The keys jangled, their random but familiar improvmade by the bits and bobs that had been added to the chain over time. Adelaide knew that on the other side of the door, an anxious puppy was perking up its ears and sliding across wood. What she didn’t know was what would precede him:

A rush of feathers nearly took her out. She dodged, pressing at weird angle in the door frame, narrowly missing a poke to the eyeball, and certainly causing a storm of hair. The heavy stack of books in her arms tested their luck, leaning in a way that would have made the most wizardy bookshop jealous. And those carefully organized papers atop the stack matched the tiny wings’ flutter, rustling in threat.

What a genius, Adelaide.

A bark and a swish of fur, and the young woman knew that the second escapee— perhaps one of the culprits— was on his way. Dragging a string of Christmas lights with him. She fruitlessly stuck out a leg, attempting a weak barricade. The dog toppled right over her, picked up, and carried on, his excitement echoing in the corridor so loud it made the witch cringe. Or might have, if Adelaide had never chased baby animals through public spaces.

“Whoa, whoa,” she called out, trying to turn, and then freezing as if she’d been hexed. The papers at the tippy top of her pile were laughing at her, daring her to make the wrong move and ruin a morning’s hard work. Instead, she drew breath, pushed forward into the flat, and abandoned the books unceremoniously onto the table near the door. Hands flew out to catch the pile of parchment as it began to scatter. Adelaide shuffled it more or less into place, and whipped the wand out of her back pocket.

“You! Come back here,” she called, not knowing whether she meant dog or the baby owl he’d chased. She clapped her hands, wand between them, in a merry attempt at capturing attention.

The real mastermind, of course, still lingered in the flat, perched indignantly on its stand. The open cage beside him told her what she needed to know. The older, wiser owl was smarter than any bird had a right to be, but Adelaide would have to deal with him later.

The door still ajar, she jogged out after the puppy, who had chased the owl to the top of the landing.

Sadly, she already tried the trick of Accio puppy in her youth, to poor results.

“Here boy, here love, you want a treat?” The desperation in her voice had to have been obvious. Why she’d insisted on two baby animals in quick succession, when she had a whole collection of writers who were equally hard to keep still… Adelaide dug into her pocket, and pulled out… nothing.

“Come on, don’t frighten her, we’ve been through this already.”

The dog loved the owls. But that was the problem.

If summoning the puppy itself wouldn’t work… “Accio squeaky toy.”

Though all of her things were moved into her apartment, Grace had done very little by way of organizing it all, mostly because it seemed to be a far more arduous task that she had anticipated. So instead, after having her morning coffee and reading through the paper as she had always done (some routines were easily transferable from one location to the next), she had decided to write some letters. Most were to various friends and a few family members to let them know if her move and how to get in touch with her. It was very therapeutic and she now had a sense of accomplishment from which to build off the morning's activities as soon as she mailed them.

Though there was an elevator in the building, Grace decided to take the stairs to the owlry instead, hoping to get a feel for the place and perhaps also hoping to encounter some of her neighbors, without seeming to be strange while wanting to meet them. Was it her auror mind that wanted to make sure there were no sketchy individuals about? Perhaps. But it was also just her idle curiosity.

As it was, when she approached the landing of the sixth floor, she heard some commotion. And she had to react quick to move out of the way of a haphazard flutter of wings as an owl came to land on the railing. And then she was met with the exuberance of a puppy at her feet and she instinctively made an effort to reach out and pet it, keep it from barreling down the stairs, or both.

"Hey there, buddy," she said cheerfully with a smile. She hoped it was a friendly pup but so far nothing had given her the impression that he'd do anything to harm her. Maybe just lick her to death? "Where's your owner?" She looked up and thought she saw more movement coming from one of the open apartment doors. "Hello!" she called. "Do you need any help?"

Adelaide’s feet were doing the awkward but determined indoor jig of don’t-make-noise-or-scare-it-off-but-corner-the-culprit. She was used to silent creeping, bear-hug-spread arms, and strange maneuvers, not because she had any sort of traditionally dangerous or athletic career, but because one couldn’t help picking up such tricks from a parent who worked on stage and a parent who worked with messy, melty foods.

Not to mention, Adelaide had once marathon sprinted after an editor who’d butchered half a now-much-beloved novel with a terrible red quill, to block the witch from barreling through the doors of the publishers'. And she could have won the muggle Olympics with the way deadline-dodging writers kept her on her toes.

But puppies?

“Maddock!” She pleaded.

And there was something overtaking the desperation in her voice— a sweetness, the nervousness of a parent caving to a child’s whims. As if she were giving in.

Which… she definitely, sort of, really was, a truth half confirmed by the squeaky toy that bounced into her shoulder and sounded like an alarm. Adelaide flinched, in a winking way. (Her father’s voice, friendly and honest, reminded her vaguely that Fortescues didn’t give up. Adelaide had half a mind to tell him to shove it, just for a moment, but she did love her dad and his hyper-idealistic advice. And her ridiculous puppy.)

Maddock looked around, ears alert, but if she’d taken his attention away from the Timber for half second, something coming up the stairs stole it quickly.

Adelaide let out a huff and grabbed at the toy with renewed determination, just as a sweep of red hair popped up from the other side of the stairs. She took a huge, leaping step forward, then halted abruptly, and made a series of undecided faces that ended in an apologetic smile. It had an edge of triumph— and a huge heaping scoop of relief— as the girl seemed to block the puppy's path and keep him occupied.

“I think you’ve already helped me,” she admitted, taking a more normal step (none of the cliff dancing). “If he’d gotten down to the street or up to the owlery...” The former seemed unlikely, but then somehow absolutely a scenario she’d be telling an eccentric family member about. The latter… would have spelled disaster. “He still needs a bit of training.”

Just a bit. She grinned guiltily.

“I’m Adelaide,” she added, starting to extend a hand, stopping with a huff of laughter when she noticed the toy, and shoving her wand into the waist of her jeans to free the other.

Maddock pretended as if his owner didn’t even exist, and pounced up at the younger witch for desperate want of attention. As if he wasn’t spoiled already. Timber had finally calmed, and flittered back toward her owner, landing in the crook of Adelaide’s elbow.