The Daily Prophet is a typical newsroom, well, at least the excitement and activity can be labeled typical. Wizards and witches work madly scribbling notes, sending owls (and receiving the occasional howler), and checking facts. Consequently the room isn’t what anyone would label quiet. Rows and rows of desks line the room with pseudo walls in between each. A large maple receptionist desk sits in the front, surrounded by filing cabinets, yet there is no receptionist–just Martin Rathe standing impatiently With the second installment of the Thomas Porter chronicles, Martin has found himself here at the Daily Prophet with a copy of said article in hand. He’s already spoken to the receptionist, but she promptly disappeared following his inquiry about Thomas Porter, and has yet to return. That was ten minutes ago. Biting his lower lip, the Auror is unsure whether he’ll find any answers in this hullabaloo.

“Caroline, Car–” Fred Wexler protests as he’s ushered into the reception area where Martin waits. “I’m not the person – no, no,” he hisses as he comes to a stop in front of Martin. “Hello, there,” he states loudly, pushing his hand out to shake Martin’s. “I hear you’re… inquiring about something? Or someone?” Fred looks sideways at the receptionist who seems to be passively ignoring him while the look on his face doesn’t get any clearer as to what’s going on. “Do you need something from me?”

Connecting to the handshake, he introduces himself, “I’m Martin Rathe. I’m an Auror with the Ministry of Magic.” He side-glances the receptionist and then Fred. “I just–” he pauses, and hands the article to Fred. “I assume you’ve read this, right? I have some questions.” Martin presses his lips together into a thin straight line.

Taking the article and glancing it over, Fred Wexler stutters for a moment then nods. “Of course. It was in our paper, and I do try to read as much as possible. What’s the problem?” He pauses, still looking puzzled. “Nothing seems amiss to me, though I’m sure it made a few people a bit angry.” Fred chuckles a bit then reaches out to hand the article back to Martin. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Accepting the article back and tucking it in his suit pocket, Martin tilts his head and considers why he’s curious about its origin, “Can I be frank, Mister–” frowning, Martin realizes he doesn’t know Fred’s name, but chooses to move on. “This particular author has obviously made some enemies. Further than that, his insights could be beneficial to our department.” He crosses his arms over his chest and decides to leave it at this for now.

“Wexler – Fred Wexler,” answers with a bit of a laugh, realizing that he’s forgotten to introduce himself in his own confusion. “Well, I’m sure someone knows where or who he is. Personally, I’ve never heard of the man before. I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a drink with him either.” Fred pauses for a moment in thought. “You know, come to think of it, this might be an external submission. I’m not totally sure, I didn’t handle it myself.”

“Does the Daily Prophet receive many external submissions?” Martin inquires further as he smooths his robes. “Do you know who handled this external submission? And who typically finds freelancers?” Tilting his head he realizes he’s asking many questions. “Is there a place we can sit down?”

“Certainly. Let’s go, er…” Fred pauses. “My office?” he suggests, glancing at the receptionist who is looking shockingly alert as she stares at her desk, then begins to walk slowly back toward his office. “We receive quite a few submissions, though I would say that only about a tenth of them actually get publishes. There are a lot of aspiring writers out there who, erm… Well.” He stops short as a cart carrying stacks of parchment comes by without anyone pushing it, then continues on down the corridor until he comes to a door with his own name on it. “I don’t, off-hand, know who handled this article. You could send an owl to my editor, and I’ll try to see that he responds.” Fred opens the door to let Martin go in first. “As far as finding freelancers, we don’t typically need to unless someone’s looking for a particular style of column. We get enough unsolicited submissions without seeking out others.”

Martin Rathe follows Fred down the winding halls towards his office and he stifles a chuckle as Fred mentions the number of aspiring writers in the world. Stepping into the office he nods, “Do you think it’s very likely the editor knows much about this bloke? Or… is it possible it’s just a crazed wizard who can write?” He frowns momentarily and then adds, “I hope he wasn’t crazy enough to use his own name…”

“If he’s a rookie, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his real name.” Fred Wexler takes a seat behind his desk and leans back a bit, spinning his chair back and forth idly. “It’d take a real dummy to use his real name on something like that unless he has protection of some kind. I’m not sure if my editor knows who it is or not, but if he doesn’t he can probably help you find who handled the submission.” Fred pauses and then abruptly leans forward. “So, is this hot news at the Ministry, then? My dad won’t tell me anything. Anything you can tell us for follow-up? You wouldn’t believe the press this one has gotten!”

“I wouldn’t call it hot news, but Thomas Porter is certainly a person of interest. His understanding of the inner workings of crime alone are suspect,” Martin strokes his chin. “Do you think he’s a lunatic? I mean, you’ve probably read enough freelance work to know the difference between a crazed man who made some lucky guesses and legitimate writing.” Narrowing his eyes he probes, “Have any others been poking around Porter’s identity?”

“Not with me, but as you can imagine, I’m usually more occupied with trying to meet my deadlines than with taking questions.” Fred laughs rather loudly and gestures to the mess that covers most of his desk. “As for him being a lunatic, well, his writing is sound, and it certainly sounds convincing. I’ve never met a lunatic that was this convincing myself.” He shrugs vaguely. “I’m sorry I’m not of more assistance, Mr. Martin. I’m as much in the dark about this man as you are, to be perfectly honest. But you’ve got to give me a break if you find anything – this would make a killer story if he turns out to be somebody important.” A pause. “Or someone crazy! I would take that, too.” He laughs loudly again.

“Keep me in the loop about what you know and I will pass along any newsworthy information I find,” Martin smirks and offers a chuckle of his own. “Well, hopefully if he’s of sound mind we’ll find him before anyone else does… and even if he isn’t…” He shrugs. “Regardless, for his own sake I hope we can find him. Although, there’s selfish motives in there as well. If he’s an insider, I could really use some of that information.” He walks towards the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Alright, alright,” Fred concedes, putting up his hands and chuckling. “I’ll let you know if I find anything out. Don’t forget your promise!” Fred tells him and reaches out his hand for a final handshake before turning back to his desk, rifling through his immense mess to find something.

The private family parlor is a large room, divided into several individual areas by arrangements of couches and chairs in smaller clusters. Most are ornately constructed in an older, almost medieval style, although a few have a more modern feel. The decorations are bizarre and eccentric, from the stuffed yearling dragon suspended near the ceiling among the floating will-o-the-wisps for light, to the improbably deep bookshelves that adorn the walls of this room just like every other room in the manor. Everything gives the appearance of great age and is very rich and ornate, but also a bit worn. The small bar with weird twisting angles set against the north wall is only for appearances, and is not stocked; drinks appear when asked for.

Oddly enough Gerald is not present tonight and neither is that “layabout” younger brother of his, Uncle Cedric. It would seem the menfolk are busying themselves elsewhere for Astra is actually present in the estate and further has settled comfortably onto one of the couches with her nose in a book. She rarely visits the home of her childhood, but as she so seldom gets to see her children now that they have left Hogwarts there is no avoiding the place all Rathe call home to some extent or another. Unlike her very businesslike self at the school, here the woman takes certain liberties and she’s dressed in a long silk dressing gown of crimson and gold. Left open, it hangs loosely over her garish clothing that consists of a bright purple shirt with long sleeves that cuff at the wrist and billowing green trousers that cinch close around her ankles. On her feet she wears a pair of highly ornamented Arabian slippers.

Having apparently inherited her mother’s flair for garish clothing combinations, Satinka arrives dressed in a combination of bold green (reminiscent of grass) and pale, silvery blue styled in a pantsuit with a hint of sailor style to it. As she walks in, the young woman carefully removes her hat – appropriately in a matching shade of green – and shakes off a bit of rain as she removes her coat. “Mother!” she calls loudly as she hangs up her things and makes her way into the parlor. “Oh, there you are,” she says blandly as she peeks into the room. “I should have known.” With that, she comes in and takes a seat in a chair facing Astra.

It isn’t the approach that draws her attention so much as the greeting. Forcing herself to glance idly up from whatever has her utmost attention, Astra‘s assessment was originally going to be the lazy and apparently half-attentive glimpse she generally gives everyone. Except that’s not what happens. The arched brow and idle eye that’s about to dip back to the pages of the book freeze and catch. While no words leave her mouth until the younger woman sits down that doesn’t mean she’s not giving Satinka her fullest regard. Lowering the book and openly staring at her daughter’s face, or more precisely the now short blonde hair, the darkling woman’s lips turn into a slight frown. “Satinka.” The name is spoken in an even tone and there’s forced neutrality in the greeting. “How…are you…doing?” Those emerald eyes do not skip to look at her daughter, but rather their gaze remains upon the hair.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Satinka answers dismissively as she leans back into the chair, pretending not to notice her mother’s apparent shock. “Are you alright, Mother?” the young woman asks casually as she crosses one leg over another, motioning for a drink from the bar and sipping it casually. She brings her hand up to pat her hair gently, as if completely oblivious to her mother’s reaction. She peers at the book her mother is reading and rolls her eyes a bit. “Haven’t you read that one before?” she asks, not really knowing whether that’s true or not, but trying not to gloat too much over the successfully elicited reaction.

“I couldn’t be better.” Still staring at the hair it takes Astra a moment longer to finally disengage herself from openly gawking. “I see that you’ve become quite the modern young lady. I remember a muggle-born friend of mine bobbing her hair shortly before we were to graduate, I suppose it was quite the rage.” Gripping the book and then gently shutting it gives her enough time to pause and catch her thoughts. “Is it the latest fashion then in Paris to crop your hair in that way or is it just some way of declaring your independence from your family then?” A very small smirk edges at the corners of her lips but dies before it reaches fruition. This small change is as scandalous to the woman as some major acts of deviancy would be to other, more normal, parents. “Why on earth did you go and chop off all your hair? I can’t see the reason in it at all.” Outing her real feelings on the issue the scowl is directed at the offense rather than directly at Satinka.

Satinka smirks openly at her mother. “Why not cut my hair? It’s just hair,” she states with an air of confidence as she pats her hair once again. “I thought the look would suit me, and you know, there are so many needy people who just can’t grow hair the way that I can. I thought I could help the needy by giving my hair to someone who needs it.” The one disadvantage to her now-bobbed hair is that the toss of her head has much less impact than it had when her hair was long. “I have no need for the trends of fashion, anyway,” she states. “I make my own.”

“It will grow back, granted, but now it will not be as it was.” Oh the horror of it it all! Astra scowls openly and then shakes her head, “I will never understand this desire of some people to wear their hair short.” “I hope your brother doesn’t get it into his head to go chopping off his hair too.” There really isn’t a good and logical reason to her disapproval and she is all too aware of this fact. Instead of focusing on the absolute inanity of her own condemnation against the offending hairstyle she chooses to chase Satinka’s argument. “And just what poor souls couldn’t just use magic to grow out their hair or change the color? Why be so…archaically muggle about the whole thing? Did you sell it to some magical stylist then?”

“Of course I didn’t. Don’t you know how severely over-priced they are? They pay beans, too. It’s hardly worth the time waiting for them to draw up the payment.” She takes a sip from her drink, letting her silence draw a long pause. “I went to Arcane Artifacts. As I’m sure you know, Mr. Darian wears only wigs, and some of them are of just shameful quality. We can’t have an esteemed shop owner in Diagon Alley looking like a slob. Thus, he was needy!” She glances up over her glass as she takes another drink, mischeif playing in her eyes. “You are so dramatic, mother. My hair will be just as it was before, should I let it grow long again. Perhaps I won’t!”

Everything after the mention of “Darian” may as well be white noise to Astra. While the prior reaction was probably delightfully rich to anyone’s perspective other than her own this next bit of news leaves the woman robbed of speech. Probably half a minute goes by where the older woman does nothing, frozen in body as well as mind although she’s gone positively ashen. When at last she does manage to speak her voice is dry and crumbling like leaves in a gutter, her old fears returning. “You. Went. To. Darian’s. Shop.” Each word is clipped, sharp, and more unforgiving than the attitude toward the hair. One slender hand arches over her book in a protective fashion but she grips it until her knuckles are white. “Darian.” Drawing in a sharp breath, green eyes narrow at the corners. “Do not play me a fool girl. Darian is neither a slob nor in need. Mind yourself.” “I’ll not have my children associating with his ilk even if you are adults. Choose wisely the company you seek for it reflects on you. If you have any further dealings with him,” “do not darken this or any door I enter. Do I make myself clear?” There aren’t many times that Astra makes a stand against something, but her utter hatred of Daniel and his name is stripped bare. If there was any question about her fear or dislike of that family before there certainly shouldn’t be now.

