i said danger, do the smoke detector
*An evening that was meant to be dedicated to the luxury of leisure had been rudely interrupted by a phone call from the Muggle police forces. Mere minutes after pressing the once ringing black telephone receiver to her ear, Emmeline had boarded the tube set up north towards the Kilburn police station. The unexpected act of receiving such a phone call was set to rest after the officer on the other end informed her of who exactly had been arrested - a certain character named Davey Gudgeon, a fellow Ravenclaw and Muggleborn in her same year. He was an ardent supporter of Muggleborn rights in the most extreme ways possible, and he had (in her opinion, at least) often made a complete prat of himself in their History of Magic classes with retaliatory rhetoric and monologues to the dullest statements that ever left the spirit of Professor Binns. Other incidents included brawls with Slytherins and other blood purists, all of which either ended the whole lot, or just himself in detention, depending on the professor or prefect.
After graduating from Hogwarts, Emmeline hadn’t heard much from him. She assumed that he left the wizarding world for his Muggle pursuits, probably devoting all his energies to enacting a ‘new and improved’ version of communism upon the world. This utter lack of communication heaps upon the current confusion she feels as the witch exits the carriage at her stop, and emerges from the underground catacombs of London. Wand in the left pocket of her dark grey, double breasted trench coat jacket, she retrieves a note underneath a sidewalk lamp with the address of the station hastily scribbled upon it with her quill. Going down the main street she was already on, she turns and enters the drab exterior of the Metropolitan Police station.
Emmeline stands in queue behind a disheveled, elderly woman, and when her time is up, answers the litany of personal questions without much emotion until the officer informs her of Davey’s crime - crudely and explicitly vandalising a large Margaret Thatcher poster. She murmurs her assent to the officer’s personal opinions on young males who needs to make something proper of themselves, before getting to the pressing question in her mind.*
Sir, I don’t believe there really is much of a need to hold him until the court case for this misdemeanor, as... ludicrous as it is.
*The admonishment of her lackadaisical approach towards the topic behind them, the middle-aged Muggle assents that this was indeed the verdict, and points her to the waiting room. Sitting down, she crosses her legs and leans back on the chair, before picking up the copy of the trashiest tabloid she can find, and in this case, News of the World.*
After graduating from Hogwarts, Emmeline hadn’t heard much from him. She assumed that he left the wizarding world for his Muggle pursuits, probably devoting all his energies to enacting a ‘new and improved’ version of communism upon the world. This utter lack of communication heaps upon the current confusion she feels as the witch exits the carriage at her stop, and emerges from the underground catacombs of London. Wand in the left pocket of her dark grey, double breasted trench coat jacket, she retrieves a note underneath a sidewalk lamp with the address of the station hastily scribbled upon it with her quill. Going down the main street she was already on, she turns and enters the drab exterior of the Metropolitan Police station.
Emmeline stands in queue behind a disheveled, elderly woman, and when her time is up, answers the litany of personal questions without much emotion until the officer informs her of Davey’s crime - crudely and explicitly vandalising a large Margaret Thatcher poster. She murmurs her assent to the officer’s personal opinions on young males who needs to make something proper of themselves, before getting to the pressing question in her mind.*
Sir, I don’t believe there really is much of a need to hold him until the court case for this misdemeanor, as... ludicrous as it is.
*The admonishment of her lackadaisical approach towards the topic behind them, the middle-aged Muggle assents that this was indeed the verdict, and points her to the waiting room. Sitting down, she crosses her legs and leans back on the chair, before picking up the copy of the trashiest tabloid she can find, and in this case, News of the World.*