Author's Note: So sorry everyone for the long wait. School is hectic, so it will probably be a week between updates. Hope you all enjoy. Thanks for reading.
Margaret did not know what to make of her new home. Granted, the small village of Hogsmeade was picturesque; snow gently fell on small stone houses, dusting everything in white. Lights from the windows glistened gold against the inky night, beckoning her with the promise of warm hearth and happy home.
Margaret shivered. She had not expected it to be so cold. She gripped her trunk more tightly and strode after her father and mother, trying not to mind the bustle of students. In their eagerness, they behaved like a pack of wild things, pushing and shoving in an attempt to keep up with the herd. Margaret emerged unscathed; the same could not be said for Dixon.
The house elf had been burdened with Mrs. Hale's baggage and, stumbling under the weight, she had been bowled over by some careless second-year. She emitted a terrified squeak, which was lost to all but Margaret's ear. Margaret turned round, and at the sight of the trampled Dixon, dropped her trunk and dashed to the house elf's side. She knelt next to Dixon."Are you hurt?"
"No miss. You must forgive my—my clumsiness. I should not have dropped Mistress's things in the snow. What will she say?"
"Dixon, nothing has been done to Mama's things that a Reparo charm will not fix. It is you that I worry about," Margaret paused, glancing at the purple bruises already rising on the house elf's knees, "Please join Mama and Papa. I will care for the luggage."
Dixon opened her mouth, but was cut short. "I will accept no argument, Dixon." Margaret gathered her mother's trunks, dusting the snow off brusquely. She felt bile rise in her throat at the very thought of Dixon's shame at falling. Margaret could feel the color rise in her pale cheeks, but hefted her mother's bags regardless.
How could anyone feel at fault for dropping mere belongings? Especially after being run over by a mob of students? Dixon could not be blamed for any part of the episode, but she was still wracked by guilt. How was this just? Not one student had stopped to check on the house elf—for the very reason that she was a house elf. Margaret felt anger bubbling in her chest at the very thought. How could anyone disregard the suffering of another simply because they were different?
Margaret reached her family, setting down her mother's bags, then walking back for her own forgotten trunk. Even several paces away, she could hear Mr. and Mrs. Hale consoling Dixon, who was apologizing endlessly in a shrill, nervous tone. Margaret grasped her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa." Her trunk hovered a few feet above the ground, gently making its way to the Hales, guided by the occasional flick of Margaret's wand.
Once the family had recovered from Dixon's unfortunate accident, all that needed to be done was find their new home. This proved to be no easy task. Her father, regardless of extensive correspondence, had neglected to ask the address of the shop. It was left to Margaret to investigate while her parents refreshed the down-trodden Dixon in the local tea room. Margaret finally located the tailoring shop in a back alleyway. It was dark, imposing, and gloomy amidst all the brightly shining houses that surrounded it.
No lights glimmered within, but when Margaret finally gathered the courage to knock, the door swung open almost instantly. A tall, stern, middle-aged women in balck dress stood in the doorway. "The shop is closed. Come back in the morning." Her thick Northern accent grated on Margaret's ears, so much so that it took her a moment to register the words.
She stammered, "I-I am n-not a customer." She drew herself up, continuing with more dignity. "I am Miss Margaret Hale, my father has spoken with Mr. Thornton. We are to be his new tenants."
"Ah, I see. He told me to expect you earlier." The woman looked down her nose imperiously at Margaret and smirked. "I did not expect you to be such a fine lady." Margaret blinked, shocked at her biting tone. She had known this strange woman for two minutes, Margaret did not even know her name, and already the woman seemed determined to hate her. The women stepped back from the doorway, gesturing that Margaret should come in. "I am Mrs. Thornton. Your rooms are upstairs. I assume your family is coming."
"Actually, Mrs. Thornton, I must go and fetch them. My father misplaced the address of your husband's establishment, and sent me to find the shop."
