Hello, lovelies, first chapter's rather short, but I hope to see you around for chapter two. Comments and constructive criticism are welcome! So sorry to everyone who's subscribed to author alert and got several emails for this story, the site's been giving me difficulties uploading.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Settling, chapter one
The clouds hang low in the sky, a muted grey indicative of an approaching rain shower. There, in a city where clouds and buildings nearly touch, the iron and steel stab at the warning of raindrops, all of this highly noted by those below, although it would not usually be.
In nearly any other place in the world, the tops of buildings and their beauty is unimportant and unnoticed to those meandering below them, but in this city, in New York City, there travel millions whose only purpose is to be awed by these magnificent works of art, these steel sculptures that act as homes and offices and markers of the greatness of mankind.
And then there are natives, those who slowly become ignorant of this beauty, those who see the horrors of what lays below it. Dirt, litter, crime, homelessness. And those natives pass by it all, numb to the damage it all has.
They pass, in particular, a young woman, still called a girl by some. She is beautiful, but that is hidden as she curls into herself, clutching at the oversized jacket she wears as a blanket. Her hair is blond, but so covered in dirt and grime, that this is not apparent. Next to her, a larger figure also lies, but he is still.
She is restless, because she is lying on the side of a road, in the middle of New York City, perceived as nothing and no one by almost everyone who passes her. Her partner is still unmoving, and she cares, but not as much as she should, not as much as she once did. She is truly at rock bottom.
And then, she is noticed. Not for her actions, but for the action of another, a creature not normally seen in the city, especially not at that time of day. An owl, large and a deep, dark brown, swoops down, attracting the looks of many a passerby. It lands, claws gripping into her blanket and pinching her flesh beneath, and she looks up slowly, questioning the bird. On his leg rests a parchment, neatly tied, and she furrows her brow.
Slow and hesitant, she reaches up, and pulls the paper from the birds leg. With a click of his beak, he unfurls his large wings and sets off again, receiving stares and pointed fingers from those around the woman. Their shock distracts them from her and her paper, as she unwraps the little slip and reads it.
Her eyes widen as she takes in the words, written in a rushed script. She looks quickly to the figure at her side, and her eyes are caring and hesitant. She looks once more to the letter, then stands, allowing the jacket to fall to the ground. She walks away quickly, to the alley just feet from them, and stands behind a large, rusting dumpster, unnoticed by the public once again.
She looks over, gives one last caring look to that still man lying there, and abandons him, disappearing with a loud crack.
When she finds she can breathe again, and her feet are secure on the ground, she looks around the room she has landed in, only taking a moment for her sad nostalgia. Then, nearly jogging, she rushes to the ensuite bathroom of the fine apartment's bedroom she has traveled to, and strips down, turning on the shower.
As she washes, she sees the porcelain of the shower beneath her go brown with the dirt that slides off her body with the soap and water. Earth and sweet dirt and the filth of the city falls from her skin and hair as she cleans quickly, but she is not disturbed, now used to such conditions.
The washing ends after only a few minutes, and she steps out soaking, grabs a soft towel, and rushes around the apartment, clutching a small bag that was previously hidden in the folds of her clothing. It becomes apparent that she is gifted at magic: she snatches things from drawers and shelves, shoving them into the bag, and it all fits easily.
But the room is peculiar. Finely furbished, clearly for the rich, no magic is visible, the pictures on the shelves unmoving. The room is still, and a light layer of dust covers everything, as though life was void of the place for awhile.
Voices come from the other side of the door, sweet and casual. She looks up from her packing, and reaches into the white dresser, pulling out some clothing and stumbling into it. She stands, turns, and stares at the window a moment, from where one can see the beauty of the New York City skyline.
She fully realizes what she is about to do, and takes a deep breath, absorbing the sight of the city. Saying goodbye. The voices are heard again, and she turns and vanishes with another crack, Apparating once more.