#but we can do this as a para or a mini para idc up to you

[rebeldaffodil]

Alleyway Art Critic

@edwardtonx

Narcissa knew better than to do magic in public of course, but knowing a thing and doing a thing are not always synonymous; thus her wand was out and she was presently pointing it at the dirty surface of a brick wall. That wall was down a narrow, dingy alley whose sole streetlamp had broken or burned out some time ago -- so it was not as if she was exposed to casual view! The only other living thing in the alley was a mangy rat that peeked out nervously from under the rusting dumpster whose fragrant bulk blocked most of what Cissy was doing from the sight-line of the alley’s mouth.

What she was doing was practicing. While she had received no formal training in wandwork she had learned a lot – unofficially, sporadically, and under the extreme pressure of learn or die – and one of the things she had learned well was that an unfamiliar spell was sometimes riskier to the caster than to the target…at least when the target was a sloppily-trained witch who had picked-up what she knew here and there from her older sisters and various other wix they had met over the course of their guerrilla activities. Some spells she had learned quite well indeed, but other things – some of them simple, basic, everyday spells that Hogwarts students would have learned in their first years but which rarely came in handy for underground freedom fighters – she had little to no experience with, and it showed in her spellwork.

That was why she practiced, even the little spells, the simple spells that even children could do. Right now she was working on Color Charms. Particularly, Color Charms combined with spell-writing so that she could leave a suitable message on Muggle walls. It was meant to be a threat and a warning, a sign that wix could show up anywhere and no Muggle deterrent could stop them; a means of causing fear and confusion among Muggle forces. The problem was that to put the messages where she wanted to she would have to be able to leave them very, very fast – at least if she wanted to escape with her freedom afterward. And right now while she could do the charm the way she wanted, she could only get it right if she did it slow. Slow wasn’t good enough, so she was practicing.

Brow furrowed in concentration she stared at the changing colors and letters forming on the wall in front of her; so fixed was her attention on what she was doing that she didn’t hear the crunch of footsteps until they were nearly past the dumpster and right beside her. Narcissa dropped her wand to her side, pressing it against her leg as though the scuffed wood might blend with her flesh if enough pressure was applied. She might have had better luck to simply slip it up under her flared miniskirt, but there was no holster to hold it there.

Trying – and probably failing – to not look guilty, she jerked around to stare at the man walking down her alley. “Evening,” Cissy croaked-out, in a far cry from the casual and cheerful tones she had hoped to speak. Her brain raced, trying to think of a plausible excuse for why a scrawny young woman in a worn coat and battered blue trainers might be standing in this grimy alley – an excuse that wouldn’t cause more problems than it solved, preferably. The words on the wall behind her -- not particularly bright in the dim lighting, nor glowing, but still seeming freshly-painted against the dinginess -- would do her no favors, but maybe he wouldn’t notice it among the other stains and graffiti...