“Mother, you are so closed-minded. What is it to you where I sell my hair?” Satinka replies, setting her glass down nearby with a loud “THUNK.” “You tell me to live as I will but only if it fits what you want!” She raises her voice just slightly as she says this and sits forward in her chair. “If you won’t let me do what you say I should do, and hold onto antiquated ideas of beauty and womanhood -” she continues to raise her voice and practically spits the last word to her mother, “- then perhaps I shouldn’t, as you say, ‘darken your door!’” The young woman stands up with a huff and stalks to the entryway, her cheeks red with her anger and disdain. Once in the entryway, she begins to put her coat on and in her haste manages to drop both coat and hat onto the floor. “AUGH!” she shouts as she picks them both up, attempting to shake invisible dirt off of them both before putting them on.

Standing up silently, Astra watches the young woman stalk away with the familiar attitudes that so vex her own parents about her own self. Opening her mouth to say something she instead sits back down and tosses the book aside carelessly, an act she would normally never engage in. “This is not about your hair any longer this is about your associating with that scum-sucking, bottom-dwelling, piece of work known as Daniel Darian. Cut your hair to flout me. Wear it short and mock me, but do not think for one moment that I will tolerate you playing me a fool or an idiot.” But then the anger turns aside and the rage turns to anxious vexation. For years she tried to protect her children against the evils in the world and now her brain seizes with fear on the worst outcome. Standing up, she doesn’t seek to chase down her daughter. Instead she paces, her arms wrapped around her body as she scrambles to put aside her fear. “Darian is filth and though I have no solid proof, I know what he is. I know he is like that father of his. I know he will harm you if he can. There is no love lost between our families after what happened. Do what you want in your life then, but do not associate with an enemy of your family.”

“I’m not sleeping with him, mother,” she tells the woman. “I sold him my hair. You’re making a mountain out of a flobberworm hole. You want me not to treat you as a fool, then stop treating me as if I’m a stupid child.” Satinka has managed to pull her coat on and affix her hat rather sloppily on her head, and after this statement, she crosses her arms across her chest. “I’m not as stupid as you seem to think I am, and I certainly know what I’m getting myself into. Just because I choose to sell my own hair doesn’t mean I’m making some crazy dark wizard friends.” She scoffs and stares hard at Astra for a moment.

Staring openly again, Astra‘s anger is on the edge but she quells it as she observes her daughter’s reaction. “Going near him is danger enough. You never know what he might do or what he might try to slip you. He’s a scoundrel and I would prefer you do not have any more contact with him.” “You do not know his family half as well as you think you do and if you did you wouldn’t be so quick to cast aspersions.” Straightening herself she stands as tall as she can and tilts her head as she thinks. Then, finally, there is that smile however faint. “I have never thought you were stupid. Headstrong, yes, but aren’t all of the Rathe? Stupid is not a word I’d use to describe you.” Brow furrowing, she pulls her arms away from herself and shoves them into the pockets of the dressing gown. “I’m proud of the both of you – probably more than I’ve ever said. I’m not good with “I love yous” like your father, but I do. I worry sick about you too because you’re as proud as I am. I worry about you both because father says I didn’t do a good enough job teaching you.” Years of pent up fears come out and while she tries to stop the flow she cannot. “And now…I can’t protect you anymore. You’ve grown, but that doesn’t mean I don’t worry every single day. You’re my children. How could I not worry and fret and get scared when I hear you’re near my second worst enemy in the world?”

Satinka‘s anger seems to quell ever so slightly at Astra’s admission of a fault. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, her stance not changing. “I just wish you would give me a little credit that I know what I’m doing. Just because I walk into a shop and sell my hair to someone doesn’t mean I’m angling to get myself killed or involved with the wrong kind of wizard.” She sighs dramatically. “I’m not going to get myself killed. We had good enough defense teachers, and I don’t exactly have any more hair to sell, so I don’t expect I’ll be visiting the shop again any time soon.” She waves her hand as she says this, then brings it down to rest on her hip, heaving another dramatic sigh.

“That isn’t what grandfather means. It’s another of my many failures and I wonder if he wasn’t right.” Of course she does, but Astra is always afraid of never living up to either of her parents’ rather large demands. Pulling at the robe and sitting herself back down she continues to watch the younger woman with an expression that rests somewhere between anxious, proud, and frustrated. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s him. Just, next time you decide to do business dealings please seek someone else out.” Furrowing her brow and then shaking her hands out of her pockets she raises her fingers to her forehead and massages her temples. “Darian. Ugh.” Shaking her head clear of that thought she glances at her daughter’s hair again with a sigh. “I do like long hair, but it isn’t because of traditionally womanly beauty. I just like it better on everyone.” “After all, your grandfather has long hair and so does Arnauld and Cedric. It isn’t because you’re a woman it’s because well” shrugging, “personal taste.” It isn’t the best of excuses, but now she isn’t trying to make them. “And no, you don’t have to keep it long to please anyone but you should know that doesn’t mean it’ll go without comment. I’m sure grandfather will say something and Arnauld will probably hold a funeral for your hair or something equally ridiculous.” Her good humor has returned, mostly, but she looks drained.

“Has it occurred to you that just because everyone you know has it doesn’t mean it’s the only way?” Satinka states. “I don’t want to look like everyone else. I’m special, and now people can can see it right off.” Satinka smirks at this. “I’m sure grandfather will adore my hair.” Satinka‘s italics don’t decrease as her anger does. “I’m shocked that you’re making such a big deal of this, mother. I thought you were modern.”

Throwing her head back in that familiar laughter that she inherited from Arnauld and her father, Astra‘s mirth doesn’t overflow too long. “No dear, I’m afraid in many ways I’m as traditional as your grandparents. I try, I do try, but there are some things I can’t quite shake. Besides, if you didn’t have something to flout at me however would you manage to rebel?” That flicker of deviance lights in her eyes and the smile she rarely dons in public finally worms its way onto her face. “I don’t approve. I don’t have to approve of everything you do. That doesn’t mean I’m not proud of you and that certainly doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re special. You’re special because you are a Rathe. Rathe are always a cut above,” vaguely gesturing at Satinka’s hair, “and we always have to stand out one way or another.” “Blair will fuss more than I am, but I’m sure you’ll tell him where to get off.” “And then he’ll run to me crying about it as if it were an international wizarding disaster.”

Snickering a bit, Satinka waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll handle Blair.” She smirks. “I’ll just tell him that it’s an emerging fashion and that I wanted to be right on top of it.” A pause. “Or something like that.” Now that she’s quite calm, Satinka takes a moment to set her hat jauntily and neatly atop her head. “Now that you’re past your shock, can’t you admire what a stunning look this is? It is truly chic!” Satinka strikes a model-esque pose, though her attempt at the blank model face is marred by her self-satisfied smirk.

“You were always better at handling him than I was, well, yes, now.” The vague hints of what the man was like prior to the birth of children do crop up from time to time but Astra rarely speaks of her childhood and teen years even now. Raising both brows and then giving a sigh “I’m going to have to take some time to get used to it on you, but that’s because it looks strange to my eyes.” “Regardless of my personal feelings you do pull it off well. Then again you’ve the confidence to put any look in a good way.” Rubbing her thumb alongside her chin a devious smirk tugs at her lips. “You really ought to come visit me at Hogwarts sometime. Let old Quint see you like that and I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say – maybe not to you directly but it’ll be funny all the same.”

“Oh that’s a laugh,” Satinka comments with a derisive snort. “Professor Helit wouldn’t have any good things to say about me anyway because I’m female, let alone now that I’ve bobbed my hair.” She pauses, then giggles a little. “Maybe he’d like me better because I look more like a boy.” Satinka giggles more, as she seems to find this comment quite amusing, though there is no chance of her ever being mistaken for male. “Thank you, nevertheless, for the begrudging comment,” she tells Astra with an impish smile, pushing her hands into her pockets and spinning in her best ballerina twirl.

“Quint isn’t all bad, he’s just mostly bad and very backward but what do you expect? He was raised very strangely.” Astra‘s desire to have her family get along is strong, but she knows better since even her blood relatives can really go at each other’s throats. “My advice is to take him with a grain of salt and tweak his nose in whatever way you can whenever you can. It’s good for him to see that the Rathe women play hard, fast, mean and deadly.” “He’ll learn to behave eventually.” Sighing, the woman picks her book back up and turns it over in her hands. “You’re welcome oh my dearest and most darling daughter.” Laying it on thick, she flashes a fond grin. “You are so much like your father sometimes. I’m glad you’re living your life the way you want. I envy you that freedom, but I’m glad you have the strength to do so.”

“Oh, don’t make me sick,” Satinka responds, making a face at Astra’s extra-sweet response. “Somebody has to keep the Rathe name alive socially,” she comments off-hand. “You’ve got the academics covered, and I dare say Seker is looking to make a name around Diagon Alley, though I’m not positive of that. I pick up the slack.” She says this so sweetly that one might believe that it’s entirely sincere. “And speaking of that, I’d better get back to Abe – he wants to stop by some thing or another tonight and I have to decide what I’m going to wear.” She pulls the tie closed on her coat and smirks at Astra.

Raising both her hands as if in defeat “Because the rest of us are terribly socially backwards I know. We can’t all be like you dear.” Astra is anything but giving in, but the smile doesn’t fade as quickly as it might if she were really offended. “You are our sole defender on that battlefield so go off and don your armor.” Shaking her head as she drops her hand back into her lap she stands up. “Do come round and see me once in a way. The school is dull without you two running around and getting underfoot or pestering me or trying to make me upset over something or another that you’ve planned out.” She wants to hug her daughter and while she does approach she stops short and pins her hands behind her back, unable to carry through with the desire. “Go on before you’re late and have fun.”

“You really are,” Satinka agrees with a very good deadpan. “I’ll do my best to resurrect the Rathe name socially, but I must warn you – it’s a difficult job. You crazies have really done it up good.” She grins and leans down to kiss her mother on the cheek, apparenly not hampered by the same awkwardness regarding physicality as Astra has. “I’ll come by and visit sometime. I’ll let you know.” She grins and strides away. “Tell Grandfather that I said hello!” she calls and wiggles her fingers before apparating away with a loud CRACK.

The rush of the classrooms and the excitement of the school are left behind as Otto winds his way up to the sixth floor and follows a mostly unused hallway into a room that is currently unoccupied. From the looks of things hardly anyone comes here but the Ravenclaw boy seems more certain of himself here than anywhere else within the building. Carrying his sewing satchel and design tote with him, he also has another bag in his possession today that isn’t his backpack. “I probably shouldn’t do this, but if Tommy’s in here he’ll just scream like a three year old girl and throw his curlers at me.” Grinning, he limps along and gestures to Seraphina. “We found this place back in first year and I haven’t shared it with anyone, but I think you’d like it.”

“What is it?” Seraphina asks cautiously, eyeing the hallway carefully. “I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” she comments as she comes to a stop nearby, chuckling as she considers Tommy’s ‘curlers’. Out of habit, the young woman pushes her sleeves of her robe up, and fitting the way they do, they fall straight back down, proving her action totally useless. “What have you got in there?” she asks playfully, trying to get a peek into his design tote, though not trying very hard.

“Not for your eyes, yet!” Protective fingers hold the top of the tote tight shut but the young man tosses a grin at his friend. “It’s a room we found, but it’s not right here. Come on.” Otto moves with his customary shuffle into the room and stops before a wall. Pacing back and forth three times, he waits as the door reveals itself. “This way, quick before someone comes and sees!” Disappearing through the opening, he steps away from the hall and into the room beyond.

Watching in surprise as a door appears, Seraphina follows Otto through the door, ducking in quickly. She glances back, just in time to see the door disappear behind her. “Fancy that!” she exclaims. “It’s been here all this time and I never knew about it!” She smiles somewhat and glances around the room. “So what is this place?” she asks, walking into the room slightly and pushing up at her sleeves again, only to, once again, have them fall straight back down.

