The Art Of Dissimulation

Chapter 8

                                                                                           Chapter Eight

                               "Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,

                                                                                        Lives in a dream,

                            Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door,

                                                                                             Who is it for.

                                                    All the lonely people, where do they all come from?"

                                                                               Eleanor Rigby- The Beatles

                                                                                                 ~~~~~~~~

The streets were full to bursting with witches and wizards- surprising given how early in the morning it was. The chilly British air however seemed to be having no negative affects on the shoppers at all. Everyone seemed to have chosen the same day to go to Diagon Alley and the atmosphere was- euphoric. Sporadic laughter could be heard from passing groups of girls, their arms looped through each others, gripping on as if their lives depended on it. Supporting each other when the wracks of laughter became too overwhelming.

Young Wizards stared on admiringly, whispering to their friends behind covered mouths. One even managed to pluck up the courage to approach a group of particularly pretty young witches. Tripping over his feet clumsily in his rush to open the door for them. With mirth in their eyes they smiled as they passed him. One of them- a petite red head- hung back slightly, obviously thanking him.

Then seemingly out of nowhere a sly grin appeared on the girls feature and in one swift motion the girl had planted a sweet kiss on the wizards cheek and then giggled happily at the dubious expression on his face (his friends hollering loudly behind him). Younger wizards and witches were running down the streets- money jingling in their pockets. 9/10 times the young kids headed straight to Quality Quidditch supplies. Excited rambling erupting from them in a loud chorus that hummed with the underlying sense of naivety.

Parents yelled exasperated and greeted friends they had seen only days before as if they hadn't seen each other in months. Many witches gravitating toward Flourish and Blotts in the hopes of catching a glimpse of one Gilderoy Lockhart. Talk of their children's ever impending trip back to Hogwarts pushed aside as they gushed like the schoolgirls they had once been over how gloriously wavy Gilderoy's hair had been on the cover of his new book.

The Wizarding world all seemed to have woken up with a youthfulness that made the dreary morning seem like a hot summer's day. One you would get in Barcelona or Los Angeles (not the barely over room temperature hot days that usually had British people muttering angrily about global warming under their breath, as men wondered around in the most unfashionable shorts and sandals they could find).

Little did the whole of Diagon alley know, but there was one person, amid the crowd of smiles ,who was fighting an internal battle. Lucius Malfoy paced back and forth in front of the wall, hands wringing in his hair as one thought raced through his mind- I shouldn't be doing this. Yet here he was. He had sent Draco off to find his sister after he had accompanied him to Borgin and Burkes. And then Lucius himself had found a secluded alleyway where he preceded to panic.