Life in Black and White
Chapter One: Woe
Hestia slumped through the door with all the grace of a sack of potatoes rolling down a steep and bumpy hillside. Dumping her bag by the kitchen table, she collapsed into one of the chairs and growled in some kind of strange combination of relief and frustration.
There was a little noise from the sitting room, and Hestia seized upon it, grateful Sturgis was there to vent to. "Remind me, remind me please," she called over to him from the kitchen, "that this apprenticeship is prestigious, and it's only for three more years, and after that I'll be fully certified to practice magical law and will make a lot of money and lead a sweet and easy life."
Sturgis laughed, coming around the corner and catching sight of her, face planted firmly on the tabletop and hands clutched over her head. "Do you want me to mention the attractive male assistant you're going to hire and flagrantly sexually harass? You liked that idea the last time we had this conversation."
"And what an excellent idea it is, so please!" Hestia mumbled, her voice muted by the thick oak planking of their table.
"In just three short years, or approximately seven-hundred-and-sixty working days if you're considering a Monday through Friday workweek adequate, your apprenticeship will be over and you can practice magical law anyway and where and when you choose, as long as the 'way' is Ministry approved, the 'where' is within the Ministry of Magic, and the 'when' is normal working hours, plus an extra fifteen or twenty hours a week three or four times a month. You will earn more money in a week than I will see in three months and will have to hire me to spend it for you in lieu of any free time to do it yourself. And I suppose you can just hire me as your assistant; I won't complain about the sexual harassment. I might even enjoy it." Sturgis leaned down over Hestia and wrapped a hug around her.
"You think you're such a clever boy, don't you?" Hestia grumbled, sitting up as soon as Sturgis unwrapped his arms from around her middle.
"Yes, I do," Sturgis admitted, strolling over to the counter and poking at the kettle with the wand he produced from his shirtsleeve. "I made some pasta," he mentioned, peering over at the pot on the stovetop. "I burned it onto the bottom, but I picked out most of those bits. It's only partially congealed; with a little marinara and a quick heating charm, it shouldn't be half-bad."
"Bah," Hestia waved him off. "That's the one good thing about this job—completely kills my appetite. Not that you don't do a good enough job with your cooking. I haven't been this thin since I was fifteen."
"Let's not get on about the 'one good thing'—you love that job, don't even start. And, for the record, that 'gaunt' look is as attractive as the family," Sturgis snarked, waving a hand when Hestia looked at him strangely. "Snobby high Pureblood humor, viciously attacking some of our 'own'; it's how my aunt always insulted my older sisters when she thought they were too skinny. Don't mind me."
"You English and your society circles. If you hate someone, you've got to do it properly. I'd imagine you have guidelines for it and everything," Hestia shrugged.
Sturgis laughed. "We can't even let go of it when we're dead. If I had to hear about 'Sir Properly-Decapitated Podmore' from Nearly-Headless Nick one more time during school, I think I would've done myself in."
Hestia leaned over to dig through her bag of books. "How was your day? As melodramatically awful as mine? You can do the song and dance if you want, since you listened to me."
"No need, but thanks, I'll keep that offer on file. Same old; paperwork and patrol. Not a bad day, nothing too out of the ordinary. The DMLE had a quiet day today, thank God." Sturgis sounded a little dark, but he quickly turned the subject. "You off tomorrow? Was thinking of doing some shopping—my robes are starting to fray. And Merlin knows what I'll come home with if I go out on my own."
Hestia grimaced. "I'm not off, but I can help you with the robes. I'm at Madame Malkin's tomorrow; it's a Saturday."
Sturgis shook his head. "You're sick, Hestia, why do you do that to yourself? Are sixty hour weeks at the DML not enough that you have to work the weekends as a shop girl in Diagon? Are the clothes really worth it?"
Hestia ignored him steadfastly in a manner that seemed subtitled, 'well, of course they are; you just don't understand, you're a poorly dressed man.' "I think I'll be able to get in a good two or three hours of dedicated studying tonight," she said brightly, rubbing at the vague but darkening circles under her eyes.
Sturgis rolled his eyes. "Or you could put your books away, sit back and go to bed at a reasonable hour, but then I suppose that's asking too little of you."
