I WILL GIVE YOU SOME WORDS. golden trio era

i. SMOG AND FOG

{ CHAPTER ONE }

EVEN IN LATE AFTERNOON, THE SKY ABOVE LONDON WAS A HEAVY, OVERCAST GRAY. The kind that made even the brightest person's smile dim; that made the bright twinkling lights of the marketplaces and restaurants dull in comparison. The clouds above were large and thick with condensation; a looming warning of possible rainfall, but with the light breeze chilling the otherwise humid air, the passerby below were not as deterred.

As if the threat of heavy rain wasn't a problem, the fog made it near-impossible to see within a five feet distance, at least. It was obvious that the concept of summer was a foreign one in London, especially this year. However, even with the foreboding rain threat and the gloomy fog that would make any reasonable person stay indoors, there was still a lone figure sitting primly at one of the empty tables outside a cafe.

Then again, the person seated was far from reasonable. In fact, they were the farthest from normal, of any sort. Dominique Ramos, the person in question, wore a beige trenchcoat, long dark pants, and silver-tipped heels that clicked impatiently; her black curly hair was pulled up in an elegant bun, and the only touch of makeup on her dark skin was a dash of foundation and a sliver of mascara. An untouched cup of tea sat on the table before her.

But those were all the normal things about her. What wasn't was the long stick she was currently twirling unseen to passersby in the pocket of her coat. She continued to fiddle with it, as another figure seemingly appeared into existence with a faint pop. They turned, set eyes on her, and began to walk toward her. Dom's fiddling with her wand stopped, and she merely held it in a tight fist as the person, an older man with a shadow of a scruff, took the seat across from her.

"Oh, stop crushing that wand in your fist. Would you really hex your own godfather?" chided the man. He was tall with a harsh face etched with blunt features; his pale blond hair was tied back and shot through with streaks of gray. His long cloak shifted as he settled down.

In her pocket, Dom's hand on her wand loosened, but only a tad. "You can never be so sure," she responded. "What if you were someone else under a Polyjuice Potion."

The man nodded. "Very well-thought. You would make an excellent addition to our ranks." With his head bent while he rummaged in his coat pocket, he didn't notice the tightening of Dom's lips. "Here we go," Yaxley uncovered a neatly wrapped box from his coat pocket. "Your gift. Happy birthday, Dominique."

She took the package. It didn't feel overly heavy, so she deduced that whatever it was, it was small and light—perhaps jewelry? Wizarding elites were all too fond of gifting exquisite pieces of jewelry, and Corban Yaxley was no exception. "Was this why you dragged me out in this godforsaken weather for, Corban?"

Corban Yaxley laughed, harsh and short, the same way he did many things. "Not quite. I wanted to discuss some things with you without eavesdroppers." At the last word, he looked around, his eyes lingering on a patron sitting four tables away. "I suppose being among these mudblood commoners has its benefits," he wrinkled his nose as though just thinking those words had given him indigestion.

Dom leaned forward, slowly removing her hand from her pocket to set it atop her other hand on the table; a nice and poised stance, befitting of someone of her stature. "Corban, if this is about what we discussed earlier, I told you my answer already."