Emme knew it was a foolish choice to go out in the middle of the night by herself, and yet she was still walking down the sidewalk, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, wand gripped tightly in trembling fingers. Most nights, her nightmares were dispelled easily enough with a break in her routine - get out of bed, make tea, read a book. On occasion though … like tonight, they had lingered in the very air of her flat, clouding the ceiling and making Emme feel like she were choking on them. On nights like this, she was compelled into activity - usually something safely inside, like the time she had scrubbed the entire kitchen, top to bottom, the Muggle way. But she could feel the urge to breathe fresh air and knew that nothing else would satisfy her.
She felt like a mouse as she scurried down the sidewalk. It had a strange sensation of both easing and compounding the terrors she felt. The fresh air did help, but it also made her memories a little stronger so all in all, she didn’t feel much better than she had a few minutes ago, but neither did she feel much worse. And there was something really soothing about being out so late, despite her inherent concerns; the streets were quiet and peaceful, and even her bad thoughts were drifting farther and farther away.
Spotting a bench ahead, she moved in that direction with the vague plan to sit for a few minutes before heading back to her flat; by the time she got there, hopefully she could sleep again. Her footsteps stopped short when she realized the bench was occupied, a tight knot of fear building in her stomach. However, the other person spoke and seemed harmless enough, and her feet hurt, so Emme swallowed back her worries and sat on the far end of the bench. “Mmm, nice enough,” she said hesitantly, “bit cold though.”
The clouds are parting a little, letting the moon through. He glances over at the newcomer for a moment before looking back to the sky. The discomfort has faded by the time he does- she doesn’t seem like anyone to be outright wary of.
In the dark, he thinks that the woman’s voice is somehow- familiar- it lingers at the back of his thoughts, does he know her? Perhaps, perhaps not, but it’s hard to see at night, the lamplight illuminates half her features and casts too much into shadow.
“Yeah,” he agrees. The wind bites at his fingertips, already frozen from holding a bottle of soda. But it’s a pleasant kind of numbness, a pleasant kind of chill when he inhales and exhales in a cloud of steam- it’s mostly just his limbs, his coat is thick enough he doesn’t feel the need to be shivering. If he was he’d be more worried. “Not wearing enough layers?”
Peter glances at her- properly this time, and blinks as he notices her wand for the first time. A witch then. Well, you never knew. Perhaps they do know each other after all- she didn’t seem like she could be that much older or younger than him, and her accent was British. He’d figure it out soon. “Should try a cloak warming charm. Heard it works wonders. But I like the cold to be honest, it’s rather refreshing.”
The moon is covered again when he turns back, the last glimmer of its pale husk hidden. It’s still visible, a half-circle of dim light behind the wisp of cloud, but no longer anything to look at.
“So, what’re you doing out here?” He sets his cola bottle down next to him. “Classic night stroll?”
