A.N.: Oh, in order for the timing to work for Remus' transformation, and Maia getting to the house before it, I've pushed the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament back to mid-May. 3 June, 2012 is the night of the full moon…and I always write things for HP in the year that I'm writing them. Because otherwise it's confusing, and quite frankly, who likes 90s fashion?
For Marlicat, Luc324 and DrAnime203, because you all submitted great reviews!
The Eldest of the Pleiades
11
Maia cut out and saved the article Ailith had written on the Frabjous Chizpurfles, which did indeed feature the photograph Maia had taken—with acknowledgement for it, too, "Photograph Courtesy of Maia Black (see Inset)": Ailith had found a photograph of Maia singing, and added it, about three inches big, in the corner of the boys' photo, and had mentioned her getting up to sing with Jack, but the long article rapturously detailed the gig.
Sirius read the article with a distinct expression of disgruntlement, then frowned, pushed the paper aside, and didn't even take a stab at his daily crossword, "one of the few things I live for", he had told Maia a few days ago. She had begun to suspect, with the amount of time Sirius and Ailith spent with each other, and how often Sirius was prone to laugh with Ailith, that Sirius was rather quite taken with beautiful Ailith. And she wasn't sure the sentiment wasn't reciprocated by Ailith.
As Sirius had suggested, they spent a "lazy day"; they began the morning at nine rather than seven a.m., only getting up to open the door, half-asleep, to whoever it was who had left a message for Dumbledore and a report on what had happened while they were "on duty", and Kreacher had made them breakfast. Maia and Sirius had visited her home—Sirius loved being able to sprawl out in the flower-strewn meadow, basking in the sun, while Maia picked vegetables, checked on her bees, and collected fruit; she was systematically going through the picked fruit, turning it into jam, marmalade and vegetable chutneys and piccalilli. As Padfoot, he would pelt around the meadows, tail wagging, while she cycled to the coast; muscles, or fresh seafood from the bi-weekly food markets in Diagon Alley, became a staple in their house, and Maia got to be creative with sweet, spicy marinades for shrimp, making a variation of coq au vin on barbecue skewers rather than as a stew, and lamb keftas, fresh scallops poached in water with carrots and pepper, slathered with a thinned mustard-mayonnaise, and served with chunks of fresh homemade bread.
She made a batch of simple dough for pasta, leaving a diced butternut squash marinating in olive-oil and salt, intending to teach Tonks how to make fresh ravioli for dinner tonight, and Sirius accompanied her to Diagon Alley with the letter Remus had asked to post for him. She sent it via the faster Owl Service: and Sirius upset a lot of the owls in Eeylop's, but they came out of the shop with a rather regal Spotted Owl that Maia wanted to name Borgia, which made Sirius scoff bemusedly as he trotted alongside her to Florean Fortescue's.
Maia had found the box-set of the first series of The Borgias one of her friends had gifted her, and finally unwrapped it and made herself watch the first episode—and become instantly infatuated with Cesare striding around in his leather trousers. But she was a fierce admirer of Jeremy Irons, who played Rodrigo Borgia, or Pope Alexander VI as he became known, so the name 'Borgia' was given to the owl.
"Maia!" someone called delightedly; unused to having her name shouted out in the middle of Diagon Alley, Maia glanced around, then grinned when she saw who it was.
"Hello, Ailith," she beamed, tucking her sunglasses on top of her head. Ailith sat outside Florean Fortescue's, under a large fuchsia umbrella, sampling a small pink ice-cream, papers spread out in front of her. "Busy working, then?"
"I thought I'd treat myself, it's so nice," Ailith smiled. "Want to join me?"
"Alright," Maia smiled, setting down the owl-cage, her wicker-basket, and her journal (which she had brought out to note down the price of the Wizarding wireless in the equipment shop, and the name of the amazing carpenter who had a stall set up with the most beautiful hand-crafted, inlaid furniture and boxes she had ever seen. "Mind if I go and choose something?"
"No, go ahead," Ailith smiled; Sirius had padded around to her, and had his muzzle resting on her knee, while she idly scratched his ears. Maia smirked as she walked into Florean Fortescue's; Sirius' tail had been wagging. She picked out a two-scoop cone with amaretto and Fiawsberry Pear gelatos, and got Padfoot a little dish of Butterbeer ice-cream. Ailith teased him with it, offering him little bits on a spoon, and he ate it neatly from her hand after giving her a very expressive look (for a canine).
"What do you write in there?" Ailith asked, nodding at Maia's diary. "I've seen you with one before, though it was a different colour."
"I know, I've already gone through a whole one since moving here. It's…just my diary," Maia said, flushing softly. "I write, notes, essays on what I'm studying independently. I annotate poems and put in photographs and magazine cuttings. Mostly I do my paintings, or little studies and colour-schemes for them. In fact, I was wondering if there's a wizard art-shop anywhere around, so I can refill my paints."
"Haven't Remus or Padfoot taught you refilling charms yet?" Ailith asked, and Maia raised her eyebrows.
"No."
"One of them should be in one of your N.E.W.T.-level Standard Book of Spells," Ailith said. "It was hugely popular when we'd have House parties after Quidditch games. Anyone who'd managed to sneak alcohol found themselves using the charm to refill the bottles."
"Cool," Maia grinned, her eyes illuminating.
"But if you wanted fresh paints, you could try the apothecary. I had a dorm-mate whose parents used to send her fresh paints, made at the apothecary. They were beautiful."
"Really?" she asked, intrigued; Ailith shrugged.
"Yep," Ailith smiled. "Will you show me some of your paintings?"
"Oh, they're just… They're just little doodles, really," Maia said.
"I've seen the ones you've been doing for fairytales," Ailith smiled warmly. "They were absolutely beautiful. They reminded me of an old Edmund Dulac fairytale book my grandmother passed down to me."
"I love Edmund Dulac," Maia smiled. "And I've been…sort of trying out my skills at animating the paintings with different charms…" She opened her journal to one of the previous pages, which she had been working on two nights ago, where she had coloured preliminary studies of Rapunzel, her features, dress and home.
The spells in the heavy book she had bought on Wizard art had worked; Rapunzel played with her long, long hair, smiling sweetly, swishing her skirts and gazing at the little bluebird Maia had painted, which flew into her outstretched hands.
"Red hair?" Ailith smiled, glancing up from the journal she had taken into her hands to examine. Maia had given her Rapunzel deep red hair like polished garnets.
"I was going to give her honey-brown hair," Maia said, sighing as she licked her ice-cream. "But Bill was sitting with his back to me while he chatted with his mum, and his ponytail just kept catching my attention." Ailith chuckled.
"Have you done any more?" she asked, combing gently through the previous pages, pausing as she came across the illustration of the crackling fire-coloured phoenix Maia had animated, and the studies Maia had made of the Order members, the illustrations of the Diagon Alley shops the first time Maia had seen them, and older paintings.
"A few years ago, I read this article in the paper, about this small company that hand-binds and numbers each of the books they print," Maia said, glancing at Ailith. "I got this idea that, you know, you can't get beautiful fairytale books. No illustrations like Edmund Dulac, nothing really entrancing. I thought, why not hand-illustrate fairytales, and hand-bind them? There'd be a place in the market, I'm sure there would be."
"In the Wizarding market, too," Ailith said thoughtfully, going through the pages of Maia's journal, coming across early ideas for Beauty from Beauty and the Beast, and Bluebeard's wife, as well as various designs for Sleeping Beauty. "These are wonderful!"
