1.
Nowhere to Go
"Ah, yes, well I'm dreadfully sorry about that." The man said, nodding his head several times. His red lips pursed and his watery eyes attempted to focus on Arthur in front of him but slid away with Arthur's sheer glare.
"I don't need an apology I need a home." Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Behind him his robes dried, each droplet vanishing under a spell he cast upon entering. On the desk, cluttered with quills and parchments, was a sheet of paper with Arthur's eviction note given a day prior to the house being demolished by a Deatheater rampage nearly fifteen years before.
"Well, your house can't be rebuilt very easily. It's terribly old, archaic even." The man continued, scratching his neck. His wand stuck out from his sleeve, gnarled at the tip.
"What do you expect I do now?" Arthur asked.
"Find someone to go to."
And that is when Arthur decided he should contact some old friends.
After visiting the office, Arthur collected his coat and went back outside. The rain continued to pour, streaming in the streets. The autumnal rain brought a sense of peace to Arthur prior, but now it stormed grief on his poor heart.
He decided to go to a muggle in nearby. He walked down the cobbled sidewalks, glancing up at the tall apartments. In one window a cat sat, glaring out into the wet streets. Its eyes glowed like gem stones on its black fur. Arthur watched it for a moment, until it slunk away. Arthur dug his hands into his pockets and walked on.
Eventually he reached a street lined with shops and people under the protection of roofs having coffee or eating out. Arthur discovered an inn, its wooden sign flapping in the wind, labeled GOOD OLD INN. Arthur entered it, ducking into the warmth and stomping his feet on the welcome mat. Before him a woman sat at the desk, scribbling down notes. Tourists lounged in the lobby, watching the rain and looking through maps to decide where to go next. Arthur took off his jacket, checking to see that his wand was well hidden in his coat, and approached the front.
The woman looked up with a smile.
"Hello, sir."
"A room, please," Arthur said, sniffing.
She examined his appearance briefly before locating a vacant room. Arthur's dust-colored hair stuck to his face and to his prominent eyebrows. His mouth was ajar and he stood at an angle, being bandy-legged and lacking in height. He was stocky, but it suited his height and, in a way, his brevity.
"Here you are, sir, I hope you have a nice day."
Arthur took the gold-painted key and went up the stairs. He tracked drops of water in his wake.
Once settled in the room, he took a parchment and began to write.
Dear Albus,
I hate to be a bother at this time, especially as your school will be hosting the tournament, but I must ask you a favor. Do you know where one could stay? I can rent an apartment, but I need to be integrated back into the Wizarding World, I hope you understand. I can explain my motives at a later time if you wish to know what they are. If you are unable to help me, please don't worry yourself old friend. I can manage, but again I'm in a bind.
Yours Truly,
A.K.
Arthur applied his initials with great care, smiling calmly to himself.
The following day, after he had sent the letter via owl, he received a reply. He sat on the desk chair the inn provided, leaning his now dry stocking feet on the table and dipping a biscuit into tea.
The owl fluttered into the room, mean eyed and with attractively large eyes. It pecked at Arthur's hair. He petted it and took the letter, allowing it a treat before it went back outside. The rain had ceased but in the air the moistness hung like a curtain. People roamed beneath his window, chatting, and taking pictures of the scenery.
Arthur unfolded the letter and began to read with growing glee.
Arthur,
I am glad to hear that you have returned to our world. I hope you can explain all of this, because I do have a place for you to stay right here in the castle. If you have come for the very reason I presume moves you, then Hogwarts will be the safest place for you to stay. It will not be a burden on me and, I was wondering if you could provide a lesson for the students as reimbursement for this. Come as soon as you can.
The signature at the bottom, written finely, as though it had been made from silk, was faded at the end. Arthur tucked the letter away. He doubted he could argue Dumbledore out of it, but he had no choice and this was the most welcoming of invitations he could have received. How it will play out later is another story. Arthur wanted something quick to settle down in until he can gather enough ability to move on.
After much inner debate, Arthur decided that he would leave that night.
Until then he rested on the bed until his stomach started to growl. He ate quietly at a restaurant and returned, taking his wand from the folds of his coat, and holding it between his fingers. It had been a long time since he preformed any major spells with it. He could do simple spells well enough.
He decided to practice on the chairs and on the bed, and once he ascertained how well he could do those, he moved on to silencing the room, so no sound could escape as though a barrier had been established around the room, a glass case, and preformed the louder spells.
The room was painted red, purple, blue, yellow, and green. He grinned as the spells easily flowed through his veins. He cast the patronus spell, creating a rabbit. It glowed ethereal, a silvery ghost, a misty apparition, and leaped from one imaginary tuft of grass to another, trailing light behind it like a comet, casting its light on the room like the glow from a river. He ceased creating it and it vanished, into dust particles, and then to nothing.
In the corner he spotted a spider crawling, its spindly legs stretched out to the desk chair.
Arthur scowled. "What a filthy place." He pointed his wand at the spider.
"Crucio," he whispered.
It stopped, stunned, and the curled up, writhing in agony. Its miniscule muscle rippling and then, Arthur let it go. It dropped, agonized. Once it had regained some of its energy, Arthur smothered it with the toe of his shoe.