Time: 14:00 ~ Date: 08/17/25 ~ Outfit: ✖ ~ CC: #4B3F57

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Walking down Diagon Alley, Delilah's small, little feet made light, clicking sounds against the uneven cobblestones beneath her. The whole alleyway hummed with energy. Owls fluttered, making their feathers ruffle as they were kept in cages and their wings clipped. Shop signs swayed overhead and glimmered in the light. The whole alley smelled like excitement and magic. It all looked like something out of a story.

But the thing with stories was, they tended to go differently than expected.

As always, she followed the wall, ducking around other witches and wizards who had come here to buy things, or see things, or whatever it is that they do. The windows of the shops showed robes that shifted colors, books that reordered themselves on their own, quills that wrote endlessly across parchment. Every couple of seconds, a new window made her think about getting off track and checking out what was happening inside.

But she moved forward anyway.

There was a lightness in her chest despite everything telling her to be cautious. Delilah did not wander places just because they were cool. You observe first and only then act. It was a good habit. She knew that.

Then a loud, manic laugh suddenly echoed through the crowd of shoppers, drawing attention and cutting through everything else. It wasn't just a laugh—something else was going on.

Delilah stopped in her tracks.

As her eyes looked around to try and figure out what was happening, they found themselves staring at a strange shop located somewhat further ahead. Unlike most other stores, it was brightly colored, with a bold design and a number of bright things flashing and changing in its windows. There were moving displays, flashing neon lights, buzzing electronics, and a large selection of bizarre products on sale.

Her eyes widened.

"…What is this?"

She realized that she'd stopped moving only when someone jostled against her slightly and pushed her further down the road. But she couldn't help looking back as she walked, curious, wanting to know more. The rotating sign above the store's entrance confirmed that this place was indeed different.

Delilah moved to the display window of the store, her movements becoming slower and more tentative but not stopping her nonetheless. Her attention immediately was drawn to all the bizarre things in there, all sorts of things designed to make people lose control. A pair of gloves that snap at people's fingers; a multicolored hat; a cup of fireworks.

A tiny smirk played on her lips.

"…That's… a choice."

Taking another look at those strange items inside, she focused on the box of candy sitting there in front of her. It was almost… normal, considering everything else. And it made it more interesting.

"What does that… actually do…?"

Shifting position, she tried to take a look at the display card near the box. As expected, the small print on it was blinking and changing constantly, trying to hide information from everyone but the people who owned the store. Frowning, she managed to read the names of some of the products.

"Fainting Fancies… Fever Fudge… Nosebleed Nougat…"

Blinking, she shook her head.

"…You're joking."

Straightening up, she crossed her arms before continuing to look at the box of candies in front of her. It took a moment or two, but then she understood exactly what the owner was up to.

"They make you sick… on purpose?"

Now she spoke more contemplatively, as if trying to understand why anyone would want such products. However, her expression soon changed, and she allowed a slow, knowing smile to spread across her face.

"…That's actually kind of smart."

Moving even closer, she looked into the shop's display case once again while talking in a low voice only she could hear.

"If you wanted to get out of something… class, detention… whatever… It's… emergency use, I suppose…"
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

interacting with: @
mentioning: @no one
@Ophelia Vanderbilt

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

17.08.2025

mentions: @Delilah Morrigan

218 words

Ophelia was walking down Diagon Alley with her parents, looking at all the different shops selling magical stuff. She and her parents looked at the shops with awe, never having seen the stuff sold here.

The shops kind of looked the same, except one that was.... colorful. Lights and designs that made it different than other stores. "I'll be back," she said to her parents, making sure she earned at least a nod before walking to the shop.

She looked at the products being displayed. She noticed fireworks, something she already knew about, but looking at the other products, Nosebleed Nougat and Fever Fudge she saw, she didn't know if the fireworks were the normal kind or had a special use.

Ophelia scrunched her nose and sat down in a squatting position to see more of the products. The display and the exterior of the shop were definitely good marketing, she thought, and she wanted to go in and look at the rest of the products. From the window, she could see the crowd inside, so she immediately assumed the shop was one of the most popular ones in Diagon Alley.

From her peripheral vision, she saw another girl looking curiously at the products. She had dark curles and tan skin. She looked up to see her more clearly.

Time: 14:00 ~ Date: 08/17/25 ~ Outfit: ✖ ~ CC: #483D8B

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Another sound drew her attention sideways: footsteps, followed by the quiet creak of wood as someone crouched.

Beside the window stood another child, around her own age. Dark-haired and pale-skinned; eyes that flicked between the objects with a spark of interest, not just awe, not just wonderment, but actual interest, curiosity, thought. Not common in the others she saw. Those had been the ones pulling their parents by the sleeve, pointing out each and every object they passed, jabbering excitedly in response to it all. She was looking at everything like she was analyzing it, trying to discern exactly what made it tick before she decided whether or not to want it.

And so Delilah found herself returning her eyes to the case. The candies inside, the flashing label.

She didn't say a word for a minute.

But then, as an afterthought—

"Nosebleed Nougat, probably the most reliable. Nosebleeds aren't easy to fake. They look really bad, too. So whoever you try it on will send you off to wherever you were avoiding without hesitation." She let out a small pause. "Fever Fudge is riskier. Hard to get your fever just right; could be too low for anyone to take seriously. Could go too high and you'll be in the hospital wing." She tilted her head, thinking the box over again.

"Fainting Fancies are showy. If you want people to actually remember you got ill, rather than being told you got out of doing something, then use that one." Another small break. "Fainting in a hallway, though. Quite risky. A lot of things could happen. People could step on you. There would always be some idiot trying to act heroic."

