WHat do you do when you have an idea to live a little more? Break out of the grind. Except where the grind felt good, good grind coffee and morning rhythms. Lunch and reading. Reading and decaf at 9. Striving is hard. Why should anyone bother? Jason felt suffocated in convenience. It was well. All was well. What do you do with well, what do you strive for? He didn't know how to get by just passingly. It was like swimming through cotton, or walking through a silent museum gallery. Something in him was screaming out to be heard.
He had started his research a year ago after he read a small clipping in the Liverpool New Roman. It was a tiny sinppet, about a witch in Brazil, based out of Rio, who had started a school for "peculiar children." Only he had done a little inquiring. Being in the wizarding community, peculiar children were those without magick. And today he had a letter. He sat at the table in the coffee shop, wearing grooves into his chin with hi focus and intent. His face wanted to smile, but his brain was a being snappy. Stop. Write the way out, write the future these children don't have.
An idea is a seed, or a weed. But a weed is only a plant growing where you don't want it. He was resigning himself, that maybe this weed was here to stay.
raco had been especially exhausted lately, a bad sign, considering that Astoria believed that she might be pregnant again and Scorpius was already such a handful. He was grateful for his family - more than he probably would ever be able to accurately express - but Draco couldn't help sometimes but feel unworthy of the blessings he had been granted in spite of the shortsightedness of his childhood ambitions. Sure, every once in a while Harry Potter and his cohort popped into the back of Draco's mind, like they did for everyone in the wizarding UK, but his puerile fascinations had largely dissipated and, with it, Draco's fears of disapproval from his own father. No, Draco's mind was more fixated these days on his work and his family, which he held in equal regard. And, well, even the best things in life can take a toll at times.
On this particular day, Draco had opted to go out for lunch to a small coffee shop in Diagon Alley. When he got there, it seemed as though every other witch or wizard in London had had the same idea as the Slytherin alumnus. There was only one empty seat in the house, and that table was already occupied by a man enveloped in reading and writing. Figuring that sitting at a table with a stranger was better than not eating at all, Draco placed his order at the counter, retrieved his coffee, and approached the man at the table with an empty seat. "Is this seat claimed by anyone?" he inquired.
He glanced up in mid-thought, only realizing the man was speaking to him after an delicious, awkward pause. "It is by you if you want it." Which he did, only he wasn't sure whether he was asking to sit or to take the seat to another table. Jason looked around, noticing that all the other tables were full in the way that people stagger themselves so as to not be near each other. There was no sitting right by another person, it was too personal. Only necessity forced mage and muggle alike out of the robe of convention, to shatter that intangible wall between. He wasn't oft inclined to shatter it himself, but it was an affable visage looking back at him. "Let me."" he swept his few sheets of paper into a neat pile and stowed them in his bag, leaving the table for the other man to settle his meal.