A/N: Look man, this is the first time I've posted a HP OC fic since I was what, twelve? Damn, I love OCs. OCs are so good. Support your local organic, home-grown OCs. Banzai! (There will be some lines and situations copied from the original Chamber of Secrets book, but I think you can spot 'em pretty easily, it's no stereogram.)

One morning in mid-August, Franziska woke up with a mouthful of cat hair. Crumpling up her nose, she irritably shoved her fat cat off her face, using her fingers to try and pull cat hairs from between her teeth. She winced as sunlight fell through her pulled curtains, cutting a bright swathe across her covers. For a moment she just looked at the ceiling before rolling her eyes to look at the analogue clock on her wall.

The clock hands sat mockingly at 12:10. No wonder her head was pounding.

With a theatrical groan, Franziska rolled out of bed, fishing a pair of mismatched socks from under her bed and sleepily fitting them on her feet. That done she had to take another second to sit there as the dwarves in her head happily banged away on their anvils…or at least that's what it felt like.

Once her eyes had stopped watering, she finally pushed herself off her bed, stretched and swayed for a moment as she tried to avoid tripping over the cat, as he wound his way around her legs. He meowed loudly and pointedly.

"Alright, alright you slave-driver. You'd think I was starving you." She muttered grumpily, pulling open the curtains of her room as she passed by; outside it was raining, predictably. The back garden, which her window faced, looked dank and dingy in the grey weather, and she spotted a glowing group of pixies huddled under a wide-brimmed mushroom in the garden. Franziska turned and was about to leave when she sneezed suddenly.

"ASHOO!" She sputtered, wiping her nose on her sleeve. The sudden sneeze had displaced a large amount of dust off her dresser, which made her consider the state of the rest of her room – it was a converted attic, her bed pushed towards the end of the sloping roof, making it so she couldn't sit up in bed without banging her head against the ceiling. While the previous junk cramming the room had been somewhat tidied up when she'd moved in, a corner and a bit was still crammed with everything from ragged witches hats to large mirrors and a pair of mauve slipped with googly eyes, that Franziska would swear sometimes followed her around the room. Most of the attic was filled with boxes though, which Franziska lived out of. Most of them were open, with clothes and her spell-books from the previous year spilling out and onto the floor. Every morning and evening was a challenge in concentration to make her way to her bed without tripping and breaking her neck.

The trap-door put into the floor in one corner of the room was her usual way in and out of the room; there was another door, which led to her mother and fathers' bedroom, which she didn't use often for privacy reasons (having caught them once in flagrante delicto last year was bad enough, and she had no intention of ever repeating that experience).

Considering the time of day though, her father was at work, so it was probably safe.

Franziska moved over to the door and turned the brassy knob after a perfunctory knock. She stuck her head into the room.

Unlike Franziska, her parents had actually fully unpacked, with dressers and shelves packed full to the bursting with large tomes and jars with pickled specimens floating in them (only a few of their collection; most of them had to be kept at a specific temperature, and so were kept in the basement). The whole room was decorated mostly in earthy tones, and the curtains were open and the windows flung wide-open. She could see some of the rain fly into the room, leaving damp spots on the carpet. The one occupant of the room didn't seem to mind though.

»Mutti?«

Her mother looked up and smiled through rheumy eyes. Mephista Faust was a rather portly woman, with brown hair pinned into curlers fastened to her head like a tortoise shell – at the moment she was surrounded by a large pile of tissues, while a book floated in front of her, occasionally turning a page to the wave of her fingers. At intervals she would take a tissue, blow her nose loudly in it, and then toss it aside in the general direction of a small bin by the side of her bed; she would have missed, as well, if the bin hadn't picked itself up on its set of tiny feet, clapped open its lid, shuffled to the side and swallowed the crumpled tissue. It would then smack its lid loudly and settle itself down again.

»Hello, pumpkin. You're up early.« She said sarcastically, the German syllables harsh but familiar on their tongues.

»How are you feeling?« Franziska asked, ignoring the sharp comment. Her mother coughed and sniffed again.

