Magical Hogwarts

richmond park | march 2005

The ground underfoot was hard from the morning frost and crunched with every footfall.  His breath escaped him in clouds in the crisp air. He wasn’t a natural runner, but after doing it for so long the mechanics had become easier, though his knees definitely clicked more now than they had before.

He ran in the mornings—knowing enough about her schedule that she mostly worked afternoons and nights—and he always ran towards the Kingston Gate, also in the hope of seeing her. It rarely worked, but sometimes it did – and when it didn’t, it was enough to be spending time in the same part of the world she occupied; a part that held shared memories. Richmond Park was large—around three times bigger than Central Park in New York City, where they’d first strolled arm-in-arm—but knowing she was on the other side of it made it feel as vast as the Atlantic when he was home alone with nothing but his thoughts.

Arawn rounded a bend, distracted now by bitter thoughts of Jonquil as he passed a bank of freshly sprung daffodils—unintentionally mocking him—and up ahead spotted the very woman he practised this ritual for. His expression relaxed into a warm grin as he slowed to a stop before her, his hands going to his hips. “Hello, darling,” he greeted her between panting breaths.

@Rosalia Torres Galindo

Rosalia had loved Richmond Park since the first time she had stepped inside. She’d grown up in downtown Los Angeles, and the biggest green space she’d known as a child was the overgrown ditches that flanked the highway. Richmond Park was vast, a sprawling cornucopia of trees, plants, and nature. It was a breath of fresh air outside the bustle of London city. She loved everything about this park—the scenery, the memories tied to Arawn, even the silly names of areas.

For a long time, Rosalia had honestly believed Arawn had made up half of them as a joke. It wasn’t until later she learned that Killcat Corner and Leg-of-Mutton Pond were indeed real places.

Walking up from the Kingston Gate, as she did every time she was free, Rosalia had gone past Gallows Pond and taken the turn that led back down around Kings Clump. (Yes, all real places.) Hearing heavy footfalls headed her way, Rosalia began to move to the side of the path. She was used to runners passing her by at this time of day, but she veered to the wrong side. Despite having never had a car in the United States, Rosalia had still grown up staying to the right, not the left. She realized her mistake, but the footsteps slowed, and she turned around to see a familiar face.

Arawn’s voice—and the way he called her darling—gave rise to goosebumps up her neck. She had always loved when he called her darling, and hearing it now felt comforting, familiar, but it wasn't the same as before. It reminded her of other things she missed. Rosalia pulled her knit hat down to cover her ears as they flushed. "Hello Arawn," she smiled, moving forward to give him a quick hug.

“How’s the run?” Rosalia asked, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. They might not have spoken as often anymore, but Rosalia had never stopped feeling close to Arawn, like she still knew him well enough. Maybe that was part of the problem; part of why she’d never fully gotten past their breakup. It hadn’t been messy, the end had been calm and mutually agreed on, and had made everything that came after more confusing. She'd never fully let go.

Rosalia stepped closer to hug him and Arawn lifted one hand from his hip automatically to return the embrace loosely; “Rosa, I’m all sweaty,” he objected softly, but by the time he had done so they had already parted again. His hand returned to his hip and he glanced briefly at the ground, their feet, before squinting back up at her in the bright grey light.

He offered her a crooked smile. “Not getting any easier on my knees,” he answered, his breath still coming in rags; small plumes of steam rising in the misty weather surrounding them. Unspoken but not a secret was the truth of it: they both knew why they continued to visit this park, no matter how slim the chances.

Arawn searched Rosa’s face, his smile became sadder as he was reminded of how much he missed her – the pull was that much greater at this distance, gravitational almost. “Are you working today?” He moved to be alongside her, resuming her walk on the loop track in the direction she had been headed before he’d come up behind her.

Arawn radiated warmth, Rosalia felt it coming off his shoulders as her arms wrapped briefly around his neck. She was reluctant to pull away, but did so quickly. The embrace was short lived, but the feeling of closeness lingered as she took a step back. She let go of a breath silently. Rosalia knew enough about biology to know why his confession hadn’t bothered her. Thankful for the cold air, Rosa’s cheeks cooled, and she tucked her hands into the front pockets of her windbreaker. She was happy to see him, though.

“Have you been stretching?” Rosalia asked about his knees, not a trace of judgment in her voice, despite already knowing the answer. She fell into step beside him as they headed in the direction of the gate. Rosa knew everything about this path—they’d walked it together more times than she could count—but more frequently now, she walked it alone. She knew it well enough to know how long it took. Rosa knew it well enough that without meaning to, she slowed her pace.

“Yeah, but not until later,” she answered, hesitating as she watched him, and then looking away as she continued, “I have tomorrow off though.” Rosalia could have walked in any park in London—or the entire world, for that matter, thanks to apparition magic—but she came here. And so did he. “How are things at the Prophet?”

