Author's Note: My update schedule has changed and is in my profile. I personally really like this chapter, and hope you lovely readers do, too.
So I had to laugh at the review left on last chapter about Winifred's morning, because I was work way ahead of updates, and this had been written for quite a while, and they just totally nailed it.
True to his word, Cedric rose much earlier than was natural for him and transported directly to his parents' home. He expected to get there before Winifred's house guest woke, but the sight of his frazzled mother as she greeted him at the door clued him in that the girl was already stirring up trouble. Pushing past her through the entryway, he was shocked to see the state of disarray that the normally tidy house was currently in. Chairs were upturned, various items scattered, and an oil lamp lay broken on the floor near the sofa.
"That child has been destroying my home all morning, Ceddy. She doesn't listen to a thing I say, Latin or otherwise." His mother explained, clearly on the verge of considering this a failed experiment.
"Where is she?" He asked, searching through the chaos for a glimpse of the girl. His mother pointed under the dining room table, and sure enough, he found her hiding beneath it, chairs pulled in close around her like a cave. She was clutching something tightly against her body.
"Hello, there. May I see that?" He asked her quietly, reaching his hand out to collect the item. She didn't hand it over, but she made no move to stop him, either. Wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled gently, and she released her grasp. After seeing what it was, he looked to his mother for an explanation.
"She's been holding that painting all morning. She refused to be separated from it. Keeps showing it to me over and over again. From a distance, of course." Winifred explained, shrugging at her son. He glanced back and forth between the wild girl and the painting, a portrait of him that his mother painted nearly a year ago.
"Seems to be a big fan of yours. I'm pretty sure it was her way of asking for you." Winifred chuckled as she explained her theory, glad that Cedric was here to deal with the child, now.
"Has she eaten?" He asked, allowing the girl to reclaim the portrait when she reached for it. His mother pointed to the upside down bowl of porridge on the floor behind the table, and Cedric shook his head.
"Come on out from there." He prodded, gripping the girl's arm to pull her forward. She didn't seem as interested in fighting him today, and soon she was standing in front of the table, giving Cedric a chance to look her over properly. Her long auburn hair fell into twisted locks that hung wild about her face, and her intense, jewelled eyes remained fixed suspiciously on his mother, following the woman as she moved to reclaim order in her house. Her conjured nightgown had nearly as much porridge spilt on it as the floor did, but her face was still clean, with no signs that any food had actually made it into the child.
"Come on, witchling. Let's get you fixed up." He instructed, leading the girl back to the guest room and fishing a hair brush out of the vanity table. He guided her into the chair and began to drag the brush through her tangled hair, doing the best he could to ignore her thrashing and loud noises of discontent. Eventually, she stilled, letting him work in peace. Brushing a young girl's hair wasn't exactly within his skill set, but he managed all right. His mother knocked on the door, and the child took the opportunity to race off, hiding behind a bookshelf.
"Yes, Mummy?" He asked, keeping an eye on his temporary charge.
"I dug out some old dresses of Cordelia's before I went to bed last night. Not quite the latest fashion, but they should do." She explained, holding a stack of clothes out to her son. He studied his mother in confusion.
"Shouldn't you be the one to dress her?" He asked, causing Winifred to snort.
"You think I didn't already try?" She retorted, eyes rolling at her son's foolish question. Plunking the garments unceremoniously into his arms, she quickly took her leave, Cedric staring after her, mouth agape. Without looking back at the child, he laid the dresses out on the bed, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he heard bare feet slapping against the wood floor as her curiosity got the better of her. He stepped back to let her examine her options.
"They're yours now, I suppose. Go on, which one do you like?" Placing a hand to her back, he nudged her forward ever so slightly, hoping she'd catch on that she should pick one. Setting the painting down on the bed next to the dresses, she reached out and ran her fingertips across the third dress, a light purple peasant gown with a white flower pattern on it.
"Good choice." He stated, lifting the dress up to appraise it. She looked up at him, her expression almost a smile. He pulled the new dress over her head, leaving her arms out of the sleeves.
Taking his wand out of his robe pocket, he pointed it at the strip of white nightgown peeking out beneath the bottom of the dress, turning it back into a towel, which dropped to the ground. That wasn't so difficult. He thought to himself proudly, helping her into the sleeves of the dress before circling around behind her to fumble with the laces that criss-crossed up the back of the bodice. It certainly wasn't a job well done, but it was tied, and he figured that was good enough for a first try.
"Aren't you a vision?" He asked, his voice barely suppressing his surprise at how nicely she cleaned up. He paced around her in a circle, examining the little girl, finding it hard to believe that he had scarcely been able to discern her gender the day before.
Opening the door and making his way back to the main section of the house, he was amused to hear that she was still following close behind him. Winifred looked up from where she sat on the floor, collecting large pieces of glass.
"Would you look at that?" She spoke, her voice full of astonishment. Cedric couldn't help but smile.
Cedric had hoped his mother would have a pair of his sister's old shoes to give the witchling, too, but he wasn't that lucky. She did have a pair of her own shoes that she didn't mind him magically shrinking down for a day, so that's what they did.
"I was planning to take her to some of the witch villages and see if anyone recognises her. If I'm searching at the same time as the royal officer, maybe we can find a relative sooner." He explained to his mother as he put the little girl's borrowed shoes on. It was no easy task, as she wasn't accustomed to having things on her feet, and was clearly not amused by the idea. Every time he successfully put one on her and moved to the other foot, she would remove the first shoe, starting the process all over again, and Cedric's patience was beginning to wear thin.
"Is that a good idea? She's not exactly social, Ceddy." His mother pointed out, finally scrapping the last of the dried porridge off of the dining room floor, her house now back to normal.
"Do you enjoy having your feet all cut up, child?" He hissed, holding her right shoe in place as he struggled to get its mate on with only one free hand. She kicked her foot free again and he threw his hands up and groaned in frustration. Seizing the opportunity, the girl jumped to her feet and ran off, Cedric following closely at her heels. Glancing over her shoulder to see him giving chase, she veered right, leading him directly into the wash room and stopping in front of the claw foot tub.
When he caught up, she poked her fingers around in the air, as though she were popping bubbles again. All of the sorcerer's ire dissipated as he carefully watched her attempts to communicate with him.
"Aren't you clever?" He spoke gently, patting the girl on the head. She dodged a second touch and did her best to throw a leg over the side of the large bathtub.
"Later, witchling. First, we must try to find someone who knows you." He explained, though he knew perfectly well his words were meaningless to the girl. Lifting her up to carry her back to the living room, he had to fight to keep his balance as her flailing threatened to topple them both. He deposited her on the couch and waved his wand in the air, conjuring more bubbles. With the girl distracted, it was easier to get both of her shoes on, and Cedric wondered why he didn't think of that in the first place. It meant letting her dawdle a short while after her shoes were on, giving the girl a chance to finish playing, but it was worth it. Finally, they were ready to leave.
"Goodbye, Mummy. We should be back in time for dinner." He said, waving goodbye. He grabbed the witchling's broom and hat, and reached to open the door. His mother was about to return the sentiment, but instead she stalled and frowned at him.
"You can't just waltz into a witch village dressed like that, Ceddy." She pointed out. Cedric looked down at his robe, realisation dawning on his face. Of course he couldn't show up in a sorcerer's robe. No one would possibly tell him anything if he did.
With a sigh, he removed his robe and draped it over his mother's coat rack, feeling quite exposed without it. He tucked his wand into the pocket of his trousers, and he and the girl left the cottage.