"I did a few watercolours for each of my favourite fairytales for my GCSE Art coursework," Maia said thoughtfully. "My teacher wanted us to experiment with different techniques, so I tried Edmund Dulac, Van Gogh and Marilyn Minter."
"If you were to publish them, how would you bind them?" Ailith asked curiously.
"I was thinking hardback books, bound with cotton, dyed in soft colours, each one specific to the story," Maia said, taking the journal so she could flip back to one of the first few pages, showing Ailith the plans. "With a plain front, the name stamped in gold or silver on the spine. I'd have the illustrations to be on rich matte photo-paper." She sat back in her chair, gazing off into the distance. Ailith smiled warmly.
"You could still do it, you know. No wizards know Muggle fairytales; they'd be considered wonderful novelties, especially with these illustrations. And, you know, with your language skills, you could even translate them and introduce them to foreign Wizarding markets." Maia smiled; though she had enjoyed the idea of publishing her fairytales, she had thought they would be doomed only to decorate her own child's nursery. She really did believe there was a place in the market now dominated by eBooks for beautiful, handmade fairytale-books for children. Ailith flipped back to the back of the diary, to Maia's last entry.
"What's this?" Ailith asked, glancing at the page; Maia sat up a little straighter, and glanced at Ailith.
"Um… It's this…idea that I had," she said, blushing slightly, glancing at Sirius. She hadn't told anyone about it, not even Sirius, who liked to read her diary once she'd finished working in it each night, especially if she had been painting. "I was thinking about how there's very little aimed at teenaged witches and wizards, and nothing that can help them assimilate with Muggles, or teach them about Muggle culture—films, music, fashion, that sort of thing. Fun stuff. So I thought, what about a small magazine, with people writing about Muggle books, fashion, films and music, and just…things that are going on in the Muggle world, like the royal wedding and the anniversary of the Titanic and the Olympics, and, I don't know, bits of Muggle history. And games; Padfoot had never heard of Scrabble or Monopoly, or Clue." She scoffed softly, and Sirius snorted softly, frowning indignantly at her even in doggy-form. "I went into Flourish and Blotts with Remus the first time I came to Diagon Alley, and I saw the section on Muggle Studies." Ailith laughed.
"Ridiculous, isn't it," she smirked. "When I was at Hogwarts, I was the one everyone went to when they needed help with their homework if they took Muggle Studies. I had to stop myself bashing my brains in against a wall, some of the questions they asked me."
"It seemed like all Wizards learn about is how Muggles do things without using magic, but they don't focus on the Muggle culture," Maia frowned. "I find that very annoying. The tone of some of the books I flicked through, it's like they believe Muggles are no better than Muggles think gorillas are in a zoo." Ailith gave her a look that said, clearly, many wizards did believe just that. She sighed, shaking her head. "And yet wizards are the ones who enslave house-elves." She wondered briefly when she would receive a reply from Hermione Granger; Remus had mentioned that Hermione, one of the brightest witches of her age he'd ever met, took exams very seriously, and at Hogwarts they were now right in the midst of the exam-period.
"Why don't you start this magazine?" Ailith asked, smiling warmly. Maia laughed.
"On top of seeing to Padfoot and Remus's every whim and desire," Maia said; Ailith chuckled.
"Well, you've got the day off today," Ailith smiled, as Sirius yawned, and trotted off. Maia watched him go, noting that Ailith didn't, as if she had expected him to wander off. "I think Padfoot and Remus are a bit worried you're overworking yourself."
"I'm used to doing everything at home," Maia said quietly, and Ailith smiled.
"I've heard," she smiled. "So, tell me about these other ideas of yours. You said you have others."
"Oh… Yeah." She told Ailith about wanting to create a palm-sized pocket wireless that looked beautiful, with better sound-quality than the one in Grimmauld Place—even if she didn't like the programmes. She asked Ailith to tell her about her time at Hogwarts, as she had only heard from Sirius and Remus, who were blokes, and Maia made a point of asking what Ailith would have wanted at Hogwarts, what clubs or activities, because she wanted to know what was lacking. And she was weighing her options.
Professor Dumbledore was her legal guardian—but he didn't take an active role in her 'upbringing'; perhaps he knew she was already too much her own person to try and interfere. She knew her own mind, as Remus had once said. And she had come to the conclusion that if she could take her exams whenever, she could continue to study at Number Twelve with Sirius.
The only drawback of homeschooling was, of course, a continued isolation from her peers. Attending Hogwarts ensured socialisation with witches and wizards her age.
Ailith told her that there had never been any social functions at Hogwarts. The odd party after a particularly brutal win on the Quidditch pitch seemed the extent of the parties, and going out with someone entailed snogging in darkened corridors, getting caught groping by the bad-tempered caretaker and getting detention, and waiting for the term visits to Hogsmeade village. Mrs Weasley had mentioned that a Yule Ball had been the feature of last Christmas, with the Triwizard Tournament, but Maia wondered how much socialisation had occurred between the visiting students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, if they continued to take their lessons separately and lived outside the castle. The Yule Ball was the first time Ailith had ever heard of a large party. A boarding-school, Hogwarts hosted no dances, no parties, and each of the four Houses spent their free-time in password-protected common-rooms. No one from another House was invited into other students' common-rooms. Maia had been stunned Hogwarts offered no language lessons, but she gaped, hearing that there were no classes for things like textiles, music, cooking, literature or Art.
Receiving her A-Levels should have ensured Maia's freedom. She hadn't had to wear a uniform since starting sixth-form college, and was a social being accustomed to parties, cycling to town to meet friends for fish-and-chips, going on day-trips to London, enjoying weekend-long festivals and going to rehearsals for the Amateur Dramatics Society in the village, going to casual dance lessons, rock-night… The prospect of being secluded in a draughty Scottish castle made her skin crawl with chilly goose-bumps despite the heat.
When Ailith checked her dainty gold watch, and grimaced that she had to get back to work, Maia picked up her cage, her basket, and tucked her diary in her bag as Sirius trotted over to them; he licked Ailith's hand once, before Maia walked with her back to the Daily Prophet office, and Maia thanked her for inviting her to sit with her, and talking with her. She was still trying to wrap her head around the monastic existence of Hogwarts teenagers.
"I thought you and Ales would never stop!" Sirius barked a laugh as he dropped into the kitchen, twenty minutes later.
"I like her," Maia said thoughtfully. "She had a lot of good ideas."
"Like that one about you publishing your fairytales," Sirius nodded. He glanced at her, as he pulled out the little silver teapot and two sage-green and gilt teacups, which Maia had saved from his purge of the house. "You've never mentioned your idea about the magazine." Maia shrugged.
"I only just thought of the magazine a few days ago," she said quietly. "I was always afraid no one would buy my fairytales, even if I'd put in all the effort of publishing them."
"I think you'd be surprised. You put The Twelve Dancing Princesses or Snow White or Sleeping Beauty in a Wizard bookshop, you'd probably be amazed how many Muggle-born or half-blood wizards snap them up. You don't often see us in Muggle shops, if we can help it," Sirius smiled. Maia sighed and pulled out the selection of treats she had made late last night, and the piping-bag full of Madeleine batter, which she piped out into a tray and tucked into the oven.
"What time does Remus get off?" Maia asked.
