Amélie had to remind herself when she traveled to not compare the places she visited with Paris. it wouldn’t be fair, otherwise.
Getting lost for the umpteenth time in the tangled streets of London, she was feeling less than charitable. Paris had gotten their act together and rebuilt the city into an orderly grid. One wrong turn in London and Amélie was hopelessly lost in narrow,
winding streets. Even following directions on her phone felt like going deeper into the labyrinth.
She wasn’t exactly sure when the road had transitioned from asphalt to cobblestone. The buildings pressed claustrophobically close like an ambitious alleyway. It was scarcely wide enough for anything larger than a compact to drive through. Honestly, this whole city was positively medieval.
Somehow in a city of millions she’d found herself alone. Her heels clicked rhythmically on old, crooked stone, echoing down the quiet street. The phone insisted a route forward-
Amélie saw the time and swore. She quickened her pace as fast as her designer shoes would allow, going past full rubbish bins waiting for pickup.
On one wall, next to an outdated advertisement, a signature drawn from sharp lines in garish orange, trails sliding down where the paint had dripped.
‘TRACER’ the masterpiece proclaimed.
Amélie snorted. Even the graffiti was better in Paris.
After a while, Draco got up to find some beer, and Potter spilt some coconut chutney down his front. They began to talk over the Montfort case and ended up arguing about Quidditch, using half-empty tubs and cartons to illustrate particularly complex moves. Draco even showed Potter his graffiti spell, sending little lines of ‘POTTER SUCKS’ dancing across the table and over the takeaway containers. Potter got the hang of it quite quickly, and sent ‘MALFOY SUCKS’ snaking away over the table in a messy scrawl.
“Honestly, Potter,” Draco told him. “You have no imagination.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Potter. He sent a row of crudely-drawn dicks bobbing away under his first line of graffiti, snorting with laughter at the look on Draco’s face. “You did ask for it, Malfoy.”