No one else is presently using this room and so Otto‘s workroom appears. There are scraps of clothing scattered about, design work pinned to boards and clippings from magazines both muggle and wizarding hang in helter-skelter fashion that probably only makes sense to the boy. Scissors, embroidery thread, and other tools of his trade are found on the worktables and there’s even a muggle sewing machine that he managed to acquire from somewhere. There are several beaten up leather armchairs and a few lamps to give the room adequate light to work by. “I still don’t know what this room is, but it changes every time depending on the person. When Tommy comes here, it’s like a salon to do hair and makeup. I come here and it holds all my work.” “Go on and sit down. I’d like to show you something!” What might be considered inappropriate, or perhaps a way of romancing a girl, isn’t on the Ravenclaw’s mind or at least it doesn’t appear to be. Dumping down his various bags o
n a nearby table, he begins to open the third bag. “I had a lot of help on this so I can’t claim to have done it all myself. But I did put a lot of work into it.” What “it” is still hasn’t come out of the bag.

“What an amazing room. I wonder that we don’t use this for some of our classes,” she comments quietly, wandering a moment more to look at all of the details in the room before she makes her way over to where Otto has indicated and takes a seat. Seraphina is possibly as clueless as Otto is when it comes to romancing, since her own brief foray into it involved a lot of saying nothing and blushing nearly neon shades of red. “Who helped you?” Seraphina asks, sounding innocent, but looking on with alert interest at what Otto seems to be working on and spreading out.

“Master Talari made the finished design and helped with most of the sewing, but I had to put the pattern together myself and piece it out. There was just so much to do and put an enchantment on it so it would fit and not get ruined. He’s a wonderful man and so patient!” Otto crows over his second mentor and begins to pull out something that is awash in blue. It has layers of taffeta that much is clear from the rustling alone and then, as he pulls it into full view the upper half of the gown is cut out of royal blue velvet and lined with blue silk, while the layers of iridescent taffeta make up the tiered skirt. It’s why I didn’t make much money this summer. I asked repayment out of having a piece commissioned, but Talari said that since I was going to help that I should get some money.” “I came up with the original concept too. What do you think?”

Seraphina Pryor emits a fairly loud gasp as she sees the gown that Otto pulls from the bag. She brings her hand up to cover her gaping mouth and she stands almost without realizing that she’s stood up. She reaches out to touch the fabrics, her eyes wide with awe. “You made this? It’s so…” she whispers, running her fingers over the extravagant-looking garment. “So many textures,” she murmurs. “It’s beautiful!” She seems to have gotten her voice back as she looks very seriously at the dress. “Who is it for?” she asks, somewhat dumbly, not imagining that it could possibly be what he intended to give to her.

Beaming with pride and joy something he doesn’t really do in any class except art, he holds it up a little higher. “I really have to thank Talari a lot for this. He put on a fitting charm too so that it will tailor itself to the first person to wear it.” Holding it out, Otto‘s expression is both puzzled and amused. “It’s for you. It’s my “thank you” for all the work you put into me last year over the OWLs. No one else had the patience to even bother to help me, and I owe all the passing grades I got to you. I figure you put as much time and effort into me as I did the dress. You deserve it.” The youth’s voice is clear and there doesn’t seem to be any subterfuge to his words or expression, but then he was never really known for understanding social boundaries in certain matters. “I’m glad you like it.”

Gasping again, Seraphina takes the dress gently into her grasp. “It’s… mine,” she whispers in disbelief. “Thank you,” She tells him, then reaches out and throws her arms around him quickly. She lingers for just a moment, slightly overwhelmed, then pulls back to admire the garment once again. “I don’t think anyone has ever given me something this lovely before.” She holds it up in front of her, then does a slightly awkward spin. “I should try it on.” She glances around the room and spots a screen. “I’ll be out in a jiffy,” she tells him and walks to the screen, slipping behind. Her bold teal robes fly over the top, followed by the belt, and a flash of blue and silver appear above the screen as she pulls the dress over her head. “Wow…” she breathes, then steps out from behind the screen. “My shoes kind of ruin the effect,” she mentions, gesturing vaguely to her red buckled shoes.

Surprised at the hug, the Ravenclaw blinks but he does bring himself to return the hug although his is much shorter. Grinning as he pulls a hand through his hair, he shrugs softly. “I just thought I should do something as wonderful for you as you did for me.” Otto continues to talk as Seraphina disappears behind the screen. “I was worried that the style might be wrong, but Master Talari told me to trust my instinct.” “I’m glad I listened to him.” With the young woman reappearing his smile renews itself “Not at all! A splash of another color gives it a changeling effect. If everything matched how boring would life be?” Otto stuffs his hands into the pockets of his robes and eyes Seraphina critically, his designer nature taking over. “Red isn’t bad, but I think I’d go with a green shoe myself or maybe fur trimmed heels in court style.” The critique ended, he smiles easily and shakes his head. “You’ll be the belle of the ball in that. It fits you perfectly. You could be a model, a living mannequin in a fashion house, but I suppose you’ve already decided what career you’re going to follow?”

“Oh, well, I… well, I talked about it with Professor Helit, but…” She trails off vaguely, glancing down at the floor. “I really don’t know what it is that I want to do when I leave school. I suppose my father could get me a position of some kind at the Ministry.” She pauses. “You should really make clothes,” Seraphina tells the young man emphatically. “If this is what you could create while apprenticing…” She breathes deeply. “I can’t even imagine what you could make doing this full time.” She smooths the dress down over her slight hips and puts out her buckle shoes, looking them over thoughtfully. “Perhaps if they were darker. Or maybe my brown ones would work. Dark brown, do you think?” She suggests.

“Chocolate leather, something with a bit of flash but not so understated as to be a sparrow.” Otto picks up the last bit of conversation first and then works his way backward. “Like I said, I can’t take credit for all of that design or all the work. Master Talari really did a lot of work on it and I couldn’t have begun it much less finished it without him. I just did basic work, really, but I’m glad you approve.” He’s actually turning red from the compliments and he glances away more than once. “I plan on making my own fashion house after my apprenticeship is complete. If you, that is, if you, well, Tommy already wants to work for me and I haven’t even made my name.” Laughing a little out of embarrassment, he shrugs. “I’ve always wanted to make clothing. It’s what I’m good at. Well, anything dealing with needle and thread. It’s not magic it in itself, but I’m in the right classes to intertwine magic with my work. Once I’m set up, if you want to be a mannequin I’d
love to have you.” “All you have to do is walk around the floor and show off pretty clothing.” He chuckles again, clearly feeling awkward at discussing this, but at the same time rather happy about the turn of events.

“I’d only have to wear clothes and show them to people?” Seraphina asks in slight awe. “What a fantastic job!” She smiles a bit and runs her hands gently over the fabric of the dress. “I do wish I could create things the way you do. It’s really amazing, Otto,” the girl breathes happily, spinning slowly in place just to see the bottom of the dress bow out slightly. “I’m definitely willing to play mannequin or model, whatever you might need,” Sera tells him with conviction. “Do you think Master Talari would have use for me in that regard, too? Maybe I could have a summer job.” She pauses. “At least then I’d be away from ‘Ona and her giggly friends.” An eyeroll follows this statement.

The delight doesn’t fade from Otto‘s features as his easy smile remains in place, grey eyes reflecting the boy’s joy. “I can see if he does, but I’m not sure. I haven’t seen him employ many models of the type I’m thinking of, but he may like the idea.” The smile falters just a small amount as he considers, “I’m not sure I want to share the idea with him, but it would be a good way for you to spend part of your summer.” Pondering over this, he grins again as the momentary trouble slides away. “Even if he can’t use you that way he might be willing to let you help out around the shop like I did last summer. He didn’t hire me personally, but one of his employees did and she’s a very nice woman. If I can finagle getting a real summer internship this year that would free up some of the work I did. It was mostly mundane really, but at least you’d be in a shop with others who actually have a passion for beautiful things.”

“Wow, that would be amazing,” Seraphina breathes quietly. “I wish I could make beautiful things like you can, but I would settle for watching other people make them.” She pauses. “I’m going to take this off now so that I don’t get it dirty or dusty in here.” She steps behind the screen and starts to shimmy out of it carefully. “Really, I think my father is worried about what I would do after school. I heard him telling one of his friends that I had no discernable strengths in school, and he’s completely right.” She laughs somewhat sardonically. “The alternative, I guess, is finding some boring job and just wasting my life away at it.” At this she re-emerges from behind the screen, holding the dress delicately draped over her arms. “No matter what, it sounds like a much better gig, working with you.” She beams to Otto, one of her rare shows of true expression.

“But you’re really smart and you could do anything if you decided on something. You’ve got top grades all around and I bet you could easily land something well placed in the Ministry. You certainly have the mind for itI mean if that’s what you wanted to do.” Otto is blushing again, but though the smile naturally dipped away it makes its reappearance without hesitation. “You’ve got plenty going for you and I bet you could have the pick of a Ministry summer internship. I thought, well, you know, you’re really smart and it just seems like every really smart person winds up working for them sooner or later.” A short laugh follows this as he realizes his babbling. “Shows what I know.” “Anyway, I’ll put in a word for you if that’s what you’d like. I certainly would be very happy having you around. The older employees are nice and all, but it’d be better to have a peer to hang out with.”

At Otto’s mention of working at the Ministry, Seraphina makes a face. “You mean possibly end up working with my father? Blech.” She makes no secret that this is not a pleasant concept. “I suppose what my father meant was that I just wasn’t obviously suited to anything in specific. I’ve made it very clear I won’t be at the Ministry. That’s his dream, and… all that.” She waves her hand dismissively at the idea, reaching up to straighten her lime green ribbon. “I think I would like to work with you, Otto. All those pretty clothes…” She gets a slightly distant look in her eye for a moment, then snaps back, as if coming out of a reverie. “Well, at least if Master Talari is alright with the idea, I’ll have some show of ‘purpose’ and my father can rest easy.” She smirks, then changes her expression again to one less sarcastic looking, and perhaps a little more the norm for her. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Most of the young woman’s reaction goes by the rather clueless young man and Otto manages to take it all in stride. “I guess working with one’s dad would be aggravating. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere close to my brother.” Grinning at his suppositions, the teen quirks both brows obviously surprised by the suggestion, “Uhm, sure? I mean, yes, I’d love to. Sorry,” grabbing up his satchel and swinging it over his good shoulder he temporarily busies himself. “I’m not very good with uh, the social thing like you or Tommy.” Pausing, he allows himself a moment to think before pressing on. “Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“Well, no, I didn’t have anything in mind,” the girl admits somewhat reluctantly. Seraphina is standing slightly awkwardly holding her gift in her arms as she admits this. “I suppose I should put this in my wardrobe,” she comments, gesturing to the dress. “Maybe we could take a walk by the lake? It’s still nice enough out. We might only need a sweater.” She shrugs vaguely and glances around. Apparently Sera’s not all that good at ‘the social thing’, either, though she can fake it with the best.

“The lake sounds fantastic. Shall I meet you there or would you rather meet in the entranceway? I could use to get out a little, but,” and then he thinks about this a little more Otto turns a light shade of pink. “If you see Tommy and he says anything just tell him I’m busy. He’s been really pestering me a lot since I started seeing Yamini and he just won’t leave me alone. I like him and all, but I kind of need a break because he’s just so demanding.” “Hopefully he’s busy with trying on clothes or something.” Tapping the satchel that hangs off his shoulder “I should go put this away too. I don’t want to be lugging it outside.”

After a long day of classes and studying, Taylor Wright finds herself in the Great Hall, sitting down to a delicious meal prepared by the house elves. Usually she seats herself at the Gryffindor table, but not today. Today, Corey Lees, scum of the earth, is sitting at the Gryffindor table with his latest girlfriend, who happens to be a Gryffindor: Vanessa Whitmer–tall, blonde, and vacant. Thus Taylor is not sitting with her fellow Gryffindors. Rather she perches at the Ravenclaw table. Reactions to her seating choice vary. Many of the Ravenclaws whisper around her, but Taylor ignores them, choosing to brush up on her potions her text is open to the recipe for cheering potion, which, for some reason, she is trying to commit to memory.

