Disclaimer: This is set in the world of Harry Potter, which is property of J.K. Rowling.
If you have not already read or finished Away From Home, please do. It will provide context for who these original characters are.
The Second Wizarding War stole more than just lives. Destruction and chaos tore apart childhoods and families and any place that could be called home. There was no possibility of returning to the McKinnons' house in The Midlands—it no longer existed as it had in their memories. Anguish swirled around; rain had warped every exposed piece of wood, dampening the spirits that once laughed within these walls.
From the gravel driveway, Nikos McKinnon watched his sister kneel down to inspect an ashen book.
"They stole everything from us," Alessia McKinnon said quietly, her hoarse voice echoing off the willow trees. "Hayes—"
The tall young man pulled Alessia to her feet, embracing her.
"When did this happen?" Nikos asked the dirty blonde woman that stood next to him in the driveway.
"Exactly one year ago, I believe," Lussa Ahlgren replied.
"I'm worried about her," Nikos remarked, staring at Alessia, who had begun to fling various objects into what used to be their back garden.
"You're always worried," Lussa said with a hint of amusement.
"You know what I mean."
The sound of glass shattering ripped away the mirth in Lussa's eyes. "Perhaps she ought to leave."
"She did tell Professor McGonagall she'd like to travel," Nikos said as Hayes tried to prevent Alessia from hurling a jar of sparks across what remained of their house.
"Lessie!" Hayes shouted, chasing after her with the jar in his arms.
The young woman stormed past Nikos and Lussa. Rain began to drum against the pavement as Alessia halted, glancing back for only a second before vanishing.
Appearing amongst emerald flames, Nikos stepped out of his fireplace and into his flat. In the two years at this residence, Nikos left the walls bare and the furnishings scarce as if he expected the need to flee from this place. Only now did he finally add something of true value to him amongst his unembellished abode—the sparkling American bison that his sister had created in her second year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
After setting the jar down on a shelf, Nikos strode out to his balcony for some fresh air. Scanning the cityscape of London, he recalled the last time Alessia had acted the same way she did that day. Even during the events of the war, she had been capable of resilience, of enduring the challenges their family was forced to face. His sister had contained every ounce of agony within her mind, even from a young age.
There were few exceptions—one being the death of their grandmother. During the seven years that Alessia had known their grandmother, Lucilla had been growing increasingly frail in her age. Losing her delivered more than grief to the McKinnon family. Atticus learned a new perspective in life, Persephone gained a kind of coldness, Nikos found that he inherited more than his father's appearance… and Alessia discovered desolation.
The day they buried Lucilla had been just as dreary as the sky looked above London now—grey and stormy, raindrops thrumming against the pavement and surrounding rooftops. Nikos had hugged his sister tightly, unaware that that mournful day eleven years ago would change everything. Whimsy became a luxury, a—
"You look ruminative," a husky female voice called from the neighboring balcony to his left. The woman was smoking a Muggle object Nikos had learned was called a cigarette. A small breeze tossed long strands of golden-brown hair into her face.
Rubbing his nose, Nikos turned and examined his neighbor's heart-shaped features. She had long lashes and wore a dull red on her lips.
"Does this bother you?" the woman asked, holding up the cigarette and probably noting that Nikos had not responded.
"Ahem—no," Nikos replied, shaking his head.
"You've been gone for some time," the woman observed. "Usually I hear you playing music through those thin walls we have."
Biting his lip, Nikos stared at the street below. People were rushing along the sidewalks, represented by a crowd of umbrellas moving about. In their haste, chatter mixed with the sounds of rainfall and cars honking.
"London is an odd place," the woman remarked after exhaling a cloud of smoke that immediately dissipated against the water dripping from the roof.
"Er—"
"You don't talk much, do you?"
He knew that London was odd, and many had told him it was not a place for the weak-willed. Rich and poor, writers and actors, police and politicians—this city was full of power, of responsibility, of pain. Nikos often wondered how he got there in the first place. It was obvious that Cedric Diggory had contradicted the notion that Hufflepuffs could be easily manipulated, easily toyed with. However, Nikos had never been considered one of those Hufflepuffs. He had never been considered anything until the day he met with Professor Pomona Sprout in his fifth year for career advisement.
"You've always been one for History of Magic," Professor Sprout said, sitting across from Nikos. All the other Houses met with their Heads of House inside the castle. Here, out in one of the greenhouses, the air smelled of upturned earth and fertilizer. It smelled of nature.
"I suppose so," Nikos muttered, fidgeting with the hem of his robes.
"I have notes here from Professor Charity Burbage," Professor Sprout commented, "which say that you'd do well in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"Erm—you mean where they perform reversals on Muggles?" Nikos gaped, furrowing his brow. "I'm not sure that's the best idea, Professor. For me, I mean."
