Just up the road, the church bells sang their song for midday, and I contemplated the enormous pile of food I was to eat. As the mixture of painkillers, magical sleep, and the fog of plain exhaustion slowly lifted from me, I was vaguely aware of urgency associated to my situation. I was supposed to hurriedly feed myself as heartily as possible so I could be quickly whisked away to my next destination. I'm sure one of my hosts told me where that was, but I couldn't consciously summon the information yet. What I felt sure of, was that I couldn't possibly get through the meal as fast as my company at the table, at least not without returning it to my plate soon afterwards.
The meal was nothing special. Roxanne was hardly going to prepare an elaborately French suite of foodstuffs with well-defined stages for this occasion. There was a lot of bread, some visibly fresh, some a day or two old, masses of butter and cheese, charcuterie, and a huge bowl of fruit, few of which appeared remotely local. As the twins stuffed their faces I sipped my mug of hot chocolate for comfort. The chouquettes were long gone, but the drink had a spell on it that kept it warm until consumed.
"Eat," Françoise commanded, drawing my attention to her. Since waking up and my eyesight slowly improving, I was seeing strange lines all over her face and wherever her skin showed. They looked like a network of really thin scars. Somehow, I felt I should know what they meant. Seeing an opportunity to evade the food problem, I decided to dare broach the subject.
"Why are you covered in scars?" I asked.
She blinked. "When I came through the force-field," she said, visibly trying to jog my memory, "I got scorched between my scales, remember?"
Her words reminded me of her irritation at routinely destroying whole outfits while on assignments, and having to carry several replacements with her all the time. However, before I could tell her nothing else came to mind, she tried to redirect me to what she thought the most important issue at hand.
"Meanwhile, you must feed. I don't know what you usually concoct in your little box in the meadows, but you're not after getting it here, nor where you're going. Get in shape."
I choked on my drink, and it splattered everywhere. Geese, chickens, unlocked doors, and no carrots for the rat all popped up together. What of my signal box in the meadows, now I was some sort of fugitive? I had let my beasts out before setting off, but neglected to feed them. I had also neglected to notify any of the nearby farmers of my absence. The thought of my birds and rodents going without care for any stretch of time violently pulled the veil from my eyes.
"Oh well," Françoise sighed, "That mug was destined to be spilled. What's wrong?"
Ignoring her, I asked Roxanne "Do you have a phone?" She swallowed her last mouthful, and was about to respond, but her sister got in first.
"Geoffrey knows," she said, "He's doing the rounds..."
"Never mind him," I cut her off, "I have animals to feed at the signal box. Someone's got to go see they're all right. Please, do you have a phone?"
Roxanne shook her head apologetically. "I used to have one; it held up many years against my magic. Unfortunately, since it finally passed on, I haven't been able to find any that lasted more than a couple of hours. However," she put a hand on her neighbour's shoulder, "I'm sure my sister won't mind walking back to the phone box in town and relay your message to whoever you need."
Françoise groaned. In those moments she must really have hated not having a portable phone. There were still public ones, you see, only far fewer and far between than before, and often quite neglected. I remember seeing one where you couldn't see inside for all the tagging. The art wasn't even good most of the time. "Just eat," she said.
While Françoise was out, I was introduced to the "floo" teleportation system – well, almost. Roxanne was explaining to me how I was supposed to carefully enunciate the name of my destination while standing in the fireplace, when Mireille popped in to say there was no 'floo powder' left.
"Have you checked the cellar?" asked Roxanne."
"Mireille has searched the whole house, mistress," said the elf, "It's all gone."
Mistress didn't say anything, and I began to feel rather stupid, standing underneath the allegedly condemned chimney. Among other things, Healer Mallard had put my entire torso inside a bulky rig, like human-shaped scaffolding. The last thing I wanted was to have soot and dirt all over me as well. At last Roxanne rescued me.
"Apparition it is, then," she said, and motioned for me to come back into the room. She took my hand, and then turned to Mireille one last time. "While I'm out, you will do as my sister tells you."
The elf's eyes widened in disbelief, but her mistress insisted "Mireille, you will obey Françoise. That is my wish, for you to serve me through her. Do your duty, little one."
The moment she was done speaking, the world spluttered and cracked around me. The next thing I knew, I was throwing up all over the floor. When I saw that the floor belonged to a tiny, poorly lit room with next to no furniture, I got the answer to the question I had momentarily wanted to ask. Apparition was merely the more horrible form of teleportation.
"Upsy daisy," Roxanne said. She swished her wand and the mess at my feet winked out of existence. "You know, you needn't have caved to my sister. There are better ways to pick up a little strength."
She moved to a nearby window and magically rolled up the shutter. Light flooded in. I averted my eyes and asked "Magical ways?"
"Exactly. Come closer." She leaned back, took my arm and pulled. "Welcome to London," she said.
I saw it was raining a bit, and that the street looked vaguely familiar. I was still thinking about Françoise. Finally it occurred to me, and, in more of a statement than a question, I said "She isn't magical herself?"
Roxanne took a moment to realize I still hadn't changed gears, and then she told me all about squibs. The conversation then became a kind of revision session where each new point she brought up reminded me and expanded upon bits of what Françoise had tried to explain in the car. I was not surprised to hear of the way muggles are treated by wizard society, even the lack of legal personhood. It's only a little worse than the attitudes of some mutants regarding the small folk. Our most extreme elements may see non-mutants as genetically obsolete, but as far as I'm aware, no one actually thinks them to be sub-human. The issue lies in some refusing to believe it is possible for the two groups to coexist, each fearing bigotry from the other.
While we talked, Roxanne brewed tea, and directed me to the only bedroom in the flat, where I would find a cupboard with a suitable change of wardrobe. She told me to choose whatever I wanted, and she would make it fit me afterwards, the clothes having been originally cut for her small size. I ended up in almost the same outfit, a plain ankle-length dress, this one green like pine needles, and a pair of little round shoes. She also gave me an apron whose pocket I discovered to be bigger on the inside, and didn't bulge when filled up. When I put both hands in it looked like they'd been cleaved off at the wrists.
It was only a mild hassle getting into my new clothes, and thankfully I only needed help getting in and out of the scaffolding, because it was charmed to hold me together. With a mixture of magically altered steroids, magically enhanced rate of recovery, and my returning powers, I was able to go without the rig for the few minutes it took to levitate my own skeleton and wriggle into the cloth.
When I thought I was done, Roxanne cast a spell at me. "Confundus," she said, but I saw no change. "People shouldn't notice the rig, now. Not unless you tell them it's there."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Oh, nowhere just yet; we just arrived. You must sit down for tea and scones. While we settle in, I will book a session with a specialist from St Mungo's to deal with your injury once and for all. After that, we'll go down Diagon Alley together. It's time you had a magical focus that was truly yours."
Edited.