"I've been meaning to ask you," Rolanda began as they stepped into the yellow train and squeezed between a woman with a basket full of potatoes and a man in a brown uniform. "How is it that you speak English so fluently?"

Wilhelmina smirked. "Couldn't really help it. Father was a Muggle merchant, and unnaturally fond of the German royals."

Rolanda frowned. The logic eluded her.

"The fellow I was named after wasn't just our Emperor; he was also a grandson of Queen Victoria's," Wilhelmina explained. "He loved England and all things English, and so, of course, did my father. Also traded a lot with London and Birmingham, which probably accounted for some of the fondness. So little Wilhelmina had an English governess, right until her eleventh birthday."

"When you got your Durmstrang letter. Wait, no…" Rolanda could have bitten her tongue. Durmstrang didn't take Muggleborns.

"No, indeed. I went to the Blocksberg Institute for -" Wilhelmina lowered her voice with a glance at the man in the seat next to her, "- Girls. On my eleventh birthday, one of their teachers came to me and asked if I knew why my dresses were always torn even when I didn't play outside, and why I had a fork-tailed terrier following me wherever I went. Crups don't take to Muggles, usually." Wilhelmina looked around once more to ascertain that all the other train riders were busy only with themselves. "Best day in my life if you ask me. Of course Mother and Father didn't think so."

Wilhelmina had stopped there, and Rolanda didn't push on. She'd heard her share of stories of young witches and wizards whose parents refused to believe the simple truth. Of children who were sent to lunatic asylums, or shut up at home, much like some wizarding families hid their Squibs, actually. Of eleven-year-olds who found themselves faced with the choice of denying their gift - or losing their families.

"This is it," Wilhelmina said as they'd reached their stop.

They filed out of the train, down a flight of stairs and along a busy street. Night had fallen, and the yellowish light of gas lanterns made their shadows dance around them as they walked.

"You'll like this," Wilhelmina said as they passed an open gate that led into a stuffy courtyard surrounded by tall, dirty-brown walls. "Our nightlife isn't what it used to be, but I daresay that Lotte's parties for friends are still among the finest in the country."

The house seemed deserted. There was no light in the narrow staircase, so they had to make do with the fallow moonlight that shone through the windows and otherwise rely on their hands and feet. It smelled of dust and old wood, and Rolanda's left hand felt tears in the wallpaper and crumbling plaster wherever she reached. She also considered it more than likely that a rat with a full bladder had passed through not too long ago.

But as they reached the second landing, the stench was quite forgotten.

Muffled laughter and piano music and the scent of perfume, cheap wine, and cigarettes crept through the cracks in the frame of a carved, wooden door.

Wilhelmina knocked. Three times short, once long, twice short.

"WILHELMINA!"

The door flung open, and a young girl in a black faux silk dress and an equally black, wavy bob flung her arms around Wilhelmina.

"Langsam, langsam, Gisela," Wilhelmina groaned in mock distress and plucked the girl from her neck. "Gisela, das ist Rolanda." And, turning around: "She doesn't speak English. Your luck if you ask me. Speaks like a waterfall"

"Willkommen, Rolanda." Gisela raised herself on her toes and pressed a very red kiss on Rolanda's lips.

Rolanda decided that the party was getting off to an excellent start.

Half-pulled by the young girl, Wilhelmina and Rolanda snaked into the narrow hallway of the flat. The lights had been dimmed with red and lavender scarves, and joyful piano tunes carried over from one of the rooms in the back. Two women in skirts were busy cutting cheese and arranging small sausages on trays, and a sturdy wearer of trousers carried a beer crate past half a dozen couples of all flavours and in various states of entanglement lining the corridor. She greeted Wilhelmina and Rolanda with a hearty handshake and introduced herself as Lotte, their hostess.

Wilhelmina stopped here and there to peck cheeks and the occasional lip, allow herself to be hugged, and hold small chats. Some of the party guests, as Rolanda noted with delight, spoke English rather well. It was because of the wireless, Wilhelmina explained. English news. And some broad way melody, whatever that was.