Squealing and giggling as she and her sister run into the hall with their gaggle of friends, Josie Wexler is the epitome of over-excited twelve-year-old at this moment. “Do you really think she’ll do it?” she asks her sister, coming to the end of the table. The group bursts into giggles again quickly then disperses after a moment, going to sit at their separate tables. Josie plops down, ending up in front of Taylor. She scrambles for a moment as some jelly beans fall out of her pocket and skitter onto the floor behind her. After cursing under her breath quietly, she finally looks up at Taylor. “Hey, you’re not in Ravenclaw.” The girl is very tactful.

The book is snapped shut as Taylor is addressed. Wrinkling her nose, she tilts her head at Josie, “How. . . ” she furrows her brow as she carefully considers her words, “. . .perceptive of you.” She offers the younger girl a forced smile which warms slightly as she inspects Josie, “I’m Taylor Wright, and I’m Gryffindor.”

“Well, I am a Ravenclaw,” Josie tells the older girl in complete earnest. “I’m Josie Wexler. That’s my sister over there. We’re twins.” She grins happily and plunks her things down next to her on the bench. “So why are you sitting here? Aren’t you supposed to sit at the Gryffindor table? I thought we weren’t allowed.” The girl pulls a few jelly beans out of her pocket and chews on them a bit before reaching out and grabbing some things to put on her plate.

Taylor Wright offers the younger girl a smile. “I’ve always wanted a twin. My sisters are twins, but both are in Gryffindor.” She shrugs her shoulders and then sighs at the question. She glances over towards Corey (still sitting at Gryffindor), “That’s why I’m not over there. He is not a nice person. But then, what do I expect? He is male. And they are born that way. You know?”

“How are they born?” Josie asks the older girl, genuinely puzzled. “I mean, besides a little bit, you know, slower than girls and all, but mummy says they catch up eventually.” The girl pauses. “She says she’s still waiting for daddy to catch up, though, and he’s kinda old.”

“Well, they are certainly slower, but more than that, they are unfeeling, unsophisticated, immature prats who don’t know which way is backwards and which is forwards. And they try, at every turn, to make women less than they are. And eventually all of them fail the women in their lives–whether it’s through broken promises that they’d never intended to keep in the first place, or willfull abandonment when things get difficult,” Taylor states matter of factly. Her entire demeanor is stern. “And that, is how they are born.”

Josie is a bit shocked by the vehemence in Taylor’s statement, and she just stares for a moment, almost as if it’s taking a moment for the sentiment to sink in. “… oh.” She finally responds, and then is silent for just a moment, as if in serious thought. “But… my dad isn’t like that. He’s always taken good care of my sisters and brothers and me. Mum works at the candy shop so she can’t take care of us all the time.” Josie pauses. “But maybe Uncle Logan is like that. He’s kind of mean?” The girl’s voice sounds almost hopeful as she offers up this suggestion to the near-stranger in front of her.

A nod is given at the idea of a man being kind of mean. “He might seem kind of mean now, but once you’re an adult he’ll be an all-out mean. Men give up on things, they don’t care for people. And even if your dad stayed home he probably just wanted time off, you know? Like so he didn’t have to work. He’d rather be home goofing off with all of you than at work, engaging in something productive.” Taylor nods at this thought matter-of-factly.

“Hmm, I don’t know. He used to work at Zonko’s, so wouldn’t that be more fun?” Josie munches on some of the food from her plate, looking ponderous. “I don’t know. Boys don’t seem so bad to me. How do you know they’re so bad, though? Is it in a book? Maybe I should take a look at it. It seems like there must be something to back it up. My teachers tell me there has to be proof for something to be true.” Josie looks slightly sullen as she makes this admission, as if she’s had problems with this concept in the past.

“Well of course it can’t be printed in books because they have all of the power. Have you ever wondered why men dominate so much of the world? That so often women keep house and men work? It’s because they say so. That’s the nature of it,” thoughtfully Taylor considers the idea of writing a book on the topic and mentally puts that on the shelf. “Regardless, be glad that you are female! It’s a blessed state to be in. And you’re just as capable as any boy.”

As she finishes cleaning her plate, Josie looks quickly over at Hufflepuff table and catches her sister’s eye. The two exchange a rapid glance and then the girl starts to clear up her things. “I guess you’re right.” Josie admits this, then pauses in thought. As her sister stands up from her table, Josie grabs up all of her things and stands up quickly. “I’m going to… um, I’ve got to – and she’s waiting – so I’ll talk to you later!” With that, she manages to escape quickly, latching onto her sister’s arm as the two meet up. The girls heads incline together as they meet and it’s clear they’re talking and giggling as they run out of the great hall, their school things in tow.

In a corner somwhere out of the small crowd gathered in the bookstore, Michele stands with one hand holding a book to her face, while the other is busy fingering the spines of the tomes sitting on the shelf in front of her. She moves her lips silently as she reads, apparently unperturbed by the small, sulky looking little girl pulling irritably at the sleeve of her robe. “Souer, souer.” She pines to her older sibling, looking hopefully over to the more brightly colored children’s section at the other end of the store. But Michele only bats her sister’s away gently, and reads on.

The little girl’s eyes widen when she is spoken to, and for a moment she looks almost terrified. But then the pouting creeps back into her features as she responds, a little haughtily, “I know.”, and turns her curly head quickly away. At her sister’s voice, Michele finally looks up from her book, first at her sibling, then at Paige. She looks the girl over almost appraisingly for a moment before speaking, “Hello. I hope I’m not in your way.”

Looking up as she hears a voice, Paige seems startled. “Oh, hello,” she greets quietly. “No, you’re not at all. I’m just… waiting for my sister.” Paige‘s face settles into a bit of a glare as she admits this. “Hey, you’re in my year, aren’t you? At school?” She leaves off at this, clearly unsure of any of the further details. “I’m Paige.” This is spoke quietly and she almost blushes as she continues. “Paige Brennan.”

“I’m Michele Rossignolet“, she replies with exquisite pronunciation of the French syllables. “I suppose you must be in my year, because your name sounds familiar.” She seems to look over Paige again, trying to recognize her, but only gives a very slight shake of her head. At her side, her sister appears to have found distraction in a dusty looking old book, which she flips through silently. Michele spares a relieved sort of glance. “What’s your Hall? Mine is Yates.”"

“I’m in, ehm, Brennan Hall,” Paige answers as casually as she can manage, biting her lip as she does so. “How old is she?” Paige asks quietly, inclining her head toward Michele’s sister subtly. “Is she going to Scattergood soon?” She pauses again. “I do think I’ve seen you around. I don’t… really talk a lot to people, though. What classes are you picking up? I picked music and Muggle Studies.”

“Laure, how old are you?” Michele taps the girl on the head, questioning her with a sweet, half sing-song voice. “Six.” Laure replies, looking up at her sister as if she’s gone mad, having to ask her age! The elder girl shrugs gracefully at Paige. “She’s shy.”, she explains, “I suppose she’ll go to Scattergood eventually, unless she goes to Beauxbatons. In any case, ” she rests her hand absently on the little one’s hair, “I’m taking music as well, and Ancient Runes.” Judging from the enthusiasm in her voice, she seems rather more excited about the latter.

Paige stares for a moment at the exchange, opening her mouth to speak, then deciding against it. “I am excited for the music class. Mother doesn’t let me do much music at home. She says it gives her a headache. Ancient Runes sounds hard. Aren’t you worried about the workload?” Paige quirks her head, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and pushing her glasses back into place. “My sisters said that I shouldn’t take classes like that anyway. It isn’t, um… becoming for a lady or something. I don’t remember exactly.”

“Intelligence is a fine characteristic for a lady.” Michele responds flatly, as if it were a fact of the same nature as one plus one equalling two. “But, no, I’m not concerned about the workload. I enjoy the work, and Ancient Runes sounds like a fascinating class.” After a short pause she speaks again, sounding a little like she is confiding a secret, “I can’t say I have much interest in music, however, but, well, you know how parents are. My father wants me to take it.”

“I — just know what my sisters told me, that’s all,” Paige whispers, blushing as she looks down at her feet. She rubs the toe of her shoe on the floor as if trying to rub out a spot for a moment before looking up again. “I — suppose you’re right, though.” She pauses. “Lucie and Lanie say that ladies are supposed to be pretty and charming and that if I’m to be either I should focus on fixing my hair and not learning, erm, mumbo-jumbo.” She shrugs vaguely at this. “I think music is fascinating, though. It can be so emotional, you know?” She stops short, unsure of what else to say. “Are you looking for a specific book?”

“No, I’m only browsing.” Michele shakes her head, fine, dark curls bouncing against her cheeks. “My, but you certainly change the topic quickly.” She adds, then blinks, and smiles a bit apologetically. “Er– not that I mean that badly. Forgive me, I can be a bit…tactless. In any case,” she continues rapidly, as if she’d rather not give Paige time to agree, “I can hardly imagine a person who charming without being intelligent. There’s nothing worse than someone who is vain and vapid.”

“I guess I’m just… awkward. My sisters tell me that’s why I, um… don’t have normal conversation.” Paige pauses. “I think my sisters are vain, but mother encourages them. They enjoy it, though, so I guess it can’t be all bad, right?” She shrugs. “Your name is French, right? Maybe you can help me with my French. Mother wants us all to learn, but I am dismal at it and my sisters won’t help me.”

Michele makes a disgusted face. “I can’t imagine encouraging vanity. At least…not without a reason. Anyway, I’m always being accused of having odd conversations, myself. It drives my mother crazy. She’s always correcting my behavior.” Her lips form a slight smile now. “And, yes, my name is French. Both of my parents are from Paris. Perhaps when we’re at Scattergood I can help you with. It isn’t a difficult language, and I’d like to keep in practice.”

Shrugging vaguely at the comment about vanity, Paige chooses to say nothing – perhaps because she has nothing to say in defense of her flighty older sisters. “It would be nice if you would help me. I’m so horrid at it and I just don’t want to be so bad anymore. My parents will leave me alone about it after that, maybe.” She shrugs again then smiles. “So are you excited about school — oh, I guess I already asked that.” She looks down at her feet again for a moment. “Mayb–” Paige is interrupted. “Paige. I have been looking for you. It’s time to go. Tell your little friend goodbye.” Lanie taps her foot impatiently, looking somewhat disheveled as she attempts to look nonchalant. “I guess I, er, have to go. I’ll see you around, right?” Paige starts to walk slowly toward her sister.

“I’m sure you will.” Michele replies, with a flicker of a frown on her face as she glances from Lanie to Paige, but then she smiles slightly at the younger girl. “It nice to meet you.” She adds, then buries herself back into her book, not bothering to watch her schoolmate leave. Laure, still at her sister’s side, begins a new attack of whining in earnest with Paige’s departure.

“A-alright,” Paige replies and as she gets within arm’s reach of her sister, she gasps. Lanie has grabbed her arm and started to stalk off. “It was nice to meet you, Michele, bye–ooof!” she calls as she is dragged out of the store abruptly.”

The weather outside is vaguely sunny, though not particularly warm as it is late autumn in Silverdale. Paige Brennan has claimed one of the window seats in its entirety by stretching her legs out in front of her and piling books where her legs do not take up the space. This uninviting gesture is perhaps not intentional, though it is very effective: the girl has been seated at the window for quite a while now, engrossed in what looks to be a very dusty volume with a spinning couple dancing on the front of it. The common room is not terribly busy, as most of the students are outside enjoying what is left of the non-frozen weather for the year, which suits Paige completely.

Toby enters the common room from the hallway and makes his way toward one of the comfortable chairs near a window, not paying much attention to the girl sitting on the window seat. He drops a stack of books on the floor and flops into the chair with a great deal of noise. He lets loose an audible sigh as he gets comfortable and picks up a textbook which he begins to thumb through.

Startled from her until-now quiet reverie into the story of Rhea and Altair’s tragic romance, Paige drops her book into her lap to shoot a rather pointed glare in Toby’s direction. “Do you mind?” she tells him, her voice barely above a whisper (as if she is in the library and trying to keep her voice down), “Some of us are trying to enjoy a good book and you’re…” she trails off momentarily. “Uh, slamming your books around like you’re the only one here.” With a toss of her hair, she tries to return to her book but finds her eye drawn to his pile of textbooks. Paige blushes a little as she clears her throat. “You’re – er, you’re taking Muggle Studies, too? Are you any good in it?”

