Coven. Ch. 10: Cast

She did not even know why she had bothered wearing shoes that would make her feet hurt to a party she had not even wanted to attend. Asking Ginny had been a mistake. Yes, the damned things were pretty, but she would pay for her vanity.

She walked back to where Luna stood alone, cursing the heels along the way, and passed her a glass of butterbeer. "Where's Harry?" she asked, looking around. Dumbledore was yet to make his move, and so they remained on good terms. For the moment. She had thought of explaining herself beforehand, but had yet to come up with an excuse that Harry would be able to accept. She would rather not lie to him, but the truth was unpalatable.

"He just left, right behind professor Snape and Draco Malfoy," she explained, and Hermione frowned at that. Malfoy? At the party? And had Harry actually truly left? She huffed in irritation. She wished she could go tell Ron. The Malfoy obsession was getting out of hand again.

"Did he say if he'd be back?" she asked.

"He didn't say anything at all," she answered in her usual, dreamy tone, but Hermione though she could hear the sadness behind her voice. Luna had been delighted to be invited to the party, even if Harry had felt the need to mention it was only as friends at least twenty times.

"Well, I guess you are here as my date now, then," she just snapped. She would have a couple of words with Harry, while she still could. He was loyal to a fault, but tact and consideration were clearly not his forte.

Luna beamed at her, so delighted her heart skipped a beat. She had never realized just how radiant she could look when she was happy. She smiled back, and they moved to the canapé table as the dancing started to invade their standing area.

As she popped in a little toast, all manners of small delicacies piled on top that threatened to tumble down, a loud voice right behind her startled her and made her almost choke.

"Your shoes are gorgeous!" the cheerful, amicable tone was unmistakable, and had been dearly missed. She turned to see Garcia and Charity all smartened up, the latter looking down at her feet in adoration.

"Very," Garcia agreed with critical eye. "But I must confess I'll vote for sensible flats any day of the week," she said while looking at Luna's white and sparkly ballerinas, envious.

"Thank you," Luna said gracefully. "The new anti-nargle charm is working splendidly," she beamed, very pleased.

The newcomers looked confused, and Hermione decided to intervene before too many questions were asked.

"You are wearing heels yourself," she pointed out, diverting the attention from Luna. She had the feeling Garcia would have opinions on nargles.

"Ah, yes!" Garcia said in a dramatically regretful voice. "Chari gifted them to me last Christmas," she explained sulkily. "The heels are exactly seven centimetres high!" she added, as if it clarified everything. Hermione had the suspicion it actually did, at least for her. At Luna's questioning look, she went on "I just couldn't help it." Luna nodded thoughtfully.

Charity looked very smug right next to her, wearing some monstrous heels herself, that helped counter her very short stature. She wondered if being short helped her maintain equilibrium. It was either that, or a very specific spell-set that she needed to learn. Women were expected to defy gravity much too often.

"Were you invited by professor Slughorn or are you also someone else's date?" Luna asked out of the blue, and took a sip of butterbeer.

"Chari was, 'cause her cousin is right there, Gwenog Jones," Garcia explained. "She gives Slughorn free tickets to the Harpies' matches whenever he wants. I just came with her."

"With Gwenog Jones?" Luna asked. "She doesn't seem to be keeping you company, either," she pointed out.

"No, she came with me," Charity corrected nicely, the only tactful person within her trio of girlfriends.

Luna nodded at that, and sipped again. "I came with Harry, but he left."

"Like, without you?" Charity asked disapprovingly, and now understanding Luna's previous comment. At her following, absent-minded nod, she turned to face Hermione. "Your friends are so not very nice," she sentenced.

"Oh, Harry is nice," Luna defended, "he just doesn't see much beyond himself, sometimes."

"And I'll bet Ronald doesn't see much beyond his girlfriend's throat," Garcia snorted. "You're not missing out, girl," she said to Luna, "if Potter actually shares the same skill set. Better look elsewhere."

"Oh, no, now I'm here with Hermione," Luna felt the need to clarify. It was nice of her to want to respect their arrangement –unlike Harry had done– but Hermione thought it had sounded a bit…

"As in lesbians, or as in 'Oh, boy, all the hot guys are taken, what are we to do?' like me and Chari?" Garcia asked loudly, going in the direction Hermione had feared.

Luna looked back at her seriously, expression so serene Garcia looked actually taken aback, and pondered for a few seconds. "Well, I don't really know about the hot guys," she finally answered carefully, "but I don't think Hermione's particularly partial to women."

