House Guard Parades, London | Google Maps
“Harry, could I speak to you?”
“Why of course, Minister.”
Hermione let the door fall closed behind her. “Please. Let go the formality.”
“What is it?” Harry motioned to the chair in front of his Auror’s desk.
She blew a strand of fuzzy hair from her forehead. “I’m worried. I’m wondering if you recall what it was like—way back to when Voldemort first came back. Do you remember?”
Harry brought a hand up and rubbed his forehead reflexively. It had been paining him more and more of late. “No, why?”
“Now that we’ve eliminated all the pro-pureblood laws, I’ve had more time to monitor the Muggle situation. And I’m worried. I believe certain politicians are acting under the Imperious Curse.”
“How can that be?”
“Think about it. Rising intolerance. Increase of fascism. Brexit.”
Harry sat back, nodding thoughtfully. “What do you think we should do?”
Hermione smiled. “Fix it. Don’t you think? We’ve fixed worse problems, you and I.”
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt, click here. My apologies for going over the 150-word limit. I couldn’t resist this bit of fan fiction. Now I see why the later Harry Potter books turned into massive epic sagas. I found it hard to trim words!
Juniper Trail – Manic Exploration.com © Chris Katie Google Maps
It wasn’t the act that Lorena so much objected to, as it was the filth and stench of some of the clientele. Though sporting could be fine thing with a man as handsome as Jake Spoon. It could be an unexpected thrill with a man as considerate as Gus. Sporting kept her in pretty dresses and French perfume. No, sporting was not the problem.
Lorena walked to the window and hoisted it as far as it would go. She lowered her face in front of it, closing her eyes; waiting. Waiting for anything…for something cool and fresh to blow the dust from this one-cattle-company town. It was hot enough to melt the shoes off a bay mare. By the time she opened her eyes, she decided. She’d trade all of it: the liberty, the freedom—even the celebrity and the fat wad of bills.
She’d trade it all for one fresh breeze.
This has been an edition of What Pegman Saw. To read more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here. Apologies to any Lonesome Dove fans out there. Apologies to anyone who hasn’t read/seen Lonesome Dove (who are no doubt mystified by this story). Also apologies for winding up further away than the location (Amarillo), which I didn’t realize until after I’d finished my story.