Warehouse Residence, East London. 1900 hours.


She lit up, taking a couple of puffs before handing the joint over to Saoirse. Dido leaned back against the iron wrought banister of the balcony and looked to her side at the view of a glistening river cutting through east London's marshes. They were at a warehouse party in a part of town that had yet to be gentrified by muggle Londoners.

Out here there was nothing but terrace houses along rivers or canals, and boat homes floating peacefully in the golden light of a soon-to-be-setting sun. Quirky shops, overgrown garden parks, the unmistakeable scent of someone cooking jerk chicken in their vicinity.

If she looked to the other side of the balcony, which jutted out from the warehouse building, Dido would see more marshes and the familiar sight of construction cranes building a muggle mall.

"It's not boring," she was complaining to her friend about work, "but, like, I am getting bored."

There were a few other wixes out here, everyone in their own little groups smoking cigarettes or gillyweed. The party went on indoors, across three floors, a medley of things happening at once. Live music, dancing, board games, drinking games... the usual for whenever someone in the arts scene was throwing a big one.

Dido wasn't even sure whose party they were at. "My ma says I'm getting a case of the grass is greener on the other side. I don't know. I'm just not feeling it anymore," she took off her hat, shaking out her curls in the August heat. "But that's me these days. How you been?"

It was weird to think that as she was working on four the week before last, Saoirse was getting her wolf on in some hidden safehouse out there.