Hermione felt herself blush slightly and was about to cut short the exchange of opinions regarding her sexuality that was undoubtedly going to be continued by Garcia, when they were interrupted by Blaise Zabini.

"Ladies," he greeted Luna and Charity arrogantly, sneer perpetually in place, crossing through their circle to access the canapés. Then, glancing right in Hermione and Garcia's direction, he added with contempt, "mudbloods."

Hermione felt the familiar hot rage swirl through her, and kept still. Her Occlumency textbooks had been clear, precise and explicit; she knew what to do. She had read that bursts of anger could result in her magic flaring brightly, and in a room full of renowned personalities, there was bound to be someone who would feel her. "Control", she thought, "keep it tightly coiled inside".

She focused, but her attempt at Occlumency fell completely into disarray at Luna's unexpected question.

"Is this one of the hot guys?" she asked, genuinely curious expression in her face, as if the man himself was not standing right there.

"Oh, yes," Garcia confirmed, shamelessly giving him a slow once-over, as if eyeing a piece of meat.

"You might be better off as lesbians," Luna advised frowning her brows, as if worried about them.

Hermione had to smother a laugh, though Zabini did not even notice, busy as he was gaping at Luna and Garcia. She though his glare might have cowed most of the student body, but then again he was not dealing with you average student. Luna faced his hateful look with childlike serenity, never uncomfortable in a prolonged silence. Garcia, bless the woman, seemed to be having fun.

"What did you just say?" he hissed, slowly walking toward them in a threatening manner.

Charity, right beside her, tensed. However, to their credit, the other two girls did not bat an eyelid.

Luna frowned, but provided, "Lesbian. Of or relating to Lesbos. It's a Greek island," Garcia guffawed by her side, not having expected such a Luna answer. Zabini went even more rigid, if possible. Hermione suspected that, had his perfect skin not been so very dark, he would be flushed red. "It's also known as Lezbolar, or Mytilene," she pointed out politely, as if trying to help him understand.

Hermione did not think Zabini, who was clearly prone to take offense, would dare to take out his wand when he was standing right in the middle of their circle –really, quite foolish of him–; but she let her own hand hover over her holster, just in case.

"Though you might have been thinking about sexual intercourse between women," Luna noted, and sipped some more butterbeer.

"I certainly was," Garcia chimed in.

"It's okay," Luna said, not paying attention to Zabini anymore. "I do it too."

Zabini took one step back at that, aversion painted on his handsome features. "Unnatural," he snarled, "like animals."

Hermione thought that what hurt most, about them, was not the hatred or the casual slurs. It was that they truly believed it. Malfoy might hate Harry with a vengeance, but he did not think of him as an animal, as inferior, as something so very dirty it should not be touched. She thought back to Parkinson's actions at the library, the day when it had all begun, and she felt hurt.

Thankfully, that was not a problem Luna had. She just nodded, and provided "Like Laysan Albatrosses," she said, "or Mooncalves." She paused briefly. "Some people say Nundus, but the truth is, no one's gotten close enough to statistically study their sexual preferences."

"You're fucking demented," Zabini snapped. "You really think about animal sex," he sounded so horrified, she had to admit it was almost funny.

"We all have our kinks," Garcia chimed in, all fake innocence. She was amazed Zabini was actually buying it. Anyone else would have seen she was just pulling his leg. But then again, she was playing his own prejudices against him.

Garcia took a step toward him, and he rushed to get out of her way, almost colliding with the dainty little table in his hurriedness, repelled by the mere thought of her touch. Silence took over them as they watched him leave, amused.

"I like high heels," Luna suddenly contributed, following the conversation, and looked at their shoes. It seemed quite clear that she did not mean on herself.

The night slowly deteriorated as they discovered someone had smuggled firewhisky into the party –not that Luna and Garcia needed it in order to make completely inappropriate comments– and the four of them had retired to one of the solitary alcoves, covered by dense, velvety curtains in deep tones of purple and green.

"Think about it," Garcia slurred, eyes slightly unfocused, "we have three colours that correspond to precious metals, right? That's gold, and silver, and copper," she started.

"Bronze, it's bronze," Charity corrected while taking one big swig of heavily spiked drink.

"Whatever," she dismissed. "So, three like, important colours. Metals, all of them" she repeated, and then insisted, "It's a theme. Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw. And then, here comes Hufflepuff, with black. I mean, come on! Copper was actually free! But no, they gave Lady Hufflepuff black."

