Post by Professor Cole A. Halliwell on Sept 10, 2012 21:05:11 GMT -5
[/justify][/font]Oh screw it, I'll fly back. I always do.
And so he did. A magnificent hawk, circling the streets of London, calling out to the birds among the skies.
Every time Cole Halliwell decided to toy with his animagus form he caused uproar in the Muggle half of what had been the busiest of cities this year. During the Olympics, a swiftly covered-up news story had actual anti-aircraft missiles fired at him, the result of a fear that he might be preying on athletes in Stratford's Olympic Village in East London. Evading them, no less destroying them deftly in mid-air, was no mean feat, but it helped the man keep fit, and for that, at least, he couldn't complain. And it had been a while since UFO complaints had been called out in London, anyway, he felt that he was doing them all a service.
Years had passed. Since his mother had died, since his sister had been discovered. Since his father had been finally defeated, his life had taken a turn at Hogwarts, his name had flashed up in lights in the school. Since Hayley. Since Celeste. Since Kat.
This was not the first time that Cole had returned to London. He'd spent some time abroad, the usual bohemian types; Paris, Rome and Berlin had been his homes at one point or another. He'd spent time in Scotland, time in Wales, time fleeing the Dark Arts in America, and a second time evading Aurors after some dodgy dealings. He'd been back to London in between, dropping in, visiting, never sure where the next adventure would be. But Cole was 24, and every part the man he always had been: strong, rich, notorious.
Cole was 24, and his life so far had amounted to nothing.
It was the mid-20s crisis that everyone went through, and returning to London was really an excuse to attempt to find his way back to some semblance of being that didn't involve running halfway around the world - even as a hawk - to evade some wizarding mafioso. The time had come to sort himself out.
So he strolled into the Red Star Lounge. He ordered a firewhiskey. He loosened his tie, collapsed into a booth, fiddled with a hole in his jeans and lit a cigarette. The time had come to sort Cole Halliwell out. But he was the man he had always been.