The slim figure of Miriam Princhek scurried in the snow, the gusty gales hit her again, felt the freezing cold through her thin worn hand me down coat. Miriam hated this way from school, it was frankly creepy but she wasn't afraid. Heard a noise who was she kidding she was petrified.
Miriam also hated the cold, the winter, her home that was never warm, her being poor, her classmates chattering like canaries over all the fun things they'd do with their families on this burdensome school holiday.
Happiest season of all that was a load of croc.
Didn't have pretty dresses like Bernadette or new shoes that weren't worn.
Stormily blue eyes blinked tears, when she was older she was going to have many new dresses and pretty shoes and she'd be admired and adored. Live in a beautiful home and have a big dog like the one in a catalogue she'd seen and swiped from a trashcan that had a barrel around its neck.
Her made wings for the school play were not silly or crumpled. Just the right amount of sparkle and shimmer, glued the glitter meticulously. Her drawings snatched from her weren't lousy.
Copied each one from a magazine of women in beautiful gowns in Paris.
She wasn't stupid for believing in magic also.
Bernadette and her friends could go…go jump in the Thames.
A honking of a swerving car narrowly missing Miriam and a strong swoosh against her, knocked her down into snow.
That was close. Held tightly shaking against a warm longer body.
''you're okay…'' A warm voice spoke down at her. Frozen by their appearance what had they been in a fight with a lawnmower or hacksaw.
Were they attending a costume party in long robes and a cloak?
''I…I think so.'' Swaying, grasped around her tiny waist. The strange person examined her with something in the snowy wind that looked like a twig. Felt very warm all of a sudden like near a fire.
''Here now…don't cry.'' Miranda wasn't crying. Wiping her moist lids with an offered sleeve.
It was ruined. All of them and her school bag.
Books scattered. Along with her sketch pad and paint.
Miriam had borrowed them, it was school property that she'd be blamed she'd damaged.
''I am sure it can be mended with a little bit of…trailing off at blue eyes narrowed icily on them.
Sheepish. '' Sorry Miranda.''
Miranda. That was a pretty name. She liked it.
''My name is Miriam.'' She wasn't supposed to talk to strangers ever.
Quirking a smile that accentuated the grisly scars at saying her name.
''Sorry Miriam.''
Peering at an odd gold hourglass around their neck. Swore in the snow it sparkled almost.
''What's your name?''
''Mine? I am now Miriam's friend.''
Miriam with pale delicate features didn't seem satisfied by the strange stranger's answer.
'' I have to go. Here sorry about this.'' Handed her soaked school bag as she looked down at it, then back up, they were gone. Looking about. Where did they go?
Left later near her door her mended books and a present. 'For Miriam.' An art set.
Out of the blue, little things were left for just her.
When she was a little older, the last gift was beautiful.
Miriam traced the locket with a strange inscription. 'Toujours Pur.'
Someone had knocked on her door.
Only saw a stray dog across from her. Almost watching her.
The scruffy mongrel followed Miranda around. Saved her from two older boys in an alley. It had been hurt protecting her. It was limping and she had to help it.
That's when she took it home with her to mend it.
Miranda Priestly didn't know why she thought of that memory today.
Miranda Priestly was never one to gape nor gawk at anyone yet here she was doing both at Andrea Sachs.
What was Andrea doing here in her building? Andrea did not work here and Miranda would know if she did.
Andrea did not belong here.
Not near Runway. Andréa was certainly not worthy in anyway of being given access by security inside Elias Clark ever again and most of all not ever permitted to be near her again.
It had been few months since she walked away in Paris.
Why was Andréa here and getting into an elevator before her?
Pressing a button for her elevator, feeling very tetched. Andrea Sachs did that to Miranda near her or not, since Paris and well before.
Miranda saw the elevator stop on a floor above hers. 18th floor. The Ice Queen decided to pay a visit to her ex assistant. Reading the name on the sign. Office of Public Statistics and Census Registration and Corrections as she stepped off the elevator.