Toby shifts uncomfortably in his chair at the girl’s annoyance. “Oh, uh. Sorry.” He looks down at his pile of books. “Yeah, Muggle Studies. It’s not really too hard, I guess.” He looks back at the girl, his eyes a little squinted. “You know, I don’t think we’ve actually ever had a conversation before. Peggy, right?”

It takes everything within Paige‘s soul not to scowl at him for calling her by the wrong name, and it is only with a slightly strained – but still quiet – voice that she answers, “Paige, actually.” She pulls her bookmark out of the cushion and shoves it into the book she had earlier been so engrossed in. “I’m having a hard time with it. I don’t understand how muggles do it. I suppose I’m not supposed to understand everything this year, though.” A pause. “You’re Toby, right? Your grandmum works in the pub, right?”

So many people have mentioned to Toby that they know his grandmother that it doesn’t phase him in the least anymore. “Yeah, that’s my Grandma Darling. She says she’s going to retire some day.” He smiles weakly. He likes that the whole town of Silverdale knows and loves his grandmother but he does wish he had more in common with people now and then. “My mom is a Muggle. She seems to get by okay.”

“How?” is all that Paige can seem to think of to ask. “I – um – I mean, obviously magic isn’t necessary for everything, but how do they manage to get places quickly at all without floo? What about work? Surely everything must take longer if they have to do it by hand!” Paige blushes as her voice escalates ever so slightly and she glances around self-consciously. “All my family are wizards so I suppose I just don’t know how anyone could live like that, really.” She pauses. “Though I guess they don’t have much choice. Poor things.”

“It’s not so bad. I spent the summer with my other grandparents- the Muggle ones. I kind of had to.” Toby frowns a bit. “I didn’t really want to, but I got used to it. My mom made me go.” He sets his book down in his lap and leans forward toward Paige. “They do all sorts of things to make up for magic. Like machines, and cars, and electricity.” His eyes glow a little at the thought of electricity.

“What’s electricity?” Clearly the Muggle Studies class hasn’t progressed quite that far yet. Paige, who has been essentially holed up in the window seat for a good portion of the afternoon, swings her legs out to hang down toward the floor, smoothing her skirt as she does so. She sets aside the book, leaving it atop the pile of novels at the end of the seat where her feet had been, now apparently set aside completely.

“What’s electricity?” Toby never really thought about that. What is electricity? “Oh! It’s… uh… it’s. Kind of like magic, but without the magic. It makes lights turn on and machines run.” Toby nods as though that explains everything. Then he pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “Actually, I don’t know what it is. But it makes things happen.”

“Oh.” Paige‘s face falls a little bit at this, but she shrugs it off quickly. “So, what was it like, living with muggles? What do they do for fun? I imagine they can’t play snaps or wizard’s chess or anything like that. Do they have a wireless? I love the wireless. The Six Seraphs are just terrific.” Paige hums a little bit very quietly one of the group’s more recent hits and almost seems to get distracted from her own barrage of questions.

“Muggles are people, too.” Toby says flatly. “And most of them don’t know thing about magic so they don’t know what they’re missing. Like those uncontacted tribes in the rainforest. They run around naked and just don’t know any better.” He tosses the book from his lap down on to the pile on the floor with a thunk. “What other electives are you taking?”

The mere mention of nakedness causes Paige to blush against her own will, though Toby’s gentle reprimand about muggles does contribute to the pink cheeks. She wisely chooses to let the interrogation about muggles cease for the time being. “Primrose and I chose Care of Magical Creatures together, and I’m also taking Magical Music. I’m not sure if I like the music class, though. Professor Katsaros is a little… scary.”

“I’m taking magical creatures, too! I’m usually toward the back, though. I try to stay out of the way. It’s sort of a dull class. Do I really need to be educated on how to feed an owl? It’s not rocket science. I mean you give them food, they eat it. What more is there?” Toby rambles, growing more energetic toward the end. “But Transfiguration, now that’s useful! Make things something they’re not. I will bet you that I can turn your book there into an omelet!”

“I suppose the professor has to start somewhere. Feeding owls is probably important information for… uh… muggle-borns?” Paige shrugs at her own answer and then shakes her head. “I’m always near the front. I, uh… I don’t have to wear my glasses that way,” the girl admits somewhat uneasily. “Rocket… nevermind.” A pause. “Why… would you want to turn my book into an omelet? That doesn’t seem very useful. Then if someone ate it, my book would be gone. The librarian would not be very happy. I bet I could turn yours into a… hmmm… a chess bishop! Shall I try?”

“Omelets taste well!( Why else would I want an omelet? Though now that I think about it, you might not really want to try to turn something into food. What if you do it really poorly and it doesn’t transfigure all the way on the inside? Then you have eaten part of a book.” Toby smiles. “But, uh. No. I don’t like chess. I’m really bad at it.”

“Good. They taste good,” Paige corrects automatically. “I don’t think a book would taste very good, so it’s probably best not to transfigure something into food. At least, not a book.” At Toby’s comment regarding chess, Paige shrugs yet again. She is apparently a shrugging kind of girl. “I’m not overly fond of it myself, but my older sisters like to play, so they often convince me to play with them. It just seemed like something a little… safer than an omelet, if you understand.” The girl then seems to come to a realization suddenly. “Oh – oh, I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from studying, aren’t I? I really didn’t mean to do that – I’m so sorry. I can go, if you like.” She seems to have forgotten that it was he who was the noisy one at the start.

Toby looks blankly at Paige for a moment. “Maybe the omelet would be really good at tasting,” he says completely flatly, ignoring the rest of Paige’s speech. He blinks a few times at her and continues. “You’re one of those girls that reads the dictionary, aren’t you?”

“No!” Paige protests, perhaps a little too eagerly. “I just… have to do vocabulary exercises at home. It’s important to be able to express oneself as clearly as possible.” She clears her throat a little bit. “It reduces the opportunities for misunderstanding,” she continues, or more like recites. Her cheeks are bordering on red now and she looks hard at her shoes. “Anyway, at least if my essays come back with corrections, they’re for content instead of form. It’s something to be proud of, I think.” She takes a deep breath. “You really shouldn’t let me keep you from studying, though.” She stands abruptly and starts to haphazardly pile books into her arms. “It would be bad if I kept you from finishing your work.”

Toby has never been much for perfect grammar. He knows it’s important to some people, but it doesn’t bother him much. “Uh… okay. Vocabulary exercises? Really? That’s a little weird. But don’t let me keep you from leaving me alone, by all means. I hear that Waller is having a Scrabble tournament tonight. Maybe you could enter.”

“You don’t have to be mean,” Paige responds with a near pout. “Besides, we’re not allowed in the other halls. You ought to know that by now.” She continues trying to gather her books and finds it a bit of a difficult proposition. “Besides, if my sisters thought I was playing a word game, they would want to play, too, and that would ruin it.” Paige finds herself forced to be somewhat silent as the stack of books gets more precarious, and it dawns on her just a bit too late that she probably has too many books to carry at once. This realization comes just in time for her to lose her balance and topple onto the floor, books falling all around her and landing on top of her. “Ow…” she whines quietly, rubbing her back and making no moves to get up just as yet.

Toby winces as Paige falls to the floor and then stands up abruptly. A group of boys at the other side of the room stand and gawk. “Are you okay?” He offers a hand to her. “You know you’re supposed to hit the books, not them hit you.” He giggles at his own joke. He’s so funny.

Paige reaches up to take Toby’s hand as he gives her a hand up, only to find herself standing a bit closer than expected. An unexpected blush creeps into her face and she looks up at him tentatively before she shakes herself and kneels down to pick up a few of the scattered books. “Thank you,” she tells him quietly, pointedly making no comment at his joke as she attempts to pick the books up and check that they’re alright. “I suppose I should take some of these back to the library. I may have taken out more than I should have.” She starts stacking up the volumes on the window seat again slowly. “Do you think you could help me? I’ve finished all of them but Rhea and Altair. That’s the red one with the bookmark in it over there.”

As Paige stands close to Toby he smiles awkwardly, also blushing a bit, though he would never admit it. “Uh, yeah. Don’t mention it,” he says as he releases her hand a little slower than he probably should have. “I can help, sure. I’ll carry these over here.” He points to the books on the window seat as he walks toward them and begins to pile them into his arms. “Rhea and Altair sounds like one of those love stories. You’re not a fan of those, are you?”

“So what if I am? They’re good stories. At least as good as those action adventure ones that Lanie is always reading. At least these are about real people, not strange super-people who never seem to die no matter what happens to them.” Paige reaches for the volume and hugs it to her chest tightly. “Besides, this one is just so tragic so far.” The books have all now been gathered together and Paige stands up, a much more reasonable stack of books in her arms this time. “The librarian will be glad to see some of these back, at least,” she comments off-hand as she starts toward the door.

Toby follows her, weighted down by his stack of books. He lags behind a bit and takes a few quick steps to catch up. “Hey, wait for me. These are heavy!”

The Brennan girls are out for a stroll today, it seems. Lanie, Lucie and Maylie Brennan walk three in a row through the town square, pretty heads held high as they greet those in the square on this hot afternoon, chatting to themselves animatedly. Paige Brennan, though, lags behind the three, her nose more or less stuck in a book as she tries to ignore the looks of the town’s people and saying as little as she can manage without being outright rude. Paige‘s sisters come to a stop near the statue and sit down on a bench near to it, somehow managing to sit in the most advantageous spot to be seen. Paige sits on the bench next to Lucie as there is no other place for her to sit. “Won’t you put the book away, Paige? It’s a disgrace to have you out with us reading a book. It gives such a poor image.”

Out and about with his aunt Zelda, Seth Daringer is dragging a cart behind him stacked high with books and what appear to be school supplies. The two appear to be out shopping for Seht’s first year at school. Aunt Zelda seems to be checking down a list in her mauve gloved hands, peering through a pair of specticles. “Aunt Zelda can I please try some of the candy we saw before?” Says the small boy tugging at the corner of the witch’s mauve colored robes. Seth himself is dressed in a tanned cotton shirt and a pair of blue jeans, slightly faded with ware. “After we finish your shopping we will have ourselves a nice big dinner dear. But for now we simply haven’t the time.” The elderly witch says softly never taking her eyes from the shopping list. “Yes, next is the part that usually takes the longest my boy. We must go and get you a wand.” As Zelda looks up from her list she spots the four girls. “Oh! If it’s isn’t the Brennan girls! Lanie, Lucie and Maylie!” Aunt Zelda turns to Seth who is busily watching a goblin walk a dog. “Come along dear. I’ve someone for you to meet.”

The older girls sit and chat amiably to passersby as several of them stop to chat. A swarm of boys hovers nearby, shoving one another and none of them getting too close to the confident, attractive Brennan sisters. Nobody would claim that Paige would be among the beautiful sisters, as she continues to read her novel, despite being chastised by her older sister. She seems to almost blend into the scenery in comparison to her exuberant sisters. Each of them seems perfectly well suited to the life of a public figure as they continue to greet those who stop to chat with them.

Nearly being dragged by the arm, Seth is taken by Aunt Zelda over to the girls. Zelda smiles with her hand on Seth‘s shoulder and begins speaking to the three eldest, apparently knowing them. “Why hello girls.” She says with a sweet smile. “How are Harris and Maylie doing?” “It’s been too long since I’ve seen them you know.” Seth looks up at his aunt and then between the three girls. He blushes a bit and hides behind Zelda. He hadn’t known many girls where he lived and meeting older ones now was a bit intimidating. Zelda however brings him back around. “This is my great nephew, Seth.” She says positively beaming. “He’ll be joining you at Scattergood this year.”