"I don't really dance except when Gisela forces me," Wilhelmina murmured. "But if the opportunity presents itself to you, any opportunity, mind you, don't hold back."

"Thank you," Rolanda whispered. Truth be told, she was beginning to feel a tad overwhelmed. She'd been to small gatherings of like-minded friends, but this…

Peering into one of the rooms, Rolanda saw a row of six chairs, neatly arranged by the blinded window. Upon each of them there was a leg, stockinged or with trousers rolled up. Their owners were lined up behind them. Another woman was busy blindfolding three others, and there were names on a small blackboard in the corner. What exactly the game consisted of, Rolanda couldn't tell. It had to be either vote for the prettiest calf or guess its owner.

After a few more steps, hellos, and shakehands, they reached the source of the music. It came from the room all the way in the back, larger than all the others and almost the size of a small ballroom, only narrower. More women, in pairs or groups, skirts or trousers, ties or low necklines, were sitting around an eclectic mix of tables and chairs or standing by the makeshift dance-floor. A handful of couples were on it, doing various degrees of justice to the tunes produced by the short, plump pianist's frolicking hands.

A small shape elbowed its way towards them. In the half-darkness, Rolanda saw that it was Gisela. "Come," she said, or something like that, and pulled her on the dance-floor.

Well, why not. It was a party after all, and what better way could there be to converse with someone whose language one didn't speak …

They started with a jitterbug. Now, that was right up her alley. Then there was something German that didn't pose much of a problem to Rolanda, either (the rhythm was, well, German, and the movements corresponding), and then there was another jitterbug. Gisela shrieked with joy all through their three dances and probably wouldn't have let go if it hadn't been for a red-dressed blonde who staged a playful catfight in order to assume Gisela's place for that jitterbug and the next waltz.

"Stop!" Rolanda begged when the last chord of the waltz had faded and the pianist, thankfully, reached for a bottle of beer. Even Coach's less merciful training sessions allowed for more breaks than those two girls. Laughing, Gisela set out to fetch two glasses of wine and one of beer. Arm in arm, they clinked glasses with the blonde, who introduced herself as Fanny. With a kiss.

It was heaven.

The beer went down quickly, and Rolanda noted how much more refreshing it was than English butterbeer. Her thirst quenched and her dance partners seemingly satisfied for the moment, she scanned the room for Wilhelmina.

She spotted her at the far end of the room, chatting with the pianist, who had just spread out various sheets of music and readied herself to sit down again. Wilhelmina caught Rolanda's eye, toasted her, and Rolanda excused herself with Gisela and Fanny to head for the piano.

"Congratulations," Wilhelmina grinned. "You seem to introduce yourself most favourably."

But before Rolanda had a chance to answer, an unexpected sight caught her attention.

A brunette in a summer dress had entered the room. Now, that alone wasn't extraordinary in a setting like this, even if this specimen was decidedly stunning and probably more confident than all the others combined. Yet what made her so striking was the company in which she was. He was perhaps in his late thirties, about Wilhelmina's height and similarly dressed, but dark-haired.

There was a radiant smile in the woman's made-up face as she crossed the room, her high-heeled feet carefully placed just so that her hips swayed perfectly under a slender waist. The man followed at a respectful distance.

"Mina," the woman said, leaving little doubt that she was used to having attention when she spoke. And then she slung her arms around Wilhelmina's neck, placed her red, parted lips dead centre on Wilhelmina's - and let them linger there for a long, long while.

As if that sight hadn't been curious enough, the man now stepped forward to greet Wilhelmina as well. Rolanda could have sworn that Wilhelmina would reciprocate his warm embrace by a few gentle pats on the back. Instead, she saw to her great astonishment that Wilhelmina leaned forward and put the lips that had just left the woman's on those of the man.

And Wilhelmina had said that their nightlife wasn't what it used to be?

When the introductions had been made - the woman's name was Ilse, the man's Friedrich - the pair produced a bottle of champagne and a few glasses.

