I crack my eyes open as the bright light penetrates my conscience. I sigh deeply, carefully untangling my arms from the warm body on the bed next to me. I look down at the sleeping face of Jamie, his raven black hair casually tousled, his brow smooth and relaxed in sleep. The innocent sight of him sleeping peacefully makes me feel better, it gives me a sense of home even though I'm decades away from home, away from the people that I love who are distant memories here.
I smooth down his hair fondly and place a soft kiss on his forehead before crossing the room to stand in front of the dirty window. I squint my eyes, surveying the conditions today-better, it seems. Most of the rubble has been cleared from the alley and the shops are open again.
It seems so terrifying to think that just a few days ago the shops in this alley had been practically nothing but rubble. What's even more terrifying is the thought that Jamie and I could have died. We had been rooming in The Slippery Mermaid at the time and had left our room to go get ice cream for Jamie. He had insisted upon it and I couldn't bear to say no to him, especially after everything, he-we-had been through.
We were just leaving Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor when the bomb struck the eastern edge of Diagon Alley. For one moment the air was filled with the sound of screeching metal as the wards fought to hold off the bomb from detonating, alas it was not to be and the bomb exploded a moment later.
As soon as I heard the explosion, I crouched down on the ground, bringing Jamie down with me, thrusting his fragile body underneath mine to provide him with some sense of cover, my war hardened instincts instantly taking over. I felt the ghost of the explosion touch my back and then splinters of flaming wood and glass landed all around us. I felt a few, sharp prickles on my back from some small burning debris, but thankfully nothing serious.
Unfortunately, The Slippery Mermaid hadn't fared as well as we had and had been obliterated, having borne the brunt of the attack, leaving behind cinders and the faint, nauseating scent of burnt flesh. I had looked down at the rubble and felt a detached sense of sadness. The woman who ran the pub had allowed us to room for free with the condition that I would serve the customers during the day. She had even payed me a small stipend for my services, which had payed for all of our meals. She was a good woman and now she was gone, torn away from the pub that she had loved by the hatred of mankind.
It had been a stark reminder for me that even though by some miracle I had escaped the wrath of one tyrant, I had only traded it for the wrath of another. The early 1940's signaled the reign of Grindelwald and the atrocities he had committed. My only priority at this point was to stay safe and protect Jamie at all costs.
We are now rooming in The Leaky Cauldron, a familiar sight that had reduced me near to tears when I had first layed eyes upon it a few hours after the blast, when I had decided that it was best to get out of the unrelenting heat and find another lodging now that our old one was no more.
The owner, a man named Barton, was kind enough to allow us to room for free. I worked out an agreement with him. We would be allowed to lodge for free and have three meals a day, courtesy of the pub, as long as I helped out during the day with taking orders and serving patrons. He had assured me that The Leaky Cauldron was better protected than some of the other buildings in Diagon Alley since it served as one of the entrances to the bustling hub of the Wizarding world.
It made me smile, the thought that there were still kind people living in this world, even after all the destruction and wanton cruelty that I had witnessed.
When Jamie and I had first arrived in this decade, the 1940's, we had been traumatized, bedraggled, unable to fathom what had happened from one instant to the other. For some odd prophetic reason that I chose to firmly ignore, the killing spell that Voldemort had thrown at me had misfired or misdirected-I was not sure-and somehow we had landed in the the hustling, bustling city of muggle London, squarely in the middle of a crowd of pedestrians. There had been quite a few panicked cries and then the questions had started. I had stayed mute, my body racked with fear, afraid that this was some elaborate scheme performed by Voldemort to draw out my suffering. The news that the muggle police was coming was what had prompted me to break away from the accusing crowd and somehow stumble my way into Diagon Alley. I didn't remember much of the journey. I just remember landing on the steps of The Slippery Mermaid, unable to run any longer. Ruba, the owner had taken me in, no prying questions asked, perhaps taking pity on my bloody, unkempt appearance.
I look away from the grimy window, my ears detecting the change in breathing. Jamie is awake, lying on the bed, his bright blue eyes looking squarely into mine, a worried expression on his chubby face.
I cross the small room in a few strides and kneel by his side, giving him a bright smile to ease away the lingering worry in his eyes.
"Good morning sleepy-head," I tell him, bending down and kissing his soft forehead.
He smiles a soft smile and rubs his eyes sleepily, his worry forgotten. The first few days that we had been here, he had asked me the same question every day.
"Where Daddy?" his eyes innocently looking towards me, wanting to know what had happened to the only father, the only family besides me, that he had ever known.
I had refused to answer, my throat burning as I struggled to keep my tears at bay. I had no answer to give my child, none. I had made peace with the fact that Harry was gone, that I would never see him whole again a lifetime ago, when we had been captured and our hope had been savagely squelched by the monster whose looming presence had marred every happy moment in our short life together. I had cried out all the tears that I possible could for the sweet boy, for that is what he was, who had loved me unconditionally despite all the pain I had caused him. Harry had been nineteen when he had died and to me, he would always remain my hero in chipped rusted armor, beaten but not broken by the hand that life had dealt him.