“Hello, Seth!” Maylie leans forward, greeting the boy. “What hall are you going to be in?” Paige looks up from her book, a bit redfaced as yet another person stops to chat with them. Did they really have to do this? Or if they did, did they have to bring her along? “Hi, Seth,” she greets the boy, only a little younger than herself. “Oh, Granddad and Grandmum are doing just fine. They took a tour of Canada this summer. They are thinking of moving there now. Apparently there’s a lot of space. Dad would rather they stayed here but you must know how they are,” Lanie answers with a ringing laugh. “I’m terribly sorry – I didn’t catch your name. I’m Lanie, by the way. This is Lucie. She’s my twin, hence the very obvious similarity.” This elicits a laugh from both Lucie and Lanie and at this, Maylie also turns her attention to the older woman. “I’m Maylie, named for Grandmum as you must already know.” She laughs a bit as she divulges this rather obvious fact. Paige does not introduce herself, instead choosing to pay attention to Seth.

Trying to remember what hall he’s to be put in Seth scratches his head for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the crumpled letter from Scattergood. “Oh um… it says I am going to Yates hall.” He smiles and holds up the letter as if the subject required some proof. “What hall are you all in?” Apparently the name his aunt said earlier had not rung a bell. Aunt Zelda smiles seemingly happy to hear that her schoolmates are well. “Canada! How wonderful for them!” She nods as each girl introduces herself. “I am Zelda Silverman.” She says with a delighted grin. “But you may call me Auntie Zelda.” Seth looks up at his aunt, more than a tad embarrassed. He looks again to Paige giving her a quick shrug as if to dismiss the chattiness that is going on between the (what Seth considers) adults. He decides it’s better to try and talk up the youngest. “So what’s Scattergood like?” He asks Paige, fidgeting his hands at his sides.

“We’re all in Brennan hall,” Paige answers quietly, and this doesn’t seem to draw the attention of her sisters. Apparently they’re disinterested in the conversation of ‘mere’ children. “It’s a family thing, of course. Almost all of our ancestors have been in that hall since the school started. Some of us went to Maguire hall, though. Our great-great… something, grandmother was Pleasance Maguire, and she married Campbell Brennan.” Paige shrugs at this. “Scattergood is pretty fun, I guess. There’s a lot to learn, but I like my classes and the people in my hall are pretty nice people. I think you’ll like Yates hall. I haven’t seen inside it, though, I’ve just seen some of the students. Are you excited to go?” Paige leans forward a bit on the bench, away from her sisters.

“Yeah I’m pretty excited a I guess.” Replies Seth happy to ignore the conversations of the “grownups”. “I’m a little worried though. Besides my Aunt Zelda my family are all um…” And he stops to try and think of the words for a moment before remembering it. “Oh yeah, Muggles. Me and her are the only magical ones in the family.” Seth grins and continues talking now that he’s broken the gender shyness barrier. “I guess we’re going to get my wand next. I wonder if I’ll be allowed to use it right away?” “I’ve always wanted to do magic stuff.” And then he stops for a moment to ask. “What sorts of magic will I learn anyway?”

“You’re supposed to wait until you’re at school,” Paige informs the younger boy. “You can get into trouble for doing magic when you aren’t at school so they tell you not to do it at all except at school. I guess it’s for safety or something.” She shrugs idly and pushes her makeshift bookmark into her book, finally closing it and setting it gingerly onto her lap. “It is fun to get a wand, though. I love mine. It’s made of walnut and has a bronze thread core. Mr. Wyndham said it was well suited to me.” She pauses once again to ponder his question about magic. “You learn to move things with magic, and change their appearances. You also learn about protecting yourself and things like that. I’m going to start learning about muggles this year, and how to make music. I’m excited about that. Only third years and up can do those classes, though. Not that I imagine you would want to learn about Muggles. There are so many charms and things to learn. You’ll be very busy.”

“Oh that’s too bad.” Seth seems a little disappointed that he wont be able to use his new wand right away but he smiles as Paige informs him of the different things he will be learning. “Changing things huh? Mice into toads and stuff like that?” He grins at the prospects imagining all the fun he could have at school. “Yeah I don’t really need to learn about muggles. I live with them.” He looks to see if his Aunt is listening and leans in to whisper. “Between you ane me, muggles aren’t very interesting anyway. Kind of boring anyway.” “Here you have things…. like goblins. We saw goblins at the bank! And you’ve got elves. And trolls… and things.” As Seth is about to go on naming all the things he’s seen that he’s never seen before he’s nudged gently in the arm by Aunt Zelda. “It’s time to go Seth. We have to get your wand and then we will go out and have our diner.” “Good by girls! Give my best to your grandparents!” With that Zelda turns to walk away. Seth smiles and waves a goodbye to the three older girls. “Goodbye Paige, see you at school!” He says to the youngest before turning to follow Zelda.

Paige Brennan stands several feet away from the window of the bakery, seeming to chew her lip as she pushes her lip, admiring the confections in the window. Truthfully, her sisters have given her flack for her addiction to the goods in the Delacroix Bakery, but she finds herself unable to resist. Almost resolved not to buy any sweet rolls or tiny cakes today, she begins to step backward, still looking into the window and not at all taking into account that others might just be trying to use the street.

Quite unfortunately for Paige, Stephanie Stolarz is either not paying much attention to what or who is in her way or just feels like being objectionable – either way, as she moves towards the bakery, while she does not walk directly into Paige, she passes so closely by they might as well have collided, stopping only as she pauses to turn and look at the girl in alarm. “What are you doing standing in the street?”

“Oh, um. Sorry,” Paige Brennan essentially mumbles in response. “I was just trying to decide whether to go into the bakery or not. I really shouldn’t… my sisters will just nag me for it again.” She sighs in a fairly defeatist way and turns to face the person who she almost walked smack into. “I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything. I’m Paige.” She stops and tentatively holds out her hand to the other girl, blushing slightly.

“Stephanie – Stephanie Stolarz,” the girl introduces herself promply in turn, taking Paige’s hand firmly and giving it a solid shake. “I think I’ve seen you at school, haven’t I? Well, you do look awfully familiar somehow.” She cants her head to one side as she speaks, inspecting Paige almost appraisingly. The more she speaks, the more it becomes evident that she has a distinct German accent.

“You might have seen my sisters. I’ve got three of them at school.” She sighs a bit. “Lanie, Lucie and Maylie are all in Brennan hall with me.” Paige Brennan conveniently leaves her last name out of the conversation for the time being. “Maybe you’ve seen them.” She pauses. “I’ve seen you, though. You’re in, um… Wa– Waller Hall, right? I think you’re in my year.”

A broad smile curls about Stephanie Stolarz‘s thin lips at this recognition, nodding her hair so her curls bounce. This seems to entertain her somewhat, so she shakes her hair again, a faintly impish grin lighting up her expression. “Lanie, Lucie, Maylie and Paige? Not even Paigie?” A pause, and she adds, “Can I call you Paigie, Paigie?”

A small look of horror crosses Paige‘s face as she considers this suggestion. “Well, my name is just… Paige, though. I mean, I guess you could call me Paigie if you really want to…” Her voice trails off quietly and she looks down, a bit embarrassed. Deciding to quickly direct the conversation away from what could potentially be discussion of her heritage, Paige asks, “How do you get your hair to do that? I can’t get my hair to do anything but curl like this, and sometimes it even fluffs up so I can’t control it.”

“Alright, Paigie,” Stephanie trails off here, though, her attention apparently caught by something in the bakery window or something else equally irrelevant to the discussion. As the discussion turns to her hair, however, she smiles again, rearranging a few of her curls for maximum effect before answering. “My mother has a salon in our house, she does just about everybody’s hair, only she only really speak German so I suppose that puts a bit of a crimp in it actually being everybody. She’s very talented, though.”

“Wow, that’s cool! And your mom does your hair for you, then? Do you think maybe she would do my hair sometime? My sisters are good at doing their own hair but I can’t seem to get the hang of it.” Paige frowns distinctly as she thinks of this, then shrugs. “Those sweet buns are really yummy, by the way.”

“She might!” Stephanie confirms for Paige, her attention turning back to the window just as quickly as it slipped away. “Oh, I’m not sure if I’ve ever tried them… mostly I stick to things I’ve – oh, let’s go in, shall we, then?” A pause follows before she steps towards the door, canting her head to one side again and adding, “You don’t mind if she only speaks in German, do you? I don’t think she could do your hair if you minded her language.”

“Well, I don’t understand it, but I don’t think it would be a problem. I mean, the war is over with the muggles, right?” Paige shrugs. “Besides, that was a muggle thing. My parents only occasionally talked about it. My father said that there was no point in analyzing it because it was muggle stuff.” She shrugs again. “Yeah, let’s go in.” With that, she squares her shoulders and walks semi-confidently into the store. Her sisters will not make her feel bad about sticky buns!

Stephanie Stolarz looks up in alarm at Paige at this, her eyes wide for a moment before she relaxes again, clearing her throat and busying herself over with a display of cakes. Eventually, she offers, rather non-commitally, given the circumstances, “How much did you hear about everything? I only know what my parents told me, but they were in hiding for more than one reason, y’know.”

“They didn’t tell me much about it,” Paige admits. “‘It isn’t a subject for children’,” she says, waving her finger in an authoritative manner. “My father wouldn’t let us hear anything of what was going on in Europe. Maybe Lanie and Lucie heard more but they’re not telling me, either.” She sighs. “Nobody tells me anything, it seems like. Hi, Mr. Delacroix. Can I just have three sticky buns today?”

“Ah.” The response is quiet and simple, and Stephanie follows it on quickly with a, “Can I have a cupcake? That one right there – no, not that one, I know they’re the same flavour, but that one looks prettier…” She waits patiently as her very specific cupcake is chosen for her, only turning back to the conversation once she has received it. “There was… well, I heard a lot about it, and I could tell you, but I don’t know if I know everything.”

“It seems like we would learn about it in school, don’t you think?” Paige replies quietly. “It seems like there must have been something really horrible, though. Nobody talks about it.” She reaches out and takes her small parcel with her sticky buns in it and hands over the appropriate amount of money. “Yes, I’ll probably be back tomorrow,” She responds to the question directed to her as she receives her change and blushes hard.

“That’s probably why they won’t tell us about it,” Stephanie replies off-handedly, shrugging her shoulders lightly. After a moment, though, her tone takes on a much more serious note and she adds, “There were… two… muggle-born wizards and witches were being targetted in the wizarding world for muddying the blood of the magical world, and there was this thing… in the muggle world, the laws said that if you were one-eighth Jewish or more you deserved to die, or something like that, so they were being rounded up and killed.” She fingers her chai necklace for a moment, deeply thoughtful. Just as quickly, however, her happy-go-lucky nature returns and she merrily opens her bag and bites into her ‘pretty’ cupcake.

Paige takes a sticky bun out of her parcel and takes a bite of it, then looks to Stephanie in horror as she shares this information. “How on earth is that even possible?” She looks at the other girl in disbelief. “People just couldn’t do things like that. They just… couldn’t.” The shock is apparent, and it doesn’t diminish even as Stephanie appears to have moved on.

Stephanie smiles a grim, little smile, shrugging her thin shoulders as she chews on a mouthful of her cupcake. “A lot of my family… mommy cries a lot, and dad doesn’t like to talk about it much, but we don’t have any other relatives in America.” She stuffs her mouth full of cupcake again, turning her gaze to the ground and falling silent for a period of time. There is an overhanging implication to her words, though she does not spell it out.

Paige Brennan doesn’t know what to say in response. She has no experience thinking about atrocities such as these, and for want of a better thing to do, she takes a bite of her sticky bun. After a fairly long and (for Paige) awkward pause, “What classes are you taking on this year? I’ve chosen Magical Music and Muggle Studies.”

“I’m looking forward to the new classes,” Stephanie replies promptly, a lot of her cheer returning to her. The remainder of her cupcake is forced into her mouth and followed by a period of silent gestures before she swallows and adds, “I’m taking magical music – just like you, yeah? – and magical art. I wanted to do CoMC,” which she pronounces ‘komk’, “but I thought it’d be too hard to balance all of them.” She scrunches up the bag in her hands idly as she speaks.

“I had a hard time picking between art and music, but I thought it might be nice to maybe learn to sing nicely. My mother says that women should acquire as many accomplishments as possible to be able to, um,” Paige seems to stumble as to why she’s supposed to be amassing skills. “Um, be a trophy to her future husband, I think is what she said. I don’t know if I want to be a trophy, but music will be nice, I think. Where do you live? I’m just down on High Street, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around here much.”