Mrs. Thornton drew back as if slapped, glaring ferociously at Margaret. She hissed, "My son, Mr. Thornton, runs this place. He is one of the most respected businessmen and professors in this community; it is a wonder your father did not find out this address by asking any person in the village."
Margaret blushed a deep scarlet, but met Mrs. Thornton's gaze regardless. "We have come a long way, and we are all very tired. If you do not mind, I will fetch my family and bring them here." At the tall woman's nod, Margaret departed in the most dignified way she could manage, striding down the street with purpose. Mrs. Thornton, watching her go, muttered, "That one carries herself like the Queen of Sheba. Such breathtaking arrogance. No good will come of her, I swear."
Other than Mrs. Thornton, the Hale's move to their new residence was uneventful. Mr. Hale departed right after setting down his luggage, apparating to right outside the Hogwarts grounds. After all, he could not miss the welcome feast, since that was when he would be introduced to all the students. Margaret knew few of them would care about Ancient Runes, but her father still lived in hope, and she was the last person that wished to crush his dreams. Instead of musing about her father's prospects, however, she was forced to unpack.
The first thing she attended to was her Helstone rose. She undid the protective enchantment, then gingerly lifted the yellow rose from its case. It was intact, for the most part, and had only lost a few petals. Soon, her golden rose rested in a vase by her bedside, next to a small stack of books. However satisfied she was by her small room, Margaret could not feel the same way about the rest of the apartment.
Their new home was stark to say the least. The apartment contained three bedrooms, a small kitchen, servant's quarters, and a drawing room with a goodly-sized fireplace. But it was not the lack of rooms that bothered Margaret, it was the wallpaper. It was dreary, dank, and smelled of mold. Mrs. Hale commented, "It looks as if the room were decorated for a funeral, rather than for a family."
Margaret nodded, "If only it were decorated with a few flowers, or some brighter colors." Unluckily, Mrs. Thornton walked past just at that moment, which only served to reinforce her opinions of these fine new tenants.
The furniture too, lacked the lovely and pleasant appearance of the Hale's old Helstone furnishings. It was dark and utilitarian, certainly less beautiful than Margaret was accustomed to. But she could bear it all, if only the wallpaper were changed.
It had been three days since the Hales moved, and Margaret was yet to see Mr. Thornton. She could hear him enter late at night and leave in the morning, but that was all. Her father had met him soon enough, the night of the feast. "Margaret, he is such an uncommon fellow. I had not realized how young he is, especially to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I have only ever heard good things about his teaching and character, although his style might be a little brusque."
She was not burning with curiosity at the thought of their mysterious landlord like her mother. Indeed, her mother's interest in the man had only increased after their wallpaper magically changed overnight. The second day of their residence, Margaret awoke to brand-new wallpaper, a beautiful green and blue floral pattern. Needless to say, ever since that morning, Mrs. Hale had been pestering Margaret to introduce herself to Mr. Thornton. "You must give him our regard, tell him how grateful we are."
"Surely Papa can—"
"It must come from you. Mr. Thornton surely knows that your father pays no mind to how the wallpaper looks. The fact that he just knew that we were unsatisfied, then changed everything without ceremony just proves you must be the one to thank him. Besides, your father is too busy at the school."
It was true. More students were taking Ancient Runes than Margaret had ever thought possible. Mr. Hale taught three classes, all of them full of bright, eager young witches and wizards. Margaret knew he also tutored a little during his off periods. He left for the school before breakfast, seldom came home for lunch, and was often late for dinner. However, his eyes shone brighter and his laugh was merrier than ever before. Margaret knew, deep in her soul, that he was at last happy, happier than she had seen him recently. That knowledge soothed her anxiety more than anything else, certainly more than altered wallpaper.