Garcia had been trying to convince them for the past half an hour that Helga Hufflepluff had been bullied by the Founders, and her reasoning was slowly starting to become ridiculous.

"And then, there's the animal," she kept going, "There's a lion, the king of the jungle. Then there's an eagle, the king of the skies. And then the snakes, fluid like water and slippery like Slytherins. Very royal animals, all of them."

"Snakes are kings of nothing," Charity chimed in once more, but her contribution was dismissed just as easily.

"And then there is us!" she shouted sluggishly, "And we get a badger! A tiny, furry, little, cute thing. We are supposed to represent the Earth, out of the four elements. Lady Hufflepuff could have gotten a bear! A big, brown bear! Bears are protective, and loyal! That would be the best Huffly symbol ever!" she struggled to finish. "They probably only picked the woman because of the repeated initials, to go with their theme."

Charity rolled her eyes and Hermione giggled, too drunk to find anything she said less than hilarious.

Luna was staring at her glass with misty eyes, but she might have been perfectly serene, for all they knew. "Actually, African honey badgers can reduce snakes to shredded flesh, and a single one of them is able to kill three lions on its own."

Garcia halted her monologue with a start. She was quiet for a few long seconds, mouth open unflatteringly, "Seriously?" she finally asked, throwing Luna an awed look.

"We rock!" Charity shouted out loudly, trying to stand in the process and almost falling to ground, which had Hermione fighting the silly giggles once more. She could not remember the last time she had laughed. She finished her glass and told herself she deserved some laughter. The past month had been utterly miserable.

"I think you could kill like, all of us lions," Hermione told Garcia, speaking slowly to find the right words in her mind. "You only need to speak for a long enough time," she joked, and laughed out loud on her own until her sides hurt.

Garcia pouted, and said, "I'd start with you," and Hermione answered that yes, she would most likely be the first one to jump out the window.

"Nah," Charity dismissed, "she'd not kill you all. She'd stop at seven, 'cause it be too perfect a number to go," she hiccupped, "on," she noted.

"Ah, you're right," Garcia agreed.

"Seven is a good number," Luna agreed, making Charity dramatically shout, "Not you, too!"

"The most magical," Garcia said sagely. "Which reminds me, I've only had five glasses," and she went on to remedy it.

The four of them sat together in a compartment within the Hogwarts Express. She had briefly entertained the idea of going to sit with Harry and Ron, but she was not in speaking terms with the latter, and the knowledge of her imminent fall out with Harry had her on edge. She had the inkling it would happen during the holidays. She knew, despite her best wishes, that a trip back to London with them would be a nightmare.

Charity had passed a round of hangover potions, for which she would be eternally grateful, and they lazed around enjoying the excess of space given by being four rather small girls.

"You know," Garcia started, "I dreamed of Zabini last night."

"I though you never had nightmares," Charity said, eyes closed and massaging her temples. Even hangover potions were not miracle workers.

"Oh, I assure you it wasn't a nightmare. Au contraire, ma chérie," she answered, smugly.

Charity briefly opened her eyes to throw her an utterly disgusted look at catching her innuendo. "But he's a complete jerk!"

"But a beautiful one," she pointed out. Well, no one could really deny that.

The door was suddenly yanked open in a brusque way, so rude that the action could have only belonged to two people she had the dubious pleasure of knowing. And Garcia was already within the compartment.

"Parkinson," Hermione announced, displeased.

"I see you've forsaken Scarface and Freckles," she drawled. "I can't help but approve. People should, no matter their station, always strive to improve themselves."

"Keep trying, Parkinson. The rudeness may eventually fade," she suggested, saccharine smile in place.

"Hi Pansy," Luna interrupted what was surely a scathing remark, about to leave Parkinson's lips. "I love your shoes," she mentioned.

Garcia raised her brows suggestively at the other two girls, and Hermione shushed her.

"Well, duh," was Parkinson's only answer, together with an eye-roll. "Here," she said to Hermione, and threw a piece of parchment on her lap. She left without bothering to close the door behind herself, and they could hear the confident click-clacking of her high heels as she went away.

"What the hell was that about?" both Garcia and Charity were oscillating between indignant and intrigued. Luna had gone back to reading the last number of the Quibbler.

"Joint detention," she lied smoothly. "We fought in the Library," she explained, rolling her eyes for emphasis. "She almost blew my head off!"