"Six," Sirius said. He sighed, frowning thoughtfully at the unnamed owl perched in its cage on the table, fast asleep with its head under its wing.
"What is it?"
"Gladrag's is having a sale on robes," Sirius said slowly, passing a hand over his mouth thoughtfully. "I thought about getting some new ones for Remus." Maia glanced up; she had long suspected that Remus had had a hard life; all of his belongings were careworn but clearly loved and taken care of, but she couldn't think of an instance where she had ever seen him exchange money for anything, and he gave no hint of his job, if he had one.
Finally, Maia brought up the nerve to ask. "Sirius, where does Remus work?"
"He doesn't," Sirius said, with a heavy sigh, threading his fingers behind his neck, leaning back. He looked quite miserable.
"Why not?" Maia asked. "He's very smart; and he was a professor at Hogwarts."
"Remus was very lucky that Dumbledore accepted his application to teach," Sirius said, again very heavily. Maia frowned.
"What legislation is Remus working on?" she asked, staring at Sirius. He sighed.
"Well, we'd discussed telling you, just in case you stumble on him tonight," he finally said, dropping his hands. Fixing her with his pale eyes, he said baldly, "Remus is a werewolf."
Maia blinked. Then her eyes widened. "Is he?" she blurted, warring between surprise and, well…surprise. Quiet, studious, very kind Remus was… Was one of those 'monsters' the Ministry would have her believe all werewolves were: Uneducated, foul, dirty, bloodthirsty and brutal. She slowly set down the tray of freshly-baked Madeleines.
"He's working on trying to eradicate anti-werewolf legislation, isn't he," she said softly, gazing at Sirius. "The bills the Wizengamot passed that make it impossible for a werewolf to get a job? Denying Ministry funding for Wolfsbane Potion to be given to every werewolf in the week preceding the full-moon?" Slowly, Sirius nodded. She frowned, bit the inside of her cheek, and glanced at Sirius, mind whirring. "When…when you and Remus talk about him going 'underground'…do you mean Remus is going…going to see them, other werewolves?"
"Yes. And, quite literally, in some instances it does mean underground," Sirius said, his shoulders slumping.
"Is it…is it dangerous?" Maia asked quietly.
"Remus can handle himself. He's a gifted wizard, and had the benefit many didn't of gaining a full Hogwarts education," Sirius said. "Not every werewolf has been so lucky."
"Is Remus unique in that way, then?" she asked.
"I think some werewolves, if they had parents who weren't affected by it, were taught magic at home," Sirius said. "I'm no expert on the lifestyles of werewolves, just on Moony. But I know the precautions that had to be taken for Remus to attend school with us, and I know how difficult his life has been, without James…" He sighed, glanced at Maia, and poured the tea. Maia frowned thoughtfully.
"Without James financially supporting him," she finished for him, and Sirius glanced up, filling the last teacup and setting the teapot down. He nodded, without speaking. Maia glanced at the teacups he had set out; he had begun, Maia noticed, to set out three, even if Remus was out. One for him, one for her, and one for Kreacher. She sat down at the table, resting her cheek against her palm, and sighed. She gazed at Sirius. "At least you have each other back now. You take care of each other." Sirius smiled, passing her a teacup as she tipped the Madeleines out of the tray onto a plate.
"Kreacher!" Sirius called, glancing over his shoulder toward the boiler-room; with a crack, the house-elf appeared, smelling strongly of oil-paints. Maia realised she had forgotten to enquire in the apothecary about paints, and made a note of it in her diary, though she remembered what Ailith had said about the refilling charms.
"So…Remus is trying to get the support of other werewolves?" Maia said, glancing up at Sirius as she offered Kreacher the plate.
"That's right."
"Is he having any success?" Maia asked, remembering the conversation between Tonks and Remus, about someone in Amos Diggory's department at the Ministry whose daughter…was a werewolf.
"Some, I think," Sirius nodded. "If he gets enough support from other werewolves, when he's made liaison with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or endorses the candidate to become liaison, things should go a lot smoother." Maia frowned.
"Magical Creatures," she said angrily, scowling at her tea. Sirius chuckled.
"You do remind me of Hermione," he said, chuckling fondly. Maia glanced up. "Have you received a reply yet?"
"No. And Remus says not to expect one before the Hogwarts exam-period is over," Maia said, and Sirius chuckled. She frowned and glanced at Sirius. "So…just how many werewolves are there in Britain?"
"Most wizards would say too many," Sirius said heavily. "Of course, there are some who've been bitten and attempted to keep it secret. Some don't survive the attack in the first place…" His eyes flickered, and Maia thought he studiously kept his gaze averted from her. "Usually children. And there are too many who live even harder lives than Remus; he was lucky, he was educated. A lot of werewolves don't have that luxury." Maia frowned again.
"Are there…werewolf children?" she asked tentatively. "Many of them?"
"More than Remus would like," Sirius sighed heavily, sipping his tea. "Of course, most werewolves don't reproduce… Who would want their child to be born with their condition? To face that pain every month."
"Is it very painful?" Maia asked softly.
"Unbearably," Sirius said huskily, eyes on the table. "I remember watching Remus transform in our fifth-year, we'd had no idea… But it isn't like when we were at school; werewolves can take Wolfsbane Potion, though it's ridiculously expensive. The potion allows the witch or wizard to keep their minds when they transform…to become tame…harmless."
"Does Remus take it?" Maia asked; Sirius nodded.
"I've paid for it," he said. Maia fiddled with the handle of her teacup.
"You know what I was joking about, the other day, about making donations to the Ministry so I can make connections and demand the indictment of free Death Eaters?" Sirius chuckled as he sipped his tea, and nodded. She frowned and nibbled on her lower-lip. "What if I was to donate specifically to funding that…that Wolfsbane programme, the one the Ministry says it can't afford. To give all werewolves the Wolfsbane Potion." She added softly to herself, "Nothing's ever anywhere near as expensive when you buy it in bulk." She glanced up at Sirius, who was eyeing her shrewdly. She frowned. "Or what if I was just to donate money to an organisation that doesn't answer to the Ministry, and supplied the Wolfsbane that way?" Sirius chuckled warmly. As Maia poured tea for them, she glanced up at Sirius.
"You and Madam Rosmerta had a very long chat the other night," she observed. "Did she want to know about all your adventures?"
"Let's just say, she was shocked to discover the truth," Sirius said grimly, glancing at the Madeleine in his hand. "Even Remus thought me the traitor…back then." Maia glanced at Sirius, who was looking moody.
"And Madam Rosmerta runs the pub in Hogsmeade?" she said, and Sirius nodded.
"She does."
"What's Hogsmeade like?" Maia asked. Sirius glanced at her, head canted to one side.
"We can head up there, if you like, one day," he said. "You'd love Zonko's. And Honeydukes."
"What are they?"
"Zonko's is the joke-shop," Sirius grinned, and his younger self shone through. "A bit like Gambol & Jape's, but it's always flooded with kids from Hogwarts whenever they get a visit to the village. And Honeydukes is the sweet-shop." His eyes twinkled, as he said, "And there's a secret-passage that runs under Honeydukes right into the heart of Hogwarts."
"Really?" Maia grinned, sitting up straighter to perch at the edge of her seat. She lowered her teacup. "How many people know about it?"