"I can't—they're bringing all the apprentices onto the Selwyn case on Monday, there's such a huge workload!" She sounded excited, as though she'd just said they'd been given a 50 pay raise and extended lunch hours. "I'm sure that means absolutely no free time, so I'm going to do as much this weekend as I can. And I don't even have to be in to Malkin's until eleven," Hestia continued on, as though this late starting hour was an unimaginable treat. "I can study until midnight and then get eight hours of sleep—"
"Like a normal person," Sturgis muttered, digging out a teabag from the box in the cupboard.
"—and still get up to have an hour or two to get ready after I wake up," she finished with a relish of satisfaction. She looked back up at Sturgis, who was regarding her as an oddity. "What?"
"You're cute," he grinned, shaking his head in vague disbelief.
"I'm determined," Hestia corrected primly, flipping open the thick, dog-eared volume she had in front of her.
"I'll say," Sturgis agreed. "What happened to the good-for-nothing Jones who skived off lesson with me to go climb trees by the lake? I think you're overcorrecting, Hestia, all this dogged, eye-on-the-prize behavior. It's humbling; I'm still pretty useless."
"Eh, you're not useless, Sturgis. You've never been; you just get things done without really trying."
"And you don't?" He quirked up his mouth in affectionate disbelief, and Hestia scowled playfully at him.
"If I had something to throw that wouldn't knock you unconscious, you'd be in trouble! I'd like to be a useful member of society and do something I'm good at, however difficult, but mostly I want to be back at school and do really well without really trying. This…I like it, but I have to actually try."
"And what a tragedy that is. You could have kept on with the slacking, you know. You just picked the wrong career track," he informed her, gesturing to the pile of books on the table. "Anything that involves any sort of examination after the N.E.W.T level is, in my opinion, the wrong career track. Too much work. When is that, anyway?"
"Six weeks." Hestia's eyes went slightly wide and unfocused, her mouth twisting around in some silent moue of vague and as-of-yet not entirely realized panic.
"You'll do all right," Sturgis said stoutly, clapping her on the shoulder and setting the mug of tea down beside her.
"I hope so," Hestia said, still a little frozen in the shadow of impending doom. "They'll chuck me out of my apprenticeship if I fail it; two years wasted." Her voice sort of echoed, trailing off after the last word in horror at the possibility.
"I'll still love you, Jones," Sturgis promised her solemnly, his mouth a thin, tightly-held line. Hestia laughed and reached out to swipe at him. He dodged it easily and grinned back at her.
"Well, good! Because I'm sure my mum and dad won't. God help me!" She shook her head. "But it's no use to be thinking like that. With the work and effort I intend to put into studying, I might be able to pass for a diligent Hufflepuff. I should do quite well enough."
"No doubt," Sturgis said with no small amount of conviction. He stifled a yawn, looking over at the clock. "Well, I'm going to go to bed. I'll leave you to your determination and legal books."
"Early night, for a Friday and you," Hestia observed, looking over at the clock, which only read nine pm. "Aren't you going out?"
"No." Sturgis looked vaguely disappointed. Any Friday night that didn't involve heavy drinking and loud music in smoky enclosed spaces was, by his accounts, a complete waste of an evening. "Early morning," he informed her. "Hopefully you'll be in bed before I wake up for my patrol."
"Diagon overnight shift again?" Hestia asked, pausing over her book. Sturgis had been taking more of the late-night shifts in the recent weeks—she'd been running into him in the well-lit kitchen where she studied when he was heading out.
Sturgis nodded, looking glum. "Yeah, one to six." Hestia looked suspicious, and opened her mouth to ask why he was taking all these unusual late nights, but he seemed to anticipate her and jumped back in. "But it won't really be so bad, and I'll have all tomorrow and Sunday free! I'll come by the shop in the afternoon, you can truss me up like you please." Hestia looked noticeably more bright-eyed in anticipation.
"Can I show you the new Italian collection? You can use my discount! Please?"
Sturgis looked put-upon. "Maybe, Hestia, but I do need to actually wear these things out, and not cock around with useless frills and tassels."