»Pshaw, don't worry about little old me. I'll be fit as a fiddle in a few days.«

»Do you want anything? Toast, water?« She asked, ignoring the cat as he insistently sank his claws into her pyjama bottoms.

»Oh no, I'm fine, dear. Your father's off at work, so I can catch up on my reading for once without his snoring driving me up my broom. Shubia's put a list of your chores on the table, so you've got something to keep you busy today.«

Franziska pouted.

»Aber Mutti, I wanted to go down to Diagon Alley today to get my stuff for this year.«

»Well then you'd better get started, hadn't you? Don't make that face at me, young lady. It's really not that much, and you'll have plenty of time to get your shopping done if you hurry up. If you wanted more time, you should have got up earlier.« She scolded, as she blew her nose vigorously again. The bin jumped and caught the tissue mid-air. The cat meowed loudly again.

»Oh feed the poor creature, would you Zisken?« Mephista gestured at the cat and Franziska reluctantly picked him up, holding him under one arm like a sack of potatoes.

»Alright, fine. I'll do the chores, then head down to Diagon Alley. If you need anything-«

»Yes, yes, dear as nice as it is for you to offer, we have a house-elf for that and Stebbins is ever so helpful.«

»Well excuse me for trying to help.« Franziska muttered as she went to close the door. Her mother waggled her fingers at her.

»Hex hex.« She waved.

»Yeah, hex hex to you too.« Franziska said, shutting the door. The cat screeched again as she made her way through the trap door, the cat standing on her shoulders as she slid down the ladder onto the first floor.

Walking through the living room, she passed the bathroom and went down another flight of steps, through the hallway to the back door, past the ground floor bathroom and finally into the kitchen. The kitchen was of a reasonable size, big enough to fit a square, white painted metal table into the middle, with a few mismatched chairs clustered around it. One of the chairs was already taken up by a brown haired man with a curly goatee, whose nose was currently eye-level with the table as he watched a trail of ants flow into different patterns. At the stove, a greying man with a Roman nose was lighting a pipe with his wand.

"Morgen, Hadalbert, Kernway." Kernway greeted her from his place at the stove, but Hadalbert was still concentrating on the ants. That is, until the cat scratched Franziska and she let him go with a yelp; immediately, he pounced on Hadalbert, curling up on his lap and purring loudly. His concentration was shifted immediately as he started to talk back to the cat, meowing perfectly.

Hadalbert was a rather eccentric wizard who, with the notable and affectionate exceptions of Bernard and Shubia, much preferred the company of creatures to humans; he worked as a freelance animal charmer, helping to round up and catch magical creatures per commission by the Ministry of Magic.

Kernway and Hadalbert were two of Franziska's uncles, both married to her aunt, Shubia – she had a third husband, Bernard, a muggle, but he was probably off in some public park, trying to write his book without magical energies wiping his hard-drive every few seconds. Polygamy was frowned upon in muggle society, but was relatively common in wizarding society; only Shubia and Bernard's marriage would be legally recognised by a muggle court, but neither Kernway or Hadalbert wanted a muggle marriage anyway. As Franziska understood it, Shubia was in love with all three of her husbands, who loved her back; Bernard and Kernway were also in a relationship with each other, but Hadalbert only loved Shubia, and treated the other husbands as a sort of cross between brothers-friends-roommates.

She never really thought about it too deeply.

"Where's Tanti Shubia?" She asked.

"She said she was going down to Croydon for the moot there." Kernway said around his pipe. He flicked his wand and some cereal poured itself into a bowl. "Shreddies?" He asked.

Franziska shrugged, sitting on one of the kitchen chairs.

"As long as there's no ants in it, I'll eat it." She said as the bowl plunked itself down on the table in front of her. A new carton of milk joined it, and she cut and popped the corner of the carton before pouring it over her cereal. As she ate, Kernway spoke again.

"Oh, but she did leave this for you." He said with a grin in his voice, and he held a piece of parchment in front of her; she groaned as she looked at the long list of tasks written on it, in Shubia's spiky script, written in violet ink.

"Nice. Thanks." She added, sarcastically.

"You're welcome. And she specifically said not for you to foist any of this off on Stebbins. He's looking after your mother as is."