She went on speaking as though she were a young consultant discussing the supply chain needs of an operation with moderately-illegal implications.

When she finally glanced sideways at the other girl, it became clear that she'd been analyzing this as well. Analyzing, considering. As if she too had done her own calculations beforehand.

"My apologies," Delilah began, not sounding particularly apologetic. "You seem interested in what it does, rather than just admiring the flashy label, as everyone else is. In this case, however—" she waved a hand toward the candy in the case, the flashing label which seemed to have switched to displaying absolutely nothing useful now, and was doing so at the rate of one configuration per five seconds. "—the label isn't going to help much; it's supposed to be hard to understand." The slight note of dry humor crept into her voice. "That's also, in my opinion, quite clever. If you can't discern what it does precisely, you won't get caught selling it."

She shifted her position slightly, but didn't back off; instead she glanced at all the rest of the display in its entirety. Gloves that clicked when someone touched them, hats that changed colors when placed on a head, a mug of fireworks that emitted short bursts of colored fire in cycles of four seconds. All designed to catch a person's eye; all designed to make him momentarily forget what he was looking at.

"All of this is," she continued, mostly to herself. "Showy enough to convince anyone that it's only there for fun; quiet enough that everything useful is still present." Her eyes moved back to the flashing label. "The designer of this shop knew quite a lot about the mechanics of attention."

Again, she fell silent for a few seconds.

And then, remembering she wasn't alone:

"First time in Diagon Alley?" She glanced at the girl, not unkindly, just curious. "I've only been here a few times myself. It's—" she cast her glance along the entire street, which seemed endless. At all the swaying signs hanging overhead; at the flapping owls carrying packages; at the moving objects in shop-windows. "Quite a lot," she finished, turning around to meet the other girl's eyes.

And then, as if she'd only remembered now:

"Sorry I'm rambling. My name's Delilah."
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

interacting with: @Ophelia Vanderbilt
mentioning: @no one

Time: 14:00 ~ Date: 08/17/25 ~ Outfit: ✖ ~ CC: #483D8B

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
Muggles.

The term that landed on Delilah’s chest with no weight but considerable meaning was analyzed and filed away. It made sense of the squatting, the intense scrutiny of the labels, the unassuming, entirely deductive way in which none of the products seemed to mean anything to her. And she had been approaching the situation with no preconceptions whatsoever, no inherited terminology, or even a concept by which to interpret what she saw.

And that was worth noting.

Delilah followed Ophelia through the door.

The inside of the shop seemed like a wall: first, auditory, then visual, then olfactory. There was an aroma somewhere between burnt sugar and sulfur that carried an electrical smell. The noise was impressive; products from the shelves came alive intermittently, bursts of color, odd mechanical noises, an occasional piercing whistle that emanated from the back area in thirty-second intervals, like a clock. The place was crowded enough for her to have to orient herself horizontally in order not to bump anyone, an automatic gesture she didn’t have to think about.

Other children in the vicinity plucked products from shelves with great enthusiasm, spoke with exaggerated volume, and called to each other across narrow aisles. Delilah recognized some of them: faces from the train, from events she had been dragged to and had hated, from family gatherings where kids were put in a different room and told to amuse themselves. The rest approached the place much like they approached anything else: with enthusiasm, but no engagement with the objects.

Delilah observed the whole process with detached interest.

She moved slowly through the first aisle, deciphering the labels for as long as they lasted, watching the products perform their routines. On the third shelf, there was something called Skiving Snackboxes, an upgraded version of the same product she had seen advertised in the window, with an additional label with flashing bright orange text and a drawing of a child clutching their stomach. Incredibly, the drawing was supposed to be funny, an exaggerated cartoon character designed to make the product look comical and harmless, a joke.

That meant people were likely to purchase it to have fun with it, try it once because of sheer curiosity or boredom, and never give any serious thought to its potential applications.

Very clever, she thought again.

"Muggle families are rarely prepared for any kind of expectations," she said in a low voice that could not carry far. "Letters from Hogwarts help, but only partly." She picked up a small box marked Puking Pastilles, the box was in vibrant green, examined the label from the other side, and placed it back carefully. "My family has had magical abilities for generations. I have always known roughly what most of this stuff is, even before trying it. You are figuring everything out for yourself. This is a very different skill set. Probably harder."

She did not say it as a compliment; she was stating a fact, and lying out of politeness was against her code of ethics.

Turning into a second, narrower aisle, Delilah found herself facing shelves with more unusual items on them—predominantly, jars that had labels written in such an illegible manner that it looked like a deliberate attempt at confusing someone. Delilah slowed down her pace considerably.

"My father would disapprove of this store for its principle alone," she noted, deciphering the labels as if analyzing a legal document. "He is extremely strict about the dignified application of magic." A brief pause. "In my opinion, the creator of this store is very skilled in misdirection, regardless of what he used it for. It is the basic concept of the store: the more fascinating and chaotic it looks, the less people will bother asking about anything. It looks like entertainment. Entertainment is not regulated."

An explosive impact near the entrance of the store drew some reactions, but not from her; she recognized it for what it was—an example of the demonstration: an enclosed display of fireworks giving off golden sparkles. She focused her attention back on the shelves.

"Do you already have your school supplies?" she asked Ophelia. "Your books, robes, and other things?" The question had a tint of worry in it, but seemed more organized than anything else. First-year families tended to come to Diagon Alley without any order, and that put a certain strain on her mind.

Not that she would tell it aloud, however. But the feeling informed her perspective.

She kept walking further, loosely holding her hands behind her back, scanning the shelves for more products with an easy calmness born of early education.
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

interacting with: @Ophelia Vanderbilt
mentioning: @no one