Chapter Four: Rescued By Two Cake-Eaters.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company.
OOOO
Gossamer Potter swept gracefully along the sidewalk beneath the glimmering, late afternoon sun. The pavement boiled underneath her worn, hand-me-down shoes, and a slight sunburn was developing across Gossamer's exposed shoulders, yet her trip to the Little Whinging Swimming Center had been well worth it. Rarely did she ever get an opportunity to escape from Privet Drive. So when the eight year old's family left her locked outside of their house for the day she chose to practice her breaststroke. In two years Gossamer would be eligible to try out for her school's swim team, and she had every intention of making it on. Orphans with relatives like her's learned early on that university scholarships were the only way to freedom.
Unfortunately there were many things that Gossamer had learned during her short, seven year stay at the Number Four Privet Drive. Little girls with emerald eyes, and lightning-bolt scars on their foreheads were aberrations, or freakish as the more unimaginative might claim. Petunia Dursley, her horsey aunt, fell into the letter category often berating Gossamer for being a freak. Rolling her almost unnaturally green eyes at the thought of Petunia she came to a slight stop as a bright smile spread across her lips. The kind that poems were written about, and radiated a degree of compassion only surpassed by the likes of Mother Teresa. The cause of this dimpled facial expression turned out to be a simple observation.
Vernon Dursley's showy, new car was nowhere to be seen in the driveway which meant Gossamer would be free from her beastly relatives at least a little while longer. Practically skipping after her realization she set foot on the perfectly trimmed lawn of the Dursley residence. Soon enough the girl's backpack was dropped on the front steps in favor of a quick scrutinization of her flowerbeds. Rose bushes of every variation, magnolias, English marigolds, peonies, carnations, and even larkspur sprouted up from the soil. No matter what slanderous lies the Dursleys spread about her everyone in Little Whinging seemed to at least recognize Gossamer had quite the green thumb. During the single year in which Petunia had delegated all gardening responsibilities to her niece, the formerly unremarkable beds of soil had blossomed into a rather enviable garden.
Standing up after plucking a few weeds the eight year old brushed absentmindedly at her dirt-stained knees. She smiled in a bittersweet sort of way at the bunch of lilies hidden deep within the other flowers. Petunia did not like them, but Gossamer found the white plants a fitting way to remember the memory of her mother. Tears filled her devastatingly green eyes as she crossed both arms tightly around her torso. The child often worried that she would forever be an orphan, broken into pieces by the Dursleys. With a firm flick of her wrist Gossamer wiped the tears away knowing well enough that the salty drops would do nothing to ease her state of hopelessness. Only hard work could do such a thing.
"Gossamer Potter?" A voice from behind her asked, husky, sultry, and audibly relieved for some unknown reason. Spinning around Gossamer found herself staring up at a gorgeous, yet old fashioned-looking woman. Her hair was cut into a snappy, straight bob of midnight-black, and she was quite tall even without the incredibly high heels strapped around her ankles. Immediately behind her stood an older woman wearing what looked like a medieval set of robes which flapped slightly in the summer breeze.
Hoping her jaw had not dropped Gossamer tried to smile politely, "Good afternoon. The Dursleys will be back any moment now if you were hoping to speak with them."
At that the older woman snorted, interjecting into the conversation, "We are not here to speak to your muggle relatives. We have travelled to this dreary place to meet with you." Gossamer's face must have turned red at trying to figure out what the word 'muggle' meant, for the young woman smiled somewhat sympathetically at her.
"This is Gunnhilda Gamp," She took control of the conversation back from her older companion with a sharp glare. "My name is Coquelicot Potter," The flapper smiled nervously, hazel eyes crinkling around the corners, "We are your aunts, Gossamer, and there are matters of great importance which we must discuss." After Coquelicot 'Potter's' revelation all three of them seemed to fall into a state of silence.
Gossamer merely blinked several times in disbelief before snapping out, "That is utter horse crap! Do you think this is funny? Running around dressed like morons, and trying to abduct orphaned children?"
She half-expected Coquelicot to respond, but it was the Gunnhilda woman who made the first move. The old woman's silvery hair swirled about as she marched up to the front door of the Dursley's home. Soon enough the lunatic was pointing a carved stick at the lock, yet something incredibly strange occurred in that moment. When the old woman twisted the handle with her other hand it gave a soft click before allowing her to move inside of the house. "Get the girl to come inside," That confrontational, crabby voice bellowed from inside the Dursley residence, "We only have so long before Dumbledore arrives with his gang of followers."