She nodded glumly, eating the last of her soggy Shreddies, before leaving the bowl to wash itself up. Her mother was right; if she still wanted to get down to Diagon Alley today, she'd have to pull her hat on and get serious.

She read the first task on the list.

Feed the cat

This might not actually take that long after all.

It was only 2pm by the time she finished her chores and got dressed. Generally wizarding shops closed between 8pm and 10pm so she had plenty of time. She considered taking Brezel (and if anyone asked her if she named her broom, especially after a foodstuff, she would vehemently deny it), but decided Floo Powder really was the ticked that day – she wasn't keen on fighting her skirts against updrafts or taking too much care to stay out of muggle view. Sure, Crowshill was a magical village, unplottable, but she'd still have to cross a large expanse of muggle territory to get to London, and then Diagon Alley. Not worth it today, especially since it looked like it was going to rain again.

What a rotten Wednesday, she thought, peering out of the windows. The cat had decided to join her, since he'd curled himself around her shoulders like one of those old timey muffs. Occasionally his tail would waggle and hit her in the face. He only behaved like this around Franziska, and Hadalbert had suggested he might be kinder inclined if she actually called him by his name (not the cat language name, which Hadalbert had assured her sounded completely different, but the human name her mother had given him when he was a kitten).

The real question was why anyone would name their pet Mettwurst. Maybe Franziska's family were too food obsessed, she considered.

She pulled the lid off the repurposed biscuit tin on top of the fireplace and grabbed a handful of glittering Floo Powder. After checking one last time that she had everything – purse, cloak, cat, bags, hat – Franziska threw the powder into the fireplace. Emerald flames blazed brightly in the grate.

"Diagon Alley." She stated clearly, as though daring the fire to take her anywhere else. Clenching her hand firmly in Mettwurst's fur, she stepped into the grate.

Immediately, the world around her flew out of control, flashing and turning and twisting, as though she'd been strapped into the world's fasted gyroscope. She concentrated on her feet instead, the firm sensation of them touching the ground, concentrating on flexing and curling her toes – it was a trick her mother had taught her when she was young, against Floo sickness. She counted to the appropriate second (12 seconds) and stepped forward.

Franziska stepped out of the public grate and into Diagon Alley. If one cared to check, the public grate would be one in a row of six, placed in a line into a brick-wall at the top of Diagon Alley. They were simple grates in the floor, and anyone with their own Floo powder was welcome to go in or out using them. Useful, unless you were stuck in Diagon Alley without two sickles for a scoop of powder. Then you were pretty much done in.

Not staying too long in the grate in case a wizard decided to Floo on top of her, Franziska stepped into the crowded Alley, witches and wizard and goblins pressing and milling around. Around her neck, Mettwurst hissed at a passing house-elf, which nearly jumped out of its tattered sheet in fright before scarpering off into the crowd. She rolled her eyes and flicked Mettwurst on the nose.

Now, the shopping list. She pulled the folded parchment out of her pocket and squinted at it – she'd drawn it up herself only an hour ago, but her handwriting was wonky and cramped, so even she had trouble reading it. Eventually she deciphered the list. She needed to pick up a few potions ingredients from Knockturn Alley, and she preferred to do that first and get it out of the way; that place gave her the creeps.

Making a quick stop in Gringotts to pick up the money she'd need, she retraced her steps to a dark alley, which twisted and turned and seemed to grow more shadowed as she watched, despite the grey rain clouds having cleared up and the sun shining. Taking a deep breath, she stepped past the battered 'Knockturn Alley' sign.

Dystyl Phaelanges was the first shop she stopped at – she kept her head down, eyes fixed on the dust-covered street and not lingering anywhere, even when gnarled hands grabbed her robes as she passed by. It was never good to give any of Knockturn Alley's inhabitants too much attention, or at least that's what her father always said; the best way to avoid Temptation, is to never look her way, after all.

She did make it there in one piece, and only one person had followed her some way down the street, intent on peddling his cups of human earlobes to her. She lost him eventually when she pushed open the shop door, only giving the giant skeleton in the window a brief glance. She was here for something a little more humanoid.