"There's more to reversal magic and Obliviations in that department. I'm sure that in these troubling times—given your knowledge of Muggles—the Ministry would gladly place you in the Muggle Ministry as a liaison."
So, with the best possible recommendations from his teachers—at least, from his Head of House and Professor Burbage—he came to London for a job he never knew existed.
The buildings in the city were stacked high, as if the people who forged them worried that they would all seem too unassuming and fragile without the illusion of stone boxing everyone in. It was true that Nikos had been to London before, but not to establish a life there.
Perhaps that was the reason for keeping his flat so plain.
Nearly two years ago, Nikos had come to this flat for the first time, on his first day as a liaison in the Muggle Ministry, under the Muggle Prime Minister. The older man was unaware that the Junior Minister replacement was not, in fact, named Nick McLaren, nor was he notified that Nikos had been put under special training to protect him.
Nervous as he'd ever been, Nikos had arrived to the Muggle Ministry in the middle of the day.
"Things will be okay, Nikos. I promise," Alessia had told him before setting off on the Hogwarts Express for her sixth year. "Just be careful."
After departing King's Cross, he readied himself for his first work day. Dressing for this occupation was nothing like what he was accustomed to—the suit, the tie, the shiny shoes. Nikos had been all too relieved to take the odd apparel off when he returned to the flat he still inhabited now.
At the end of the day, he had come out onto the balcony and noticed he could see Gringotts Bank from it.
"There's nothing unique about the architecture of this city," his neighbor remarked, breaking another one of Nikos's trances. She was now leaning against the railing of her balcony. The raindrops dotted her dark hair, and light from beyond her window reflecting off the water.
Finding himself mesmerized by this vision, Nikos forgot to reply again. His mind wandered….
Very few people had known of his plans—Vakre Ahlgren was one of them. After his recovery, Vakre returned to his position as an Auror at the Ministry of Magic. As the father to Lussa and Hayes, Vakre played a crucial role in the McKinnon children's lives. He proved to be as kind and compassionate as he was mischievous and perceptive.
"I'm afraid I'm going to make a mistake," Nikos told him.
"You've prepared, haven't you?" Vakre asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes, of course."
"And you've got your recommendations?"
"Yes, but I'm worried—"
"Do not mind what others think." Vakre peered at him with piercing blue eyes. "Be your truest self, Nikos."
Even after receiving the job, Nikos still had difficulties figuring out what that meant. Politics was no place for expressing one's true self, and this part of London remained steadfast in its ability to maintain a frigid indifference about it.
Glancing at his fair-skinned neighbor, Nikos noticed that a kind of distance was present in her eyes. "Now you seem to be the one contemplating," he commented.
She exhaled against the wind, cigarette smoke swirling. "Yes," she turned her gaze towards him, "well, that's my job as a writer. Contemplate."
Nikos felt his heart quicken when she stared deeply into his eyes. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What do you write about?"
"Wars. I travel to report on wars." She returned to her examination of the city.
"What do you think of it?"
"Of war?"
"Of London—in comparison to where you've been."
His neighbor strode to the corner closest to him. "This landscape was not built for our lives. It was built for us to be remembered. For our glory."
Recalling the destruction he had seen just weeks—days—prior, Nikos said with curiosity, "And what of war?"
"It is something that occurs as men strive for greatness. Something we're meant to remember forever. Yet, the world will forget the devastation we cause in man's absence—in our extinction."
He'd never heard anything truer except, perhaps, the words his mother had spoken about the First Wizarding War. A fight for glory, for immortality, for purity… nothing was more vain than the belief that a single person had the right to decide who was allowed to live—no—survive.
No one ever lived past war; those who did outlast the devastation never lived again.
Every day would be lonely for those who had seen lives stolen by other wizards. However, there were Muggle wars too. Again, Nikos watched the men and women walking on the streets of London, wondering who could understand the horridity of war as he did… as so many witches and wizards did. Surely, there had to be. War stole Harry Potter's parents away from the boy… stole away countless people… stole Seamus McKinnon away from his family.
"He's gone, dear." Persephone's words had echoed in Nikos's ears for nearly two decades.
At times, when the words drummed endlessly in his head, Nikos had his breath stolen from him. "He's gone, he's gone, he's gone." He had so few memories of Seamus and it became clear that, in his father's absence, tranquility of the mind was a privilege. Only two people had understood the unceasing rhythm of his mind—both were dead. They were ripped away by violence, by greed, by an unfounded prerogative of authority. Nothing could bring them back to him—to his family.
As he watched the hordes of people that bustled below his balcony, he knew that this city's establishment—the bland architecture—would stand far longer than any of them. War had taught him one thing about the world: humanity could deface, disfigure, or demolish everything it had ever built.
As the tolls from the clock tower echoed through the city, Nikos assumed this was what it was like to feel alone. He hoped desperately that he was wrong.
Thank you for reading!
Thank you to Sleepy Snoozan for beta-reading.
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