"Harry, I know," Sirius said. "He used it to sneak into Hogsmeade while I was on the run, apparently he managed to get hold of the Marauder's Map from someone. Remus confiscated it, but the damage was done…" Maia knew Remus had confiscated the handmade and incredibly secret Marauder's Map from Harry due to his concern that Sirius was using the secret passages marked on it to get into Hogwarts—everyone at the time had believed Sirius was after Harry, when in actual fact he had used the secret passages into the school to locate and kill Peter Pettigrew.
"You could…you could go all over Hogsmeade, if you knew how to get to Honeydukes…and if you knew how to Apparate, you could go anywhere, and no one would ever know…" she breathed. All thoughts of being held captive within Hogwarts fled, a slow grin hidden by her teacup.
"That you could," Sirius said, his expression jubilant as he watched her features carefully. Maia sat back, marvelling at her uncle's genius. She smiled at him. A magical map that showed the entire school, every secret passage, every room, every ghost and person.
"Does the Marauder's Map show house-elves?" she asked curiously.
"It should do," Sirius chuckled. "Took us a month to memorise all their names to put on it. And then another two weeks to figure out what charm would make the Map update itself with new names." Maia sipped her tea.
"I can't believe Remus was ever mischievous," she chuckled, and Sirius laughed, though something twinkled in his eyes. Perhaps he noted her almost complete lack of reaction to discovering Remus was a werewolf. What was she going to do, scream and throw things, burst into hysterical tears, run terrified from the house? Remus was everything the cretins at the Ministry implied he couldn't possibly be; exceptionally kind, modest, hard-working, and conscientious.
"He tried to be the good influence on us," Sirius said. "It worked, too, in our later years at school, we all focused more on…well, how to stay alive. But as we entered our teens, James and I were right little terrors." Maia had noticed that whenever Sirius talked about his time at school, it was always in reference to him and James, or them and Remus, but Peter Pettigrew was always an afterthought—as if he had been such during their time at school even as he was now.
"Sirius, how do children who've been bitten by a werewolf go to school?" she asked curiously. "I mean…primary-school."
"Most wizarding children are tutored at home before being sent off to Hogwarts," Sirius said. "Where possible, of course. It's just too much of a risk sometimes to have all our children around Muggles, while their magic is unstable, uncontrolled." Maia frowned.
"That little girl Tonks mentioned to Remus the other night…the one whose father works in Mr Diggory's department at the Ministry," she said slowly. "Who takes care of her, while her dad's at work? Her mother?"
"I couldn't say," Sirius shrugged. "Remus hasn't met with the man yet."
"The letter I posted today for Remus…it was for that man?" she asked; she hadn't glanced at the addressee, just delivered the letter; Sirius nodded. She frowned. "But, other werewolves are surely…literate, and things." She sighed heavily, sitting back in her chair. Kreacher was quiet, happily nibbling on the Fudge Flies she had bought him from the sweet shop and some Madeleines. "Are there witches and wizards who were bitten, but after they had children?" Sirius set down his teacup.
"I'll have to ask Remus," he said, staring at her.
"The Ministry should set up a childcare service to take care of their children on the full-moon at the very least," she said, scowling. "You said the transformation is very painful." Sirius nodded. "Werewolves with unaffected children should be able to leave their children somewhere safe while they're transforming—and for the day after the full-moon, too, so they can recover."
"I've changed my mind," Sirius said, looking a little pained as he stared at her. "I'm much too frightened of the things you and Hermione will get up to, to let you two meet."
"Too late," Maia smirked. "We're already in correspondence. Which is another thing—" Sirius threw back his head and laughed. He laughed at her. "What?!"
"When we first met I thought you were shy and quiet," Sirius chuckled. "You're a bit opinionated, aren't you?"
"My friends at school always joked I'd be the next, better Margaret Thatcher," Maia yawned.
"The first female Prime Minister, yes? The Iron Lady?" Sirius asked, and Maia nodded.
"Except, I'd be ultra-liberal," Maia sniffed. "I wouldn't take away school milk."
"No, you plan to give werewolves Wolfsbane Potion," Sirius chuckled. "You know, you could put all this in your magazine." Maia glanced at him, giving him a look before sipping her tea. "You could put in all that stuff you want to, about Muggles, but you could raise awareness about things in our world, too, like werewolves' rights, and the treatment of house-elves. You could write about the Frabjous Chizpurfles to your heart's content, too. You could show concepts for those cosmetics you want to try inventing. You could put in recipes."
Maia thought about that. And then dived for her diary, jotting Sirius' comments down. He smirked and chuckled, shaking his head as he sipped his tea.
"So what were you going to harangue me about?" Sirius chuckled.
"Owl-post," she said, setting down her pen. Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "It can't be very…well, foolproof. I'm sure there are spells and things to decipher coded letters, and making envelopes look like they haven't been opened. How many owls are intercepted every year? And what if it's an emergency and the owl can't find you? What if you never receive your post?" Sirius was grinning. "What? At this moment in the Muggle world, you can video-conference with someone halfway across the globe, you can send texts between phones, you can keep track of your friends in different countries on social-networking sights… And wizards use owls. I'm still struggling with the concept that wizards have only that medium of communication—Patronuses seem to be limited to the elite, those in the Order…" She shook her head. Sirius laughed again.
"You've been in this world ten days, you're already planning mass revolution."
"Not revolution," Maia corrected. "Revolution is such a nasty word. It brings to mind the Red Scare. Purge, modernise; those are good words." Sirius chuckled.
"So, are you going to help me get ready for tomorrow?" Sirius asked.
"What's tomorrow?"
"The day after the full-moon," Sirius sighed heavily, glancing at her. "Remus won't be his best."
"What can I do to help?" Maia asked, and Sirius' lips twitched.
"Well, it seems you're an aficionado on baking," he chuckled, an understatement; "Back when we were at Hogwarts, we used to steal down to the kitchens, grab a load of the chocolatiest foods we could find, and force Moony to eat them all."
"Chocolate?"
"Haven't we mentioned that before?" Sirius asked, glancing at Maia. "Chocolate; it's a universal magical remedy. If you're ever set upon by a Dementor," a slight shiver crossed his face, "have a bit of chocolate after you've repelled it."
"You and Mrs Weasley gave me chocolate…" Maia mused, and Sirius nodded. She glanced at Sirius, thoughts going to her pâtisserie recipes featuring chocolate, to the most recent she had—"Oh!" She darted up and barrelled out of the room, vaulting upstairs; she heard Sirius's deep bark-like laugh reverberate in the stairwell, and she ran all the way up to the third-storey, dodging the grandfather-clock and skidding into her bedroom.
"Where is it?" she muttered to herself, seeking the pale-yellow novel she had just finished reading. Pulling out her wand, she thought hard, and said, "Accio The Help."
The slim novel soared over from a stack of books; the others toppled, and as Maia grabbed The Help from midair she ran to stop the rest of the books toppling onto the floor; setting them back in a neat column, she again thought it might be worth starting to go through the library, if only so she could house her masses of books.
"What's this?" Sirius asked, when she dropped downstairs, setting the book on the table with her fat, heavy leather-bound, hand-watercoloured recipe-book, passed down through the generations.
"That is a novel that has just been turned into a film," Maia said, skimming through the pages. "I think Hermione Granger might enjoy reading it—well, enjoy isn't the right word, but she'd be righteously indignant over the treatment of the black maids. And there's a chocolate-pie in the novel…" She didn't say more; Sirius had picked up the book, leaned back in his chair, and started reading. Maia smirked to herself and went through her recipes.