A small bell tinkled as the shop door opened, and she felt the eyes of a few shop patrons quickly fix on her before turning away again. The shop itself was cramped – it would have been a modest shop, except it was filled floor to ceiling with staggered shelves, upon which sat boxes and jars and urns, some glass so the delicate bones were on display. Some were simply marked with contained ingredients in green ink. Complete, wired skeletons hung from the ceiling, and deep frames on the walls showed artfully arranged bones turned into masterpieces. The till was located in the back left of the shop, and behind it she could see a few tanks with decomposing animal bodies, bits of skin floating up in the peroxide solution. She forwent browsing the shelves – she was here for specific ingredients, and she didn't want to get too close to the other creepy-looking customers.

Franziska went to the till, which was manned by a witch with colour changing lipstick, her eyebrows shaved off and most of her hair too. She was blowing gum into round bubbles, which floated off and popped, sticky, against the ceiling above.

"Ahum." Franziska cleared her throat. The assistant raised a non-existent eyebrow.

"Can…I help…you?" She murmured. A bubble stuck to the ceiling.

"Yes, I have a list? Um, here." She slid the paper across the table. The woman took the parchment and looked at it. Then she turned it to the side and looked again. When she turned it upside down, Franziska had had enough (her writing wasn't that bad).

"Look, I need a human collarbone, powdered human skull, male if you have it, and some children's teeth, either molars or canines." She explained, standing on tip-toes to see over the counter.

"…Alright. Wait…here." The woman said before sliding the paper back to her and disappearing off into the back. She was back shortly, a set of boxes under her arm, and a couple of large tubes filled with various sized teeth. She plunked the boxes on the table, taking the lid off to show the clavicles, and skull fragments. Next she pulled some small paper bags from under the counter and popped the top off the tubes.

"How…many?" She asked in that dry tone.

"Uh. I'm not sure. Two handfuls, mixed?" She demonstrated, cupping her hands together. The till assistant looked at the hands, cocked her head to the side and then nodded, pouring some teeth from one tube, then the other into the small bags. Packing it all up and tying it with string, she pushed it across the counter, rattling off a price.

Franziska was about to pull out the money to pay when something behind the counter caught her eye.

"Woah! Are those Acromantula fangs?" She asked, impressed.

The saleswoman nodded lethargically. Another bubble popped against the ceiling.

"How much?"

"Two…for a galleon." A bit steep but…she really wanted those fangs. Of course they were venom-less, the venom being worth more than her family inheritance probably, but sliced up into slithers they still made for very interesting potion ingredients. Resigned, she handed over the money, plus an extra galleon as the till lady pulled two fangs off the string they were attached to. Franziska placed the whole lot in one of her bags, bid a quick farewell to the woman and hurried out of the store, feeling customers' eyes on her again as she left. She'd make a quick stop at Mulpepper's Apothecary to pick up the rest of her things. She didn't want to go to Tallow and Hemp unless she had to, but she wasn't sure even Knockturn Alley's Mulpepper sold Thieves Candles – after all, it wasn't every store that wanted to sell dead men's fingers wrapped in human fat and turned into a candle. Maybe she'd take a quick peek into Shyverwretche's – she wouldn't go in though, because she knew her restraint wouldn't be strong enough to stop spending a large amount of her school supply money on venoms and poisons she'd like to experiment on. No, that would be for another time (another time also she hadn't spent so long in Knockturn Alley already; the hairs on the back of her neck were trying to escape).

Thankfully, Mulpepper's did stock Thieves' candles, although she'd got some weird looks from the salesperson, as it was an item kept behind the till. Regardless, she'd got all her creepy ingredients, so she could go back into bright Diagon Alley again, and get rid of the phantom cobwebs that seemed to have settled on her face. She had to resist the urge to wipe her face to get rid of them, lest she look like a madwoman (although considering where she was, she might have blended in better if she had looked slightly screw-loose).

Franziska might even have had a rather nice rest of her day if she hadn't bumped into a very specific person. She grunted, tried to back-pedal and tripped instead, falling on to the ground, Mettwurst jumping off her shoulders in protest to being jostled.

