The Little Things (open)

Nolan reclined in a cushy leather chair, a new daily prophet in one hand, a glass of scotch in the other. He flipped through the pages until he got to the obituaries.

A couple of old retired witches and one alcoholic, but no sign of what happened last weekend. Nolan continued reading and came across an article about a crime investigation.

"Last week, aurors at the ministry received a report of a break-in at Diagon Alley. Instead, aurors arriving at the scene found a trail of a so far unidentified acidic potion leading away from the store. The trail lead to an alley that was clearly the scene of a fight.... Officials are withholding all other information until they have finished investigation."

Nolan set the paper down and rested his hand over his mouth, a sign of extreme frustration. This sloppiness had gone on long enough. It had to stop.

He sat back in his chair, cleared his head, and took another sip of his drink. It was the little things in life that made him happy. Quiet evenings on your own, finishing a good book, the soft but metallic smell of rain, that last look of shock in the eyes of a man who is living his last moments. Y'know. The little things.