If Sirius had given her more advance notice, Maia could have produced some of the most decadent pâtisserie in her treasure-trove of recipes, even gone to the sweetshop in Diagon Alley to have a bar of chocolate custom-made to put into some of the recipes. She admonished Sirius; "You could've mentioned all this earlier, so I could have had more time to prepare things," Maia admonished, and Sirius grinned.
Maia set aside her diary, closed her recipe-book, and washed the table, bringing out her enamel mixing-bowl, scales, whisk, and jars of flour, sugar, yeast, the ceramic dish of fresh eggs and cocoa, and while he became more and more engrossed in the novel, Maia baked up a storm. The recipe-book she had brought down had long ago been memorised; she had been taught since her very earliest childhood memories how to bake numerous different kinds of bread and pastry, the scent of freshly-baked bread pervasive in her memories, and Sirius had tasked her with feeding Remus so much chocolate he would explode.
So she whipped up cakes, her decadent take on mousse aux chocolat, a chocolate-hazelnut loaf, chocolate Madeleines, a chocolate-log, profiteroles filled with fresh chocolate crème pâtisserie, homemade puff-pastry for handfuls of little chocolate-ganache tarts with a surprise layer of raspberry curd, leaving enough pastry to make fresh croissants and pain au chocolat in the morning; she made a batch of her famous (at school) chewy triple-chocolate cherry brownies, in which she added chopped, stoned cherries from her orchard that had been soaking in her homemade cherry liqueur; she also made a batch of iced chocolate cupcakes, double-chocolate chip muffins and cookies, with pistachios and chopped cherries for variation, and a batch of chocolate macarons when she had found her jar of ground almonds.
If today was supposed to be her 'day off', she spent it in the kitchen, with her record-player brought down, playing her favourite Elvis songs, chatting with Sirius and baking, and getting high off the scent of cooking chocolate treats.
To break up the monotony of chocolate, and getting worried about the vast quantities of fresh fruit going to waste—this was prime jamming season she was coming into, with the extraordinary heat they had had the past month!—Maia prepared a large tart with a filling of cream-cheese sweetened with icing-sugar, lemon-juice and double-cream, topped with fresh sliced strawberries; the strawberries made her think of a Greek honey-pistachio cake she liked served with fresh yoghurt, so she made one of them, and the strawberries prompted her to blitz through the pantries before all the fruit went off.
While Kreacher sterilised the unused jars collected over the years, Maia set Sirius the task of preparing large bushels of raspberries, gooseberries, redcurrants, cherries, strawberries, blackberries, blackcurrants, plums, apricots and peaches. And with the refilling charm under her belt, Maia started making jam. She had decided half the fruit would be made into jams, half into curds, and she would make chutneys and piccalilli out of the vegetables, preparing preserved lemons, as well as pickled-onions.
Kreacher shaded the window, Sirius conjured fans that whorled gently, and with a big jug of homemade lemonade garnished with chunks of fruit and mint, the music on, it was a lovely, chilled-out, warm atmosphere.
Sirius marvelled at Maia's ability to knead pastry and dough, whisk egg-whites until they were meringues by hand, make piccalilli and curd and complicated processes for making homemade malt-loaf and knowing how to harvest honey. As she whisked a batch of vibrant raspberry curd over a bain marie, Sirius, his lips stained from sampling the fruit, still holding onto The Help, sidled over to her, and reached out to feel her upper-arm.
"Strong as steel," he said, eyebrows flicking up in surprise. "Wouldn't have thought you'd be so strong to look at." Maia just shrugged slightly, sighing softly to herself. Her hair tied up in a handkerchief, wearing a floral cotton apron over her sundress, Sirius had conjured a folding fan to gently waft her with cool air while she stood over the range. But it was hot work, and he didn't understand…
"Diane was…old," Maia said quietly, licking her lips and tasting the saltiness of sweat; she wiped her face with her handkerchief, tucking it into the pocket of her apron, and sighed, before glancing at Sirius. "I loved taking care of her, having that privilege…but she was…aristocratic. She liked being taken care of, and spoiled."
Maia had had to do everything. The chickens, the beehives, the garden and the orchards…every year she would make the jams and chutneys, harvest the honey, and every day she had prepared fresh bread. And there had always been cake. She hadn't minded; she had enjoyed indulging Diane, for she was mercurial and eccentric like the most dazzling fairytale characters. "And sometimes her mind slipped," she murmured, half to herself.
Had she lived even longer than her indeterminate age, Maia would have been concerned that Diane had showed signs of dementia. Little things, but once she had woken to get the bread on and prepare breakfast, before heading off to college, and noticed that Diane wasn't in her room. Maia had found her, half-frozen, several miles away from the Hobbit-hole, just gazing over the dewy meadows in the dawn, dressed in nothing but her nightie. She would spout Shakespeare or Wordsworth in the middle of a conversation about knitting, spoke of astrology as a salutation, quoted Virgil and hoarded little trinkets like a magpie, with mercurial emotions ranging from vitriol at her secrets being discovered, and weeping, forgetting things. It had fallen to Maia to comfort her, and to remember, whenever Diane forgot. Puddings, sweets and pâtisserie were her comfort, and it was Maia's delight to provide them for her, indulging her naughtiness when the cakes disappeared while she was at her lessons.
Baking fresh bread every day was an intensely physical practice, as was cooking everything by hand—no electrical appliances in the Hobbit-hole—and perhaps even more physically demanding was gardening.
It didn't take long to make the jam and curds; Maia had to stop Sirius sticking his finger into the wide, shallow pan, trying to get at the fragrant jams. Mrs Weasley teaching her different spells to help in the kitchen, especially Scourgify, ensured Maia didn't have to do any washing up. The dresser and pantries featured the cooling patisserie treats Maia had cooked up, and the large kitchen table was spread with bushels of prepared fruit on one side, Maia's enamel bowl (used to measure out sugar) and on the other side, sterilised jars of untold shapes and sizes—not one of them gathered from a Muggle shop; they had been used and reused for preserves for years, much more elegant and pretty than the usual jam-jars—some of them filled with fresh jam, the ceramic dish of fresh eggs lending its contents to the individual jars of specific fruit curds Maia prepared over a bain marie.
Preparing the vegetables for piccalilli and different chutneys, the large, shallow pan was put back on the stove after the last of the blackcurrant jam had been jarred, and Maia put together a ratatouille for an early tea. When Remus appeared, looking incredibly tired and wan, Maia cracked four eggs into the ratatouille and let them cook, before doling out four platefuls with a chunk of fresh, crusty bread. Pudding consisted of the fresh strawberry tart, and a glass of Butterbeer each. Maia sent Remus off for a nap with a boozy chocolate-cherry brownie, and she put away the things she had made for Remus to enjoy tomorrow inside battered old, painted enamel cake-tins.
When other Order members started to arrive, she brought out more fresh fruit, other treats she had made earlier in the week, and pitchers filled with drinks, and met two new recruits: Florean Fortescue, and a rather formidable-looking woman in a pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
"Augusta Longbottom," she said, offering her hand imperiously to Maia. "And you are Godfrey's granddaughter."
Maia stared. Godfrey? She glanced at Sirius. "Am I?" she murmured in a low voice. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to be Godfrey's granddaughter. Something about this imperious woman made her wary.