Ich bitte um Verzeihung, mein Herr, she mocked in her head. Mettwurst had a free ride all day, and there the little traitor goes, simply abandoning her to her fate. No fish for you today.

"Oi, watch it, idiot." The stranger she'd bumped into sneered. She looked at him and paled – maybe not so much a stranger after all.

"Now, now Draco, don't be so uncouth. Help the lady up." A cold voice drawled from above her. She'd never seen him before, but it didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out who he was. Mr Malfoy's voice was like being dunked into an icy lake – she shivered in discomfort.

Draco sneered, but offered his hand reluctantly. She declined, clambering to her feet as Mettwurst dug his claws into her dress, climbing her like a scratching post to settle around her neck again. Franziska was about to collect her things, but Mr Malfoy was faster, scooping up her scattered paraphernalia, and examining them curiously, turning them around in one finely-gloved hand.

"Human bones? Spider fangs? Tsk, tsk I don't think a young lady such as yourself should be playing with such Dark items." He put emphasis on 'dark', drawing it out almost in delight. For a second Franziska considered snatching her packets out of the man's hands, but well, there are wizards you stand up against, and then there's Mr Malfoy. The man exuded power like house-elfs did humility.

Instead, she just shrugged.

"Tell me, girl, what are you doing down here?"

She shifted uncomfortably.

"Um, I'm uh, getting some uh, potions ingredients for e-experimentation. Um, with Professor Snape."

She saw Mr Malfoy turn to Draco and raise a silver brow, as though asking why his son had never mentioned Snape asking students for these ingredients. Draco's face twisted like he'd bitten into a particular sour lemon.

"We don't need that stuff for normal classes, father. She's a Faust." He said, as though that explained everything. And really, it did seem to, as Mr Malfoy turned back to Franziska, a keen interest in his eyes as he studied her more intently.

"A Faust? A good Pureblood family background." He said approvingly. Mr Malfoy handed her her items and she quickly took them, giving the bag a surreptitious peek to make sure everything was still there. He carried on speaking. "Where are you parents, girl? I have wanted to speak with your mother in particular."

"U-um, I'm here o-on my own today, um, sir." She answered. She cursed her stutter, but she really was very nervous – the Malfoys were on a completely different level of intimidating even compared to Snape. The Malfoys had power behind them, and she knew what that felt like. Felt, past tense, being the prerogative here – she didn't have the power to stand up against him; neither did her family, not anymore. Still, there was something to be said for her family history, if the interest in Mr Malfoy's stance was anything to go by.

"Well, it would be a great injustice if we were to let a noble young woman walk around alone like this; there's all sorts of unsavoury characters hanging around. I believe you're here for you school supplies." He said more than asked. Franziska felt her heart rise to her throat. She didn't want to be around the Malfoys for longer than necessary, but apparently necessary was going to be as long as Mr Malfoy wanted. With a flutter of his cloak, he turned.

"Come. We are going to Flourish and Blotts to pick up your ridiculous books." He sneered. She could tell he held nothing but contempt for, she assumed, Gilderoy Lockheart. She knew he was a famous author, but she wasn't really sure what he'd done to deserve Mr Malfoy's contempt. Draco looked over at her with a grimace on his face – maybe that was just his default expression, either that or she really was painful to be around.

You and me both, boy, she thought internally. I don't want to be around you either, but we've apparently been taken hostage by your father, so you can take your wand and stick it. It was belligerent and childish, but insulting Draco inside her head did make her feel a bit better.

Some of what she was thinking had probably been showing on her face, because Draco's expression turned from 'disgust' to 'constipation' and he stalked off. Franziska shook her head and trailed after him, lest Mr Malfoy send his son back to fetch her.

Why me?

Usually, Flourish and Blotts were crowded; with the variety of books on store, you could bet money you would have your foot stepped on at least three times on any day of the year. This day however, Flourish and Blotts was packed, full to the brim with witches and wizards of all creeds. Franziska saw tattered cloaks bushing up against crushed velvet robes, moth-eaten hats mingled in with star-bedecked tasselled affairs. Gaudy and gaunt alike seemed to throng in the bookstore, buzzing with a nervous energy.