Arawn laughed lightly. “Not as much as I should,” he answered, glancing sidelong at the woman he loved.

The English wizard nodded. Later was good, it meant they didn’t have to rush. He knew there was a coffee stand not far ahead, and between here and there he would determine if it was right to prolong this encounter or if it would be too painful (for her – he could, and would, take it). Arawn smiled when Rosalia said she had tomorrow off. “Any plans?” The part of him that wanted the best for her always anticipated the mention of someone new, but the part of him that wanted her dreaded it.

“Oh, same old.” The Prophet would always be the same, no matter how many idealistic young witches and wizards came through it. “Salacious gossip and scandalous rumour, with a little truth sprinkled in,” he commented dryly, complete with an animated mime of said sprinkling. “One day they’ll open their eyes,” he continued, meaning the readers – the editors knew full well the exaggerated stories they peddled as fact.

“And you?” Her career, her passions, her life – all things he felt like he knew less of now than he should.

Rosalia smiled warmly at Arawn, appreciating his lighthearted laugh. As he glanced at her, she felt a rush of affection for him, knowing the depth of her own feelings. With a smile creeping onto her lips, she answered his question about her upcoming day off. “I haven’t planned anything past sleeping in, but that is a certainty,” she replied, her voice filled with a gentle chuckle. For as long as she’d been in England, Rosalia had kept an unconventional schedule, and made it a point to sleep in when the rare luxury presented itself.

Curiosity about his life since they had last met sparked within Rosalia, and her longing to know more about what he’d been up to tugged at her. The Daily Prophet seemed like a safe starting point, allowing her to ask without delving into deeper matters. “I truly hope so,” she responded sincerely, her words laced with a genuine belief in potential for change. Rosalia believed Arawn wanted to help the world, and that he used his words to do it; it was something she’d always loved about him. And while she knew his dedication to his work often led him down risky paths, she hoped he had been taking care of himself.

She nodded, smiling as his animated manner reminded her of countless conversations they had shared in the past. And though they did not delve into deep conversations as often anymore, Rosalia still cherished their moments of connection, even in small talk. As she considered his question, her gaze wandered ahead. “Just the usual routine, the work keeps me busy, but I’m always trying to do better,” to make a difference, she thought. Rosalia spoke with a touch of enthusiasm, her dedication to her work shining through. Arawn had witnessed her journey, he’d been there when she failed the first exam, so she felt comfortable and vulnerable sharing with him now.

Walking side by side, Rosalia’s mind drifted, curious about Arawn’s recent endeavors. Though she had glimpsed his name in the bylines of the Daily Prophet, it seemed less frequent than she hoped. Her yearning to keep the conversation flowing overwhelmed her, urging her to ask. “Have you been working on anything new lately?” she asked, understanding that he might have stories he couldn’t share yet. 

Rosalia said she would be sleeping in, and Arawn smiled. He rarely slept in, often waking naturally in the early hours and as a result requiring an afternoon nap or an especially strong coffee to power him through until the end of the day. He could recall countless mornings with Rosalia when he had woken and simply watched her shadowy form sleeping beside him, the details becoming visible as the sun rose and lightened the room around them.

I truly hope so. Arawn let out a sigh through his nostrils. “So do I.” Things were not as grave as they had been during the war, but there was still corruption and secrecy within the Ministry and elsewhere. Too many witches and wizards had been allowed to return to their lives with little to no punishment, and history was doomed to repeat itself – perhaps not with another Dark Lord, but this Dark Widow was doing her best to claim his mantle (and doing a rather poor job of it, Arawn thought personally).

The English wizard raised a sceptical eyebrow at his companion. “Better,” he repeated in an ambivalent tone. He knew that it was always possible to do better, but his affection for Rosalia had him wanting to reassure her that she was already doing good. “No-one I know is better suited to the healing profession,” he told her with a warm smile.

The sweat on his body was starting to cool rapidly now that he was no longer running, and he would likely suffer for it later, but spending this short time with Rosa would be worth it. “Hm? Oh.” He pressed his lips together, considering telling her the truth of it (all of it), but now didn’t seem the right moment. “Mostly the same as always, nepotism and whatnot within the government.” He shook his head softly.

“There is one story that might be published in the next couple of weeks, I’m just… sitting on it, for now.” He hadn’t made eye contact with her as he spoke, but he glanced at her now and took her hand briefly in his to give it a reassuring squeeze – silently telling her not to worry. “It’s not dangerous, but it is a rather direct shot at a Ministry bigwig.”

“Would you like a coffee?” he asked as the little coffee shack became visible in the near-distance – not quite changing the topic but trying to distract her from the worst case scenarios she was undoubtedly imagining.