She opened the note discretely. She had given Parkinson incredibly specific instructions on how to reach her house –including some regarding taking the Knight Bus, since she doubted the pureblood girl ever had– but still she feared she would not manage. She had even drawn her a map, and to scale.

The answer, though, was a rather rude drawing of Parkinson rolling her eyes and setting her map on fire. It only said, 7 p.m. on the 23rd. Hermione crumpled it, pissed off. The woman really was unbeaten in the game of being insufferable. If only she did not need her to place wards on her house…

Pansy blinked once, then twice, and then just lost all ability to do it again. The muggle had soft, brown hair falling in gentle waves, but was otherwise an aged version of Granger. She assumed it was her mother –or grandmother maybe? She looked slightly old– standing there, expectantly waiting.

They locked eyes in uncomfortable silence until the female muggle frowned and just stepped back inside to shout, "Hermione, dear, your friend's here!" and then looked once more at her with a smile. "Hermione told us you aren't used to muggle houses, so if there's anything you don't understand, please don't hesitate to ask," she offered in a kind voice that grated her slightly. What did she mean, not understand? Was that muggle patronizing her?

She heard the hurried stomping of Granger –she supposed– coming down some stairs until her untamed mane of wild curls came into view, and her right behind it. "Pansy! You're early," she exclaimed with a tense smile on her lips, approaching quickly.

Pansy? Had she just called her Pansy?

"Mum, just go see if dad's managing in the kitchen. I'll show Pansy inside," she suggested, and the muggle went back in with that affable expression still in place. "Also, I told you not to open the door to anyone!" she shouted after her.

Granger ushered her in and quickly took her to what she guessed was the living room, pulling on her arm strongly. It was small, about the size of her own bedroom. But she had seen how Grandmama's service lived, and she guessed the Grangers were doing well enough.

She took in her very muggle surroundings, full of strange objects and shapely decorations, and realized she was shaking a bit. Everything around her was very, very muggle. Actually, that had been her first time seeing one of them up close, she realized. It had even spoken to her! She had been surprised at how well it did, how articulate the muggle was. Nothing in its intonation, pronunciation nor expressions had given it away immediately. She almost thought she would not have been able to tell it apart from a witch, if she had not known beforehand.

"You said you would come at seven!" Granger interrupted her inner musings, nervously. She kept throwing furtive glances in the direction of the kitchen, visible through some sort of open window inside the living. How very weird, a window inside the house. "I would have come out to pick you up!"

"I can find a muggle house on my own just fine," she sneered, finally finding her voice again. She'd rather die than admit it had taken her three full hours of helpless wandering. "Though it might have been better if you'd had time to take care of them beforehand, that I admit," she granted her gracefully.

Granger looked confused now, and wary. "What do you mean, take care of them?"

"Well, put them to sleep, or whatever you want to do with them while we work," she explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Parkinson!" she exclaimed in a furious whisper, getting red faster than she thought humanely possible. "I will not put them to sleep! They're my parents, not some animals," she said, angrier that she had ever seen her. Even through their weakening bond, she could feel her rage. "They can understand what's going on here!"

Now it was her turn to look confused. She kind of understood the whole "not some animals" idea, if they had birthed her; but what did she intend to do? Explain what they were doing? Explain the complex, protective wards they were about to cast? To be frank, it did not sound like a good idea at all. Granger should know, muggles were afraid of magic. That was the whole reason they were keeping themselves hidden; not to scare them. Everyone knew scared muggles became easily violent.

"Well, hello, hello," interrupted another muggle, this one male. He shared Granger's wild curls, even though darker in colour and way shorter, but just as unflattering. "Hermione here told us you two are going to do some hocus pocus on us!"

Eh? Hocus what? Was that the name of one of the spells? Never mind that Granger had actually explained it to them –the madwoman–, it actually sounded ridiculous.

"Dad!" Granger exclaimed. "Don't say confusing things," she reprimanded him, and then looked back at her. "It's just an expression muggles use when talking about magic in general, like Abracadabra," she explained, though that made even less sense to her.

"Muggles know about the killing curse?" she whispered in shock, throwing cautious looks toward the other two inhabitants of the house. How would they react, if they were to learn they could be killed with just one word?

"No, no, they don't," Granger explained in a calming voice. "Muggles don't know about magic, it's just a legend to them." She started, and actually waited for Pansy to nod before going on. "Some legends contain part of the truth; like stories about Unicorns. Others, though, have become deformed with time. Abracadabra is just a meaningless word that imitates an incantation –any incantation– though it probably derives from the original unforgivable. Hocus pocus is a similar thing, it just means: some magic."