Franziska could relate.

She squirmed unhappily as Mr Malfoy used his arrogant energy to force his way through the crowds, somehow managing to look down his nose at everyone without even moving his eyes from the front. The walk to the store had been one filled with frosty silence between Franziska and Draco, while Mr Malfoy vaguely disparaged everything from the education system nowadays, to the most recent article on Werewolf control in the Daily Prophet. Most of his notes went over Franziska's head, but she tried to nod and look like she was listening and understanding whenever he turned his shrewd gaze on her.

She'd hoped she could slip away in the bookstore with the excuse of having lost the Malfoys in the crowd. She might have even managed to put her plan into action, if, beside her, Draco hadn't suddenly stiffened up, his gaze snapping to the edge of the room. Franziska tried to spot what had caught Draco's attention, her stomach rolling uncomfortably when she saw a Weasley girl talking to a stack of books attached to a pair of feet. The stack of books tipped itself into the Weasley girl's cauldron, revealing the dishevelled and furiously blushing face of the Wizarding world's most famous celebrity; Harry Potter. Harry's face was scrunched up in distaste as he said something to the Weasley girl, pushing his round glasses up his nose where they'd tried to make a subtle escape.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter!"

Franziska flinched at Draco's loud tone. Harry and the Weasley girl turned to look at the speaker; Harry's face pinched like he'd bitten into a particularly vicious lemon, while the girl's face drained. Franziska tried to distance herself from the situation, but she saw Harry's annoyed gaze take in both Draco and her and she knew her escape plan had been truly foiled.

Reluctantly, she trailed behind Draco as he moved into Harry's personal space. She tried to make an apologetic face to the Weasley girl, but she wasn't meeting her eyes; the Weasley was glaring at Draco, who'd opened his unfortunate mouth again.

"-bookshop without making the front page." Draco was sneering. Harry opened his mouth to retort, but the Weasley girl got there first. She looked about ready to fight Draco up close and personal as anger flashed in her eyes.

"Leave him alone! He didn't want all that!"

Franziska knew the Weasley girl had made a mistake and she winced as Draco turned his attentions to her.

"Draco, don't-"

"Oooh Potter; you've got yourself a girlfriend!" His nasal jibe popped the Weasley girl's aura of confidence and she immediately turned red, curling into herself, trying to make herself look small. Franziska felt a pang of sympathy for the younger girl.

"Ginny!"

Help had arrived in the form of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, both carrying their own load of set texts. Both faced creased into equal expression of distaste as they spotted Draco…and Franziska, by unhappy association.

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow at Franziska as Draco went on to make himself even more unpopular. Franziska pulled a face back, shrugging her shoulders, trying to silently communicate that she was being held hostage and would rather be almost anywhere but right there.

Suddenly Hermione lunged to catch Ron's jacket, Harry on the other side, as the Weasley made to throw himself at Draco. Ron's face matched his house colours, scarlet with anger.

Franziska was at a loss at what to do in this situation, and almost made the decision to forcibly remove Draco from the fight before she had to explain to his father that she'd let his son get his nose relocated by another student.

Thankfully, Ron was soon quietened down by a gentle tap around the head by another wizard.

"Ron, what are you doing?" It must have been Mr Weasley, a tall man with ginger scruff decorating his jaw, swathed in blue and purple robes that had been expertly patched and darned in places. Still, he held himself proudly, as befitting a pureblood wizard. Behind him, two gangly, spotty teenagers were eyeing Draco with identical frowns on their faces.

"It's too crowded in here, let's go outside." He prompted, obviously intent on getting his various family members out of Malfoy's vicinity. Franziska shot a panicked look Hermione's way; help; don't leave me with him.

But in the true and tested way of uncomfortable meetings everywhere, the day proceeded to get worse.

"Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley."