Rosalia’s heart clenched as Arawn’s words sank in, she felt the familiar flutter in her chest. No matter the distance between them, Arawn’s opinion held great weight in her life. She often found herself seeking his perspective, imagining how he would view things. Arawn had left an indelible mark on her being, becoming a guiding voice that whispered caution and alternative viewpoints in her mind. His absence only made her yearning for his presence more profound. “Thank you,” she murmured, cherishing his kind words.

Arawn had expressed his shared hope for a better future, and Rosalia felt the weight of his skepticism. The realization of the persistent challenges they faced resonated with her. She intimately understood the pain that came with shattered ideals and the difficulty of effecting real change in the world. Nepotism, greed, and all the other things that plagued their world were things she couldn’t change or fight. They were also things she stayed up all night worrying about, because Arawn was trying to battle them.

When Arawn mentioned the story he was holding back, Rosalia’s emotions swirled in anticipation and apprehension. The longing for any glimpse into his life clashed with the knowledge that the truth may be difficult to bear. It was a double-edged sword. The swift inhalation of breath betrayed her mounting worry, her shoulders tensing instinctively. Yet, the touch of his hand reaching for hers acted as an anchor, momentarily slowing her mind. “Oh?” she responded, her voice laced with curiosity and concern. Arawn’s reassurance that it wasn’t dangerous offered some solace, but she still worried.

Her attention shifted as Arawn suggested getting coffee, and while she appreciated his attempt to divert her thoughts, the underlying ache in her chest remained. “Yes, coffee sounds great,” she replied, a hint of hesitation in her voice. Rosalia knew that every moment spent in Arawn’s company would only make the inevitable departure harder to bear. She was constantly reminded of their bittersweet reality. Every interaction with Arawn was a reminder of what they could never fully have.

They joined the queue, and Rosalia’s eyes flittered between the menu board and Arawn, even though she already knew she’d order the same thing as she always did. “How are the catapults doing lately?” she asked him as they waited.

“If I go missing after doing an exposé on a government official, perhaps people will finally open their eyes to the real problems,” Arawn joked – though, of course, he highly doubted it was as serious as all that. He saw Rosa’s face and broke into a wider grin. “I’m teasing you,” he reassured her, again, with a light bump into her with his upper arm. “It will be fine.”

Rosa accepted his offer for coffee and Arawn smiled bittersweetly. “Wonderful,” he said, and they continued on towards the small building on the side of the path, joining the end of the short queue. His eyes drifted over the menu, to the shiny stainless machine the muggles used, and he magicked his battered leather wallet into his hand—

Arawn laughed, plumes of steam escaping his mouth in the cold air. “Fourth in the table, despite losing the last four games in a row.” He folded his arms across his chest habitually. “If we aren’t careful we’ll be at the bottom with Montrose.”

They shuffled forward in line. Rosa had asked about one of his hobbies and though he personally disliked small talk, he was rather used to it in his line of work. He turned to look around them, at the white and yellow banks of daffodils dotted along the borders. “Have you found a place with a garden?” he asked, privately more curious about where she lived now, and with whom, rather than any existence of a garden.

Arawn’s teasing about going missing drew a mix of amusement and concern from Rosalia. Worry briefly shadowed her smile, but she managed a playful nudge back in response. The underlying concern lingered, as it always had. “I’d prefer to keep reading your articles rather than news about your mysterious disappearance. But don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on The Daily Prophet, just in case.” Rosalia spent little time on current events, but she always found enough to read his work. She might not have all the details of his life now, but reading his writing still felt like a familiar connection.

As they made their way toward the shop, Arawn’s tone shift did not go unnoticed by her. They had been doing this dance for a while now, and though it didn’t feel as raw anymore, the feelings never really faded. Not for Rosalia, anyway. Joining the queue, Rosa noticed Arawn conjure his wallet, and she recognized it as the same one he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him. “Well, at least you’re ahead of Montrose for now,” she replied, though her knowledge of Quidditch did not extend beyond the initial question.

Shuffling forward, Arawn’s question about finding a place with a garden made her smile. It was a question that carried layers—something Rosalia was familiar with given her profession—and her cheeks warmed knowing that he’d remembered her dream. “No garden yet, I’m afraid,” she replied with a rueful smile. “But living with Montserrat does have its perks.” Rosalia’s smile warmed as she mentioned her best friend, a fellow healer, with whom she'd gone to school. “She still does most of the cooking.”

The queue progressed, and with a customer leaving the line, Rosalia shifted closer to Arawn, their arms brushing against each other. It was a deliberate move, a subtle bridge of the distance between them. For a fleeting moment, their closeness felt natural, comfortable. When she shifted back, it wasn’t without a touch of reluctance, a silent acknowledgement of the invisible boundaries they navigated. A subtle warmth crept into Rosalia’s skin, a gentle reminder of their proximity. She took a soft, almost imperceptible breath.