No mud, please (Open RP)

[misoramassacre.livejournal.com]

Some hours after stepping into the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room with considerable trepidation, Naomi stepped out of another fireplace into another common room toting several bags, a boxed wand, and a coin purse full of wizarding currency. She’d recently acquired the means to travel to Diagon Alley, and from there she’d both picked up some equipment for what seemed to be her new life and gone into London proper to start looking into what might be left of her old one.

Results were mixed, and strangely so. While her credit cards were expired and her cell phone still refused to function, she had access to her bank accounts, including several years’ worth of interest (though, fortunately, not several years’ worth of unpaid credit card bills). She had to give a new address to the bank, which led to a run back to Diagon Alley to make arrangements with owl post; Naomi supposed that by now someone else would be living in her old apartment.

After that she had the funds to make a long-distance call to Tokyo, which was quite short owing to the fact that her parents weren’t at the other end. It had been over four years, she reasoned – they could have moved, or even died in the interim. She tried calling some of the people she knew in the States, and got more disconnected numbers. Then she found a place to buy an hour of Internet access – nothing on Kira, but there were results on the BB killings in which her name figured, as well as a missing person report. Results for searches on Raye, her parents, and the like were less promising.

At the end of the day her investigation had been relatively limited, but certain aspects were evident nevertheless. If L hadn’t warned her of the possibility of something like this Naomi would have been doubly unsettled, and quite suspicious of her sanity. As it was, she found it perverse that she had (selected) records but not people.

Finding her way back to Gryffindor, she decided, could wait until she’d had some time off her feet. So she seated herself, her shopping piled around her and a mug of coffee from the bar in hand, ruminating.