"It's unmistakable!" Mrs Longbottom said, in her forceful voice. "Exceptional wizard, Godfrey de Lusignan. I loved your grandfather; and I shall love you." Maia didn't know what to say, so she nodded. She glanced at Sirius, whose eyes were twinkling; he was two-thirds of the way through The Help already, and had been quite put out when Mrs Weasley had arrived with Mrs Longbottom, Ailith escorting Florean Fortescue.
"So, where do you go to school, child?" Mrs Longbottom asked.
"I just finished exams at a Muggle sixth-form college," Maia said.
"Merlin, that must have been dreadfully dull!" Mrs Longbottom scowled. "Are you a squib?"
"No. But I was raised by one," Maia said, and Mrs Longbottom's eyebrows rose.
"Oh. Diane," she nodded, and Maia smiled.
"Did you know my great-aunt?"
"Not well; she was always on the periphery; raised Godfrey, too," Mrs Longbottom said, and Maia stared.
"She did?" She had known her great-aunt was ancient, and that there were a few generations between them…but her aunt had raised Maia's grandfather, too?
"Yes. It's very hard to have a squib in the family," Mrs Longbottom declared. "Always worrying that your child won't have it as easy as you did… For the longest time I was afraid my grandson was non-magical."
"How is Neville doing?" Remus asked quietly, walking over from Sturgis and Lothaire.
"Remus! Remus Lupin!" Mrs Longbottom crowed. "How very good to see you. I believe my grandson never did half so well at school as when you were teaching him."
"Neville's a very hard-worker," Remus said. "I was always quite proud of his persistence."
"It's a shame he doesn't have his father's talent," Mrs Longbottom sighed.
"Oh, Neville has talent enough," Remus smiled kindly. "It was always just a matter of confidence. I had very few conversations with Professor Sprout where Neville's name didn't crop up." Maia glanced at Mrs Longbottom, remembering how Remus had asked her to write a post-script in her letter to Hermione, to tell Neville he could do anything he set his mind to. Maia glanced at Mrs Longbottom.
"You weren't in the original Order?" she asked.
"No, indeed I was not," Mrs Longbottom said, and she seemed to puff up with pride as she said, "My son and daughter-in-law were. Exceptionally talented, very popular Aurors."
"Aurors? Like Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye?" Maia asked, and Mrs Longbottom glanced around when Maia gestured to the three chatting about Rufus Scrimgeour, a popular topic between the Aurors who had to be careful around their head of office.
"This is the real Mad-Eye, I presume," Mrs Longbottom said, and her lips had gone white as she seemed to tremble with rage.
"It is," said Sirius, appearing beside Maia. Maia glanced from Mrs Longbottom to Mad-Eye, wondering what was going on; she knew that Mad-Eye had been attacked, and Barty Crouch Jr. had posed as him for nine months…what made Mrs Longbottom shake with rage like that?
"Sirius Black!" Mrs Longbottom exclaimed, her eyebrows rising. "Tell me it's true."
"It is," Sirius said, with a saddened smile.
"Frank never believed it possible, never!" Mrs Longbottom declared, and Maia thought she was talking about believing Sirius would ever betray the Potters. "Always spoke very highly of you."
"Frank was a great man," Sirius said, offering Mrs Longbottom a glass of red wine. "We got each other out of quite a few scrapes."
"No doubt, no doubt," Mrs Longbottom said, and she seemed to chuckle slightly.
"Oh," Sirius grimaced guiltily. "I'm afraid I should apologise."
"For what?"
"Your grandson was banned from attending Hogsmeade visits, and it was my fault," Sirius said, wincing guiltily again as Mrs Longbottom's shoulders straightened. "I convinced a part-Kneazle cat to steal the passwords he had written down on a piece of paper, so I could access Gryffindor Tower and kill Pettigrew."
"Ah," Mrs Longbottom said, nodding slowly.
"So I just wanted to apologise for getting your grandson in trouble," Sirius winced guiltily again. "I'll have to ask Dumbledore to repeal Neville's ban… I know what it's like to be cooped up in the same place for months on end." Mrs Longbottom patted Sirius on the shoulder, sipped her wine, and made her way over to Mad-Eye, with whom she fell into what looked like a very serious conversation.
"She seems…" Maia frowned, uncertain what to say. "Intense."
"What's Neville Longbottom like?" Sirius asked curiously.
"Mrs Longbottom's memory of her son overshadows her love for her grandson," Remus said quietly. "But Neville was always quiet and kept to himself… I've never met anyone quite so dignified… And he was persistent. He never gave up trying to get through the course-load, no matter how desperately he wanted to. I offered him one-to-one lessons while I was at Hogwarts; he made a lot of progress that way… I think Augusta's expectations of him make him feel he comes up a bit short." He sighed, glancing at Mrs Longbottom.
"Well, we're lucky to have Augusta on our side, at any rate," Sirius said, sipping his Butterbeer. "She's a phenomenal witch." When everyone had gathered—even Professor Dumbledore, who usually showed up only when new members were being inducted—Maia picked up her glass of garnished lemonade, her diary and a slice of sticky, fragrant ginger cake, about to make her way out of the room to find somewhere cool and dark to lie down after the immense effort she had put in, when Professor Dumbledore called her back.
"Just a moment, Maia," he said, smiling. "You can sit in on this part, as it will affect you."
"Oh…okay," Maia said, highly surprised; she stepped beside Sirius, leaning against the dresser. Glancing at Sirius, she wondered what they were going to talk about.
"Hogwarts will be breaking up for the summer in a week's time," Professor Dumbledore said, glancing at Sirius, Remus and Maia. His eyes twinkled subtly as he saw Kreacher, in a fresh pillowcase with his ear-hair fluffy and soft. "Due to the threat posed to Cedric Diggory's life, after the snake-attack and with Pettigrew and Voldemort still on the loose, Amos has inquired as to whether his son can live here during the summer."
"Of course," Sirius said, without hesitation.
"And Arthur and Molly will talk to the twins, Ronald and Ginevra about coming to stay," Professor Dumbledore said, eyes still twinkling.
"That's probably best," Sirius nodded. "Since Pettigrew knows where you live…"
"Exactly," Mrs Weasley said, looking anxious.
"What about, um…Hermione Granger?" Maia asked, glancing at Sirius. "She's best-friends with Ron and Harry, isn't she? She was there the night Pettigrew's true identity was uncovered."
"She was," Sirius nodded. "We've been thinking about inviting her to stay. Not the whole summer, obviously, she has her parents, I'm sure they're anticipating her return."
"And they do tend to go on holiday with Hermione, whenever they can," Mrs Weasley said. "I'm sure they've discussed it, but I'll make sure Ron sends Hermione an owl, to invite her."
"Why don't you bring Neville?" Sirius said suddenly, glancing over at Mrs Longbottom.
"While you're working with the Order, he can spend time with kids his own age," Remus suggested.
"That will be good for him," Mrs Longbottom frowned. "He has so few friends; he spends his summers alone, in his garden."
"Well, bring him over," Sirius said enthusiastically.
"Are you sure, Sirius?" Mrs Weasley asked. "With even just us it's already another six. Cedric and Neville, and Hermione, too?"
"The more the merrier," Sirius said heartily, grinning. "Anyway, now that Herr Maia has stopped whipping my hide raw to get this house cleaned—"
"Excuse me!"
"—we've got more than enough of the bedrooms sorted out. And we need Hermione here anyway, to go through the library," Sirius continued, patting Maia's head; she gave him a deadpan look.