“Tha’s appalling,” Stephanie replies vaguely, apparently not very passionate about the subject but willing to offer an opinion anyway. “I wonder what she’d think of me. People who think like that don’t tend to think of some skills over others as being appropriate for a lady. Do you think she’d approve of a trophy that could speak three different languages?” She shrugs her shoulders, looking about the room for somewhere to throw out her garbage as she speaks.

“If one of the languages was French, she probably wouldn’t mind much. My mother says that French is a language for cultured people, so we should all learn it. I would rather learn Italian. It’s the language of music, my father told me.” Paige nods solemnly at this. “The can is over there,” she directs, pointing to a nearby corner. It’s clear that she’s probably a bit too familiar with the shop than she ought to be. At this precise moment, the door slams open loudly. “PAIGE. Mother told you to be home by three for your lesson.” It was Paige‘s sister Maylie. “And you shouldn’t be eating those buns. You’re fat enough as it is.” With that, her sister flounced out in the direction from which she entered, leaving the door wide open. “Speaking of languages,” Paige mumbles. “I have a French lesson that my mom wants me to take.” She sighs heavily at this.

Looking up in annoyance as the conversation is interrupted, Stephanie lets loose a steady stream of angry German, delivered in a most upset tone to Maylie as she leaves, raising her voice slightly so the last words can be heard in the street, “<<You’re a horrible person, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! I have a pet rat and he is very cute! I have no idea what to say, but I am upset with you, now! Be ashamed!>>” As she finishes her brief tirade, she turns to Paige with a smile and finishes, “I’m sorry, Paigie. I’d like to learn French sometime. Have fun with that!”

Not knowing at all what Stephanie has said, Paige merely stares at the other girl for a moment. “I guess I’d better go. French is okay, I suppose, but I don’t take to it much.” She shrugs. “I’ll see you around, right? At school or something? It was nice talking to you,” she states cordially then pausing again, awkwardly, for a moment, she takes to her heel and runs down the street in a most unladylike fashion.

“Good evening”, says the new arrival while pushing the door closed against the Wintry murk and gusts of dank wind, dry voice carrying the languid tones of the upper crust of society. Doffing a rain-slick hat to let water slide off the brim onto the entrance mat, the stranger tucks a silver-headed cane under one arm and unfastens the damp overcoat. Beneath is revealed an expensively tailored suit at the cutting edge of Muggle elegance and good taste. Returning the hat to its proper place, the blonde-haired Muggle-alike moves further into the shop, pale gaze roaming over the array of confectionery before settling upon the nearest apparent staff-member.  “I don’t suppose you have anything that would be… safe to be seen by members of the mundane population, do you?”

“Hello, hello!” Eva greets the customer, slightly distracted as she seems to be almost juggling some ledger books. She glances at Mariot and gives only a slightly confused look at his attire before shaking off the confusion and beaming brightly at him. “The mundane population?” she repeats quietly, puzzling for a moment before it occurs to her what he means. “Ah! I have some truffles that are fairly innocuous, and perhaps some failed batches that didn’t take to their magical properties. What kinds of sweets were you looking for? Are these for a muggle, or do you just want them to resemble muggle sweets? Have to be careful, you know. Secrecy and all that.” Eva rolls her eyes at this comment, as if it is a terrible and frequent inconvenience to her, though she could not reasonably argue that this is the case.

The elegant figure inclines its head to Eva, lips quirking into a gentle smile. “The gift would be for a wizard-born child with non-magical relatives. I would like to provide my nephew with something he can appreciate as magical, while avoiding coming to the attention of any of my Ministry colleagues as the responsible party behind a breach of secrecy. I travel, so I can perhaps present something “unusual” as being the latest in foreign confectionery to his mundane family, so long as it is not too… unsubtle in its effects.”

“We can work around that, as long as he knows to be careful about when he eats the sweets.” Eva drops the pile of ledger books fairly loudly onto her desk behind the counter, then saunters out into her own candy lobby to join her customer. “We have, of course truffles. I have some leftover candy canes that lost their color changing, but they still fizz a bit, and, hmm… no exploding bonbons. Perhaps some toothflossing stringmints, or maybe the sherbets. He’d hover for a little while but used in moderation they wouldn’t be terribly noticable. He would have to be responsible with them, of course – not eat them in front of muggles other than his parents. Do you think he would be able to do that?” Eva pulls a few of the mentioned sweets off of the shelves, presenting each for inspection as she moves on to the next.

Mariot eyes the array of sweets with clear interest, a slight smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps just a couple of the more dramatic sweets, so that he has something to enjoy in private, but not enough that he’ll get bored and risk using them before witnesses. And rather more of the subtle ones to make the present more than a token gesture….? I trust him a certain amount, but he is young, and magic is still rather new to him….”

“You know your nephew best. What do you think he would enjoy most? Some chocolates, or perhaps the more sugary sweets like the ice mice or the bertie botts beans? Those are always a good stand-by.” Eva pauses to pull out a moderately-sized box of the beans and shows them to Mariot. “Some children quite enjoy the licorice wands, or perhaps the sugar quills. Those are very tame sweets but would at least get him used to some of the things he’ll be using later.” Eva pauses for a moment to reach over the counter for a basket to help her hold the myriad of sweets that she’s pulling off of the shelves as examples.

Mariot offers Eva a somewhat apologetic, grateful smile. “I apologise. I’m…somewhat unused to this. He’s not been old enough to receive magic before, at least not from his disreputable aunt…. “The wands, I think, might be appreciated. Some conventional chocolates that he might be able to share with his family without worry… and perhaps a handful of those levitating sweets you mentioned?”

Eva nods concisely, startling a bit as an explosion occurs from the back room. “Sorry, sorry! Everything is fine!” a voice calls out and Eva shrugs off the minor interruption without comment. “So, some sherbet balls,” she murmurs, taking a few out and placing them into the basket, “Some chocolate wands, and a few of the truffles.” Quickly, the woman assembles the order, retrieving one a bag with two Cs emblazoned on the front in a bold white, while the bag itself is blue and purple striped. Not bothering to put back any of the sweets that she has displaced to show Mariot, she steps around the counter to the register. The register makes a loud CHUNK noise each time she presses one of the keys. She quotes the price to Mariot with a smile. “You’re sure you won’t have anything for yourself?” she teases gently.

Having pretended not to notice the backroom explosion, the androgynous woman darts a glance towards the rain-rattled shop windows, then laughs softly. “I admit that it does seem to be weather to make one think of treating oneself…. What would you suggest? I am afraid that most of my own exposure to chocolate has been mundane. Goods like those you sell here were… rare gifts.”

Eva chuckles quietly. “Well, Maura has been experimenting with some truffles. Here are some milk chocolate ones with spicy cinnamon which heats your mouth, then follows with mint and a cooling agent. My particular favorites are these multi-fruit truffles which have a different flavor with each bite. Maura has managed to get them to taste very much like the real fruits, with the advantage of a dark chocolate shell to accent the taste of the various fruits.” Eva looks at her collection, pondering over which might be the best choices to share. “You might also like These chocolate and caramel pumpkin bars – sweetened bits of pumpkin, layered with caramel and then pumpkin.” Eva leans forward and whispers in a conspiratory way, “These are my particular favorites of her experiments – I haven’t told her but they have a kind of tangy zing to them that makes the tongue actually tingle with vibrations. It’s a beautiful experience.” She leans back again with a light laugh. “Of course it’s ultimately up to you what you’d like. My recommendations count for little in the scheme of things.” Eva ends her statement with a quick wink.

Laughing and shaking her head, Mariot can’t help but grin broadly at the shop-owner. “Your enthusiasm is… impressive. I fear that I might have to ensure that I do not become too frequent a customer here…. But… why not? I’ll take a little of each of your recommendations. I can only hope that I don’t enjoy them too much…”

“It is my shop and my livelihood,” Eva answers with a vague shrug. “The idea, of course, is that you do enjoy them enough to come back. Keeps me in business, you know! So, what suits your fancy?” Eva reaches down below the counter to pull up a tray full of the varieties of truffles that the shop offers. “Would you like to try one, just to see what you’d like, or shall I assemble a variety for your surprise?”

“Ahhhh. I’d wondered if you were the owner, or merely an enthused convert to the wonders of confectionery….” Mariot grins, then nods slowly. “Oh, I think that the surprise selection sounds appealing. So long as I can work out which one is which for any future orders, it could prove enlightening.”

Eva begins to pick out a variety of truffles and other chocolates to place into yet another bag decorated with the Cordial Confections logo. “If you have any trouble knowing which is which, just describe it to us and we can sort it out. Not to mention, I’ve a very smart register in here, if you come in often enough, it will remember the things that you ordered.” Eva grins as she says this, bundling up the chocolates and removing the tray down into the display case where it had previously been. She starts to press the buttons on the register again, adding this new assortment to the other, then quoting a new price.

Mariot blinks, shooting the register a rather surprised look – before cracking another grin. “I have the impression that it might need to remember the habits of a fair number of people. You seem to operate your business with a passion that might well prove infectious…”

“Oh, well, it doesn’t remember forever – that’s why you have to come in often enough. It has a better memory than I have sometimes, and usually between the two of us we can get fairly close to what a customer liked before.” Eva grins broadly. “I don’t think someone lacking passion would have the necessary fortitude and patience to survive a day here in the days leading up to the start of school at Hogwarts. I can tell you the shop is a mad house those days. Perhaps it’s the infectious passion. I tend to think it’s just the sweets.” She winks.

Mariot blinks again, then laughs. “Rather you than me, I fear. I try to avoid the Alley entirely at that time of year, and can’t begin to imagine what this place must be like when there are so many school-children passing through…. Is it as chaotic at the end of term, or do they tend to be eager to return home?”

“There’s less waiting when they come home. I’ll have the occasional family, but most would rather go home than loiter in the shops.” The two smaller bags are packed into a bigger, easier to handle bag and Eva shrugs. “It’s my lot in life as a confectioner – children will be in to browse and buy as much as their parents will. I can’t say that I mind all that much, though. It would be hypocritical of me.” The woman sighs quietly then grins at her customer.

Mariot cocks her head, shooting Eva a distinctly quizzical look in response to that sight. “You sound as if you rather decidedly enjoy the chaos of your shop being filled with children”, she observes with a smile. “If it’s not too rude – do you have any of your own, to try to keep from eating nothing but your creations?”

“I can’t say that I enjoy the chaos of children, but it’s a necessity to court them. They’re big money-spenders when it comes to candy. I much prefer the adult clientele, though. They’re more likely to make thoughtful comments regarding the quality and less likely to leave sticky fingerprints everywhere.” Eva barely manages not to sneer at the thought of the messes, but then shakes her hand dismissively regarding it. “I do have children – nine, in fact. The oldest girls start at Hogwarts this September. Being as they’ve grown up around the shop, they know better than to ask for candy if I haven’t offered it. I’ve had a sweets shop since before they were born, so we managed alright with the kids.”

Mariot chuckles, wincing and shaking her head at the thought of chocolate-sticky fingers everywhere… before looking rather startled at Eva’s revelation of the size of her family. “Nine? And all younger than Hogwarts-age? Good grief. How on Earth do you find the time to operate a business?”, she asks, clearly more than a touch impressed.

“Oh, my husband cares for them full-time. I come from a big family, so we all help one another out when we need. It’s not been an issue, really. I spend a lot of my time at work, so I can assure you it isn’t the least bit overwhelming for me. My husband seems to manage spectacularly, too. He’s not crazy yet.” Eva gives another wink and places the double package down onto the counter. “Have you many nieces and nephews other than this one?” the woman inquires casually.

Mariot can’t help but continue to look impressed, as Eva describes her familial situation in more detail. “Me? No, no. I am afraid that your household is larger than my entire family. And I can hardly imagine having children myself, I confess. I fear that I would be an absolute disaster as a parent…”

“That’s okay, too,” Eva murmurs and then chuckles a bit. “You’ll have to come back soon then and maybe you can meet some of mine. Quell any urge that might be lurking. I imagine it might do the trick! Perhaps you could bring your nephew. My oldest three love to help out around the shop – I suspect because of the new friends they make.” The woman laughs a bit, then shakes her head. “Well, I seem to have forgotten your purpose today!” she restates the total and laughs again. “It’s a good thing you came during a lull. We might have some irate customers on our hands otherwise, standing and chatting like this.”

