SEQUEL OF GYMNOPÉDIE
The war is inevitable. Wizards, witches, pick a side, pick your ruins. Because in the eye of war, brothers shared no blood though came from the same marrow, families strayed and abandoned, heart ostracized from mind, and you mi...
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WARNING: This chapter may content disturbing imagery.
Parades of nimbus clouds poured their tears upon London as condolence that September noon. The raindrops were light enough for corporate workers to trespass them with bags and sophisticated suits as their shield before they reached the nearest shelter. Although, some black umbrellas were sprung up like dots of ink amongst the crowd. A thin layer of mist shrouded the air, adding to the mysterious nuance that loomed around England in the past few years. It brought the cold in, enough for café visitors to shift in their comfortable seats while they watched the raindrops pattered lightly against the window like miniature rivers. Groans were earned from muggles, they moaned on how volatile the weather was.
While the muggles were whining over the wet roads, cold, and slippery pathway, two young wizards thought of the rain as a miracle.
The two wizards stood under the shelter of conjoined roofs between two brick-walled buildings right by the river Thames and its vacant traffic. They peered at their drenched boots, their breaths came short and syncopated. They stayed like that for a while, basking in the comfortable silence. Hidden from the crowds, the Prewett twins were akin to phantoms in their soaked attire; intimidatingly tall, lanky, and nearly soundless when they needed to be.
"We need to cover her up," urged the older breezily as he took off his trench coat then flapped it over a witch's body, shielding her head and Gideon's shoulders altogether. He continued to pat over and make sure that she was sealed away from the rainfall and he did it in the same manner of a mother caring over a child. "She'll catch a cold...Alphard wouldn't want that."
"What about you?" the younger asked with a frown. Gideon was doing the heavy task by carrying the Irish witch's on his back, but Fabian's fiery hair had caught the direct spillage of rain from the roof edges, gliding silkily on his oblong face. He pursed his lips. "You'll catch a cold too."
Fabian was visibly flagging in the cold air. His body crouched to gather its warmth. Shivers began to sink in his bones but he stubbornly bit it away. "I'm all right."
He's doing it again, Gideon thought bitterly.
The older Prewett twin had always been the reliable and frugal one. Fabian was not born that way, but being the head of House of Prewett since his father's untimely death eight years ago ( right after their older sister, Molly, was married to Arthur Weasley ) shaped him like so. Since then, as the older twin, he had to be seventeen when he was physically fourteen. He was pushed into the pool of adulthood, forced to dip his head in matters where a teenager was not supposed to understand just yet. Because of these too, Fabian was the friendlier twin, far more compassionate compared to Gideon.
