6.
New Orleans' magic was in desperate need of cleansing and rejuvenation. Ever since the days of slavery, when the pain of slave life and cotton fields proved too much to bare, the music and chanting of the field slaves soothed their hurts and chased away – albeit temporarily – their ills. Once blues, and later jazz, was born, New Orleans' magic seemed to be tied inexplicably – and irrevocably – to the music of its denizens. With that music gone, the magic of New Orleans began to fade.
You can understand why the musicians would be the first to come home in swarms – and in swarms. Their home was calling out to them, begging them to return. And return they did.
Little more than a month after the flooding, musicians made their way back to the artistic hotspot of the city – the French Quarter. Draco was drawn there, too, feeling the energy call to him as it had from across the Atlantic. Followed by Harry and Dragon, Draco arrived just as the sun began to dip past the horizon. Even Harry couldn't deny the pull from the music that they heard on every corner and in the many pubs that dared to open, despite the lack of city dwellers. There were groups of musicians on corners, children running and playing and laughing. There was still an eerily vacant feeling about the city, made all-the-more evident by the many people walking down streets that had little to no cars on them. Still, the energy was there – the smell of magic being renewed and reborn, stronger and more vibrant than ever before.
The musicians sang of water and how it can both cleanse the soul and drown the body. They sang of wind and how it could lift you to the skies or carry you to your doom. They crooned of loss and defiance and victory and resolve. But mostly, they sang about New Orleans and how wonderful it was to be home.
Harry had a silly grin on his face, as if he were smashed from too much lager. He inhaled deeply, "Ahh! Listen to them sing the blues. Do you feel it, Draco?"
Draco smiled as he sat on the bench on the corner, pulling the turkey – wrapped in foil – from his backpack. Tearing off another piece of meat, he tossed it to Dragon, who seemed to have finally accepted Harry in their wayward pack. But Harry was too full of bustling energy to sit. He simply gawked at his surroundings, taking everything in.
"Man, if I didn't love London so much I could really live here, y'know? It's like... like..."
"We're a part of something greater than just ourselves," Draco answered.
As if some great puzzle was revealed and solved in the same breath, Harry's eyes lit. "Yes! Exactly! From the moment I apparated to Louisiana, I've felt this... pull. Now, I know it was pulling me here."
Abruptly, Draco announced, "We're leaving tomorrow."
Snapped out of his reverie, Harry turned to face Draco, his smile gone, "To London, you mean?" he asked, hopeful.
"No. We're going east a bit," Draco answered. After a beat, he clarified, "Me and Dragon, that is... you don't have to come."
Harry sat next to Draco, but didn't turn to face him. "Why east?" he asked.
"Not very far," Draco said. He watched as Dragon's ears jerked and twitched whenever he heard the voice of a young boy. And, whenever he saw a young, black boy, his head would lift from Draco's lap. Sometimes, he'd even stand alert if said boy wore dreads. But, inevitably, he'd lay back down with a sad, defeated look in his eyes. Draco had seen this more and more in the past month as the city filled with more residents.
"Something tells me – New Orleans tells me – to go east," Draco continued, his eyes still fixed on the dog in his lap, "I think... I think..."
His eyes began to water. Harry didn't really know what was going on how to make everything better. He hated that feeling – that feeling of utter and complete helplessness.
"I'll go with if you want," he offered, humbly. He took Draco's hand in his. Draco let him. "If you think you'll need me, that is."
Draco sniffed, smiled, and squeezed Harry's hand. Never pulling his gaze from Dragon, he admitted, "I think I will."