I once found myself lost in the city of London.
It was during my first week since moving to the city to work for the Ministry. I had that Friday off so I thought I might take a look around town. Revisit the places I already knew and discover new places along the way. I left my flat in Craig's Court in the early morning (and when I say early I mean early for me on a weekend so 8 or so) and took my first steps into the city that I would one day be homesick for.
London is a busy city, even during the weekdays. There seem to be more cars side by side than I ever believed any road could fit and the amount of people shifted depending upon the area. It was better than the Saturdays where I would often find myself snugly stuck in the rabble of shoppers and hungry pub regulars all fighting for their right to cross the streets and find their ways in before everyone else. Of course, eventually I learned when and where to not be caught in the crowd and I (as well as my stomach and head, which are both highly claustrophobic) continuously thank the boys (my Unspeakable friends) for helping me out with knowing how the body traffic worked in the city. Nevertheless, at the time I thought it seemed Fridays were busy days.
I must have taken a bridge across the Thames a half a dozen times that day before stopping for lunch at a pub, hoping to find my muggle local. It had decent food and a nice location but the crowd it entertained was uninspired and moody. I went back a few times later to find it remained the same then I never set foot in there again. Some say that a restaurant is only as good as its food. I say, in the same light, a pub is only as good as its regulars.
After lunch I settled on heading to Hyde Park. It had some intriguing history, both magical and muggle, so I thought it would be interesting to check it out. From glancing at a map I knew it was nearby but I was unsure of what streets to take as well as what streets it was on. However in my young, foolish, and optimistic haze I reasoned I would find it easily on my own. After all it was a large park and nearby. Nearby. Ha. Nearby on a map of London is not nearby for the new bloke on the block with no car and no contacts to call if I lost my way.
To the point where I could not locate a street sign that was not missing letters or missing its plate completely. I found myself (though not my way) in a network of side streets where it became painfully obvious I did not belong and was new to the city. Every street corner smoker kept their eyes on me as I walked by, silence followed me at every turn. I kept my shoulders at a confident height. Then I put enough weight in my neutral expression to emphasize I posed no threat. Still nothing helped take the attention off of my back that I was a foreigner to this new world. Clouds began to form overhead making me feel and look all the more foolish as I was caught in the dripping rain without a coat. Dripping became Drizzling. Drizzling became raining, raining became pouring. Soon enough I found myself on a street with no outlet and ducked into a bar (or was it a tavern? I seem to have forgotten...) to get out of the rain and face the locals as well as my own navigational mishaps. I have always had trouble admitting when I am wrong. Sure enough as soon as I stared back at all the patrons staring at me I strode to the far end of the bar like I had meant to be there.
I order a dark ale and sat there for a good while before a regular moved from his table to lean against the bartable next to me, lazily ordering us around.
"Thanks, stranger." I raised my empty glass to the man next to me as the bar tender mosied away to fill our order. The man seemed to ignore me at first, busy rummaging in his pockets. I noticed his dirty brown hair bob slightly in my direction and took it as a nod of acknowledgement.
"Want un?" He asked but before I could answer he had already pushed a box of cigarettes into my hand and continued talking. "M' Owen."
It took me the seconds he used lighting his smoke for me to recall I should rightly respond. I held out my hand like a typical rookie.
"Ah nice to meet you Owen, I-"
"Augustus Rookwood. I know."
He said that one like I was dim, handing me the lighter. I took it, staring at him as I lit a cigarette. It felt like my first one in years though I had smoked thrice already today.
"Yer not apposed to be 'ere."
I frowned, conjuring a retort.
" 's place innit fer people like you. Not yet anyway. Who told ya bout it?"
Owen gave me a look like I had just delivered a very poor punch line to a joke that was rather terrible to begin with. When I did not change my answer he said, "Intrestin'." and replaced his cigarette with a white ale that I had barely noticed arrived. I picked up my own ale and took a sip. Something odd happened then that I cannot quite explain fully. There was a calm that fell over me. It felt as if the rain had stopped, time had come to a halt, all of the parts of me that desperately needed sorting were solved and forgotten. I sat there in silence with Owen, the most comfortable I had ever been with a complete stranger, and we drank and smoked for some measurement of time that I cannot account for. I do not remember what I thought about, only that my thoughts there were the most clear and free they had ever been. Towards the end of our drinks Owen looked at me with a pair of silver blue eyes I had not noticed until then and spoke, not breaking the surface of silence, rather settling right on top of it so that his voice rippled ever so slightly.
"August, you mind if I give you some advice?" I nodded for him to go ahead. "From un secret-keeper to another, rem'ber that the truth and life itself innit like clay. You can't jus' mold it teh fit yer ideals.You've gotta let the truth find you, August. Else yer not keepin secrets yer jus tending teh lies. It can be 'ard teh jus let go of what you know and how you think."
He took his final drag of cigarette.
"But in teh end you dun matter a whole lot unless you give back a part of teh world yer borrowin from."
At first, nothing he said made any sense to me. He sounded like he had had one to many drinks and smokes but then I got to thinking. It was a different sort of thinking. Normally people think in terms of how they are presently. Its a limited perspective filled with inexperience and errors. So I thought about how I would be. Though there were endless paths at the time it was clear to me how Owen meant what he said. I would not get it then, not completely, but perhaps it was the lack of inner turmoil that allowed me to accept that I would not fully understand until I got to that point. At that point I had stared into my empty glass, thinking deeply and Owen had let me alone to do so, quietly and wisely pondering himself.
"Owen?" He looked back to me with grace I never imagined a man could possess. "Thank you."
Our eyes locked for the last time and I left the bar, not looking behind me. As I walked down the street, still pouring with rain, the down pour became a rain. The rain became a drizzle, the drizzle a drip. And, as I walked about the corner, the weight of my world returned slowly but with a heaviness and sickness that I had not known was there until it had been lifted for a short while. In a panic I turned around and ran back down the street. I turned the corner sharply, eyes expecting to find the dead end road with the bar door.
What I saw instead was the sun beating down on Hyde Park across the dry road where people without their coats walked along the paths, some heading for the Serpentine others the Kensington Gardens. Some simply enjoyed their Friday picnics while I felt for the wall beside me then slowly slid to the shaded floor. Though I would have made a fuss before admitting it back then I now say without shame or regret that I wept thoroughly for a few good minutes before picking myself up again.
I tried finding that bar again probably more times than healthy. I first asked around about it but could not recall enough of the place to describe it. I could not even come up with the name of the joint. I walked down every street from Hyde Park to Whitehall but no matter where I looked or how hard I tried...
...I never again found myself lost in the city of London.
Augustus Rookwood (c) J. K. Rowling
Sam Claflin (c) Sam Claflin
*Found Myself Lost (c) hobocookie
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