When at last I open my eyes again, I find myself in a new fireplace, this one emitting its peculiar green glow into a rustic, bustling tavern. Transfixed, I study the tables and find to my amusement that most of those assembled look as though they are recovering from a particularly rough night.
"You'd best step out of there, if you're not zipping back out right quick; there's another person coming through now."
Startled, I take the proffered arm and leap into the room, right as another body crashes in behind me. When I do look up, I'm pleasantly surprised to see my would-be rescuer is a young man not far-removed from my own age, a tall, handsome boy with dark brown hair and a nicely tanned face.
"Thank you," I say, taking my hand back as the witch who arrived behind me brushes past us in a huff. "I'd imagine that wouldn't have ended well, if it weren't for you."
"Merlin's beard, Grenault!" I can hear the witch halfway across the room, and when I sneak a glance, I see her at some poor man's side, prodding him with her wand. "I told you I weren't goin' to stand for this no more! Get up this instant or mark my words, my stuff'll be up and gone when you drag your sorry self back home!"
"Ah, well," he says, lifting a broad shoulder in a shrug. The movement recaptures my attention, as the poor man Grenault stumbles out of his chair. "A bruise or two wouldn't have permanently detracted from your beauty. I'm Hale, by the way. Hale Thompson."
He offers his hand again, and I shake it this time. "Mel. Thanks again."
"What part of 'two hours' do you not understand, Miss March?" I drop Hale's hand in surprise as Mr. Turner steps into view. "Hogwarts' list is quite extensive, and I don't think you'll want to waltz in, last minute transfer, and not even be materialistically prepared!"
I drop Hale's hand again, under the pressure of Mr. Turner's disproving scowl. "Of course not," I say calmly. "I simply didn't know where you had went to so fast. Mr. Thompson saved me from a potentially dangerous mishap in the meantime."
Hale smiles at that, both of us ignoring the question on Mr. Turner's face. "You're transferring into Hogwarts?" he asks me, diverting the conversation.
"Not if she can't be bothered to complete her shopping today," Mr. Turner interrupts. "Mr. Thompson, I am sure your father, too, is in need of your presence nearby."
"I am sure," Hale agrees, with as near to a scowl as I can imagine crossing his pleasant face. "I guess I'll see you in September, Mel."
Mr. Turner is already off towards the door, but I turn back and give a little wave, one I'm gratified to find he returns.
Mr. Turner is already a couple doors down by the time I follow him outside, moving at an impressive pace for such a little man. The street I find myself in is surprisingly busy, for being such a narrow little cobblestoned street. The lack of vehicles and Muggle clothes leads me to believe that the location is possibly only accessible to magic-folk.
I am grateful for the generic robes lent to me by the Ministry; my own Muggle-style pajamas I'd been caught in the day before, because not a single person I slip past on the crowded street pays me any mind. Mr. Turner is just rounding a corner when I catch up to him.
"Books first, then robes," he says, not even bothering to glance down at me. "If you can stay focussed on those tasks, we'll have time to stop at Ollivanders."
"As the most important stop," I say, looking at the long list over Turner's shoulder, "I would rather go to Ollivanders first – and what about the Owl Emporium?"
"Books first, then – blast it, then. You can be trusted to dress yourself, I hope? Go get fitted for your robes and get yourself to Ollivanders, then, Merlin's beard! I'll make quick work of your books and other supplies, then, go on. And don't you so much as breathe out a breeze of magic, or I'll be on you like mud on a squib – try run and you'll think back on the days you could run with great fondness. I don't have time to hold your hand up and down the Alley."
I am impressed at the mottled red splotched across Turner's face, but resist cajoling him into further rage when he presses several gold coins into my hand and whirls back towards the book shop, stomping purposefully every step of the way.
With a shrug and the delicious thrill of freedom, I practically skip towards a shop towards the end of the street, advertising 'Madame Malkin's – Robes for All Occasions!"
The door chime tinkles when I swing it open, revealing a nearly-empty shop. A dumpy sort of woman, wrapped in bold purple hues, is busily sending measuring tape around to measure an even wider woman's bust.
"I'll be right with you," she calls out in a musical voice.
I take a seat on a nearby chair to wait, glancing around the shop as I do. The layout is similar to various Muggle tailor's I'd visited, minus the bewitched tapes, and the bundled robes along one wall, proclaiming, 'Sets of all Houses! Uniform Sets! Cloak Sets! Fifty percent now until September!'
I stand and move closer, peering at the colourful crests on the poster.
"You, I haven't seen in here before!" the purple woman exclaims. I jump as she joins me at the display. "You must be a first-timer – well, come! Come! We will get you measured straight away – have a good day, Ernesta, see you soon, yes?"
She ushers me up onto the circular platform, and no sooner has my second foot landed than the measuring tapes descend upon me, measuring everywhere – bust, waist, inseam, neck – even the length of my thumbs.
"What's your name, dear?" Madame Malkin asks conversationally.
I struggle a moment with my urge to fling the constricting tapes off of me before I can reply. "Melody," I manage, feeling quite claustrophobic.
"Pretty name," she says kindly, studying the tapes. "Have you any older siblings already at Hogwarts, Melody?"
"No," I reply. I have to consciously tell myself to take a deep breath, as one measuring tape decides to re-measure my neck.
"The first, how, exciting for you," she says gleefully. "I myself was second. Which house do you think you'll be Sorted into?"
"Uh," I stall, trying to think of the names. Mum seldom mentioned her school days, and drifting in and out of Muggle communities didn't exactly prepare me for this. "I don't know. Maybe the blue one?" I recall the stunning blue of the logo on the poster.
"Ravenclaw," she confirms, approvingly. "My House, too. I hope you get in. Our House colours would look gorgeous with your eyes, child. Well! There! Another measuring done – you might be the last of the year, actually. Cutting it pretty close, aren't you? Well, on the bright side, House sets are on discount if you want to spring for a Ravenclaw set now. Though I must say, child, and don't be embarrassed – but you're quite…developed….for eleven, hm? Runs in some families, that. Not mine, unfortunately – those didn't come in till the rest of me expanded!"
"Actually," I say, stepping down from the platform as she disappears into the back for fabric. The measuring tapes follow her, eager to measure the cloth to fit. "I'm fifteen – I'm transferring in, I guess you could say."
"A transfer, hm?" she replies, peeking back into the room in interest. "Don't get one of those very often. That explains the shape, though. You're little enough to pass for eleven, though. Petite, you are. That's okay, it means less cloth on my end."
"Which will be reflected in the cost, yeah?" I return, eliciting a laugh from the other room. I can see bits of fabric flying every which way down the little hall.
"You're a little mink, you are!" Her tone is light and amused, though, and I find myself relaxing, too.
In just a few moments, she appears again, carrying a heaping bundle of robes, mostly in black.
"I've put together a full set," she says, setting them on the counter. "I went ahead and guessed you mightn't have had the same dress code at your last school."
"I didn't," I say, thinking of my small pack of Muggle clothes that as far as I knew, were still in the cabin in the woods. "Thank you. How much does this all cost?"
She waves a hand. "For you, mink? I say, a galleon."
I hand her a gold one, and a couple sickles, which she tries to wave away.
"No, no, I'll give you a deal, I like a pert little thing to colour the day once in awhile."
"Consider it a thank you, then," I say, setting the sickles on the counter. "Thank you, Madame."
"My pleasure," she says with a smile, letting the silver coins sit. "You'll be just fine at Hogwarts, child."
