Sioned reached up and started braiding her hair. It was the one problem with long hair. It was windy up on the hill out of Hogsmeade, and her lengthy black tresses were whipping her in the face. She got snagged on a couple of tangles as she quickly braided, but didn't try to undo them. Her hair was typically uncooperative anyway, but she'd learned a few handy spells from some of the Latvian hit witches during their work in the swamps. She would deal with it later, whenever she got back home.

When that would be, she didn't know. She didn't really have an object, a goal at the end of this walk. She supposed she was reacquainting herself with England. After spending such a long time--months--in forests and swamps, London had given her a headache, so she figured she'd start somewhere less crowded. The edge of Hogsmeade had sounded appealing; then she'd move down into the town, and then maybe a London suburb. Then she would go into Diagon Alley again.

Or Level Two, even. She hardly recognized the place. During her last visit, almost eleven years ago, the department had been organized and clean. The talk had been pleasant and respectful, even if the content discussed wasn't. Of course, that had been when Harry was in charge. The department now was loud and disorderly, with paperwork flying everywhere. Sioned remembered hearing a young Scot shouting at another young brunette, demanding that she file her paperwork correctly and in a timely fashion as she brandished a slip of paper. It was madness.

Sioned couldn't blame Ben Astbury though. During their meeting to discuss her return to work in England, she'd seen how stressed he was. According to Ron, the poor man had been shunted into Harry Potter's job when Ron himself refused. After glimpsing the team Astbury had to work with, Sioned had pitied him very much. She couldn't help but wonder where all her old colleagues had gone. Honestly; where had all these young brunettes come from?

The Welsh woman sighed and tied off her braid. She lifted her head--now who was that? She hadn't expected there to be anyone else, but there, slightly ahead of her, was a woman. She was tall and blonde, unnaturally so, and almost too graceful as she treaded the uneven path. She was a veela, but there was a greater sense of familiarity than just that much. Curious, Sioned sped up and came up alongside the veela.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" she said brightly, looking over at her. She recognized that face! She smiled. "Shallah Kosa. Fancy seeing you here! How have you been?"

Shallah drummed two fingers in a two four rhythm against the counter top as she watched the weapons smith continue to scrutinize her latest trade in. Knockturn alley would have been a better place to unload the object, that would have been a more private affair, and the man would have known to go about his appraisal with haste. Instead, for reasons she was still trying her best to place she had taken the day and headed into Hogsmead, and area the veela tended to have little use for. The man ran his hand up and down the inlay on the short swords handle, muttering to himself, Shallah clicked her teeth.
“200?” The man offered with hesitancy, laying the blade down on the counter separating them.

“It’s a Galdanz blade, 13th century.” Shallah kept her answers clipped and her tone level. She had told herself that she would not charm this man, but he was making that very difficult. 200, honestly.

“250?” Shallah gave one last annoyed click of her teeth and plucked the blade from the counter. It could wait until she was back in London, until she could have more well versed smithies who knew better than to treat her like a fool asses the weapons value. The blade tucked back safely into the folds of her robe the veela stepped back onto the streets. There was a slight breeze, but other than that the weather was rather mild. She would explore the small town before returning to London, things changed so quickly and knowledge of the area could prove invaluable later.

Beautiful day, isn't it?.

Shallah froze, first turning her head and then the rest of her body. The girl next to her was smiling, Shallah Kosa. Fancy seeing you here! How have you been? Veela’s had a gift for memory, a result of their long lifespan but human faces all looked so similar to Shallah, she could have difficulty. It was a dangerous flaw in her world, where it was important to remember faces, whether they were trustworthy, whether they were your friend, comrade, ally enemy, this face though gave her little trouble. The welsh accent was what triggered first. Then came the memory of the conversations that had passed between the two of them, the memories ended with a name. “Sioned Baines” Shallah loved welsh words, guttural and lilting all in the same instance, it was a human tongue which came closest to her native. It took her a moment to remember the proper way to answer. “I am well, and the day is beautiful.”

