Notice: I could say a lot about this, and, then again, I could say very little. This first chapter is extremely short and uninformative, and given that, I shan't add much. I'll post again soon, I promise. But until then, can you tell me who's in the room?
1. Arrival
He had never known it to rain like this. With each loud crack of apparation, the scenery would change drastically – but still it rained. Every city, every village, every highway, every homestead: drenched. The Knight Bus rattled and shook, barreling down bypass after bypass, avenues, lanes, and boulevards, stopping only to pick up or drop off a soaked and weary traveler (some looking more ragged than when they boarded).
Finally, on a fairly deserted street, the triple-decker traffic offense came to a stop and the doors were opened. He stood and stretched, bones and joints groaning and cracking as he made his way down the spiral staircase from his perch at the wide front window on the top level.
"Should we mark you down as a eigh'o'clock pick-up?" Stan Shunpike, the slowly aging attendant asked with a wide grin.
Harry returned the smile and shrugged, "Why don't we play it by ear?" Knocking lightly on the plate-glass behind the heavily spectacled driver, he added loudly, "Until next time, Ern."
One magnified eye winked in its lens and he dismounted, turning up his collar as he jogged towards the shabby department store of Purge and Dowse Ltd. The rain pelted him as he stood at the window with the mannequins and, making sure no one was around (who would be in this miserable weather?), he stated his purpose quietly and one of the dummies gave a slight nod and beckoned. Harry gave one last glance around and stepped through the glass.
The receptionist acknowledged him somberly and he sighed.
"Not happy to see me, Dorothy?" he attempted lightheartedness.
"Always a pleasure, Mr. Potter. I only dread your disposition when you're to leave."
Closing his eyes only briefly, pushing back his emotions, he gave a crooked smile and pointed to the stairs.
"Is the old timer awake?"
"And waiting, yes."
Harry nodded his thanks before climbing the stairs, almost mechanically. He often thought he could make the journey in his sleep, as it had become such a regular trek. He remembered the directions as though they were given him yesterday.
"Up the stairs, four flights;
Two lefts, plus a right.
Two twirls and a whistlestomp;
Fifth door, short side."
The door was already open and he peered tentatively around the corner. Moving out of sight before being noticed, he took the time collect his thoughts. Stepping back a few yards, he quoted loud enough to be heard, "Two twirls and a whistlestomp," – he twirled twice, appearing in the doorway. He stopped with a stomp and a whistle and finished, "Fifth door, short side."
The lines at the corners of the eyes and smile that greeted him broke his heart.
"Harry, my old friend."