Summary: Dumbledore and his ever- ingenious ideas. To be truthful, those very ideas were the pillars which kept London's magical alter ego standing. But when it comes to this, I genuinely believe it's going to fail. Horribly.
Disclaimer: I do not own the theme, ideas, characters or anything associated with Harry Potter, and take no credits for the music & from the lyricist.
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Also: Thank you, HermioneRavenclawMalfoy, Rose-Blue775, parttimereader and dxsecret.
Chapter 2:
"A Foggy Day (In London Town)"
H. Granger, Ms.:
London really is a magnificent city. There are times when I truly miss living and working here. The constant hustle on the streets, the calm confidence in the stride of passersby: all inciting a feeling of ambition and uplifting my mood. But then I remind myself of the reason why I moved. Walking through these streets brought back bittersweet memories.
I was a stranger in the city
Out of town were the people I knew
I remember the view as my flight was landing into Heathrow Airport. The streets were filled with nooks and crannies where I used to study, party or just hideout from the stress of life. Among the many rows of houses there was one that held most of those memories: my family home, my now empty family home. The muggle society that my family was part of was one of the first that the death eaters chose to destroy. Families I grew up among were torn apart, homes shattered. My parents of course were safe from all this destruction. We couldn't afford the risk of a mass-evacuation of all the families we knew. So I had to sacrifice the lives of those people to ensure that the safety of the wizarding world wasn't compromised. Voldemort couldn't know that we knew. That we were planning. I still feel the guilt of letting them die when I could have saved their lives.
I had that feeling of self-pity:
What to do? What to do? What to do?
The outlook was decidedly blue
Tears now flowed in trickles down my face. My neighbours: they were my first friends. The memories of those community barbeques and the garage sales in our backyard surfaced. I drew a shaky breath and blinked away the tears. Those memories were nothing but a weakness. I concentrated on the job at hand. I was walking towards the Ministry, because apparently there was something of utmost importance to discuss. I still don't know who I'm meeting there, because all the message on my answering machine gave away was the urgency in the voice of the caller.
But as I walked through the foggy streets alone
It turned out to be the luckiest day I've known
I looked upwards. One could hardly make out outlines of the Parliament House, nor the top of the London Eye. The fog had, as usual, been a problem while landing in London. If it hadn't been for the fact that I was quite good with weather charms, we would have spent a good 45 minutes landing. Winter mornings in London were quite decidedly not my favourite part of waking up in the city, I thought as I stuffed my hands deeper into my jacket. But at least I get to catch up with people I haven't met for a long time. A resonant pang of guilt made me uncomfortable.
A foggy day in London Town
Had me low and had me down
But the fog had gradually started to clear as tiny, ice cold water droplets began to shower down from the sky. Great. Now I either stop in the middle of the street in freezing weather to search out my umbrella from my bag (which, mind you, was still packed full of things like bags of chips, packets of gum, my neck pillow, etc. that I require for air travel), or turn up to the meeting (where Merlin knows who would be present) with disastrous hair. I decided to hope the drizzle would eventually die out, because removing my hands from their warm nook inside my pockets seemed criminal.
I viewed the morning with alarm
The British Museum had lost its charm
Around 10 minutes away from the new Ministry access point, it began to pour. Ugh, I shuddered. I began to remember just why I hated winters here. I ran to the closest point of cover I could see. I ended up right in front of the British Museum: my favourite place to visit in my childhood. Tears began to well up in my eyes again as I reminisced of lazy afternoon visits to this wonderful palace of knowledge with my father, but this time they weren't tears of sadness, but anger. I was frustrated. I was tired. And I was back home.
How long, I wondered, could this thing last?
But the age of miracles hadn't passed,
I had vowed never to return here. All because of some ridiculously vague message left on my answering machine. What was I thinking? I finally dug out my umbrella from under the huge pile of things in my bag and started walking out as I fumbled with the strap, and finally managed to open the damned thing just before I left the shelter of the roof atop.
"Ouch! Bloody hell?" someone yelped as I opened the umbrella right in their face. That voice was all too familiar.
for, suddenly, I saw you there
and through foggy London Town
the sun was shining everywhere.
"Ronald!" I smiled out of pure happiness for the first time since I landed home.
Author's Note: I know, I know. This is an unacceptably short history or introduction for a main character. But again, bear with me.
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