1342 Layabout Lane
The row of cottages were separate, yet conjoined; near, yet clearly defined. The lane itself was a peaceful street. Though it was not far from the hubbbub of London, it was far enough to be peaceful. There was a small two block radius of wizarding homes, before it gave way to the greater muggle masses, so magic, while present, was not blatant nor loud. The neighborhood was a calm one, unaccounted to change, and settled with no intentions to be somehow uprooted.
Today was the day it all changed.
Jack had rented a small van, because it was easier. Said van was already at her new residence, because Jack did not comprehend how she could lug Mongo or Fred along with her. Elliot had morphed into a small white pup that comfortably curled up in the pocket of her coat, and she had a bag slung over her shoulder with her more precious items, the items she typically carried about on a daily basis anyway. She had apparated to a safe place and was now crossing a bridge which led to her new home.
It was strange, leaving the house that had been so well suited for her, the house that harbored so many dear memories. Lately, however, those memories had been more suffocating than dear. She knew it was time for a change, as terrifying as it was. Jack, queen of chaos and uncertainty, had found herself to comfortable with settling. And now, she had to shake up the order of things, and resettle. And that, for so many different reasons, didn't seem possible.
Their landlord, Winston Garfield, was an elder gentleman - seemingly obliging and grumpy at the same time. He had purchased the house for a younger mistress who had run off with his grandson - something that had was dealt with equal amounts of amusement and resentment in the old man. The house was a bit too big for one tenant, and Winston had informed Jack there was another person to be living with her, though Winston's memory had not been in its best shape that day. Or perhaps it had been, and Jack really was sharing a home with a mallard named Carl.
Either way, Jack had a lot of adjusting to do, and she thought it better to do it sooner rather than later. Move in day had arrived and, try as she might, she did not manage to outrun the cloud of gloom that had become her shadow. She approached the home, looking both incredibly tired and startlingly fierce.
Before she entered the home, she stopped by the van, opening the back doors. Immediately, Fred and Mongo bolted. She stuffed the former, a foul-mouthed ferret, into one of her other pockets, and clamped an arm around the latter, a sock-eating ottoman who was convinced he was a cocker spaniel. She leaned forward and grabbed her broom, the most important large item she owned, and made her way towards the garden gate.
Elliot, the shape-shifting Gytrash, lept from her pocket and transformed into his usual form of the spectral Irish wolfhound, nosing open the gate. The door was unlocked and she pushed it open. She shuffled down the narrow hall into the living room. There, she set her broomstick upon the sofa and dropped Mongo. He immediately began sniffing around for spare socks - meanwhile, Elliot was exploring, his hair on end. Fred poked his head out of her jacket and said, "Mangy pigsty!"
And that was when a door opened, and Mongo charged.
"Watch your socks!" Jack warned.