Written for:
Quidditch Leagues Round 12
Prompts Used: (setting) King's Cross, (phrase) Now or Never), (dialogue) "Who the bloody hell is that?
Harry Potter/Movies
Nicholas Flamel had only been in London for mere minutes when he realised he was horribly and uncomfortably lost.
"You okay there, sir?" a rough cockney voice interrupted his thoughts. He struggled to understand the woman for a moment - this was the first time he had ever visited England, and English wasn't his mother tongue.
"Ah...Excusez-moi?" he asked desperately, squinting his ageing eyes as he took in the woman's appearance. She was dressed in a tatty, dirty old dress and her reddish brown hair was pinned up scruffily on top of her head. A leather corset cinched her in at the waist, and she was clutching a basket full of bread rolls. "Do you...do you know where I am?"
Her pale face spread into a grin, bearing stained teeth, and Nicholas strained not to grimace at the smell that came from her open mouth. Having been born into a proud French family, he regularly used numerous potions and spells to ensure he had the highest quality of bodily hygiene.
"Why, you're in London of course," she chortled. "Kings Cross Station."
Nicholas resisted the urge to roll his eyes expressively. Of course he knew where he was - he just needed to know which part of London he was in. He was beginning to think that visiting the city that the French had gossiped about for so many years wasn't that great of an idea.
"Tell you what," the woman continued. "Why don't you come to town wi' me, and we'll get you cleaned up a bit, get you a bit o' grub." Before Nicholas could politely protest to what he was certain was a wonderful offer, the woman had seized his arm and was marching him out of the station, chattering aimlessly as they walked. "So, what's your name? You've got yourself an accent - don't get many people with an accent around 'ere, so I know your not from London."
"Nicholas Flamel," he replied stiffly, trying to ease his arm out of her vice like grip. Her grubby clothes were rubbing against the pale lilac of his expensive embroidered robes, and he didn't really want to be cleaning them with magic besides the Muggle woman. "I am from Paris, in France. 'Zis is my first time visiting England."
"You'll love it in London, Mr Flamel. There's no place like London, that's what my Mr Todd always says! You do look a bit odd though, if you don't mind me saying."
Nicholas did mind, but he didn't say so. In France, both Muggles and wizards alike walked around in soft floating clothing of pastel and colourful shades. However here in London, everyone they walked past was wearing black, brown or some other dull, colourless shade.
"What is your name, ma'am?"
"Ma'am, I like you," the lady snorted with laughter. "I'm Nellie, sir. Nellie Lovett, but everyone just calls me Mrs Lovett."
"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Lovett," Mr Flamel politely replied. Despite Mrs Lovett having an extremely poor first impression, he couldn't deny that she had shown him welcome kindness when the other Englishmen had simply bypassed him rudely.
They walked for quite a while longer, until they finally came to a shop with 'Mrs Lovett's Pies' inscribed on the sign above the large bay window. She gestured for him to enter, and he did so, smiling politely at the young boy who was sitting on a table near the counter. Nicholas must have been wrong, but he was sure that he could smell gin coming from the class that the boy was drinking from.
"Who the bloody hell is that?" he rudely exclaimed, and Nicholas only just managed not to gasp in shock. The boy could be no older than ten at the most.
"Toby!" hissed Mrs Lovett, clearly just as mortified as he was. "Don't speak to visitors like that - get over there and put a pie in for Mr Flamel. Hurry up now, don't make me give you a good hiding!"
"Now?" scoffed Toby, still eyeing Nicholas contemptuously. Nicholas assumed that he, besides everyone else in London who was dressed so dully, must be in a state of shock at his appearance.
"Well it's now or never!" scoffed Mrs Lovett, giving the young boy a sharp glare.
The boy groaned, and pushed past Mrs Lovett and Nicholas, heading for the counter. He watched bemusedly as he snatched a greasy looking pie from a stack of wrappings and shoved it into the stove, proceeding to light the coals with a few matches.
"Come sit down, Mr Flamel," Mrs Lovett insisted, gesturing to the table where Toby had been previously sat. "Can I get you a drink? Maybe some whiskey, that'll warm your bones."
Nicholas continued to smile amicably in response, and Mrs Lovett followed Toby around the counter, reaching under the shelf for a bottle.
"Hello," a male voice suddenly announced gruffly. Nicholas looked towards the doorway, where a man with dark hair streaked with white stood. He was wearing a crisp shirt, but it was stained suspiciously with red on the collar. "Who're you?"
Nicholas opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs Lovett got there first. "This is Mr Flamel, Mr Todd! He's from France."
"Hm. First Spaniards, now Frenchmen - who else will walk into my shop this month?" he muttered, slapping his hand on the counter. "You can get me one of those, Mrs Lovett," he added, gesturing with his eyes to the tumbler of whiskey that she was pouring for Mr Flamel. He sat down opposite Nicholas l, leaning forward on his elbows. Nicholas noted how purple the bags under his eyes looked, and the dark glint that lingered in them. "Your hair is long, isn't it?" he commented, nodding at Nicholas' silvery locks. "How about you come upstairs for a cut?"
Nicholas raised his eyebrow. There was just something not right about this man.
"Merci, good sir. But I think I shall pass."
His visit to London was certainly proving to be interesting.