It was art truly. A skill and technique so well devised it could have been an art of it's own.
Sadly it was a necessity for the life he lived.
It was kind of funny though. It seemed no matter where he ended up, no matter what he was doing, people were the same. Scurrying about their day, making a mess of things. Parents chasing their children to trying to keep them from disappearing into the crowd, drunks stumbling in disgusting alleys, piles of trash pushed aside hidden by the polite and beautiful of society.
It was all rubbish. The brave and boldest of individuals would take it as a challenge, but the smarter and meeker would use it to hide and survive.
He was nothing if not meek. And unlike so many, he was a survivor. Oh he may not have been the smartest, the most handsome, or charismatic, but none of those traits had led to others he had been with to get ahead.
Granted, he was hardly much better, but he did do it on his own terms so it was something. Now he was even further away from everything to boot. It was times where he sat alone in his makeshift shelter hidden in the alley among the trash he thought about the day that could have prevented the occurrence. He was there. He could have spoken up. But he didn't. And he lived and was far from the only places he could have called home.
But he was alive. And he would pull through it. He just needed to be able to navigate the infernal country's magical system. It was absolutely mad. The muggles were quick paced vermin who appeared to have no idea on how to slow down. There were no shops which were overlooked by the apparent muggles as they entered just about each establishment he had come across. Not to mention he hadn't seen one trace of an owl flying overhead to indicate the mail.
The clothing was also ridiculous. Some appeared to be witches or wizards with their long coats with an older and more sophisticated style only to discover how incredibly muggle they actually were. Such audacity to it all. Was there no way for a wizard from a foreign country to find the magical community without announcing their presence loudly?
That would be the last thing he would want to do.
With an unheard sigh, he scurried off down the alley in search of food and a trace indicating a magical community. The outside muggle world was no place for one such as he, as delicate as he was.
He listened carefully for the pesky felines that infested the alleys much like a plague.
It was always subtle, the quiet footfalls from their well balanced feet. The air shifting in weight and slight smell that if one didn't pay attention, would easily miss. And on the rare occasion, though the biggest tell was often the most dangerous, The low rolling growl and hiss from one cat to another ready to fight for prey. And if there was more than one cat, often times it meant the alley was filled with the creatures.
He had to be quick, and stealthy to avoid them. Moving as silently as he could, he weaved between abandoned news papers and garbage that had been dug out of a nearby dumpster either by some sort of hungry animal or the odd muggle going dumpster diving of all things.
He would never understand muggles and their peculiar ways.
At least it served as well enough cover. And while the muggles were numerous, they were easily in their own little world, allowing him to move mostly undetected once he left the alley he had rested in.
It was a life he had for the moment. But once he found a magical community, he could go from there. He didn't know where he was, or how far he had gone when something caught his attention.
"Look. It's the witch."
He lifted his head and looked around.
Across the surprisingly clear road, he saw older brick buildings that contrasted to the sleeker glass ones he had been hiding near. Out on the sidewalk was a group of children, no older than eight perhaps. Three children were surrounding a smaller girl. Her head was lowered in either fear or shame. Some rather negative but not harshly aggressive emotion.
"Careful or she might cast a spell on you Annabeth," one kid laughed. The girl's head lowered. She tried to walk around them, but in usual childish cruel fashion, she was blocked off. The little girl muttered something which only garnered a laugh from the other children. Off in the distance, he heard a car rumble to life.
"Please? That's all the magic you have?"
He watched as the children continued to harass the kid. He turned his head away. It was none of his business. He did hear a scuffle from shoes and heavy foot fall started off in his direction. He looked back to see the teary eyed child. He watched as the car he had heard turn on collided with her. There was a scream and a screech of brakes coming to a halt.
His eyes were entranced as he witnessed the girl bounce on the ground like a ball and land back on her feet, albeit, a bit shaky. Her tears weren't from pain but the driver didn't know as they stepped out of their vehicle in a panic.
He knew then to follow the girl. She had to be a witch. And even if she were a mud blood, he had no doubt that with the display of magic, it wouldn't be more than a few years at least before she was brought to see the magical community for the first time. With that in mind, he was more than ready to run after the girl when she took off. The driver called out for her and the other children were talking to each other quickly, all in disbelief that a girl as small as her was so easily able to run off after being hit by a car.
It didn't take long to find the child's home as she ran quickly inside.
He scurried to the door and inspected it. As a rat, he was a bit too large to squeeze under the door to the building. He pondered what to do when the door opened. He was about to run when the familiar charge of Stupefy overcame his body.
