A cold and miserable rain...

Alan Wake awoke one fine morning and asked himself, Why do i still do that? He had truly begun to question his very waking patterns, but James usually put him straight about sleep.
"Yo, Unc, the human mind stores all of sleep minutes. It's like collecting debt. You have to pay at some point."
"And just WHERE did you learn this?"
"... I think it was the Psychology for Muggles book in your office."

Alan sighed as he entered the old bar. One of the few things that had never changed over the years was the lively Leaky Cauldron. It was a testament to the continuity of wizarding kind, and the barkeep, Tom, had seen many of the world's happenings start off right in front of him. Harry Potter, Tom Riddle, even Albus Dumbledore passed through those very doors. Today, Alan was in the mood for a stiff drink.

Still, he was also in the mood for a good talk. Probably with someone who was in possession of a smidgeon of intelligence. Someone with good sense. What perfect moment for the Hogwarts Headmaster to pop in. Alan began to talk with Tom, asking him if anything interested was happening. The innkeeper smiled his ever-so-toothy grin, but Alan felt the need to someone else.

Khaat went into the Leaky Cauldron after finding the streets unusually crowded, with the rain now pelting down in steady sheets. She had bumped practically headon into a stranger that had sent her green necklace nearly screeching. It was glowing with an eerie green, angry light, and she was trying to "hush" it up by covering the pendant with the mysterious stone made by Nicolas Flamel so many years ago. She went into the inn, and ordered a butterbeer from the barkeeper and made her way to a table next to the fireplace. She felt soaked to the skin, was chilled, and was thoroughly embaressed at the defiant green stone that shown like a beacon through her now wet wool scarf.

She cast off her coat across a vacant chair beside her to dry by the fire, but she left the wet wool scarf on, even though it had now taken on the distinct stinky odor of something between a wet sheep and a wet dog. She was too humiliated to take it off. She had noticed the older gentleman at the bar and did not want to intrude on his conversation with the barkeeper, so she had retreated to her warm table by the fireplace and sat down, warming her hands around the hot mug. She always got a little sad when the necklace misbehaved, wondering if it had the capacity to lie, and wishing Uncle Remus would have given her more answers before he was so brutally murdered.