Franziska felt a shiver run down her spine at the sudden re-appearance of Mr Malfoy. His silver hair and midnight robes gave the impression of the materialisation of the Grim Reaper, and she thought there might be some truth in the rumours of the Malfoys being a Death Eater clan.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear-"

Franziska took a subtle step backwards, edging herself out of the tense circle that had formed; with both Malfoys caught up in taunting the Weasleys, Franziska took the opportunity to try and sneak out of the store. The thick crowds though hampered her movements, and she wasn't far enough away to avoid the collapse of several stacks of magical creature encyclopaedias as a fight erupted between the Malfoy and Weasley seniors. She stumbled over a loose-lead hover charms instruction booklet and fell, banging her head on the nearby staircase, ears ringing as she dropped her bags. Above her, customers were yelling in shock and the uproar spread throughout the bookshop as people were pushed and pulled this way and that. Pages fluttered through the air and boots stamped in too close proximity to Franziska's hands. The kaleidoscope of colours of wizards robes that flashed by her made her feel sick; she scooped up her parcels and hugged them to her chest, heart beating fast and loud as she huddled in the shadow of a pile of xylomancy journals, trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible.

She didn't see the Malfoys sweep out of the store, forgetting about her in their indignation, nor the irritated snapping of the store-clerk. She did see the line of worn brown boots tramp their way past her, followed by one huge pair, black and oiled.

Mr Hagrid, she thought. She remembered the giant game-keeper from the last year. He was difficult to forget.

Franziska thought she would be left behind, but a soft pair of hands reached down and pulled her up. She stood on shaking legs, looking into the worried face of Hermione, her hair bigger and wilder than normal.

"Are you alright?" She asked, and Franziska nodded numbly. It didn't seem to reassure her.

"Come on." Hermione urged; she took one of Franziska's hands, the other still busy clutching her bags, and led her out of Flourish and Blotts, past the angry customers and fussing clerks, the upset books and one shelf that had been violently shoved over.

The day was humid from the morning's rain, but the air felt refreshingly cool as it blew against her face. Inside the shop the chaos had been stifling, the air hot and heavy with the press of bodies. Franziska knew her face must be flushed and hair and clothes in disarray; but then she spotted the Weasley family being berated by a woman who must be Mrs Weasley, all in a similar state.

"-brawling in public! What Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought!" Mrs Weasley was scolding her husband, who looked suitably chastised; his face bore the marks of the fight, a few welts on his cheeks and a split on his lip. He was also missing his hat, which Franziska could now see had been hiding the beginnings of a bald patch on the back of Mr Weasley's head. Hagrid had his hand on Harry's shoulder and looked to be imparting some wisdom on the boy, who nodded occasionally.

"Oh! Did you hit your head?" Franziska's attention was pulled back again by Hermione, who was frowning and reaching to gently touch her temple. It didn't hurt so badly anymore, but it felt like the start of a nice bruise. She winced as Hermione's fingers prodded her wound, and the girl quickly pulled her hand back.

"You're…Frannie, right? You helped look for Neville's toad last year. I'm Hermione, Hermione Granger." She introduced herself.

"It's Franziska, actually. Franziska Faust. Thanks for…helping me, back there." Franziska actually did remember Hermione and her friends. Originally they'd only had a passing meeting in the train, when Franziska, bored and nervous, had been roped into looking for Trevor. She hadn't found him and the incident had faded from her mind. Her memory had been jogged though; one day she'd been in the library, studying, when she'd head Ron shout about the philosopher's stone. Her interest in Alchemy had caused her ears to prick up to catch more of the conversation, but the group had huddled back down. Yet it had been a very memorable occasion; not many people had an interest in Alchemy anymore, and Hermione, Harry and Ron had stayed in her memory.

Still, Franziska shook Hermione's hand, as a man and a woman approached the other girl. They fussed for a moment, before Hermione whispered something to them. The woman, presumably Mrs Granger, walked up to Franziska and knelt down.

"Are you sure you're alright, Franziska? Do you need to go to the hospital?" She asked, her voice kindly, obviously trying not to scare her. Franziska blushed hard as she suddenly felt attention turned on her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mrs Weasley start up her diatribe again, complete with the occasional whack on her husband's arm for emphasis.

"R-really, no, I'm fine. It's just a bruise. I'm fine." She tried to reassure Mrs Granger. Mrs Granger smiled at her.

