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lost boys
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August 13th, 1889 — A park near Islington, London

Clue was fifteen years old, but that’d hadn’t stopped him from seizing a fortress. The fort in question took the form of a wooden structure built for children, sitting at the top of a ladder by some swings. Although it was high noon in the midst of the summer holidays, and the sun had been shining so gloriously just one hour hitherto, there were no children here at all now, for the rain was pelting down from the steel-grey sky to the detriment of all. Clue — a small blond thing only distinguishable as a boy by his clothes — was kept dry by the wooden structure, knees drawn up and hugged to his chest, gazing out at the dour afternoon. The rain pitter-pattered loudly on the swings.

But he liked it here. He was alone and safe — safer than he’d ever be at home. Not that Mrs Scragg’s house could ever be called home. Hogwarts was where he truly belonged. Clue withdrew his wand, the wand he wasn’t allowed to use, and tapped it idly on the wood, imagining a spell that would turn his humble playground fort into the great castle of his yearnings.

@Geoffrey Campbell (@Chrysanta Ruskin)


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