[Luna] Soft as a Whisper

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SOFT AS A WHISPER

The soft song of thunder hummed over London as Magnus proceeded to depart from the Ministry of Magic for the remainder of the afternoon. It wasn't often that Magnus would allow himself to take an early leave from work, however there was simply nothing left to do. All of the paperwork had been done, and all of his clients appointments for the following week had been scheduled. His job had always been straightforward, and easy for him to comprehend, whereas his predecessor seemed to be in a hurry to retire from his office. Rumor had it that the man simply had no fondness for pests or anything with more than six legs. Not that Magnus could blame him, not being particularly keen on them himself. However, he was dedicated if nothing else. He showed up early for every shift, and usually did not leave until every last detail had been covered. It was strange, even now, for Magnus to truly comprehend the type of career that he had made for himself. Long ago, when his parents had asked him what he would like to be when he reached adulthood, he would have answered any number of things: a superhero, a bum, a veterinarian... Never would he have said "I want to be a wizard, mummy!" Yet, here he stood, a wizard working for the Ministry of Magic.

Following protocol, Magnus had clocked himself out, and stalled only for a moment to retrieve his cell phone. He knew that many within the Ministry frowned on his blood purity, or lack thereof, but he was honestly quite proud to be a muggleborn. He couldn't understand why the purists were so unreasonable as to believe that muggles were of any less value than they were. Statistically speaking, there were more muggles than wizards, which ultimately meant that eventually the truth would out. No amount of magic would be deemed humane to obliviate the nation when it did either. No, the purists would someday learn that muggles were not as daft as they claimed. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Muggles were a strong people, comparatively less spoiled than magic-folk as they had no access to magic, and yet they were still strong enough to get by without it. Magnus couldn't think of a single wizard that would be able to make a grilled cheese sandwich without the use of a written tutorial or a wand. It was sad, but true. The use of magic was far too heavily relied on by his own standards.

A lesson that Magnus had learned several times over was that it really was dangerous to text and do, well... Anything. For one, texting didn't seem to work within the Ministry of Magic for some reason, although he knew the text would send itself the moment he stepped outside. He was close to his father, and it was routine to send word the moment he got off work, just in case they wanted to chat for a while. Today, texting while beginning to walk through the doorway didn't prove any less dangerous as he collided with a small blonde woman. "I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to run into you." He stated sincerely, hoping he hadn't managed to make her spill coffee down her blouse, as he had accidentally done to another witch a few days back. He felt like a complete and utter fool, positioned as he was with a cell phone unfolded in his hand, and a dorky expression written all over his face. "I really should learn not to be so... clumsy." He continued, slightly distracted by the girls curly blonde locks and vibrant blue eyes. Was it some sort of enchantment that made her seem so whimsical? "Are you all right?" He asked stupidly, instantly regretting the question, of course he hadn't bumped into her hard enough to cause any serious problems. Regardless of how many times he resolved not to use his cell phone until he was outside of the Ministry, it proved to be a resolution that he could not keep. There was too, something magical, about his phone that directed it to his hand after clocking out on a regular basis.

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People scattered. When the sky started clapping its applause at the light show which illuminated the dark sky for a few seconds at a time, the whole seemed to pause for a moment, take a deep plunging breath before scattering beneath large umbrellas and the nearest public buildings. It was as thought this show off and its audience had repelled everyone in sight. They dare not stay out in the dark for a moment longer than required of them. In fact, it appeared as though many engagements had been called off. When the thunder clapped the just reward for the lightning's attention seeking, as the chase continued, the people below ran. Not the girl with the blond hair and the wide eyes though. She loved storms. She loved the rain. She loved the thunder and lightning.

Her mother used to stop when she was doing when it was like this. Bad weather was never bad to this young teen but a reminder, a soft and warm feeling that came with feeling sad. She was sad. Her mother was gone, quite irreversibly so and while she always carried her in her heart, there was a space in it where she used to be. The girl, you see, never recovered from her mother's sudden and surprising death. With painted smiles and serene eyes she took the world on without suprises or shock because she had already been damaged by it. There were cracks in the girl, so deep even she didn't know they were there, lingering beneath the tough and hard surface of a young blond with pale skin and even paler eyes. The world was a cold and ugly place. You didn't have to tell her that.

But when the sky tore itself up, battled and waged war, she never called it a malicious chase between a victim and an aggressor. She never called it a war or a battle or a fight. She never said it was a heated debate but a playful dance between two long since parted friends. The lightning danced and the thunder clapped wanting to get closer and closer to something it knew it could never touch but that would never stop it from trying. It's failures brought in tears, an innumerable count of frustrated fears and tired resignations. Why won't the lightning wait? Why won't it dance for a while longer, a little closer, a little brighter? And when it got too far away, with the hope was gone and there was nothing left but a sad lonely little girl screaming there was nothing but silence. No one could hear. No one was listening. All they saw was a pale band of blue peaking out from angry broils and the promise of a fresh tomorrow. But the sky would rip again. The light would strike once more. And it would howl. No one would understand and no one would see. Vanishing like snippets of the past the sky cleared away its sorrow and took a deep breath.

Rain tumbled to the ground in torrents. her hair was soaking but her face was smiling, eyes distant, eyes sad, eyes happy. Something slid in her chest, a hallow place she had long since forgotten about filled with peace. she could see her now. The softest of silvers, the whitest of blondes and the nicest of smiles. Eyes wide and blue and laughing, a the kind of eyes that expected but never demanded, the kind of eyes that hoped beyond hope and never doubted. She wore beautiful swishing dresses. There were no pictures of her in the house, none on display, none on the mantle or sitting next to a bed. It was like she was gone from their lives, strange to most but if you looked in drawers, in carefully maintained containers you would find pictures of her. Some pictures were worn, dogeared and clearly used. They were rubbed and frayed and aged and that was easily fixed but no one wanted to fix that. No. They weren't the favourite pictures though, as one might expect. No the favourite pictures weren't allowed to age. They were perfect in every sense, just as she was. Gleaming and glistening the pictures looked as though they had never been looked at let alone touched. You did not mess with those pictures.

The girl turned her head up into the sky allowing the water to bounce of her face. She breathed deeply. her hair was soaking, her clothes were dripping and it was quite frankly cold but she didn't shiver. In fact she was enjoying it all. The rain slid down the back of her neck and even down her back, a little. She had twirled in the rain, not laughing, not uttering a word and not smiling more than a broken little grin twisted with pain no one would recognise as anything other than an ordinary smile. No one ever saw her. Not really. but then most people never looked hard enough at what their eyes were telling them.

She was meeting her father, the Editor of the Quibbler, who was at the Ministry for a reason he wouldn't tell her. She walked, her head full of mothers and death and fairytales, monsters and men when she was suddenly halted. She had just been walking through a door, not noticing a man was also attempting to walk through it. She simply blinked at him whilst he apologised. She must be very sad, she thought, if she hadn't seen him coming. Normally she would have been able to easily avoid a situation like that. Coffee down herself she just stood there, slightly shocked. She reached a hand on slightly, nothing untoward, towards the rain falling from the sky. It fell on her hand like a caress.

"You should get yourself checked for wrackspurts," she said sincerely, with an almost worried note to her voice. "It looks like you have an infestation," she added. "It could get serious if you leave it too long,"