"What? You're not my ex. He was robin," a woman's voice commented.
Dainty and gentle hands reached down and lifted his body from the ground. She didn't shiver in disgust at touching a dirty rat in New York, nor did she shriek.
"I know you're not a basic rat. My ex was an animagus. And I know all about rats."
She carried him inside the building. For better or for worse, he had found a magical home.
"Those little things are disgusting. And yet, they're so ugly they're almost cute," Clint deadpanned staring at the little human like creatures in the yard.
"Gnomes. Not again," Molly muttered under her breath as she washed the breakfast dishes, "Fred! George! Go de-gnome the lawn."
"Aw but Mum, can't it wait?"
"If you two put it off it will never get done! Hop to it!" Molly remained stern in her decision. The twins groaned but got up.
"C'mon Ronnie. Don't you want to see how to de-gnome a lawn?"
Clint raised a brow hearing the twins pull Ron to his feet.
"I think I'll go and watch," he told Molly who still had her back to him as she washed. They weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination, but there was a silent agreement to make a better attempt at getting along. For Ron's sake. In Clint's case, despite his heavily fading hearing aid, had made it a point to alert whichever Weasley he was with, where he was going so they didn't assume he was going to make a break for it with Ron, to never see him again and in Clint's case, make him a wanted man in the United States and most of Europe.
Molly said nothing as he walked into the yard to see Fred and George explaining the basics of de-gnoming a lawn.
"So you grab these little guys by their ankles, spin them around, and throw them? That sounds horrible!" Ron gasped, looking at the two in shock and horror.
"It's really not."
"See, we just make them too dizzy to find their wake back to their holes. They get lost, make new homes, and everything works out just fine."
Ron stared at the two in disbelief.
"You two are crazy. This is inhumane," he gestured to the little creatures, "Surely there must be a better way."
"Eh. Maybe. But mum's not going to be happy if we don't de-gnome it. Sides, we know this doesn't hurt them."
"How would you know that?" Clint piped in, surprising the twins.
"We threw one into a tree once, full speed. Little bugger stumbled for a bit, then just sauntered over to it's home and disappeared. Came out not a minute later as if nothing had happened."
"You're kidding," Ron stated, disbelief dripping from his tone. His mouth moved in a way Clint could gather as 'I don't believe it.'
Great, his hearing aids were officially dead. He needed to find a better way to keep working batteries if he was going to make an effort to get along with Arthur and Molly.
"Hey Ron!" Clint called out. Ron focused on Clint. Clint signed that his hearing aids were dead so if he needed him, he couldn't yell for him.
Ron groaned but nodded his head. One of the twins turned to face Ron and said something. Ron caught Ron's mouth stating, 'It's sign language. Not speaking in hands.' He then signed for Clint to walk over. Clint didn't hesitate to approach the three and signed a basic greeting. He watched as Ron translated for the twins. He saw as Ron ran through the motions with his own fingers as one of the twins spoke.
Clint quickly realized what they were asking. Even before Ron finished signing he was already imagining what kind of trouble they would try to get up to with what they were asking.
He tapped the twins on their shoulders to draw attention back to him. He signed as he spoke, "Are you really sure you want to learn American Sign Language?"
He read one of their lips saying 'Why not?' The other looked slightly confused. 'You mean there is more than one finger speak?'
Clint gazed over to Ron.
"Oh yeah there is."
He saw Ron huff. No doubt recalling wanting to learn BSL after learning about his British roots and how difficult it was for him to pick up and understand the basics. Just a few greetings, yes and no, basic questions such as where is the bathroom, and the alphabet. Ron favored the American sign language he picked up at a younger age that he used with Clint and on rare occasions, Natasha. He did not have the same grasp on British Sign Language as he did for American.
The twins looked as though Christmas and their birthday had come on the same day and early. Their grins promised mischief. It was a strange gleefulness that Clint couldn't help but compare to Ron when he was really excited for something, like everyone getting together for his birthday. Only doubled.
"Boys! How's the lawn coming?" Molly called out. It sounded more like a reminder than an inquiry. The twins' grins remained through the actual de-gnoming process. Ron stared in bewilderment at how the gnomes actually didn't seem hurt even as they stumbled about clearly very dizzy. And yet for the most part, it was just an average day in the Weasley family.
Life has not been kind to me recently. But the least I can do is give a meager update here. I hope you all have enjoyed this chapter.
My beta sister has also mentioned that American sign language has heavy French influence.