Gossamer eyed Coquelicot suspiciously, edging back so far that her left foot crushed a gardenia. "I am not going to force you to follow me inside," The flapper smiled wickedly, "So it is entirely your decision if you want to see any magic." With a mischievous wink Coquelicot marched into the house, short hair flicking around sharply with all of her steps. The girl wondered for a very long moment why she wanted so desperately to follow after the two women. There was no such thing as magic, everyone with a functioning head on their shoulders knew that. Yet something told Gossamer to abandon everything the Dursleys had drilled into her head, something almost primal that could not be put into words.
Slipping in after Coquelicot, Gossamer paused momentarily to snatch up her raggedy backpack. What she walked in on almost caused her heart to stop beating. Gunnhilda stood in the hallway muttering rapidly in what sounded like Latin, her wooden stick spewing out jettisons of colorful mist. The child stared for a very long moment as her entire world came crashing down around her. Was there really such a thing as magic? Rationality tried to wrestle back control of her brain, but every explanation it offered seemed less worthy of contemplation than the last. Gunnhilda's stick was certainly not incense, for how could burning a simple twig produce such chemical reactions? Nor could she believe that the Dursley's were playing an elaborate trick on her since they did not enjoy being anything but normal, and this sort of thing would cause quite a stir in the neighborhood social circles.
Upon deciding that magic could quite possibly be a real entity Gossamer was forced to admit that the two strangers could very well indeed be her aunts. "Where is your bedroom, dear?" Coquelicot interrupted her stunned thought process with a very red face, clearly having just scoured the entire house. Barely able to formulate any words in her dazed state Gossamer waved mindlessly in the direction of the cupboard under the stairs. The flapper seemed uncertain, and even Gunnhilda momentarily paused her long spewing of incantations at hearing that. Without warning the woman flicked her wand from where she stood in the living room causing the door of the cupboard to swing open.
"THOSE MUGGLES!" Coquelicot screamed suddenly, "HAVE NOT BEEN KEEPING YOU IN A FUCKING CUPBOARD!" Still very uncertain of what was going on the eight year old forced herself to keep from considering what a muggle was for the thousandth time. Looking up from the cupboard door, which had splintered slightly from being opened so forcefully, Gossamer locked eyes with Coquelicot once more. "Gunnhilda, continue reverting the wards, we only have so much time," The young woman breathed out harshly, "Gossamer. Pack whatever belongings you care for. We will be taking you from this abusive cesspit!"
Frozen momentarily, Gossamer only jumped into action when Coquelicot extracted her own wand. She had a decision to make under very difficult time constraints. The Dursleys would most certainly blame her for allowing the two women into their home, as well as reward her with at least a month in the cupboard. Or she could flee from Number Four Privet Drive with two, strange women who claimed to be her aunts, and were capable of performing magic. Fortunately the decision was an easy one to make. Rushing forwards, backpack in hand, Gossamer began picking out things that she would need to bring along. Most of her clothing was soon packed into the bottom of the bag beneath a few of her only sentimental belongings.
Then she dashed up the stairs, passing Coquelicot at a rapid speed, only slowing down upon arriving at Petunia and Vernon's bedroom. Pushing the door open Gossamer marched across the room to where her aunt's jewelry box sat. With all of her grandmother Evan's jewelry in hand she raced back down the stairwell to find that the two women were now standing side-by-side in the living room. Their wands flicked around for a little while longer until finally they both came to a jarring halt. The two were audibly quite breathless after the lengthy ritual, and they seemed to be waiting for something anticipatorily. Gossamer's green eyes widened as the floor beneath her feet started to shake.
Number Four Privet Drive began to rattle around at a furious pace. The telly that Vernon and Dudley loved so very much fell to the floor where it shattered into dust. Down the hall in the kitchen all of Petunia's fine china, pots, pans, and kitchen appliances crashed about at an ear-splitting crescendo. Pictures fell to the floor, the walls cracked from the baseboards to the ceiling, and Gossamer even found herself wrenched to the floor. Strangely enough a crimson barrier threaded into existence outside of the home stopping just before reaching the street. Peering curiously through the open door Gossamer gasped as sparks of royal purple and luminous silver shot appeared from thin air, firing through the red barrier like bullets.
