It was pouring outside.
She’d been away so long, she almost didn’t
Find the turnstiles at King’s Cross.
Her hand twitched to the wand in her pocket
Everytime someone looked her way;
The defensive instincts from the past year
Would take a while to tame.
When Mrs. Granger finally opened the door to her,
She was ambushed by a sopping wet hug
From a stranger on her porch.
