Hide & Seek

Chapter 3 - Alharaca

Chapter 3
ALHARACA

alharaca
(n.) an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue

CHILLING howls echoed against the stone-built shops as they wound their way through the twists and bends of Diagon Alley. The clouds were darkening quickly with the impending nightfall, their stormy atmosphere only speeding up the process.

The rain was beating down steadily, as it had been for many weeks. The weather felt appropriate, though, for the mood in the Wizarding World could only be described as desperately fearful as of late.

Witches and Wizards alike threw paranoid glances over their shoulders as they hurried from doorway to doorway, hands tightly clutching umbrellas as if they were weapons and not just protection from the falling droplets.

A golden haired witch was darting across the slippery cobblestones, very aware of her tardiness as she hurried along. Stepping carefully so as not to break an ankle, she hopped her way down the decently deserted street, letting out a relieved sigh at the sight of the familiar cauldron shaped sign up ahead.

Lowering her umbrella as she stepped under the stone overhang, the young girl's cold hand pushed at the heavy door that served as the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Immediately overcome with a wave of warm and blissfully dry air, she flexed her stiff fingers as her eyes searched the eerily vacant tavern.

The long tables that took up the expansive space sat only a few random hunched figures, all hunkered over bowls of steaming stew as they tiredly spooned it into their mouths. The barkeep lazily ran a damp cloth over the countertops, his head not even lifting at the newcomer.

It was unfortunate, the sadness that clung to the beams along the ceiling was suffocating. The tension was palatable, and the witch shivered uncomfortably.

Breaking up the dreary grey monotony of the room was the stark auburn strands of the very person the witch was supposed to be meeting. She maneuvered her way across the dining room, careful not to disturb any of the fellow patrons with her sopping and heavy cloaks as she did so.

When she finally reached the round table tucked in the corner, the girl that was already seated glanced up at her, green eyes crinkling in greeting.

"A bit damp, there?" she asked, gently setting down the newspaper she'd be reading moments before. The front page was splattered in bold headlines, all surely warning readers to stay inside and minimize their time spent alone in public.

Meetings with old friends in uncrowded pubs was certainly not the wisest decision, but neither witch had much of a choice at this rate. Their rendezvous was more so a necessity than a frivolous outing, and the urgency was evident in the hurried way that Jocelyn sat down across from her in the rickety chair.

"Even Mother Nature is fearful these days," Jocelyn muttered, wringing out her cloak so that it created a small puddle on the floor. She hung it on the back of her chair, angling it so it gathered as much heat from the steadily burning fireplace as possible.

"Now, let's get down to business."

"Not even a how are you? Now, where have your manners gone, Jo?" the fiery twenty year old teased her friend, taking a sip from her lukewarm mug of butterbeer.

Her patchwork sweater drowned her small frame, wild locks of hair stuck to its woolly strands. In the midst of a war she seemed uncharacteristically at peace here, tucked away in the dim evening lamplight.

She nudged the extra glass of caramel-flavored foam towards Jocelyn, who narrowed her eyes but willingly took it anyway.

"We hardly have time for manners at the moment. I asked you hear because I'm worried about your husband, and you as well," Jocelyn spoke tersely, clearly not in the mood for even the lightest of jokes.