The world erupted into color as the red barrier collapsed inwards causing every window in the Dursley residence to shatter. "That was the Blood Ward," Coquelicot said to Gunnhilda, "We can officially claim custody of her now." The pair made their way towards where she lay dazedly in the hallway. Cautiously Gossamer peered up at the two women, eyeing the wands they held surreptitiously. "Come along now Gossamer," Coquelicot smiled beautifully, outstretching an arm to the child, "We are taking you home." Though she knew it might be incredibly moronic to trust the two sorceresses standing above her Gossamer stood to both feet.
A mere second later she was whisked away from Little Whinging to somewhere called home.
OOOO
Located deep in the heart of Westminster was the incredibly well-hidden, ancestral home of House Gamp. Clutching her stomach in pain after what had been her first apparition, but she did not know that, Gossamer stood between her two 'aunts'. Cars blew passed them at roaring speeds though Gunnhilda and Coquelicot did not seem to care much about their close proximity to the edge of the sidewalk. Much to Gossamer's bewilderment they were both peering silently into a very dark alley, so shadowy that the blinding sunlight could not pass through by more than a few inches. "Gossamer will be able to get in easily," Gunnhilda spoke up suddenly, "She has just enough Gamp blood in her veins. You on the other hand will need my permission." The last bit was snapped harshly at Coquelicot.
"Then give it already," The flapper retorted icily, her hand squeezing Gossamer's shoulder reassuringly. A wicked smile spread across her aristocratic features, "I have no intention of allowing you to spirit away our niece for your unspoken machinations." Gunnhilda nodded with those shrewd, blue eyes, and grabbed Coquelicot's hand into her own wordlessly. Pressed tightly together the three of them stepped into the alley until they were engulfed entirely by the shadows. When Gossamer blinked again they were standing somewhere entirely different. Unsettled she pulled away from the two women, crossing both arms as her green eyes roved over what must have been Gamp Townhouse.
The bickering pair of women continued to march towards the grand estate until they seemingly noticed that Gossamer was no longer following. "I am not moving until I get some bloody answers," Her unflinching, green gaze could have killed, "Where are we, who are you people, and how does magic exist?"
Once more Coquelicot opened her mouth to give Gossamer gentle reassurances, but this time Gunnhilda cut the young woman off. "There is a secret society hidden within every corner of the globe," She paused, "A community that has remained separate from the non-magical world for nearly three-hundred years." The old witch stepped closer, "Your parents were both wizards, and magic runs just as strongly through your veins as it did theirs."
"If I belong in this world," Snapped the child fiercely, "If my parents were a part of this world, why was I ever left with the Dursleys? Why didn't either of you ever come to save me?"
At this point Gunnhilda seemed to lose her previously unconquerable air of haughty self-assurance. "Just like in the muggle world there is corruption, Gossamer," Coquelicot spoke up from behind her sister-in-law, "And plenty of people were interested in hiding you from us. Manipulating you into nothing more than a mere, political pawn." The girl opened her mouth to demand yet another explanation until Coco spoke again. "The entire story is much too long for the present moment. If you come inside, however, we can all sit down to a nice dinner in which everything will be explained. Would you like that?" Feeling a little more comfortable with the situation, though not entirely at ease, Gossamer contemplated the offer. She could always try to run through the stone wall which covered what had once been an alley. Or, that unexplainable feeling rose in her head again, she could trust these two strangers.
A swift nod seemed to satisfy them both.
OOOO
Her gut instinct was proven correct by the time a House Elf brought the steaming, baked Shrake to the table. Dumbledore. Voldemort. Wizengamot. Time travel. So many different thoughts were whirling about Gossamer's head at those revelations. Her parents were murdered by a psychopathic Dark Lord who went on to turn her into the Girl-Who-Lived. The wizarding world, which even had its own Ministry, practically ran on wealth and influence allowing Albus Dumbledore to trap her with an abusive family. At least, until Gossamer's time travelling, flapper, great-aunt took custody of her forcibly. Now the child was expected to become some famous, wealthy, socialite heiress in a world she hadn't even known existed that morning.
"Your lessons must begin by next week, at the latest," Gunnhilda announced, sneering at how Gossamer held the dining utensils, "I bet all my galleons that that Parkinson girl can already host a ball!" A derisive snort came from Coco's, as she all but ordered Gossamer to call her two hours earlier, side of the table. The older witch cut her own rant about the Parkinson's short in order to glare at the Potter woman. "Is there something you would like to say, Coquelicot?" Gunnhilda sneered.
