Post by Rainne Fall on Nov 23, 2012 1:57:29 GMT -5
The air on the Hogwarts grounds still smelled the same for autumn, the cold hard earth still as solid as it ever was. It had been years; the school had changed in many remarkable ways since she and Logan had chased each other across the pitch (still unchanged, the chips in the broom shed's paint visible even from here), and yet it still did, and probably always would, feel just a bit more like home than anywhere else.
It was cold, and so Rainne was bound in a dark cloak. Her hair was slightly singed, the tears in her jeans just a bit too clean to be the result of natural wear, and she was exhausted. But she was done. The mission was complete, all the pieces were in place, and it was out of her hands. She smelled of smoke and day-old lingering shampoo, her lips were slightly chapped from the Latvian air, but she was done.
One trip to the Department, another to the on-site Healer, and she'd apparated directly to Hogwarts' gates. Horace had given her the all-clear. The freedom and the relief were still settling in, but she had to find him. It'd been many, many months, and she was tired. Of waiting, of vigilance, of research, of secrecy - they both had known this would happen, just not this soon, and definitely not for this long.
The grass crunched beneath her heels, the half-moon hung thirty degrees above Hagrid's hut, and her breath crystalized in the air in front of her face as she ran across the clearing, down the natural stone steps, and stopped before the door.
Her intel had led her here, to these half-barren grounds, these quieter halls. This was where he worked now. It was fitting, but it still made her heart ache. For not being here, not making the move or the choice with him. But she'd kept up, at least with him - her contacts at the Department were more than contacts by now. They were lifelines for each other, and those in the field always got encoded updates about loved ones. News gathered through the Ministry grapevine or otherwise. Unspeakables were good listeners; such always comes with enforced silence.
The hut was old and round, still squat next to the Forest. The steps looked less likely to crumble, the garden more looked after. There was what appeared to be a bludgeoned toaster leaning against the fencepost. He was here, then.
"Logan," she called, voice rasping slightly as she rapped loudly against the overlarge door. After hardly a second, she turned the knob and leaned her shoulder against it to push it open. Her patience had been left in corners around Europe and Great Britain these past months - there wasn't much left to make her wait. A giddiness, along with a tinge of fear, tore through her at the dark interior. "Logan?"
It was cold, and so Rainne was bound in a dark cloak. Her hair was slightly singed, the tears in her jeans just a bit too clean to be the result of natural wear, and she was exhausted. But she was done. The mission was complete, all the pieces were in place, and it was out of her hands. She smelled of smoke and day-old lingering shampoo, her lips were slightly chapped from the Latvian air, but she was done.
One trip to the Department, another to the on-site Healer, and she'd apparated directly to Hogwarts' gates. Horace had given her the all-clear. The freedom and the relief were still settling in, but she had to find him. It'd been many, many months, and she was tired. Of waiting, of vigilance, of research, of secrecy - they both had known this would happen, just not this soon, and definitely not for this long.
The grass crunched beneath her heels, the half-moon hung thirty degrees above Hagrid's hut, and her breath crystalized in the air in front of her face as she ran across the clearing, down the natural stone steps, and stopped before the door.
Her intel had led her here, to these half-barren grounds, these quieter halls. This was where he worked now. It was fitting, but it still made her heart ache. For not being here, not making the move or the choice with him. But she'd kept up, at least with him - her contacts at the Department were more than contacts by now. They were lifelines for each other, and those in the field always got encoded updates about loved ones. News gathered through the Ministry grapevine or otherwise. Unspeakables were good listeners; such always comes with enforced silence.
The hut was old and round, still squat next to the Forest. The steps looked less likely to crumble, the garden more looked after. There was what appeared to be a bludgeoned toaster leaning against the fencepost. He was here, then.
"Logan," she called, voice rasping slightly as she rapped loudly against the overlarge door. After hardly a second, she turned the knob and leaned her shoulder against it to push it open. Her patience had been left in corners around Europe and Great Britain these past months - there wasn't much left to make her wait. A giddiness, along with a tinge of fear, tore through her at the dark interior. "Logan?"
