𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

plein air

“Two hearts on the floor,
one mine,
both yours.”

•

THE HEAT WELCOMED HER. She knew, she ought to be more scared, should panic just enough to hyperventilate, but the smell of parched land and dried bushes was just too welcoming. It was a tale of a girl, who simply didn't stop; she climbed all the mountains without a pause, until she reached the top, inhaled the breeze and looked down at her masterpiece. She danced until each blade of grass was coated in dew; the sun knew her name and so did the moon. For a fear had settled in her bones—a fear of staying still, for if you're not moving now, you might never move at all. She was here, in the land where she grew, without much but with just enough, where the ground burst into flames from the heat, where the chaotic life of Sydney collided with the senerity of out outskirt-Brisbane, where the smell of french coffee wafted in the air and sweet, freshly baked doughnuts were in the hands of all. She was here, her home before it all.

"What the fuck!"

She turned to face her boyfriend who was hurriedly taking off his cloak. His white shirt was already sticking to his body with faint beads of perspiration and his face flushed pink from the blazing summer sun. It was Winter in Australia, but seventeen degrees celcius was still warmer than negative five of London.

"You said it was Winter!" her brother snapped at her. "Where's the snow?"

"It doesn't snow here, Harry," her friend, the brightest witch of the age, reminded him. "It only shows up in the mountains—"

"Merlin!" Draco Malfoy gasped again, putting his cloak back on as a chilling breeze flew over them. "What is this weather!"

"Welcome," Skylar smiled at her companion, "to Australia."

All around her, Winter and Summer collided with aggression. Despite the blazing sun, the grey clouds still flew overhead; the dried grass blew whenever there was a gush of cold wind; cicadas chirped from their midst and all around them spread scattered houses and rolling plains. Brisbane looked younger than she remembered, but it still tasted like home.

"This is where you grew up?" Ron Weasley gasped, his hands still laced through his girlfriend's. "This is barbaric."

"You'll get used to the weather," Skylar laughed. "Now remember," she continued. "There are hardly any magical population here. So make sure to keep your wands and your magic hidden well. And it'll be a little hard to understand what the people are saying, and they might get excited because of your accents, but keep cool, alright?"

They trudged down the field—the secluded bushes that they had chosen to apparate to, to avoid the curious muggle eyes—and after a few silent minutes, they reached the road. A few cars zoomed by them, and Skylar could see a familiar little cafe on the other side of the road. They crossed the streets, and continued walked down the pavement towards the suburbia. She ought to feel more scared, she knew, but she didn't.

"Wow, this is really different," Harry gaped at the place.

"I know. . ."

They reached a towering building at the edge of the outskirts—it stood tall and dark amongst the smaller, brighter buildings. The grey walls were cleaner than she remembered; the driveway looked cleared of weeds and the windows weren't as grimy.