Spellbound → Hermione Granger [1] ✔

I 01 I In Plain Sight

~*~

There is a unique quality, almost magical, to the hustle and bustle of London. Evening rush hour had started, and the tourists lingered for night entertainments. The locals dotted near pubs and restaurants.

The heat of the day had softened to a comforting warmth with an occasional breeze; lampposts glowed, coating an ethereal veil of golden light across the cityscape. Houses lined the streets, placed together like old friends. In one of these houses, located in Notting Hill, a young boy peered curiously outside the window, arms crossed upon a cloth-bound book on the windowsill, into the nearby distance. Alexander Laurent waited for the arrival of his Grandfather, as he had done every day after school. Eliot would pick him up at three o'clock from the school gates, and, when they reached home, without fail, Alexander would sit in his Grandfather's favourite armchair with his book, face the window, and read until he heard the familiar rumble of the car came down the street.

His Grandfather was always busy with work and rarely had time for Alexander, which meant Alexander cherished every moment they had together. After all, Grandfather Laurent was the only living relative he had. Alexander hardly knew his mother, just the memory of a warm glow and a small peck on his forehead. Grandfather Laurent refused to talk about her; he'd become forlorn and silent, spending his time shut up in his office if anyone brought her up. Alexander liked to think that he would have been a good son, and she, in turn, would have loved him.

Today, however, had been the last day of Primary School, and, in September, Alexander would be starting year seven. He was eleven, almost twelve in November. There was something about Alexander that drew people to him. It helped that he was a good-looking boy, with short raven locks, azure eyes, and sharp, aristocratic features, but it was more than that; he had a smile that went all the way through to his core: a charm that even the coldest people couldn't help smiling at. Eliot claimed that Alexander could charm a snake if the boy wanted to.

Alexander's quiet evenings were idled away, sitting in that armchair. A continuous lyrical song included the gentle hum of the laundry machine, the rhythmic passing of cars, and the high notes as sirens. To an individual unaccustomed, it could be less than therapeutic, but Alexander was a city boy, born and bred, and these were sounds of comfort for him.

Eliot's voice sounded from the doorway to the living room. 'So, what are we reading today?'

Eliot was a tall, broad-chested man in his late thirties. His eyes and hair were dark brown, framed by thick brows. His voice was warm and rich, with an accent that came from the North of England. It reminded Alexander of drinking hot chocolate on a wintery day. Eliot had been hired early on in Alexander's life to work for the family. He was originally Grandfather Laurent's friend, and Alexander did not remember a time when Eliot wasn't present. Eliot was there for Alexander's first word (Grandfather, of course), his first bike ride, and when he started school.

Alexander glanced around, beaming. 'Treasure Island. Have you read it, Eliot?'

Eliot ran a hand across the lower part of his face. 'No, I can't say I have? You'll have to tell me all about it.'

'It's great! It's this book written in, like, the 1800s, I think, about treasured gold and pirates.'

'Gold and pirates? An adventure novel, then,' chuckled Eliot.

Alexander nodded. 'Yeah, it's becoming one of my favourites.'

'How far along are you?'

'Three-quarters of the way. I reckon I could finish it before tomorrow.'

Eliot shakes his head in disbelief. 'God, I don't know how you get through those books. I can't read unless I have to.'

'One of the signs of old age, you know,' Alexander teased. 'Poor eyesight another.'

'Oh, is that right?' Eliot raised an eyebrow.

'Careful, Eliot, perhaps a walking stick would be appropriate. Don't want to break your back.'

'Oi! That's enough cheek from you,' Eliot scolds, though a twitching that came from the corner of his mouth signalled that Eliot could never be serious. 'Just remember to put the book back on the shelf when you've finished.'

'I will.' The rumbling of Alexander's stomach signalled greater issues. 'I'm hungry. Is dinner ready yet?'

'Almost. Just waiting for your Grandfather now.'

'How long left?' Alexander questioned. 'He said six o'clock.'

'He's on his way. Should be home any minute now. You'll hear him come up.'

Alexander nodded, and Eliot left the room, possibly to check on the food. A silence took over the room. The faintest hoot of an owl was heard.

A breeze drew Alexander's attention outside. A lady walked her dog along the pavement, while cars drove alongside.

Just then, a peculiar thing occurred: a man stood opposite the house, other the other side of the street. He appeared to be perfectly ordinary. His hair was closely cropped and, the most striking feature, his moustache was trimmed neatly. A frown lay on his mouth, and it somehow made him seem more authoritative than his aura already suggested. He looked like the men that Grandfather worked with except that he was dressed in scarlet robes. Alexander stared incredulously. The man looked as if he'd come from a play. Who wore robes in public, much less bright ones that were an eyesore? For a second the man stood there, and then he was gone as if he'd barely existed at all. Alexander blinked. What? No matter how long he stared at the particular spot, the strange man never reappeared.

This was not the oddest thing to have happened to Alexander. When he visited Westfields, a toy he wanted, had leapt to his hand without him moving. One second it was in the display window, the next in his hand. The shop's alarm bells were ringing, catching the attention of the whole shopping centre. A tsunami of people stared at the commotion. Eliot had to take the toy back, apologising most profusely to the security guards, who were baffled beyond belief. Another time, when he was five, Alexander had accidentally opened Grandfather Laurent's office, even though the door was locked with a sturdy key and his head barely reached the middle.

Yet, throughout all these incidents, not once did Grandfather scold him for it. He just accepted it and moved on, and Alexander could have sworn he saw Grandfather smirk.

So, how can a man disappear in the middle of the street, within a blink of an eye? It didn't make any logical sense. No one else had seen him, apart from Alexander. He didn't hallucinate, he hadn't blinked. The man appeared, then vanished. Before he could ponder more on the issue, the recognisable roar of a black BMW was heard. Alexander felt his heart jump. Grandfather Laurent was home.