"Time to celebrate!" Ilse said, her voice as smooth as the silvery foam that ran over her hand. Her English was almost flawless but heavily accented, a bit like what Rolanda had once heard in a Muggle film. Although that actress might have been Swedish. Or German. She never could tell them apart, those two. "Friedrich's aunt got him a job in New York. She insists that he'll be the death of her, first marrying a shiksa and now losing his teaching position to a third-rate dabbler in nationally conform historiography …"

"... but that didn't keep her from calling a few old contacts on my behalf, the good old dear," Friedrich continued as Ilse filled their glasses. "We're leaving on the sixteenth."

"Good for you," Wilhelmina said and squeezed them both into a gentle hug. The smile was genuine, if perhaps not completely happy.

Apparently, Rolanda's bewilderment at the whole scene had not escaped Ilse. A dimple appeared on her left cheek as she turned to her. "Dance?"

And within seconds, Rolanda found herself back on the dance-floor. Luckily she'd caught the pianist's eyes before she was scooped off, and the tune slowed down considerably.

"I'm sorry," said Ilse. "I'm sometimes a bit of a steamroller. I didn't see that she was with you, otherwise I might have kept the greeting a little shorter." She winked. "Might."

"Oh, it's not that," Rolanda hurried to clarify. "We're not … erm ..."

"Oh." The corners of Ilse's mouth dropped in disappointment. "I thought … Well, things that aren't may still become."

"Erm …"

"She deserves a little happiness," Ilse continued. "God knows she never had it easy. Disowned by her family, expelled from her school when she fell for a teacher …"

"Don't we all do that?" Rolanda asked, puzzled. She'd certainly never fancied Professor Marchbanks, but young Professor Vector had been a regular in her pubescent dreams. And her bratty cousin Amelia just couldn't stop rhapsodising over Miss Roberts, who taught sums at Ottery Primary School. "It's usually not a big thing, is it?"

"No," said Ilse. "Not usually." She let go of Rolanda's shoulder and circled her slowly, a hand lightly trailing her waist. "But some teachers are only humans, too."

Ilse did an elegant pirouette, and Rolanda lost her to Lotte for a few measures.

"Sorry," Ilse said when she was back. "As I said, she deserves some happiness. What Friedrich and I had with her was nice, and I like to think that we didn't take advantage of her too much, but it's good that it ends this way." She turned again. "Good for her anyway."

Rolanda could have sworn that Ilse's voice had sounded thick just then, but it could have been the music.

"Promise you will look after her for me?"

Rolanda nodded. She would try. Give it her damn best shot, actually, if Wilhelmina wouldn't mind having her as a friend.

And Ilse, who in some select cases seemed to prefer tangible evidence to verbal utterances, put her arms around Rolanda's neck and said thank you to her the way she'd said hello to Wilhelmina.

More drinks were in order after that.

Thanks," Rolanda said as Ilse picked up two glasses when a girl with a tray passed them. It really was tastier than what she knew from home, the beer over here, and considerably colder. And somehow, it seemed to be almost as magical as its wizarding counterpart. It made all the colours so much brighter, the music gayer, the women even more beautiful with every sip.

Yet those weren't the only effects it had.

"Erm ... Ilse? Where's the loo?"

Ilse laughed and took Rolanda by the arm. "How many of these have you had?" she asked when Rolanda blinked to make a fleeting spell of dizziness go away.

"Not sure ... three?"

"Well, you'll need to a bit more practice, it seems," she said as she knocked back the last of her sparkling wine and put the empty glass on a dresser in the corridor. "Make sure you visit Mina often." She opened a small door by the front entrance and gently shoved Rolanda inside. "Call if you need any help." With a wink, she closed the door.

When Rolanda reappeared, Wilhelmina was outside, laughing.

"Having fun?"

"Oh yes! I love it here." In fact, now that she felt about three pounds lighter, she was just about ready for another round of the same.

