They made a good team, Max thought. Like a dynamic duo from the books he read, or even the business partnership between his not-dad and fake-uncle. One was the fast and cunning one, the other was the big and brash one. Though his feet kept pace with the thrill of their getaway, he still felt clumsy and uncertain, and worried more about where his own two dumb feet went than any potential traps. He caught the kid with a worried look on his grubby face, scowling down at the streets to see if they still had some coppers on their tail.
If Max had a single breath to spare– he didn’t, this was infinitely harder than most of his Quidditch practices – he would’ve told the kid he thought he lost them, and there was no reason to worry.
As they worked their way closer to High Street the buildings crowded up enough they were nearly on top of each other, making it a much easier trek. Max scrambled a bit unsurely around some of the chimneys, and got a good whiff of some disgusting noxious gas from some apothecary. It churned his stomach almost enough to make their stolen prizes less appetizing. (Almost, but not quite. How stupid it was to have dropped that delectable sausage! He was going to dream about that...)
Maybe Max should be more worried about what could happen if they were caught. The fire that lit his companion’s footsteps came from a level of urgency that he hadn’t experienced since… well, since he ran away from the dumb orphanage, maybe. But then again, he had people like Barnabas or Tommy or Hestia or even scary Gallagher to help him if he desperately needed it. It did not occur to him that his newfound friend had a different story.
Perhaps they could talk about it– they could be friends, couldn’t they? The dynamic duo, two of the greatest mastermind wizards in the world actually, robbing ugly old ladies with big skirts and tiny dogs of fineries they wouldn’t even notice missing until it was too late. Max didn’t want fineries, he wanted money, because money meant doing things– meant all the sausages in the world, for example.
Before Max could open his mouth to confide these things– to point out he didn’t recognize this kid, what house are they in? How old is he? – he watched them slip down the side of the building like the slipperiest of snakes.
Slytherin, probably. And younger– maybe not even a first year?
Max tried to follow, but his climb down was less than elegant, and he hung precariously on the ledge of a windowsill until he heard someone shriek with surprise on the other side. He dropped unceremoniously to the ground, knees quick to protest where his skin stretched out a few fresh cuts and scrapes. Max took one single spin around in place, searching wildly for his friend.
The kid disappeared. And frankly, so should he. With a last fleeting look down a windy alley that maybe the kid had gone down, Max turned on his heel to get lost in the crowd.
If Max had a single breath to spare– he didn’t, this was infinitely harder than most of his Quidditch practices – he would’ve told the kid he thought he lost them, and there was no reason to worry.
As they worked their way closer to High Street the buildings crowded up enough they were nearly on top of each other, making it a much easier trek. Max scrambled a bit unsurely around some of the chimneys, and got a good whiff of some disgusting noxious gas from some apothecary. It churned his stomach almost enough to make their stolen prizes less appetizing. (Almost, but not quite. How stupid it was to have dropped that delectable sausage! He was going to dream about that...)
Maybe Max should be more worried about what could happen if they were caught. The fire that lit his companion’s footsteps came from a level of urgency that he hadn’t experienced since… well, since he ran away from the dumb orphanage, maybe. But then again, he had people like Barnabas or Tommy or Hestia or even scary Gallagher to help him if he desperately needed it. It did not occur to him that his newfound friend had a different story.
Perhaps they could talk about it– they could be friends, couldn’t they? The dynamic duo, two of the greatest mastermind wizards in the world actually, robbing ugly old ladies with big skirts and tiny dogs of fineries they wouldn’t even notice missing until it was too late. Max didn’t want fineries, he wanted money, because money meant doing things– meant all the sausages in the world, for example.
Before Max could open his mouth to confide these things– to point out he didn’t recognize this kid, what house are they in? How old is he? – he watched them slip down the side of the building like the slipperiest of snakes.
Slytherin, probably. And younger– maybe not even a first year?
Max tried to follow, but his climb down was less than elegant, and he hung precariously on the ledge of a windowsill until he heard someone shriek with surprise on the other side. He dropped unceremoniously to the ground, knees quick to protest where his skin stretched out a few fresh cuts and scrapes. Max took one single spin around in place, searching wildly for his friend.
The kid disappeared. And frankly, so should he. With a last fleeting look down a windy alley that maybe the kid had gone down, Max turned on his heel to get lost in the crowd.
![[Image: Kc9h1cI.png]](https://i.imgur.com/Kc9h1cI.png)
magical set by mj <3
~ Max was raised in Italy and talks with a bit of an Italian accent / misses some English vocab/slang.