"Anyway, um, Ginny could share with me," Maia said, glancing at Mrs Weasley; she had memorised all the Weasley children's names. "There are a few twin rooms that the twins could share, and maybe Cedric and Neville could. That way, if anyone else in the Order needed a place to crash for the night, there'd be spare beds available. The sofas in the drawing-room don't exactly seem fit for people to sleep on."
"When is Cedric coming?" Remus asked Mr Diggory.
"The day he gets back from Hogwarts," Mr Diggory said. "It's convenient, with me and his mum both working in London. And with all the protection on this place, he'll be safe."
"I can bring Neville the same day, too," Mrs Longbottom said.
"I'll try and get things organised as much as possible," Mrs Weasley said, "before Hogwarts breaks, but give us a few days at the Burrow before you expect us."
"Now that that's settled," Professor Dumbledore smiled, "Maia, Sirius informs me you have several ideas regarding werewolves." Maia blinked, then flushed, as everyone turned to look at her.
"Oh. Those. Well," she blushed. "I thought about…giving a financial donation to an organisation that supports werewolf rights, to cover the costs of supplying Wolfsbane Potion free to werewolves, since the Ministry can't 'afford' it," she added, using air-quotes with a slight roll of her eyes; many peoples' lips twitched. "And I wondered whether there's a childcare service available to werewolves who might have unaffected children, you know, where they know their children can be safe on the night of the full-moon, and the day after, so they can recuperate after the transformation."
"And you mentioned primary-school," Sirius intoned, and Maia blushed again as all eyes remained on her.
"Well, we were really just talking, but…I was wondering how children affected by the bite are tutored," Maia said. "Whether there's a school for werewolves too young to attend Hogwarts? They could be provided with Wolfbane Potion at school, so that's a burden off the parents…"
Remus' eyes, despite his wan face, were twinkling as he gazed at her. She blushed shyly, she had been thinking a lot about werewolves, what she had read about them in her Defence Against the Dark Arts books, what she knew of Remus himself, thinking about the little girl Tonks had hinted was affected by lycanthropy, wondering who took care of her while her father was at work, how she could fit in at a Muggle school if she was always very ill.
Several hours later, the meeting broke up, and Maia woke up in her armchair with a start, hearing the laughter and talking echoing up from the hall. When she dropped downstairs, rubbing her eyes, her arms screaming in protest from kneading, whisking, mixing, lifting and stirring all day, she became aware that amongst the familiar faces, two were missing. Remus hadn't made a show of disappearing before sunset; Sirius had gone with him, disguised as Padfoot, more to keep his oldest friend company than to keep him in check, a return to tradition.
Mrs Longbottom bid her goodbye rather imperiously, saying she hoped she would get along with Neville and didn't mind the imposition of having all these house-guests: Mr Diggory shook Maia's hand, and Mrs Weasley assured Maia that she needn't be put out of her bedroom when she brought her children, that Ginny was used to sharing a bedroom with Hermione during the summer-holidays, and wouldn't mind continuing the tradition here. Maia handed Mr Weasley a hardback book just before he and Mrs Weasley slipped out of the house. Masters of the Post: The Authorized History of the Royal Mail.
"I used it as a reference in one of my Early-Modern Britain essays on news and communications," Maia said, and Mr Weasley's eyes illuminated. "It's a bit academic, but you might appreciate the detail."
"Ooh, thank you!" Mr Weasley said eagerly, his face glowing as he reached for the book stuffed with photographs, pictures, maps and diagrams. Mrs Weasley gave the book a faintly disapproving look, but she smiled at Maia. His 'eccentricities', as wizards saw them, probably were one of the reasons Mrs Weasley loved her husband so much.
Maia wondered whether Sirius had asked her to, but Ailith remained at Number Twelve, with Jack and the other boys from the Frabjous Chizpurfles. Bill had taken away duplications of Maia's recipes for several different things; alongside Tonks, he was covertly letting Maia teach him how to cook. And he had also asked whether Maia had any books on learning French.
"Diane made workbooks to help teach me languages, and maths and things like that," Maia said, "I could make a duplicate of the French one, and clean it up…if you'd like."
"Thanks, Maia," he grinned, and strode out of the house after giving her a one-armed hug.
"You know, you really should start charging if you're going to lend out your library," Ailith said, glancing up from the parchment she was working on.
"Don't worry; I wrote it down that I lent the book out to Mr Weasley," Maia said, waving her diary.
"Ah, the diary," Ailith smiled.
"I thought I'd work from it," Maia sighed, stretching luxuriously before climbing into a chair at the kitchen-table, having brought down a few feather cushions embroidered beautifully.
"How are your lessons going?" Ailith asked. "Sirius mentioned he's been teaching you."
"They're going," Maia nodded. "A few hours every day. We're working through the Charms and Transfiguration texts. Remus is doing Defence with me. And I'm working through the Potions textbook. It's just cooking, really."
"I hope you don't taste-test," Jack said, glancing up and smirking; he and the boys were scribbling in a large leather-bound workbook, while Vittorio sat off to the side with his violin. Ailith caught her eye.
"If it looks like Butterbeer, it must be Butterbeer," she said.
"That was once!" Jack blurted, glancing at Ailith. "And you told me to do it."
"Didn't."
"Did."
"Where's Tonks?" Maia asked curiously; she couldn't remember seeing her earlier.
"She's having dinner at her parents' house," Ailith said. "She had a long day in the Auror Office. I think she's trying to convince her mum and dad to get involved with the Order. Andromeda Tonks is scary when she wants to be."
"Really?" Maia asked curiously. Ailith nodded.
"According to Tonks, her mum was a duelling champion," Ailith said, smiling. "She says she supposes that's the only reason Bellatrix Lestrange never went after her during the War."
"Bellatrix…Sirius' other cousin?" Maia asked, remembering the name Sirius had erased from a silver plaque on one of third-storey bedrooms near her own. "Aren't they sisters? Sirius told me Bellatrix was in Azkaban."
"She is. But she was only imprisoned after You-Know-Who fell," Ailith said. "She went in with a few other Death Eaters, after torturing an Auror and his wife to insanity." Maia exhaled a stunned breath. Ailith gave her an understanding look. "It's no wonder Sirius hated this place." She glanced around the kitchen, unrecognisable from when Maia had first arrived; there was stuff everywhere. Every day, Maia had been bringing more and more things out of her trunks, slowly but surely moving in; most of the things littered around the kitchen were dedicated to cooking, some were her magic schoolbooks; others were Sirius' very handsome wood record-player and stacks of records, as well as Maia's black DVD-cases, and stacks of novels, and some of the new books Maia had bought in Flourish and Blotts and was making her way through.
"It doesn't look like the Number Twelve I arrived at last week," Maia said. "It doesn't even feel like it anymore."
"No. You and Sirius did an amazing job of cleaning and redecorating it," Ailith smiled. "What are you going to do for the rest of the summer?"
"Work on my fairytales, I suppose," Maia said. "And continue having my lessons."
"Are you trying to catch up, before you go to Hogwarts?" Ailith asked. Maia nodded.
"I don't relish the idea of being the only teenager in my class," she sighed.
"Well, don't try to do too many things at once; your brain will explode," Ailith said, and Maia chuckled. "Although, you managed A-Levels before you turned sixteen. My brothers both went to pieces during their exams."
"Are they Muggles?"