Now Jamie doesn't even bother questioning me, knowing that I would refuse to answer his inquiry.
He sleepily stretches his muscles and then rubs his fists in his eyes, fighting away the remnants of sleep that croons to him.
I grin at him and then say, "Come on sweetheart, let's get you ready for breakfast."
I help him up and escort him to the bathroom, taking care of his bathroom facilities before quickly helping him dress in the second hand robes that Barton had lent us among other necessities.
I throw on my drab gray waitress uniform and with Jamie in hand, tromp downstairs.
Barton greets me with a smile and Jamie with a wink and then hands me a plate of hash browns and fluffy eggs, seasoned with flecks of butter, and a glass of milk.
I hurriedly seat Jamie at one of the corner booths and feed him and myself breakfast. After we're finished, I arm Jamie with a few threadbare toys that Barton scrounged from his attic, the toys that his own children had played with some thirty odd years before. I briskly kiss Jamie's brow and then set wards upon the booth to prevent him from wandering off with my newly scavenged wand.
I had snuck out of The Leakey Cauldron one night while Jamie was fast asleep and shamefully scrounged through the rubble of The Silvery Mermaid until I had collected a neat collection of chipped wands and tried my hand with all of them before I had found one that worked for me the majority of the time. It had made me cringe in chagrin but I told myself that I was past the point of shame. My only goal was survival, by whatever means necessary.
I tie my apron around my waist and the day begins. The customers start strolling in, wave after wave, undeterred by the fact that a bombing had occurred a few days before.
I lose myself in the rhythm of my menial job until lunch time, when I check up on Jamie and feed him and myself, before laying his sleepy head down on the booth and conjuring a blanket for him to take his nap.
Everything is well until four o'clock, when the day takes a turn for the worse. I am scrubbing down the tables, my back bent in concentration as I try to scrub away the layers of filth that has accumulated decades ago, when I hear a familiar voice that chills my blood. The voice of the professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts at this time, Albus Dumbledore.
He speaks warmly with Barton, exchanging pleasantries and well wishes. My heart thumps in my chest as I pray for him to be on his away, to leave without seeing me. Unfortunately, fate does not seem to be on my side because as I wish that thought Barton calls my name.
"Ginevra," he calls.
With a muttered curse under my breath, I emerge from my half-crouch and turn to face Barton and Professor Dumbledore. I turn around and give a false smile to both of them. Professor Dumbledore surveys me with his electric blue eyes, his hair a deep auburn at this time, a shade lighter than mine.
"This is Ginevra Evans," Barton tells Dumbledore. "She is a muggleborn witch that recently fled her hometown to come to London. The poor dear lost her husband in the war and she only has her son left now."
Dumbledore murmurs a quiet greeting to me and his eyes bore into mine, trying to look into my soul and determine exactly what I am. I stare back at him, my back ramrod straight, the dishcloth tightly clenched in my hand, not giving anything away.
"How old are you, my dear?" he finally asks me.
"Nineteen," I expertly lie.
"Ahh," his eyes turn a shade darker, sadness permeating them. "If only you were a year younger, you could perhaps come to Hogwarts and study there. It would shelter you from the war."
"It's alright, sir." I tell him politely, more than happy that I lied. I don't want to go back to Hogwarts and be kept under lock and key. I've had enough of that during the war. "I'm more than happy here in The Leaky Cauldronand Barton has been very kind to me." I smile at Barton to show my appreciation while silently willing Dumbledore to leave.
"I'm glad to hear that, my dear," Dumbledore says kindly, his eyes turning away from me to look at Barton. "Barton is a good man."
Professor Dumbledore and Barton fall back into an easy conversation about the state of the war and the casualties that we have suffered and I slip away, unnoticed by the two men.
I slump down into the booth next to Jamie, my heart hammering away in fear. That was a close call, but I think that I passed with flying colours. I need to be more careful from now on. I can't afford to have Dumbledore be suspicious of me.
After the day is over and night has set upon London like a mother embracing its child, I rehash the day's events in my mind and come to a firm conclusion. I can't stay in The Leaky Cauldron, it's frequented by Dumbledore too often and I'm too terrible of an actress to hide anything from the old man. I'll have to start searching for a new residence soon, something in the shadier part of Diagon Alley or even Knockturn Alley. My heart sinks at that thought, but I know that it is for the best. With that resolution in mind, I drift off to sleep.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I apologize for the delay in updates and I can't thank you guys enough for keeping me motivated by following, favoriting, and most importantly, reviewing this story. I hope to have the next chapter up soon. Adieu! :)