Casus Belli

+++

Casus Belli

+++

Prologue: All the World is Winter

Once the sky was azure blue...

... now the day grows dim...

Bid the golden sun adieu...

... let the gray begin..."

-"All the World is Winter"

Ruth Elaine Schram and Celsie Staggers

It was winter in London. Oblique patches of snow were settled on the ground, bruised with patches of filth and exhaust from passing traffic. Bars and inns were packed with lonely travelers, who always seemed to reach the same spots each year. Tall buildings were covered in Christmas and Boxing Day decorations, capped with glistening icicles and powdered, clean snow. People in the streets talked quietly among themselves, bustling with excitement for the holidays.

However, this excitement and merriment was not shared by every person. One such person was a brown-eyed woman of twenty-one. Unlike every other person in London this woman was less than thrilled by the calendar date. And here we meet this woman, as she hurried across the street, waving at the taxi driver who was obviously more than agitated. Her black heels clicked across the ground, her anger and disappointment evident in the way she carried herself.

The woman, as we mentioned before, was not a happy person. True, she had believed herself to be happy before, be she never really reached that moment of contentment that distinguished her life as merry versus melancholy. Of course, when certain things came to pass in her life she was finally able to say that she was truly miserable, she fully embraced that misery, and moved on to things that would allow her to change this misery into productivity, a sort of silver lining to her whole despondent persona.

Heels clicking loudly, the woman passed through a large crowd of carolers on the street. Their eyes sparkled brightly, filled with the holiday merriment that only came one time each year. The woman let a tired groan escape from the depths of her throat, and then turned her heels towards her apartment building.

"Evening Miss Granger," the bellman said cheerfully, opening the large glass door for the brunette. The woman smiled back sadly, pulling off her gloves as she began to walk into the apartment complex. "Have a nice evening?"

"It could have been better," the woman replied, sighing heavily as her hands reached for the sapphire scarf on her neck. "Much, much better." She waved a nonchalant goodbye to the bellman and headed for the elevator door.

Once inside the luxurious elevator the twenty-one year old caught sight of herself in the mirror. She frowned at the image, disgusted by the frightening state of her long brown tresses and her makeup, which she had, up until this year, believed was totally unnecessary. Her figure, which most women in England would gladly sell their soul for, was covered in a conservative, knee-length coat and beige pants. The brunette sighed; her dress code had changed so drastically since she was...

"No," the woman whispered to herself, forcing her eyes to leave the reflection. She had refused to think about... then for so long that she wasn't about to let herself think about then now.

Luckily enough for the woman, the elevator had finally stopped on her floor (the seventh to be exact) and had kindly opened for her. Feeling a bit flustered, the brunette smiled bewilderedly at the family entering the elevator, and turned right towards her apartment. Grabbing the brass handle, she inserted a copper key, turned right until it clicked, and pushed the heavy door open.

The woman felt a small amount of contentment hit her heart when she looked at her apartment's layout. True, it was both luxurious and comfortable; three large couches adorned the outskirts, and a suede recliner sat on the middle wall. The entire room was painted a deep burgundy as per her first request of the apartment when she put in her first bid. The drapes over the triple-paned windows were silk, the finest made in all London. Any other person living in this house would be satisfied beyond all belief. However, for this woman the habitat she chose was nothing but compensation for the pure emptiness she had inside, and pure misery that had clouded her life for so very long.

Sighing again, she threw her leather purse on the maroon couch and looked at the blinking light of her message machine. Having so vague idea about who the callers had been (unfortunately), she pressed the button lightly and waited for the message to begin.

"Hey Mione, love, it's Dave. Listen, we got a might bit worried when you left us during the middle of your presentation this evening... Nathan's practically ripping his hair out in the loo... anyways, we told the guys that you just felt ill and had to get going. They've requested a meeting with you on Thursday at seven. We've reserved the whole bottom floor of the building for you. Anyways, hope you're up to it. 'Night mate."

Hermione groaned heavily, forcing herself to laugh. Dave was one of the true gems in her life these days, and Lord knew that if he wasn't dating that devilishly handsome film director from Italy she would be all over him. She groaned playfully at this thought, laughing gently, and finished writing down notes about the message. Looking back to the machine, she pressed the blue button once more, and put her pencil back to the paper.

"Hermione? It's Richard. I'm ever so sorry that I didn't reach you while you were home. Anyways, about tomorrow night... well um... this meeting... yeah, this meeting that just came up out of the blue and I won't be able to make it to the show until quite late. So... I guess I'm calling to cancel. But how about Thurs...."

Hermione clicked the red delete button on the control panel. Though she wasn't quite ready to admit it, this was the third date that had been canceled this week. She didn't want to listen to another half-excuse from somebody.

Looking back at the machine, she saw that one more messages had not yet been listened to. Dropping her pencil, she pressed the blue button and sat back on her soft couch's material and waited.

"Um... Hermione?"

The pencil from the woman's hand dropped to the floor at the sound of the all too familiar voice.

"This is... Ron. Well, I know it's been forever... four years or something like that... and I know that we didn't leave one another under the best circumstances... but I really do need to talk to you about something. I know that you never wanted to..."

Click. Hermione, eyes filled with tears, took her finger off the recently pressed delete button.

She didn't want to hear any more.

+++

Hermione finished brushing her teeth, and took off her soft terrycloth robe. Underneath she wore a long black shirt and a pair of red flannels, which she had recently picked up from one of London's premiere shopping centers. Her long brown hair feel over her shoulder, much straighter now than it had been when she was younger.

A loud tapping noise suddenly caught Hermione's attention, gripping her heart with an iron fist. It was a well-known face that London had recently been plagued by small-scale robberies, and Hermione had always been the type to be well-aware of things like that. So, being the cautious person she was, Hermione slowly stepped towards her winter-coated window.

There was nothing there.

Looking around one more time, Hermione smiled uneasily and stepped towards her bed. Pulling the heavy woolen blankets back from the pillows, Hermione laughed and uncertain laugh, tension filling her stomach like water in a bath. Gently drawing back the covers, the twenty-one year old forced herself to lift the covers over her body, and slip into a restless sleep.

As the woman slept, her sheets fitful with movement, a small, snowy-white owl carrying a rather large parchment envelope landed next to her window and waited outside in the cold London air.

+++