Wizarding One Shots

P E R C Y • W E A S L E Y

Half eaten donuts, cold coffee and even colder cases.

H O W
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R I D I C U L O U S L Y | H A P P Y
W I T H
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S T R E E T S
N O I S I L Y
E C H O I N G
T H E | S T O R M S
A C C R O S S
L O N D O N ?

IT WAS BEYOND HER UNDERSTANDING
AND ABOVE HER INTELLIGENCE if she, after all these years of living here, could still not grasp what was so magical about rain in London. It was cold and wet, and there was nothing new about it at all.

In fact, it was quite unpleasant.

On murky days like these, she would wander to the coffee shop located in some mostly-abandoned back alley to escape the tap.tap.tap. noise that came from the leaky roof of her tiny apartment. The sound of water dripping into a bucket could drive her to madness.

Especially now that she was on medical suspension for getting shot in the line of duty during a hostage situation. The unpleasant tug between stitches and skin under her clothing served as an unpleasant reminder. Exit wound. Nothing mayor hit. Still unbelievably fucking painful. Hurt like a bitch.

She took her seat by the window, retrieving the cold case files from her backpack and stacking them neatly on the rich brown table. By the end of her short exercise, the filter coffee was placed in front of her and she smiled up at the owner of "Witchy Coffee Co." in silent thanks.

If this was how she was going to spend her day, she was going to need all the caffeine she was legally allowed and then some more.

For the most part everything was quiet, and the few patrons that arrived eventually left. But one stuck out and overstayed his welcome. That damned redhead. Always staring at her like some god-damned creepy. This was the 47th day she had noticed him when in town. In the coffee shop alone she'd seen him 15 of those times.

Could he not see what a stalker he looked like?

Something didn't sit right with her.

With a big sigh, she gulped down the black coffee, letting some of it trickle from the corners of her mouth. No time for manners, only coffee. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie and placed the mug back down on the neat coaster. If the freak wanted something to stare at, she'd give him a good show.

She opened up the old file docket again, the one about the mysterious death of some locals almost two decades prior. They had been found with their bodies twisted at unnatural angles and their internals damaged to the point of no return. The biggest fucking detail? Not a single hand had been laid on the victims. Thirty-two deaths in total had the same markers.

"How in the fuck..." She spoke to herself with her eyebrows scrunched together.

The redhead cleared his throat from besides her, sending her into a frenzy of kicking and screaming and swearing.
The poor guy had never even seen it coming when she hit his throat like it was the training dummy back at the academy.

"Fuck! I am so sorry!"

"Shoelaces...untied..." He gasped for breath while clutching his sarcophagus.

They'd tell this story at the wedding, but no one wanted to believe poor Percy when he said that he only wanted to tell her that her shoelaces were untied.