"Well, I suppose we take a little walk then. A little air makes the fun last longer. And truth be told, I could use a break myself. Gisela is after me, wants to teach me some new American dance she's learned. Heavens, I can't even manage the German ones."

They walked down the stairs, slowly, for Rolanda had to admit that the steps did seem a tad more uneven than when they'd come up. And the fact that the moon no longer shone as brightly through the dirty windows didn't help, either.

Down in the cobble-stone courtyard, Wilhelmina lit another cigarillo.

"There's a park down the road," she said, indicating the direction with the cigarette holder.

The air did Rolanda good. It felt cool against her cheeks and worked miracles against the pixies in her head. She didn't know how many of those came from the beer and how much from the excitement, for it sure had been a most memorable evening so far. She couldn't remember ever having danced with so many women and been kissed by so many pairs of lips in so short a time. She couldn't remember ever having been so relaxed at a party, since she'd hardly ever been to one with someone other than a fresh lover or a love interest who kept you constantly on your toes, or some other single acquaintance with whom she'd hooked up for no other reason than dreading to go alone. She couldn't remember ever having done something like this with a friend.

"Wilhelmina?"

"Mmh?"

"How come you have so many Muggle friends?"

Wilhelmina took the pipe out of her mouth. "Long story," she answered, and resumed her smoking.

"Just long or long and secret?" They turned around a corner. Wilhelmina shrugged.

"Just long, I suppose."

The park lay ahead of them. Patiently and wordlessly, they waited for a car to pass, then crossed another tree-lined street and slowly began walking down a gravel path that snaked along a poorly-kempt lawn.

"Thought I'd finally found my place when I arrived at the Blocksberg Institute," Wilhelmina began after she'd dropped the stub of her cigarillo and stepped on it with a brown-and-white brogue. "You know, no longer the odd one out who always has inexplicable scorch marks on her dress or strange-looking animals following her. Suddenly, I knew what I was and that there were others just like me, and I thought everything would forever be fine."

"What about your parents?"

Wilhelmina shrugged. "Never had much use for me. Mother had always wanted a boy, but a real one, not some failed attempt at one like me. Probably got pressure from her mother-in-law. Six sons, she'd had, that one. As for father, he lost interest after he'd discovered that I was no better at sums than at needlework and the violin."

Wilhelmina indicated a small bench under a tree, and they sat down. "So Fräulein Vaclavik from the Blocksberg Institute seemed like a Godsend."

She took a deep drag from her next cigarillo. "In every possible respect."

She didn't have to explain that. Fräulein Vaclavik. A name that rung of starched high-neck collars with intaglio brooches. Of curly strands springing out of tight buns when the word "detention" was spoken, of austere fairness, relentless efficiency, and a soft, Bohemian accent.

And if only part of that was true, Rolanda knew she would have fallen for her, too.

"But everything wasn't forever fine?" she asked after a while.

More time passed. Twelve tiny plumes of smoke accompanied the lazy, muffled strokes of a far away church tower.

"Let's just say the wizarding world didn't have a place for all of me."

And as the small clouds of smoke dissolved into the Kreuzberg night, Wilhelmina spoke. Spoke of a young girl who had thought she'd arrived but found that she didn't fully fit in with the new world, either. There was a place for her magic, or what little the Fräuleins had managed to teach her. But not for her looks, her thoughts, her passions. Not even the Blocksberg Institute had had a use for that. Or perhaps particularly not the Blocksberg Institute.

And so one night in March, Wilhelmina had left, without prospects or certificates, without goodbyes, just with a suitcase and her Crup, and went to find herself a job. The magical menagerie in Zwackelmannsgasse wasn't hiring, and her once-best friend's father, Magical Creatures Healer Hugin Fafnersen, had slammed his door in her face before she'd even got to say more than her name. So she'd tried the Muggle world. And the pachyderm section at the Berlin Zoo had only been too happy to take her.