"Okay then. Do you want us to wait here with you for your parents? We don't mind." She asked.

"Um, I'm here on my own. I've only got a bit more shopping to do." She explained. She saw Mr Granger frown.

"You kids shouldn't be out here on your own, at your age. You don't know whose hanging around here." He said seriously. Franziska thought of how it echoed what she'd heard Mr Malfoy say, but somehow she thought they weren't exactly talking about the same people. Mr Malfoy was probably talking about people like the Weasleys. The Grangers sounded honestly concerned.

"No, no, I've been down here on my own before. I'm okay." The Grangers still looked uncertain, when Mrs Weasley bustled up, her kindly face totally transformed from when she'd been scolding her husband.

"Nonsense, dear. You can't possible wander around on your own. What else do you need?" She asked. Franziska felt overwhelmed and just pulled out her folded shopping list, handing it over to Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley, having raised seven children, just had a voice that compelled children to obey. Mrs Weasley scanned the rest of the list – there was a momentary furrowing of her brows as she looked at the list, then to the parcels in Franziska's arms, then back to the list again. She seemed to make her mind up about something.

"Right. Arthur, take the kids back home, in one piece, mind. I'll help-" She glanced at Franziska questioningly.

"Franziska." She supplied her name.

"-Frankie get her school supplied before I head home. Don't want her running into any more dangerous situations." She said, with a pointed glance at Mr Weasley, who continued his impression of a kicked puppy.

At this point, Franziska had given up arguing, seeing that all the adults had made up their minds about her situation. She didn't see herself as lost, or in danger, but she'd also learned that with adults, sometimes one just had to cut their losses.

Suddenly, she felt a stabbing sensation in her ankle.

"Mettwurst!" She shouted. She'd completely forgotten about the cat! Mettwurst made his distaste plain by clawing his way up her clothes and settling himself around her shoulders, tail whapping her in the face.

"I'm sorry, boy. You okay?" She asked guiltily, scratching Mettwurst's neck. He purred.

"Hey Frankie, we're going, but I'll see you on the Express, okay?" Hermione said, waving. Apparently 'Frankie' was going to be a thing now. Franziska waved back as Mrs Granger sorted herself out and the Grangers and Weasleys peeled off. There were various waving motions made, though Ginny and Ron shot almost suspicious looks back at her, making her cringe inwardly.

"Right then, dear, chop chop. Time's a wasting." Mrs Weasley said. With that, they were off.

By the time Franziska got back home, trying to juggle books, new dragonskin gloves, potion supplies, an occult grab-bag that had been on sale, and a handful of Floo-powder, she was exhausted. Bone-deep tired. Conked out, practically. It was only seven o'clock, but Mrs Weasley was a whirlwind woman.

She, in the manner of mothers everywhere, had forced Franziska away from wishful staring at items out of her price-range, and to the necessities. She's made sure Franziska had spares that she would undoubtedly need through the year, things she hadn't even thought she would need, and replacements she'd forgotten to write down. On top of that, Mrs Weasley had been chatting at a hundred miles per hour – when the Faust name had come up, Mrs Weasley has had a momentary hiccup. She'd turned to look Franziska up and down, in a manner more calculating than she had expected from her. Franziska almost thought they would cut off the shopping trip then and there and Mrs Weasley would leave her to her own devices, but the woman had obviously made up her mind about her, at least, and just bustled her to the next store.

Mrs Weasley had even put a gentle cooling charm on her bruise, though Franziska insisted it didn't hurt anymore.

She Floo'd into the living room by 7:20pm, to see Bernard curled up on the sofa, bespectacled nose barely an inch from the screen of his laptop. He'd given her a vague greeting as his finger tapped at lightning speed across the keys.

Kernway, meanwhile, was sitting cross-legged on the floor, giving an owl a belly-rub, cooing occasionally. He at least looked up at her, in the land of humans, for once.

"Did you have a good time, Ziska?" He asked.

Franziska took a moment to think about all that had happened that day, from creeping around Knockturn Alley, to being waylaid by the Malfoys, meeting up with Hermione again and being bustled around by Mrs Weasley.

She smiled.

"Yeah. I had a good time."