How dull. Miranda mused so Andrea finally had her comeuppance, smiling she was working in a mundane job. It had a certain appeal to Miranda, Sachs working in a boring public service job for life. Fitting.
Still Miranda felt she should have blackballed the silly little disappointment.
How dare she not stick at the job Miranda had sent a recommendation for, that mediocre NY Mirror? Sniffing at the idea.
Was her reference not good enough for saintly Sachs?
Sanctimonious, Heart on her sleeve bumpkin.
Miranda stepped off the 18th floor.
The Office of blah blah was indeed expecting an important visitor. Three actually.
The Golden Trio.
Sayers Sharples Department had planned this for months. Straightening his jaunty tie, checking his white teeth in a reflection. Forgone the usual robes for a tailored suit. Close Protection Unit was the American equivalent of the Aurors.
This was a goodwill tour to calm the magical community of Manhattan. Welcoming most of all the boy who lived, Mr Harry Potter and his friends Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.
Stopping dead. What was a muggle doing here?
Mr Sharples knew one thing he could either greet her and get rid of the muggle before she witnessed magic or obliviate her swiftly with one wand flick she'd forget why she was even on this floor.
How in Salem did a muggle wind up on the 18 ¼ Floor?
The strange Wanted posters froze at the nosy muggle, Miranda scanned parchment of unwashed prisoners with horrendous teeth and evil leers. Was New York Corrections full of such deranged looking convicts Miranda mused?
Reading a few names. Rodolphous LeStrange. Rabastan LeStrange. Dolohov. Yaxley.
Missing one making a knife like motion of a finger across their throat and a low mutter of ''It's a mudblood filth.'' As Sayers with a quick flick muffled their threats of ''Come closer what pretty blue eyes I'll cut them out and jar them.''
''You there. I wish to speak to Sachs. Andrea Sachs.'' Miranda commanded the pinstriped man approaching.
Knew only one person to blame one flighty Andy Sachs.
''I'm afraid Miss Sachs is unavailable. Ms…'' Sayers looked the elegant woman up and down, very striking for a muggle.
''Miranda Priestly. I wish to see her when she is available.''
''But of course I will tell Miss Sachs you wish to see her. Ms Priestly.''
Miranda halted her step as he guided her to the elevator, was he actually rushing her, Miranda Priestly away.
Icily held her ground. Miranda Priestly was never rushed. By anyone.
Holding his breath. No magic had happened. Yet.
This Miranda Priestly in front of him, would not require obliviation, goody. Willing with a firm hand to her shoulder which Miranda brushed away and firmer in his mind 'get on the elevator, muggle and go away.'
Sharples bidded the inquiring mortal Manhattanite a terse goodbye and also a silent plea of Ms Priestly just go away.
'' I would like your name.'' Blue eyes contacted his no nonsense darker ones.
''Sharples. Ma'am.''
Miranda winced she was not a Ma'am. The elevator doors opened as Sharples was so grateful for quaint muggle contraptions like elevators.
Closing doors slid on Miranda.
Sayers turned Andy Sachs was lucky she was still employed. Wandering muggles wanting to see her on today of all days.
The Trio was due any minute, along with the Sword of Gryffindor on loan and the grislier part of the exhibition. The part that needed Aurors guarding.
Emily was rushing with coffee, what was with all the weird tourists in the building this morning. Did a tour bus break down?
Must be a convention of ill-dressed converging on Elias -Clarke.
Emily was stared at by two odd new security men as if she was dirt. Those ugly tattoos had better not be seen by Miranda of skulls and snakes.
Emily swore one called her a slur.
Peered over a shoulder at a flyer an odd woman held excitedly. Couldn't be right. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her.
Emily read.
The sword of Gryffindor was made a thousand years ago by goblins, the magical world's most skilled metalworkers, and is therefore enchanted. Was wielded by Neville Longbottom in the Battle of Hogwarts. The sword will be displayed tonight at the opening Gala.
On kind loan from The Ministry of Magic.
This had to be a joke. Early April fools.
Emily got off on the 17th Floor.
It was stress. She hadn't read words like goblins.