One thing had come to the other. From her first money, she'd bought herself a pair of Muggle men's trousers and a pack of cheap cigarettes. There had been no family to complain, no friends to embarrass, so she'd reckoned she might as well do as she pleased. And one day - she'd just mucked out the rhino compound and gone to take a well-earned break under her favourite tree - she'd seen a woman sitting on a bench opposite her spot, perusing a magazine. The woman had appeared to take no notice of her, but when she'd looked up just for a moment, Wilhelmina could have sworn that she'd winked and tilted the magazine just so that a bare-breasted woman leisurely sprawled out in a grove by a lake became visible. The title informed the reader that this was a magazine for the woman friend.

She'd come back every Friday, the woman. Reading, Wilhelmina smoking. Until one Friday morning, Wilhelmina had taken a detour on her way to work and searched the well-stocked kiosks in a dingy area somewhere in Neukölln, where nobody knew her. That day, it had been Wilhelmina who read and the woman who smoked. And conveniently dropped her matchbox.

"So," Wilhelmina concluded. "S'pose you can say I leave my private life out of the wizarding world and the wizarding world out of my private life."

And those were supposed to be modern times.

"Let's walk," Rolanda said after a while.

They got up and resumed their slow walk across the lawns. Cheers and music from May Night celebrations carried over from the nearby tenements and pubs, and a woman was giggling somewhere behind a bush. A lone old man with a fat pug shuffled past them towards Görlitzer Strasse. Otherwise, the park was deserted.

Or so Rolanda had thought.

For as she tried, timidly, and perhaps inspired by the uplifting effects of the beer, to slide her arm under Wilhelmina's, in quite a sisterly way, Wilhelmina emitted a holler that easily put her earlier displays in the Quidditch stands to shame.

Rolanda didn't understand a word of the tirade that followed, but the volume and the colour rising in Wilhelmina's face gave her a fair idea. Before Rolanda could sort her thoughts or even tell what exactly was going on, Wilhelmina had darted forward, her hand on the seam of her trousers where she'd hidden her wand.

With a brusque "YOU STAY BACK!" in Rolanda's direction, she was storming towards two men in black uniforms who hunched over what Rolanda now saw was a man, pounding him with their fists and kicking him with feet clad in boots that meant business.

Another man was hobbling away towards the bushes, frantically pulling up his trousers.

"HALT!" Wilhelmina shouted at the two men, and again something else Rolanda didn't understand.

The men turned around, grim-faced, testosterone-laden pugnacity in their voices as they sneered their answers towards her.

Rolanda had taken out her own wand before Wilhelmina could slide her hand into the seam of her trouser leg.

It all happened fast then. Stunners wouldn't do in Muggle environments, but every witch worth her wand had her arsenal for such cases. A conjunctivitis curse from Rolanda, followed by a prime specimen of a tickling charm, temporarily incapacitated one man. And -

"Bloody hell, Wilhelmina, is that an erection?"

Rolanda stared in disbelief at the tent-shaped bulge in the codpiece of the other man, who doubled over in - pain? Rolanda wasn't sure.

"How do you think I got those bloody rhinos to do it?" Wilhelmina asked gruffly. "One of the few things I can do with a wand."

A rhino erection. That explained things. Wurst of luck for the SS man.

"Careful!" Wilhelmina shouted. Her victim had apparently recovered from the shock and was darting towards them, horn first. Rolanda muttered a quick spell and slashed her wand through the air, twice, leaving a bleeding gash on the man's face and another one on his hand.

"Run!" Rolanda yelled at the young man on the ground, who had begun to scramble up, holding his flank in agony. She landed a well-placed elbow in the first SS man's stomach, while Wilhelmina's boot went for the second man's groin. Her hand went to her wand, probably to restore the standing properties of his nether bit, but both men had obviously decided that they'd had enough and opted for disorderly retreat.

Laughing, Wilhelmina and Rolanda slapped each other on the back and turned around, arm in arm.

The fun didn't last.

"Stehenbleiben!"

As Wilhelmina and Rolanda stopped and raised their heads, they looked into the barrels of two handguns.

-/-/-/-