The Prodigal
Henry took another drag on the muggle cigarette, savoring the nicotine burn in the back of his throat, as he stared at the door across the way. It was nondescript- it could have been any other door to any other flat in a nice part of the city.
But it also couldn’t be anything other than what it was: a hole in time, that would take him back to a life he felt a thousand years distant from, though it had barely been a year since he went on tour with that muggle designer from America. Had leapt at the chance to do work that let him see the world.
He wondered what Camilla would think of him now, looking nothing like the little prince the Burkes had raised. Instead he wore leather motorcycle pants, a Louis XIV coat made of leather and velvet in peacock blue, heavy black boots with a three-inch heel, and his pale blond hair-
Mrs. Burke had fawned over their hair, had cooed when she styled Camilla’s for all of the parties they were dragged to, had tied Henry’s back with a satin ribbon and said he looked like a prince, her prince-
it was cut short, finally, and he’d dyed it silver with a magic potion so it shimmered metallic in the light. It couldn’t possibly be natural, and it looked nothing like Veela-blonde.
He took one last hit of the cigarette and flicked it into the nearest bin before picking up his rucksack and crossing the street to knock on the door.
@chamo-milla