The words fell easily between them and Shallah found herself returning the smile. Happy to see the unexpected and familiar face. “You have returned to England.” The statement was unnecessary of course, but humans loved semantics. “Are the hunts finished so soon? You are unharmed?”

Despite the two X chromosomes that left her mostly immune to veela charm, despite years of working on and off with veela women, Sioned was constantly surprised by how beautiful the creatures were. Admittedly, they all sort of looked the same: blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect porcelain skin. Such perfection didn't tend to have much variety. Shallah, however, had always stood out to Sioned. She'd yet to pinpoint why, but faced with her again Sioned decided it was something about her eyes. She didn't have the somewhat primal look she'd come to associate with veela gazes. There was more intelligence than instinct in Shallah's expressions.

They had met years ago, when the Baltic hunters shifted their focus from vampires to veela. Shallah had been surprisingly well-connected in the wizarding community; unusual for a veela, but it had been very helpful in combating and apprehending the hunters. Sioned had learned then that the veela was well-traveled and apparently spend a lot of time in England, but she'd never expected to meet her in the homeland. She shouldn't have been surprised, really; Britain wasn't that big, after all, and it was even smaller for magical folk.

“Are the hunts finished so soon? You are unharmed?”

"They are. A group of us spent five straight months in the forests rounding up the last of the hunters, including a few confused wanna-bes who were more than happy to let us take them back to the capital," she said with a laugh. "I was laid up pretty badly a few times, but I'm none the worse for wear, thank you. Makes me feel my age a bit, I'll admit. Though I refuse to admit that thirty-eight is old," she added, winking. She knew very well thirty-eight wasn't even close to old for Shallah.

"But yes, it was time to come home. Half the time I forgot which was my home country, Britain or Latvia," she said. "Besides, they're starting to need hit witches here again, from what I've been hearing. How long have you been in the country?"

They are. A group of us spent five straight months in the forest rounding up the last of the hunters, including a few confused wanna-bes who were more than happy to let us take them back to the capital,. The woman laughed then and Shallah gave the barest up turn of her lips as a response. I was laid up pretty bad a few times, but I'm none the worse wear, thank you. Makes me feel my age a bit, I'll admit. Though I refuse to admit that thirty-eight is old. She winked, a funny sort of human gesture which had taken Shallah ten years to fully understand and another four to be able to imitate. Shallah understood the humor, knew it was customary to add some sort of supporting comment. “Were you veela you would just be allowed away from your mother's side. You humans though, always in such a rush.”

As she spoke Shallah watched the woman carefully, noting any odd body language the way she carried herself, whatever injuries the English witch might have suffered had not been permanent or debilitating. But yes, it was time to come home. Half the time I forgot which was my home country, Britain or Latvia. Besides, they're starting to need hit witches here again, from what I've been hearing. How long have you been in the country?

So there was the truth. Shallah had known the woman was a member of the Ministries Law Enforcement unit. When Mr. Potter had run the department there had been an abundance of hopefuls who descended upon level two, more hit witches and wizards and aurors then ever before, all of them eager to work under the sainted Potter. A man from Hogsmead had told her once over drinks that it had been a case of 'too many cooks in the kitchen', Shallah had no real idea of what that meant. But it provided a kind of explanation as to why the Ministry had started to loan out its attack dogs to neighboring governments. Potter had turned his people into an official mercenary unit, though all of them had been deeply offended by such an implication. With Potter gone, his department in complete chaos and disarray and the thread in Latvia abated for the time being it was only logical that Sioned and others like her would be called back or return to their Ministry.

Mustering a look of solemnity. “The word from the underground networks is that the Ministry is in a great deal more trouble than they are letting on. A most convenient time for your return, I am sure they welcomed you back. Are you recently returned?” Shallah took a step back, ducking into the alcove alongside the building and out of the wind, beckoning the other woman to follow. “I have been in London for two months and three weeks now, there is not much work for people such as myself but I am less concerned with money and more concerned with re-exploring the city. It changed so quickly.” Shallah craned her neck to look up and down the street, “Are you joined by your husband? Or are you here alone?”