Mariot delves inside her jacket to withdraw a wallet, from which she extracts payment as she talks. “For my part, the Ministry can do without me, easily enough…. My nephew is old enough to be shown the Alley now, I think. I shall have to bring him here, when next he is in London. And from the sound of it, your children appear rather well-behaved – would they truly put anyone off the thought of having offspring of their own?”

“Only by sheer volume, I assure you. Nine children in one room is enough to put anyone off having some of their own!” Eva chuckles. “I tell you, it has for me.” She winks and finishes the transaction at the till. “If you let me know ahead of time when you expect to be here, I’ll make sure at least my oldest are here in the shop with me. They do enjoy helping, but I can’t always afford to have their type of, er, help. If you know what I mean.” Eva gives a vaguely helpless shrug. “Is there anything else that I can get for you today?” she asks, flinching only slightly as another loud BANG occurs in the back room.

Mariot’s amused laugh is interrupted by another flinch of her own, accompanied by a glance towards that apparently-busy back room. “It sounds as if I should let you return to supervisory duties”, she says with a smile, reaching for the package. “But thank you for all your help. I suspect that you can look forward to some repeat custom in future…”

“It happens all the time, but I had better check that Maura’s alright. Enjoy your sweets. Do come again soon,” Eva tells Mariot before waving to her. Just a moment later, she disappears into the back room. There is shuffling and commotion in the back room as Eva start to help putting to rights whatever it is that occurred in there, letting Mariot take her exit of her own accord.

It’s the beginning of the school year, a couple days since the Sorting Ceremony. Edern has been in an exceptionally good mood, having been made Head Boy. Although he’s been busy with additional duties now. He’s taken a bit of time to just read in the courtyard while the weather is still nice and cooperation.

Her nose basically buried in the pages of a rather old-looking tome with some sort of ornately dressed spinning woman on the front, Seraphina doesn’t notice anyone else as she makes herway into the courtyard from the nearby gardens. She doesn’t notice at all that she has bumped directly into a fourth year on her way in, nor does she apologise for the lack of consideration. Whoops. It is only after she plops down onto a bench that she happens to glance up and notice Edern at which point her cheeks acquire their beet red hue, likely to stay there for the rest of the interaction (however little there may be) and very likely beyond.

Edern Fallon shakes his head and sighs. “I’ll never understand the how scale colour can effect the heat of a dragon’s breath!” He shrugs lightly. “This is what I get for taking NEWT level Care of Magical Creatures!” He snorts a little. Glances up to see Seraphina. He smiles. “Sera!” He calls out to her, waving. “How are you? And what’s that horribly big book that you’re reading?”

Seraphina Pryor is stunned beyond belief. Edern addressing her directly? Edern Fallon is talking to her? Seraphina‘s eyes get large as she raises her hand in a weak greeting as she opens her mouth to speak. At first, nothing comes out. Silence. “I–it’s called ‘The Dancing Darkness’ she tells him in more of a croak than in normal speech. Questions beg to be asked, not to mention the simple statements that her tongue begs to form (‘I love you!’), but Sera seems to be incapable, for the moment, of further engaging speech.

Edern Fallon smiles at Sera as he awaits her response to the question. “The Dancing Darkness? Sounds like an interesting book. What’s it all about? It isn’t a book of dark spells is it?” He says, jokingly, with a grin on his face. He tilts his head. He most likely, doesn’t have such questions or statements lingering in his mind towards Seraphina. But she seems nice. If not a bit quiet and often red faced…at least when he’s around, it seems.

“Well, it’s… uh… it’s about this witch. She likes to dance, but there’s… a lot of stuff making it hard. That’s… the darkness,” Seraphina finishes her explanation lamely as she looks down at the book and blushes harder. “It’s uh… well, what are you reading?” Her attempts to change the course of conversation are obvious, but being as the girl’s mental faculties seem to be compromised, it’s probably to be expected.

Edern Fallon nods ever so slightly at the explanation. “The darkness being the obstacles are the darkness because they stop her from doing the thing that she loves to do? That sounds like an interesting book.” He says nodding once more. He shrugs. “Sounds a lot interesting that what I’m reading, anyway.” He looks at the cover. “‘Dragons: A Comprehensive Study On the Biology of Dragons’. Needless to say, I need to read this for my Care of Magical Creatures class.” He shrugs. “Nothing that can be done by it really.”

“Dragons are very interesting!” Seraphina squeaks, glancing over at him only momentarily before she returns her eyes to the ground. “I’m no good at tending to creatures. They don’t like me,” is her quick excuse, which barely makes it out of her mouth before a girl decked out in more red and yellow than the average student chooses to wear runs up to her in tears. “Seraaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” the small Gryffindor cries, hurling herself onto her older sister’s lap and grasping her tight, much to Seraphina‘s dismay. “What do you want, Ona?” she hisses, hoping that Edern won’t be put off by a sniffly second year.

Edern Fallon chuckles, shrugging. “Oh yeah, they’re mighty interesting, but the stuff it talks about is not easy for anyone to understand, I’d imagine. Let alone me. But I guess that’s why the teacher’s having us read it, eh?” He grins. “Oh, I’m sure the creatures like you. I’ll take you out to meet some strange and wonderful creatures during the year and help you out with that, if you want.” He says, hopefully sounding sincere. As the smaller Gryffindor runs up and makes a seat for herself on Seraphina’s lap, crying, he furrows his brow, looking concerned. He closes up the book, puts it in his bag and slowly makes his way over to where the two are. “Hey there.” He says to Ona. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just my sister,” Seraphina hisses looking slightly annoyed as her sister clings. “Alastriona, what do you need?” she asks the girl testily, and briefly the youngster raises her head to blink her ruddy face at the older boy. Following this is a string of whiny, high-pitched nothingness which is, apparently, supposed to be the summation of the girl’s troubles. All this is punctuated with, “I can’t believe she did that to meeeeeee!” Sera sighs in annoyance as her sister has ruined what she views to be the perfect moment alone with the object of her affections.

Edern Fallon raises an eyebrow and kneels down in front of Seraphina and her sister. “I’m sorry…I didn’t seem to catch all of that. Who did what to you? If somebody has done something wrong, you can tell me.” He points out his Head Boy pin. “I’m the Head Boy.” As if that says it all. “I’ll have a talk with whoever it is.”

“You’re the head boy? Are you my sister’s friend?” the girl asks, punctuating it with a loud sniff. Alastriona looks up at her sister with wide eyes, then back at Edern, while Seraphina‘s only expression at this development seems to be annoyance. “It’s Stacie Perkins. She told me that she would give me her lion goblet if I helped her with her assignment, and then I did and she told me that she wasn’t going to give it to me and anyway it doesn’t exist. She made it up!” Seraphina barely manages to suppress a scoff at this, though she doesn’t make any real efforts to dislodge the girl, either.

Edern Fallon smiles up at Seraphina, nodding a little. “Yes. My name is Edern Fallon. Your sister and I are both in Slytherin.” He says. “Stacie Perkins promised she’d give you her lion cup and then told you she made it up? Well, that wasn’t very good of her, now was it. I’ll tell ya what…I might be able to get you a lion cup. I can’t make any firm promises. But I think I can.” He smiles, look back from Alastriona to Seraphina, giving her a ‘Give you sister a bit of a break, please’ kind of look.

“Oh.” is all Alastriona manages to say as she continues to sniff in a pathetic fashion, still clinging to Seraphina, who has refrained, at least for the moment, from shoving her sister to the ground. “A lion cup? A real lion cup? It would be perfect in my dorm room!” The petite girl’s eyes get somewhat large and she pushes a lock of blonde hair out of her face as she seems to perk up just a bit. “Aren’t all the lion figurines enough, Ona?” Seraphina asks with slight irritation in her voice.

Edern Fallon smiles at Alastriona. “Oh yes, a real lion cup. One that roars too! Would that be good? I bet that’ll beat Miss Perkins’ imaginary lion cup any day!” He chuckles. “You know, Sera, you can never get enough lion stuff if you’re in Gryffindor. Just like everything to do with snakes in Slytherin.” He takes out his wand, and looking back at Sera’s sister, he says, “I’m going to try to make the cup now. Let’s see if I can remember the spell now…” He focuses firmly, at takes a solid grip on his wand. He starts to wave it around, muttering a spell under his breath. After a few seconds there’s a small ‘pop’ sound, and hovering in the air, there is a gold coloured cup. Protruding from the front of the cup is a face of a lion. “Now…just one more little charm…” He does a quick little wave and spell. Taking grasp of the floating cup, he points his wand at the nose of the lion. “Roar!” He says, just before it lets out a very might roar indeed. He holds out the cup to Ala
striona. “There ya have it.” He smiles kindly.

“OH MY GRACIOUS ME!” Alastriona shrieks as Seraphina stares, unable to comment as she sees magic beyond her own skill performed. “How did you do that?” Seraphina breathes, her awkwardness seeming to fade away as she examines it. “I’m terrible with charms,” she admits as her sister holds the cup and marvels over it, not for its magical ability but for its lion…y-ness. “Thank you, Edern!” the girl almost sings as she hurls herself toward him with the intent to envelop him in a hug.

Edern Fallon shrugs a litte, smiling at Alastroina. “A mixture of charms and stuff of that like. Sorta transfiguration too. Very difficult spells though. Maybe you’ll learn them some day.” He can’t help but grin. “Charms is easy enough, I guess. It’s just not everyone’s thing, eh?” But then…this is the Seventh Year Head Boy who got an O on his Charms OWLs. He doesn’t exactly push the younger Pryor away…but he seems a little awkward and unsure at the hug. He gives her a few small pats on the back. When she does let go, he says, “Now, to make it roar, you press your wand up to it’s nose, like I did, and simply say ‘Roar!’ and it will give the best lion-like roar you ever did hear.”

“Stacie’s going to be soooo jealous! She doesn’t have a lion cup, you know.” The girl grins impishly before thanking him one more time then running off as quickly as she first appeared. Seraphina watches her sister go, a little stunned at the speed of her exit. “‘Bye,” she mutters quietly, then the blush comes back into her face as she realizes once again who she is sitting with. “Sorry about that,” she tells Edernquietly, looking down at her lap.

Edern Fallon nods firmly. “Oh, very jealous. I mean, I’m even jealous now! I wish I had a cup like that!” He grins as she runs off. “Bye now!” He calls after her. He smiles at Seraphina. “Oh, don’t be quiet. You’re sister is a nice girl. She just wanted a lion cup is all. And now that she does, she’s as happy as she can be. “I was just glad that I could help.”

“She always has to be the center of attention,” Seraphina mutters. “There’s always something that’s tragic or exciting or something…” The young woman sighs a bit and clutches her book to her. “It was very nice of you, though.” She smiles to a bit, then looks down at her lap again. “I don’t remember what we were talking about,” she admits quietly.

Edern Fallon snorts lightly. “Well there always is something tragic or exciting at that age. Believe me. I’ve got a sister too. Only we’re triplets. But I know what it’s like to have a sister like that. It will pass, I’m sure it will. If not, maybe she’ll have to learn some lessons the hard way, but that’s fine.” He says with a light smile. “It wasn’t much of a problem, not really. It was an honour to help one of the Pryor line.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You know, in all the excitement, I don’t think I remember what we were talking about either.”

“Yes, well, I suppose that’s normal.” Seraphina concedes. “I wasn’t like that, I can tell you, though.” Seraphina looks around the courtyard somewhat uncertainly for a moment. She opens her mouth to speak, though she still looks uncertain as to what she’s going to say, when a large raindrop falls nearly into her eye. “Oh – oh, that’s no good. I need to take this book inside. It was… it was nice talking to you,” she says quietly before dashing off quickly into the castle, much in the fashion of her younger sister, and she’s gone without a further word.

Edern Fallon smiles softly, shaking his head. “No, of course you weren’t. Wouldn’t think of it.” He laughs. He holds out his hand as the rain drop falls in her eye. “Oh…yes…it does seem to be beginning to rain.” He smiles and nods. “Of course, see you around. And my offer for helping you with school or anything else is still open.” And she’s off, and he stands slowly, making his way back into the school.