The aforementioned witch took a smug sip from her glass of Elvish wine before responding. "If that Parkinson girl's grandfather is anything to go off of, I wouldn't be surprised if she already knew how to do much more than host a ball." With a flick of her short hair Coco flashed Gossamer a conspiratorial grin, "Perhaps the Gamps hold themselves to the same standards as the Parkinsons, but you are a Potter. We do not stoop to accommodate what is considered socially chic, our House only rises." Setting the glass down on the highly-polished table, Coco took a dainty bite of her steaming Shrake as though the world were perfect.
"Pretty words," Gossamer's other great-aunt snatched back control of the conversation, "You always could make the most asinine comments as shiny as diamonds, Coquelicot." Those cornflower-blue eyes spun towards Gossamer whose plate was already cleared. Even though the food was quite strange she had been forced to consume far worse on hungrier occasions. "I remember hearing tales of your great-great grandmother, the Adelais Fleamont," Gunnhilda's voice grew wispy with an unrecognizable emotion. "That woman took House Potter, with all of its flaws, and turned it into something great! Henry, your great-grandfather, was the most masterful, ruthless politician I have ever seen, and Fleamont, Coquelicot's brother, turned out just as well."
"What am I supposed to make of that?" Gossamer asked suddenly. She might have only been eight, but that did not mean she was stupid. Accordingly, the girl was beginning to realize that both Coco and Gunnhilda expected something of her though they did not seem willing to say what it was.
"You were supposed to understand that you have massive shoes to fill, girl," Gunnhilda barked sternly, "I expect nothing less than to see you fighting to surpass the achievements of your accomplished ancestors. If any of that hot blooded, Potter idiocy resides in your veins take careful note of what I am about to say." Those eyes raked so painfully slow across Gossamer's form that the child shivered. "Replace it with steel soon, or you will suffer in ways you never even dreamed of." Gossamer jumped suddenly when the old witch brought both hands together so that a booming clap erupted into the air. "Glimpa," She ordered imperiously, "Escort my niece to a set of suitable quarters."
Another House Elf, much younger than the first, apparated into existence with a sickening crack. "Come with Glimpa, Missus Potter," She smiled cheerily as that disturbing, broken English rattled harshly in Gossamer's ears. Exchanging an awkward farewell with Coco, and a sharp nod at Gunnhilda, she followed after the straight-backed creature from the elegant dining room. Everywhere the girl looked there was some splendorous sight to be admired. Moving paintings fluttered about from their spots on the walls, ancient Persian rugs partially covered the wooden floors, and outside the large windows a garden hidden behind the five story townhouse could occasionally be glimpsed.
They navigated through the sprawling home until Glimpa stopped in front of a simple door. "Glimpa set up the finest guest bedroom this morning," She smiled brightly, "Madame Gunnhilda told Wonky, who told Glimpa, that Missus Gossamer will be sleeping here until a suitable set of chambers is properly prepared for her." Extremely uncomfortable with being serviced by an Elf-slave-thing, let alone being serviced at all, Gossamer thanked Glimpa with a forced smile. Then her jaw dropped as she stepped into the 'guest bedroom'. A canopied bed of sapphire blue contrasted with the silver walls. Bocote flooring paved the entire way into an adjoining bathroom while beautiful furniture distracted her emerald eyes all through the tour.
Inevitably she was left alone in that massive room, with that massive bed, when Glimpa shut the door with a tiny click. Gossamer stared at the bed with a timid expression plastered across her face. All the girl had ever known was a spider-infested cupboard beneath the stairs of Number Four Privet Drive. The idea of sleeping on a king-sized mattress covered in something called Flobberworm silk was entirely foreign. One of her favorite quotes was that pennies did not fall from heaven, but were earned on earth. Now she found herself with two aunts, fame, wealth, and an entirely new world to cope with. Changing into her satchel sitting at the foot of the bed Gossamer changed for bed.
The Girl-Who-Lived spent her first night on the floor, staring into the busy, Westminster sky.
