The small, smooth white grains of sand filtered past his toes, lodging in his nails every time his feet sunk through another inch of beach, but he could hardly begrudge them; not when the sand so gloriously slid over and cooled his bare feet that way. Fred was hardly a lover of nature- that sort of thing was for people prone to gazing and then deriving all sorts of poncey philosophical thoughts, like Albus for instance- but he savoured the sensations like anyone else. The spray of sea water flecking droplets across his arms, the smell of salt in the air, the wind ripping past his hair.
Fred tilted his head back, tossing his hair back and forth in the breeze, just as wild and unwieldy as its owner, then run thick fingers through it, pulling out tangles. He turned and started walking away from the shore- the perfect picture, with jeans folded up to the knees, sleeves pulled to the elbows, jacket flung carelessly over one shoulder, sun kissing his back.
By the time he was in front of the requisite house, his clothes were just within the semblance of order, light in his eyes dwindling just the bit. Time for work. This was quite possibly the part that he hated mo-......the only thing he hated about being an Unspeakable. The very fact that he was one, and not allowed to disclose the knowledge. Unspeakables had to have a pretend job, that they used as an excuse for popping in and out of the Ministry. The repercussions of which were, of course, that they were most of the time assigned a fake post in Law Enforcement. Which meant that sometimes Fred had to come out and do grunt work like this to keep the pretense going, instead of holing himself away in the Dept of Mysteries studying the magical puzzle cube, or whiling time away in videogames and workouts.
The door was slightly ajar, in the air of one who likes letting air into their rooms, and has no expectations of visitors whatsoever. Fred budged the door open, and it swung out, creaking slightly. Half wondering at the utter lack of security with the air of a wards expert, he advanced into the living room with slow steps, stopping the moment he caught sight of the woman at the table, reading the newspaper.
Seven. His mind supplied.
"Erhm...Mrs....Miss Norwood?" He called out to the woman, probably a good many years older than him. Then, with hardly any preamble. "The door was open. I'm here from the Ministry, here to make some enquiries about.....your husband and son."
Way to getting to the point, yes. He did mention hating this part of his job.