Pansy nodded once more, because it seemed like the right thing to do, but she was still rather confused. Why would muggles imitate incantations if they were scared of magic? Maybe for horror bedtime stories?

"Ah, sorry, my wife did remind me you were a first-timer!" the male said approaching her with a warm smile, and clasping her hand within his own before she had time to react. "I'm Mike Granger, nice to meet you."

Pansy managed a weak "likewise" that was more reflex than anything else, still focused on the warmth remaining from the contact with his soft hand. Her heart was beating incredibly fast, and she had to fight the impulse of rushing to find a bathroom to wash. Still, so soft, so warm. Just like Granger's. Her mother's old sayings had been wrong again; they felt the same as wizards. Even through touch, she thought, she might not be able to tell them apart. She wondered briefly about their blood. Granger's had, in the end, looked just like hers. Did theirs?

The female came back with a tray of tea in hand, which gave a perfect excuse to not shake hands, and introduced herself as Sarah Granger. By her side, Granger looked as tense as she felt, while inviting her to sit down for tea. The female muggle started serving and she felt a lump down her throat at the thought that she was expected to drink that.

She swallowed nervously, still trying to get a grip on herself. She had not thought she would be facing such a situation. She found herself confused to the point of disorientation. Everything had happened so quickly, she had been unable to react. How had a pureblood witch of impeccable pedigree ended up sitting for tea with a bunch of muggles?

"Mike, are you paying attention to the dinner?" she asked with a soft glance toward him.

"Of course I am," he said, but he still left for the kitchen.

Wait, the male was the one cooking? While all three of them stayed in the living room making small talk? How – how very unexpected. Of course, she should not be surprised that they had their own, different social rules. Her mother had once described muggle society as primitive, which she had in turn associated with antiquated. Apparently, the distinction between their cultures was far more complex. For starters, female muggles truly had an iron hold on their males. She was reluctantly impressed by that fact. Granger's mother –Sarah, had she said?– showed such confident demeanour, having sent her male back to serving them with one single sentence. She had even made it sound not like an order.

"So, Pansy, I assume you have been reading the Prophet lately?" she started, once more taking her completely unawares. "What do you think of Scrimgeour?"

Politics. The muggle wanted to talk wizarding politics! Not even witches talked politics over tea. That was a topic reserved for men, at least openly. Women exchanged subtle hints and little comments that sounded more like gossip, but had the same kind of undercurrents. Apparently, muggle society worked in the opposite way. Males fetched tea, females discussed politics.

As the two Granger women looked at her expectantly, younger Granger with a worried frown, she realized she had been quiet for way too long. She went slightly red at that, and promptly answered. "Better than Fudge," she said, "who was Lucius Malfoy's clown. But most likely still not good enough," she sentenced. If muggle females could talk politics, she would not be left behind. She hoped her short and concise analysis, so very unlike any pureblood witch she had ever met, sounded satisfactory.

The female muggle nodded in agreement, "He seems way more worried about what people believe the Ministry is accomplishing, than about actually accomplishing anything. Not that such a thing is unusual in politics, sadly," she lamented. "However, you are right about Fudge. It's hard to do worse."

"Also good that he is actually going against Malfoy and the like, for a change," Granger added. Well, indeed. The clown show from the previous year had just been embarrassing.

"Him being in jail must help," her mother contributed, hitting the mark. "You know that Malfoy boy too, don't you Pansy?" she asked, subtly trying to pull her into the conversation. She recognized that behaviour: the muggle was hosting. In that, they behaved similarly. She smiled, trying to recover the composure brought by her impeccable breeding. She was still trembling, but she would not look like a fool in front of some muggles.

"Yes, we are in the same House," she answered, "and childhood friends, too."

Now, that had obviously not been the right thing to say. The female was looking at her with unhidden shock, and even the male had shown his face through the kitchen window. The silence was an uncomfortable one, in which the muggles seemed to be reaching the correct idea about her –which, she understood by Granger's horrified expression, was not a good thing– rather quickly.

"He's a twat," she added, hopefully, and that defused the tension.

The female chuckled and the man laughed warmly, "Well, what can you expect from anyone named Dragon," he said in good humour.

"His mother's name is Narcissa, so not modesty, that's for sure" she contributed, and then wondered if they would get the reference to the legend of Narcissus.