OOOO
Coquelicot Potter stared at the Minister for Magic stonily. No matter how much she tried the witch found herself unable to hide the contempt burning away at her heart. Politicians were all the same, different faces with equally corrupt ambitions. Her fingers curled so tightly inwards that blood gushed around those less than perfect fingertips. Both sets of the woman's teeth ground down tightly at the realization that she would have to find a new nail parlor as part of acclimating to the future. "You expect me to agree to resume working in the Department of Mysteries, in exchange for my life?" The incredulousness in her voice seemed to cause the Minister a great deal of annoyance.
Millicent Bagnold was clearly not the type to be told what she could, or could not, have. "Yes, and for a hefty paycheck as well." The woman's hard-lined, stony face revealed little emotion to Coco. "You well know, Miss Potter, that a career as an Unspeakable is more than just a career. It is a lifelong obligation to protect those secrets which could break the world itself." Her rigid posture bent somewhat when she leant forwards against the desk to glare dangerously at Coco. "Those commitments become all the more important after one takes a look at the unprecedented amount of knowledge you now possess regarding time travel."
"What knowledge?" Coco spluttered back indignantly, "I was assaulted by a shadow, and forcibly sent into the future. That was not of my own doing, nor could I ever hope to replicate his handiwork!" The flapper just finished speaking when a thought popped into her head. A realization which prompted her to pound a fist down on the desk in murderous fury. Glaring straight into Bagnold's crinkled, blue eyes she said, "You want me to become a test subject! To let your Unspeakables perform all of their experiments on me!"
A smile lit across the older woman's face, so cold that it prompted Coco to shift back in her chair with slight unease. "Yes, Miss Potter, that is exactly what I want. For you to shut that incendiary mouth, and crawl back to the Department of Mysteries every day until we have extracted whatever can be salvaged from your mind."
"What if I were to go to the press with this conversation?" The flapper snapped snidely, "How do you think the public would react to such threats being made against a citizen of the British Magical Community?"
Bagnold barked out a raspy laugh, "The public would never hear of such a thing. Unless you wish to have the most elite squad of Hit Wizards hunting you through London?" Only Henry Potter had ever been capable of sticking Coco in a position where her tongue ran out of fiery comebacks. Now she found herself pinned beneath the victorious glare of a woman who wished her nothing but ill will. "We expect to see you bright and early on Monday morning, Miss Potter," The Minister informed in a chipper tone, "Do make sure to come with a better attitude. You really cannot afford to come across the wrong way."
Coquelicot stood as Bagnold dismissed her from the meeting. She strode out of the lavish office into a rectangular room filled with secretaries. All of the brownnosing interns stared at the Potter woman, yet she did not even deign to roll her hazel eyes at their antics. All the way out of the Ministry Coco's head whirled with worried thoughts of what she would encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Torture? Legilimency? Perhaps the Unspeakables would even use the Imperius Curse on her. By the time her feet touched down in the fireplace of Gamp Townhouse, Coco's heart was beating like a drum. Unsurprisingly Gunnhilda did not have enough compassion to even give her sister-in-law a moment before dispatching a House Elf to collect her from the kitchen.
"Mistress Gamp wishes to speak with Coquelicot Potter," Snitty spoke forcefully, "In her study." The flapper stared at him for a long moment before turning around to focus once more on preparing her much needed lunch. Showing the House Elf her back proved a massive mistake, for Coco soon found herself spiralling through time and space into a room which screamed hubris. Every bit of furniture was carved from cherry wood, ancient books of magical information lined the shelves, and Gunnhilda sat behind it all in a set of robes woven from Banshee silk. "Snitty has retrieved Coquelicot Potter as he was asked," The little creature bowed his head respectfully in his mistress's' direction.
"It is much appreciated, Snitty," The woman sniffed before displaying a terrifying attempt at a smile, "You may leave now." With another nod the House Elf disapparated with a pop. "You, however, will sit," Her host suddenly focused those eyes towards where Coco stood near the door, "We have much to discuss." Deciding, bleakly, that she now shared a child with her sister-in-law the young witch made her way over to the desk. Instead of sitting Coco stopped by a bookshelf, and allowed her fingers to graze gently against the glass casing. "Tell me what occurred during your day at the Ministry."
A bitter smile twisted Coco's pretty lips in a very ugly way. "Both the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement offered me very respectable positions," She admitted, "Though Bagnold made a proposal I could not refuse." Gunnhilda tried to speak, but Coco spoke over her. "In exchange for my life I am expected to resume working in the Department of Mysteries where the Unspeakables will perform their little experiments on me." The pair remained silent for a little while as the dent which had been blown into their secret plans sunk in.