"Hey, hey! Useless tassels, I don't want to hear it!" Hestia held up the sleeve of her Jurisapprentice robes, which sported two long rope-like tassels that hung off the wrists and all the way to the floor. Sturgis shook his head.
"I think they design those things to get in the way as much as possible," he mused, tugging experimentally on the long grey cord.
"It's stately and traditional," Hestia corrected with a roll of her eyes, pulling her robe out of his hand. "Which means, 'We had to wear the stupid things when we were apprentices so we'll be damned if you don't, too!' If I pass the exam, they'll shorten them to my knees, so that's something to look forward to."
"Ah, the we, ruining things for everyone," Sturgis sighed. He yawned heavily. "Well, that's it, I'm off to bed. Don't let me find you in here when I get up for patrol."
"Promise," Hestia said staunchly, holding out her hand. Sturgis shook it formally.
"Night, Hestia," he called back over his shoulder. "You'd better be in bed by one."
"Yeah, yeah," Hestia replied vaguely, her attention already glued back into her textbook.
She was not, in fact, in bed by one. Asleep, to be sure, but not in bed. Sturgis found her asleep on top of her book, arms curled under her head as a makeshift pillow.
He carried into her room. Sturgis tended to avoid Hestia's room, preferring the clean, utilitarian neatness that his few possessions afforded his own sleeping area. To say that Hestia's room was neat was an understatement; her clothing hung according to designer in the three mismatched wardrobes, cosmetics and intricate perfume bottles carefully arranged according to height on the vanity that matched one of the wardrobes, shoes neatly arranged beneath and handbags and accessories and books (filed alphabetically) filled the shelves that lined nearly every available inch of wall space. It was a shrine to obsession, neat as a pin. It was just that the small room was packed from the plaster ceiling to thick-carpeted floor, leaving only narrow walkways between bed and bookshelf, wardrobe and narrow window. Despite Hestia's compulsive neatness, the whole room just seemed somehow chaotic in its closeness, an overload of colors and textures with the loud peacock blue satin of her bed hangings as a centerpiece, and there was no room to move or breathe. It was really nothing more than a glorified closet with a bed shoved in as an afterthought.
He deposited her on her bed and, after a moment's consideration of propriety (for all of their ten years of friendship and two years' cohabitation, Hestia was very particular about her modesty) removed only her Apprentice overrobes, lest the stately, traditional tassels strangle her in her sleep. He set her alarm for her, even though he was entirely certain she wouldn't need it; she had a better clock in her head than any run on gears and magic and she'd be awake precisely when she meant to be.
Gideon Prewett was waiting patiently in the corridor right outside the flat. "Sorry," Sturgis apologized, pulling his wand from the pocket in his shirtsleeve. "Had to put my flatmate to bed, she passed out on the kitchen table again."
Gideon shrugged. "No problem. Fabian went out with Moody last night, and he said Mad-Eye had said that it might be quiet for a while, at least until the Selwyn prosecution gets underway…so we're hoping for an uneventful night."
"Aren't we all?" Sturgis grinned, maybe a little grimly as he thought back to the file that sat on top of Hestia's books on the kitchen table labeled 'Selwyn'. "Aren't we all?"
Posted a few days early, because I just got home from vacation and I'm basking in the glory of a wifi connection that doesn't conk out when I shift my weight. I'm hoping I can keep with a steady update schedule. I'm going to aim for a new chapter every weekend. This is by no means a guarantee. I'm new to this stuff and I don't know how it's all going to pan out. I WILL be finishing. WILL WILL WILL. But updating schedules might not be as clockwork as we'd all like. So please, stick with me, and please please please REVIEW! There's no better way to make me maximize my word documents and keep truckin'!
The title: I completely jacked it from a work-in-progress I abandoned a few years ago, pre-HBP, when I went by another name and mostly haunted the FictionAlley boards. It still fits really well, though, and I'm completely BLOCKED on another one. Yeah, not much happens in this chapter, but it's working up.
And the next chapter of "The Spare Princess" is done, just needs some general editorial proddy and pokery. Which might not get done asap, as 'Breaking Dawn' came out today and I'm going out later to buy it. (sillygirlyglee)