The year is 1999. Nearly sixteen months have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and still the wizarding world is dealing with the aftershock of Lord Voldemort's war.
Aurors scramble to capture any and all remaining Death Eaters, making sure, this...
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"YOU CAN CALL ME JOAN."
A young boy sat with his back flat against a rough brick wall, eyes gently shut, mind wandering. The only sounds to be heard were those of the London rain, and the echoing, hauntingly beautiful music of a violin. He was alone - a boy no older than eleven, alone on the streets of London, hiding out in a dark alley behind a small recital hall - but for the first time in his life, he wasn't afraid. He was more at peace than he ever had been before.
Too quickly, the last note of the last song was played, and a distant applause replaced it. His moment of peace interrupted, the young boy opened his eyes to an ordinary sight, skewed by the raindrops on his rounded glasses. He knew it was late - much later than he was allowed to be out, but he felt no urgency. He knew that no one would be looking for him; the city orphanage he called home was grossly understaffed, with too many orphaned children to keep track of.
But it wasn't just himself that he was worried about. The city orphanage was historically normal, but in recent years, a historically abnormal event has caused the institution to fill with an array of particularly abnormal children. This lonesome boy was one of the oldest, so he watched after this strange bunch, and he knew that as the light of the midnight moon burned brighter, little Amira Rowle would need all the help she could get. It was best if he got home.
So he stood, but just as he was about to turn out of the small alley, the creak of a door and a torrent of rushed voices caused him to turn back. A small group of people crowded around the now opened door that he sat beside just moments before. All looked very distracted, very business-like, except for one - a dark-skinned woman in an almost glowing, pale pink gown. For a moment, the young boy stood still, entranced by the magic that hung around this woman, the bickering of her counterparts fading into deadweight, background noise. Surely, he thought, she's like me. He wasn't sure if he would ever find out.
She turned to the end of the alley with purpose, though she had no clue what that purpose was. Her eyes found him, that young, lonely boy with the round glasses, and her eyebrows creased together in confusion. "What is it?" spoke the woman beside her, tearing her gaze away from the end of the alley.
"There's a - " she turned back to where she last saw the boy, but found nothing in the spot where he stood. She turned back to her agent with a forced smile. "Nothing."
Blocks away, the boy was finally able to refocus. He needed to get home, and soon; he knew that if he didn't, Lorena and Isaac would not be able to fall asleep. The two were twins, orphaned before they could even remember their mother's face, and they had latched onto the boy the moment they arrived. Thinking of them only made him feel more guilty for escaping. He quickened his pace.