"Yes. Charles has just finished at Oxford, and Quentin just sat his A-Levels," Ailith said.
"What subjects did he take?" Maia asked interestedly.
"Physics, Maths, Further-Maths and Art," Ailith said.
"Does he want to be an architect?" Maia asked, and Ailith chuckled, nodding. For a little while, while Ailith worked and Maia did some more paintings, trying out several other charms from the book on Wizard art she had bought, they talked about Ailith's Muggle toff brothers, which universities her youngest brother had applied for through UCAS, and they talked about the extortionately-swollen costs of university since the government put through new legislation, and the problems of student loans—"everyone's getting loans, but you don't have to pay them back until you're earning a specific amount, and with the economy, very few grads are getting jobs, so it's free money! What the government should do is lower the cost of university fees, and squash a three-year course into eighteen months. I have a friend at university at the moment, she started in late-September, and she was finished by the Easter holidays! Barely six months, and they're going to start charging nine-thousand pounds?"
"I know. It's ridiculous," Ailith sighed.
"Do you want to know my theories on how this will affect society?" Maia asked, and Ailith chuckled.
"Tell me."
"Well, the rising costs of university won't affect the very rich, so they'll remain the highest tier of society. And the chavs and students with parents on the dole will get all of the grants, so it won't cost them a penny," Maia said, "but it'll be the middle-class who'll suffer. They won't get the funding, the grants, and they'll turn into the new lower-class because they won't be able to afford the costs of going to university, unless they start out their adult lives with a whole load of debt… What's it like for witches and wizards, coming out of Hogwarts?"
"Well, my year at Hogwarts, all but two of our House had jobs lined up before we finished in June," Ailith said, looking thoughtful. "And the others got jobs, but they moved around and stuck with things to get promoted, until they were where they wanted to be. I'm not counting Jack, of course."
"Hey!" Jack pouted.
"Your life's aim was to inherit your uncle's fortune, leave your mum and sister destitute, have six wives and a hundred illegitimate children, and die alone in a drunken binge leaving everything to a pet Tarsier," Ailith said, glancing at Jack, who shrugged.
"Yes, well, I was young and naïve," Jack sighed. "I can do better than only a hundred illegitimate children!" Maia laughed, and Ailith rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she turned back to her work.
"So, most people, when they leave Hogwarts, they start working right away?"
"Yes. Of course, with the old families, you've still got people like…I don't know, like Bertie Wooster. They don't need to work, so they just have a lot of fun," Ailith said. "Most keep involved in politics and things, but the Wizarding world is still old-fashioned. If you're very clever, or very talented, you can start out from Hogwarts with the prospect of an exceptional career. If you're rich, you'll most likely stay rich. Craftsmanship skills are kept within the family. But either way, if you want something, you have to work for it. Bill and Charlie Weasley were both very hard-working at school, so they got job-opportunities they deserved, but they went after them. And, sometimes, it does help who you know."
"Good thing I've come to live here, then," Maia smiled. "I dine with the heads of two Ministry departments; go drinking with Aurors and have ice-cream with journalists for the Daily Prophet…" Ailith laughed.
"So, what are you working on?" she asked, a few moments later; she had set aside her work, and despite Maia still painting, she had brought out the Scrabble board, the popcorn and was mulling some cider.
"I can't decide whether to have Red Riding Hood a little girl…or a teenager," Maia said, showing Ailith the studies she had made of a little girl with flushed cheeks, and a brunette teenager with rose-coloured lips and curling hair that fell into her eyes rather roguishly. The little girl swung a basket, toeing a clump of frilly mushrooms and wildflowers in a sun-dappled wood, a robin chirping from the gnarled tree-trunk she had painted with a large knot in it, owl-eyes glinting within; the teenaged Red Riding Hood held a glowing lantern, illuminating her face from below, wolves' eyes glinting in the darkness of the wood surrounding her, the red of her cloak a deep cherry. She glanced up at Ailith. "Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf?"
Ailith chuckled. "You could actually go in whichever direction you liked," she said thoughtfully. "You could explore the darker adolescent version. Go the way of that recent film."
"Oh, Red Riding Hood," Maia nodded. "I went to see it with my friends Jess and Zita; they went for Shiloh Fernandes, I went for Bill Nighy." Ailith chuckled.
"Or, you could do two versions," she said, smiling.
"Saucy fairytales for teens?" Maia chuckled. Ailith grinned. "Did you know originally Sleeping Beauty was raped? She awoke giving birth; and Rapunzel was cast out of the tower because the Prince had got her pregnant… Flynn Rider never would've done that."
"Ah, Tangled," Ailith smiled. "I took my youngest cousin to see it."
"I liked it—visually, more than anything," Maia smiled. "I've got it, actually, upstairs, and Red Riding Hood… It was a gift. I could do with re-watching a lot of the old Disney films. I set out with this project wanting to make the female characters as un-Disney-looking as possible."
"A redhead Rapunzel."
"And a wheat-blonde Beauty."
"Magic gives the Frog Prince a new spin," Ailith chuckled. "I always loved that one. And the Princess and the Pea."
"The Gingerbread Man!" Maia laughed. "I'm sure you could Charm a gingerbread-man!" Ailith laughed.
"Which others have you done paintings for?"
"Um…Snow White, Tom Thumb, Hansel and Gretel, the Snow Queen, Thumbelina… I wanted to do Goldilocks and the Tree Bears, Jack and the Beanstalk and the Ugly Duckling," Maia said thoughtfully, writing them down on a fresh page of her journal.
"Have you written any stories for the other fairytales?" Ailith asked.
"Not really," Maia said, shrugging delicately. "I've been too focused on the paintings."
"Well, I picked this up for you," Ailith said, drawing something out of a pocket of her jacket: it was a pamphlet made of the same thick parchment the ones she had picked up from Madame Primpernelle's and the sweetshop were made of. "One of the literary correspondents at the Prophet has a lot of connections with publishers, and there's a very small printer in Diagon Alley who will hand-make books to your requirements. For a fee, of course, but you'd get all of the profits. No one would interfere with the design or anything."
"That would be cool!" Maia grinned, taking the leaflet. "You asked your colleague about publishers?"
"We have desks near each other in the office," Ailith smiled. "Anyway, he liked your idea. Said if I could get hold of an example of your watercolours, he could do a small piece on your stories as being ones to watch out for."
"Really?" Maia beamed, a little embarrassed but very pleased.
"Absolutely. I don't even have children, but I want to buy up all of your stories for them!" Ailith chuckled softly, her gentle eyes warm. Maia glanced at the leaflet again.
"I'll have to have a look into this," she said thoughtfully. Her fairytale watercolours had been an unreachable wish, a sort of hoped-for, untouchable desire that would really never come to anything because she didn't know where to start. As Ailith had said, it was all about who one knew.
When Ailith and the boys departed, sometime later that evening, Maia traipsed upstairs to her room, sending Kreacher off to bed, and sat in her armchair, thinking about her fairytales; she went through the leaflet Ailith had given her, and, making a list of fairytales in a neat column, she ticked off the ones she had done illustrations for, which fairytales she needed to do more paintings for, and pulled out fresh watercolour paper, painting studies for various new characters from different tales. She didn't last long; an hour later she had several pages of her diary filled with studies of different, eccentric, beautiful characters, costume ideas, hairstyles and eye-colours, proposed settings and notes on cuisine she could slip into the paintings.
A.N.: So, please review!