This afternoon, Mrs. Hale put together a basket lunch for Margaret to take to Mr. Hale. "I do not know if he even eats lunch regularly. I will not have everyone see my husband starving and think it is through some neglect of mine." She gently folded a cloth over the bread, cheese, sausage, tea, and biscuits she had packed
Margaret chuckled at her mother's joke, then grasped the basket with both hands. After a brief goodbye, she walked carefully down the stairs that connected the living room with the shop below, then traipsed through the open shop door into the street. The streets of Hogsmeade were almost empty, the chill of fall keeping most indoors. Even though it was afternoon, only a few small children were out playing. Margaret strode swiftly towards Hogwarts, almost marching. It was quite long walk, but the crisp air invigorated her, so she did not mind the distance.
Sooner than she thought possible, Margaret had reached the entrance to the forbidding castle, and was waved through. As soon as she stepped into Hogwarts, memories hit her like a wave. The sorting ceremony, celebrating with all the first years in the common room. Classes, homework, the smell of old parchment. How much she had missed it all... Her reminiscence must wait; her father's lunch was growing cold.
"Can you tell me the way to Professor Hale's study?"
"Sure, miss. You go through the Great Hall, up the stairs—be sure you take the really long one, not the short, that leads to... well, you don't want to know—walk about twenty paces to your left, go down the first hall you see, and it is the third door on the right, I think."
"Thank you." Margaret made her way to the Great Hall, striding through seemingly endless passages. How had she not gotten lost as a student? She did not wander around the school much, she did not have enough opportunity to do that. She only attended Hogwarts the one year. She did not feel keenly the loss to her education until now. What she would give to go back.
The sound of shouts echoed faintly through the corridor. She was nearing the Great Hall now, and ever step made the bellowed spells louder. What was going on? She rounded the corner, glimpsed the Great Hall, and gasped.
Bursts of light illuminated the hall, casting strange shadows on the faces of the students and teachers gathered there. Margaret stepped over the threshold and watched the spectacle in rapt fascination. Two students circled each other, wands out. One would cast a spell, the other, deflect it, or parry with a counter-curse. "Aguamenti!" a torrent of water shot from one student's wand, but it was dried by a swift shout of "Exaresco!"
Margaret had always heard of the Dueling Club, but she had never seen it before. It fascinated her. She drew hesitantly closer, until she was towards the front of the crowd. She smiled fondly, glancing around the room. For a moment, her eyes rested on a tall, dark-haired man standing quite near the opponents. Just as soon, her gaze was arrested by the duelers.
One, a small, flaxen-haired witch, flicked her wand with a cry of "Locomotor Wibbly!" The other sidestepped the curse with ease. He sneered, pointing his wand at her and snarled, "Confrin—"
"Protego!" A shield burst between the duelers, throwing them both back. The boy's spell hit the shield, exploding it in flames. The watching students screamed, racing towards the exit. The dark-haired man bounded towards the boy, wand in hand. He roared, "Do not play with magic you cannot control, boy!" Margaret watched in horror as the man punched the boy's face, knocking him to the ground, then stooped over him, hitting him twice more. Margaret gasped, eyes wide with fright. Only then was she aware of the deathly silence of the room. The man turned around, his blue eyes icy, "Get her out of here!"
A male teacher took her arm, guiding her forcefully out of the room. As soon as he let go of Margaret's arm, she ran from the Great Hall as swiftly as possible; half-flying, half-tripping up the stairs. Her heart was beating rapidly; the scene replaying itself in her head. Who could possibly treat a student so roughly, so cruelly? Surely he did not deserve such a beating for his foolishness. Margaret reached her father's door, tapping on it shakily. He opened it, beaming at her over his spectacles. His look altered when he saw her face. "Margaret, you look as if you have seen a ghost!"
"I just came from the Dueling Club. Father, you will never believe what I saw!"
"The Dueling Club, you say? Then you must have met Mr. Thornton. He is impossible to miss: he is tall, with dark hair, and blue eyes. Did you introduce yourself? Margaret, what is wrong?"