They did, judging by their chuckles. She was once more surprised at how literate they appeared to be. Greg and Vince would not have gotten that, and they were purebloods. The muggles, though, were not only informed about wizarding actuality, they even understood the undercurrents ruling their world. They spoke as if they were… as if they were people.

She took an experimental sip of tea, and indeed, it tasted just like tea. She was left with the unthinkable conclusion that those muggles were civilized. She wondered if it had been an effect Granger had had on them, or if that humanity they displayed was the reason they had managed to produce wizarding offspring.

The male went back into the kitchen to continue his work, and the woman smiled kindly at her once more. "We are very pleased that Hermione brought a friend home," she said, and Granger went suddenly red and yelled "Mum!" but was ignored in that easy way all mothers possess. That made her giggle. "Until now it had only been Harry and that Ronald boy who eats with his mouth open," she explained, clearly disapproving of low manners.

Pansy found herself kind of liking the muggle female well enough. Anyone who realized Weasley was a pig had a minimum of intelligence speaking for themselves. Besides, they were actually better mannered than the Weasleys. True, not the best family, but still purebloods. No wonder Granger was smart, she thought. Those muggles must be some sort of unnatural development within their kind.

"Mum, really," Granger insisted once more, but was not so eager to defend the boy herself. In her opinion, she shouldn't.

"Ronald's also a twat," Pansy contributed, earning another approving chuckle. Of course, she was charming them impeccably.

The woman asked her daughter to bring the tea set back into the kitchen. Surprisingly, Granger stood and walked there the muggle way. She was, once more, awed at the power of that muggle woman. She was obviously the queen of the household, despite being female and non-magical.

"We think she needs more girl friends," she told her conspiratorially. "Harry and Ronald were her first, but the way they just end up fighting every now and then…" she shook her head.

Pansy nodded, and shared her information too. Gossiping worked the same way in any world, that was clear. "At least once every year. Right now she's not talking to Ronald. He's dating the Brown girl, and that has caused quite a rift," she said smoothly.

The woman frowned in clear disapproval. "That's Lavender, right? That really mean girl," she remembered.

Pansy nodded once more, as Granger came back with a suspicious look that she returned with one of clearly fake innocence. Oh, now she was starting to enjoy herself! How delightfully unexpected.

"How's your father doing with dinner, Hermione?" she asked, clearly to deviate the conversation. Granger's mother was way more cunning than her daughter.

"He says he's almost done, so I would at least count one hour," she answered with what seemed like an inside joke.

The woman was about to respond when some sort of alarm went off, which startled her. One hand on her heart and the other already reaching for her wand, she felt Granger's fingers clutching her forearm as the muggle woman raised.

"Calm down, Park–Pansy, it's just the phone," she said, making no sense whatsoever. "That device there," she went on, pointing at a black, elongated thing that she had taken for a bizarre muggle decoration. "It works a bit like speaking through the Floo, but you only hear the other person's voice. The telephone –that's the name of the device– rings, and you know someone wants to speak to you."

She observed the woman pick up the device and start speaking, and could also hear a faint murmur in response, though there was nobody else in the room.

"You charmed something to let your parents speak to other muggles?" she asked indignantly. How could she be so irresponsible! That surely broke the Statue of Secrecy!

"No, no," she insisted quickly, "it's a muggle thing. All muggles have one of these, to talk to people who are far away. It works with electricity," she went on. "That's an energy that muggles commercialize. It reaches our devices through those long, black cords you can see everywhere," she said pointing at a few places. She suddenly realized there were a lot of those devices, "which are called cables, and powers them on."

Energy? Energy, but not magic? How was that even possible?

"We make the energy in specific plants," the male muggle chimed in, entering the living area while wiping his hands with a cloth. "And then it travels through cables, which are hidden in the walls and under the streets."

"You make it?" she could not help herself from asking.

"Yes, through, for example, water power or heat coming from the sun," he explained expertly.

Pansy was shocked speechless. That did not make any sense, no matter how she thought about it. "You transform water into ilictricity," she tried to summarize, "and then you can hear voices from people who are far away?"

How was that not some sort of magic? Weirdly specific, but still.

"We call it science," the man said with a proud glint in his eyes.

A/N: Hi! Thank you all for leaving nice comments (or kudos).

I've been asked about my update schedule. I can only say that I'm trying to go for once a week during the summer (including at least part of September), but then I'll start working again. It's my last year of PhD, and I can already see it's gonna be tough. I can't really promise anything, but I'll try to update as often as I can!

Thanks to Gremlin Jack and silverlovedragoness for betaing this once more!