"This does not matter," Gunnhilda declared slowly, "Look at Levinia Monkstanley, and all she accomplished in that department. You will work harder, and rise higher than Henry ever did." Somewhat stunned at hearing a motivational speech coming from the mouth of one of her greatest adversaries, Coco stood in dumbfounded awe. "That little girl who we have claimed as our own was, according to the mediwitch I summoned today," Gunnhilda paused to quote, "Brutally malnourished, and viciously beaten for years." She stood to both feet slowly with the assistance of her desk. "I will be the first to admit that I do not have many years left," The witch sighed tiredly, "And before my body has gone cold Dumbledore will pounce upon you with every bit of his might. No matter who stands in your way, be it Bagnold or the entire Wizengamot, you must bring our plan to fruition."
Coco wondered if she could commit herself to something so much bigger than herself. The future of a child, two Houses, and her father's legacy now rested on both of her shoulders with a crushing pressure. "I promise," She answered with a determined jawline, deciding that it was her responsibility to step up.
"Good," Gunnhilda answered neutrally, "Now sit down. Gringotts sent some paperwork that you should look over."
OOOO
Never could Gossamer Potter have believed she would sleep in a multi-million Galleon townhouse hidden behind powerful enchantments. Nor would the child ever have allowed herself to dream up such useless things. By this point, however, she was attempting to find at least some way to cope with the all the strange revelations which now batted tempestuously throughout her head. Witchcraft, Voldemort, Dumbledore, and a family who actually allowed her to sleep in a bedroom. Nothing proved a suitable distraction for the entirety of that first week spent in Gamp Townhouse, until the lessons started.
Every morning Snitty, the House Elf that followed Aunt Gunnhilda's commands with utter stringency, would apparate into the massive guest chambers. In a manner not entirely unlike Petunia's he would verbally berate her until she awoke. Gossamer was then forced to bathe with the most luxurious of soaps, dress in the expensive, 'temporary' clothing Coco had bought, and leave the bedroom by six in the morning sharp. If the day was a wednesday, thursday, friday, or saturday she would greet a groggy language tutor in the second parlor room. There Gossamer would sit for three hours learning the basics of Mermish, Arabic, Russian, Latin, as well as something called Gobbledegook. Too much mental energy was required during the lectures for her many questions.
After a very brief break, where Coco would stop in to say goodbye prior to leaving for work at the Ministry, these lessons continued. Snitty would then return so that he could teach her how to play the two, dusty instruments which were hidden in plain view throughout the second parlor room. Even though his personality was somewhat detestable Gossamer sat obediently on an eighteenth century dragon hide until the worst was over. By 'worst' she meant that point when Snitty would rush her over to the harpsichord standing tall in the corner of the room. With all ten fingers aching from plucking at the harp for an hour she pushed herself through another hour spent sitting ramrod straight before the harpsichord.
Snitty would offer his parting criticisms before departing to resume obsessively cleaning the townhouse. Then at eleven o'clock sharp Gossamer found herself in the kitchens swallowing down a nasty Nourishment Potion under the watchful eyes of Glimpa. Out of all the residencies' inhabitants the girl found that Glimpa was the easiest to converse with. Both of her aunts were trying much too hard to gain her trust, and Snitty seemed utterly fixated on the idea of a new heir to House Gamp. Glimpa on the other hand was a breath of fresh air. The little House-elf smoked, drank, gossiped, and spent most of her days baking exquisite wizarding dishes. Of course the creature was not outwardly rebellious, as Gunnhilda would never tolerate such defiance, but Gossamer managed to win her over.
Every moment that she was not in her lessons Gossamer could be found skulking around the property with her newest companion. Mostly the pair stayed in the kitchens where Glimpa reluctantly instructed the 'little missus' in baking. Other times they would visit the blooming, summery gardens behind the townhouse to care for the many, magical plants. The Potter girl found that she was just as good at dealing with the exotic fauna as the flowers of Number Four Privet Drive. For old times sake she often ended up lying in the flowerbeds with both legs sticking out, staring at the blue sky above. In those blessed seconds Gossamer Potter no longer worried about Gamp Townhouse, or what it meant to be free of the Dursleys.
She metamorphosed into a tiny piece of the very, very big universe.
OOOO
Next Chapter: We Have Seen Better Days.