately a sharp pain shot down her spine putting her in agony from her head to her hips. Tears of pain obscured her vision. As if she hadn’t been winded enough by the impact she began to panic, convinced that she’d never been able to walk or even stand again, causing her breathing to become even more laboured. This, along with the furious pain was making her light-headed.
What to Wear?
A week had past since Zafirah had started working in Hamlett’s Magical Repair. By now she’d settled into the rigmarole of dealing with mostly dim-witted and often snotty customers, cleaning all the surfaces in the shop which seemed to perpetually pick up ferocious amounts of dust, and of course, being very, very bored.
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