Half-Breed || WESLEY

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, Noomi Wolfram tried to imagine herself as a corpse, laying in the ground. Decomposing. Fading. But at peace. It seemed easy enough, at first. The mind could accomplish so many imaginings, after all. However, no matter how hard she tried, she failed every time. She could see the funeral ceremony, everyone dressed in somber black, heads bowed, lids closed. Her whole family was there: her two, darling sisters, both with satin ribbons tied in their hair, her stoic older brothers, and her beautiful mother, handkerchief in her gloved hair. Even her father was there, stiff-backed, arms folded across his strong chest. How she had admired him when she was just a little girl. How she still admired him, though he would never know. Her family would drop red roses into her open grave, and overhead, clouds would be gathering for a mid-summer storm. Noomi always imagined dying in the summer, her body coated with that sticky sweet you find only in those heated do g days. She could see the trees that surrounded them, leaves swaying in the hot breeze. She could see the minister, the surrounding tombstones, her own tombstone, too. Would it say Noomi Wolfram or Zaire Ramsay, though? She could see the six-foot-dug pit, and the black casket that lay nestled in its earthy embrace. The red roses looked so striking in contrast to that shining black wood. In her head though, the casket was empty. That was where her mind stopped. There was a coffin, but no one lay inside. As hard and long as she thought on it, she could never bring herself to imagine her now, living body, frozen in time, in death. She couldn't imagine it rotting to nothing, couldn't imagine worms crawling in and out of her dark curls, her skin disintegrating to bone. It was an image that could never come to her. One had to be practical, though. Hers was a dangerous profession, after all.

“Bugger all,” she cursed under her breath, tossing the cigarette she'd been smoking to the wet earth. It was dead now. In fact, all of Knockturn Alley was dead this time of night. Odd, considering that nighttime was typically when this heathen's paradise was at its most vibrant. Noomi stood in a dark alleyway, hiding herself beneath a roof's semi-protective overhang as rain pitter-pattered onto the ground. The only other apparent souls out that night were a decrepit, old witch peddling her her cat's feces (she claimed they possessed healing properties), and a scraggly wizard who seemed to be talking to a brick wall. Clearly it was just Noomi and crazies out tonight.

There was nothing especially charming about Knockturn Alley; it was cold, twisting, filthy, and littered with the vagrants of society. It certainly wasn't a place you wanted to be caught in after hours. In fact, if a witch or wizard was found wandering its narrow twists and turns, they were likely up to know good. Many a dark scheme occurred in Knockturn Alley's shadows, most of which would give one nightmares for weeks. However, it was Noomi's home, the first home she'd known after being kicked out from her pure-blooded household in Godric's Hollow. It was here that she had taken her first steps, had learned the tools of her trade, and to trust no one but herself. It was a sad, lonely life, but it was hers, and that was all that mattered.

Since she was young, Noomi had always loved animals – magical or otherwise. They possessed a sincerity that human simply lacked. So when she was ousted from her wizarding home by her own parents, it really should have come to know surprise that she would seek solace in a trade that put her in constant contact with such creatures. It was a bit of a dodgy, unpredictable profession, but it was something she had found she was good at. Most of her work involved trading and selling, though sometimes she bred magical creatures as well. She was especially adept with beasts of the more dangerous variety, such as chimaeras and even dragons (with the proper preparation and even assistance on certain occasions, of course). Noomi longed to study and work at Romania's Dragon Sanctuary, but naturally, it was restricted to witches and wizards only. What Noomi lacked in magical ability, she made up with perseverance, prodigious amounts of research, and a hefty amount of common sense. As financially lucrative as this business was, Noomi longed for stability. Her work was becoming too taxing, too troublesome. She loved it, and never wanted to stop, but she wanted a job that was socially acceptable. She wanted a job that would make her purist, uncaring father proud. Which was why, when she was offered a part-time position at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardy as a Care of Magical Creatures assistant, she accepted without hesitation.

Tonight though, Noomi was free from her responsibilities at the school and was continuing her work on the streets of Knockturn Alley. She was supposed to be meeting a bloke from Ireland, but he was running much too late for her liking. She hated people who couldn't follow simple instructions, especially when she was taking such a great risk. She had procured for him, a dragon egg, specifically the egg of a Chinese Fireball. It was classified as a Non-Tradeable Material by the Ministry of Magic, but she knew it would fetch a pretty price. This certainly hadn't been her first time selling dragon eggs, after all. Noomi didn't know what her client had specifically in mind for the egg, though she guessed he was using it for potion work, as the shell of a Chinese Fireball egg was quite rare and prized for such tasks. Or perhaps he was a complete thick-head who thought he could raise and domesticate this dangerous beast. There were so many fools who fancied themselves dragon-tamers and loved the notion of having a winged-creature for themselves. That wasn't Noomi's problem though. She sold the egg, got her money, and went her own way. She rarely asked questions unless it was a live beast for which she cared for its personal safety. She wasn't a monster, after all.

Noomi tapped her foot impatiently, deciding that if he didn't show up within the next thirty seconds, she would disappear altogether. She had no interest in sticking her neck out for some stranger's dragon egg needs. It wouldn't be a problem to find another buyer, anyway. Noomi turned to exit the alley when she heard the repeated thud of footsteps on the ground. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the Irish man. She was about to breathe a sigh of relief, till she noticed a woman straggling behind him.

Her eyebrows knitted together in obvious frustration. “Are you kidding me?” Quickly, she grabbed the man by the collar of his dragon hide jacket and slammed his back against a brick wall. “I told you to come alone. Who's this bitch? It doesn't sodding matter. You're late. You broke my rules. You can forget our whole deal, you got it? I don't have time for wankers like you.” Giving him a decided push, she stepped back and began to skulk down to the main street leaking into Diagon Alley when she felt hands on the hem of her coat.

“Give me that egg, stupid bitch.” The man growled. In an flash, he pulled the egg from out of the backpack strapped to her shoulders. Both of them fell to the ground, but Noomi caught the egg just in the nick of time before it splattered on the concrete.

Never having been a particularly patient person, Noomi was beyond furious now. It probably wasn't the best course of action, but she wasn't about to let this git rob her. So in one swift movement, she pulled her knife from the inside of her coat and slashed it right across his exposed hand. She had no problem giving him another cut for good measure, but then she heard the sound of a pair of footsteps again. Then a shadowy figure appeared around the bend, catching Noomi red-handed with a knife in hand, dragon egg in the other, whilst the man shrieked as he bled and his female companion stared wide-eyed on the sidelines. Noomi was beginning to get the feeling that she had been a very bad person in a past life.