"I'm always up for a party but it's early, isn't it? Are wizards into morning raves?"
Flickering orbs of light floated around Faye, illuminating her darkened bedroom. Chewie was hopping up from her lap to catch an orb, his paws narrowly scratching its smooth surface to the beat of Marco making club noises.
In the month since departing from Georgia, Faye had kept in contact with the Beaumonts, Jaxon unfortunately included by the inescapable circumstance of being related to Reese and Charlotte, and Mrs. Beaumont offered a premature start to her private lessons. Their family owl Athena, whose appearance was as regal as her name, arrived at the kitchen window about a week after Faye's birthday, carrying a set of books that entailed her lessons for the upcoming school year and instructions on how to contact Mrs. Beaumont with the enchanted mirror.
Her former headmistress pulled some strings, with the assistance of her husband, to allow Faye to practice simple spells without being visited by the British Ministry for breaking the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. With Faye's records needing to be transferred between Ministries, she was in a sort of limbo, where the British Ministry was not strictly monitoring her yet and being overseas, she was given a tiny loophole by MACUSA. It was similar to the one the Beaumont children used over the summer but she was not comfortable with attempting bigger spells and finding herself being reprimanded by the Ministry before attending Hogwarts.
Mrs. Beaumont's intended lessons for Faye deviated from the usual course for second years in the Silverwing Society. She wanted to teach her rune magic, a type of magic not usually taught amongst the wizarding schools and at Ilvermorny, the subject was not discussed beyond the theoretical until sixth year. The students in the Silverwing Society, if proven capable, were able to practice ahead of their peers, Jaxon often showing off his proficiency at the ancient magic to the amusement of his admirers.
Rune magic involved drawing magic from nature and a person's surroundings, which could prove difficult for even a gifted wizard or witch. The spells were conjured through symbols, rather than words, and a skilled practitioner was able to draw those symbols in mid-air to cast spells. Nowhere near that level, Faye was learning by drawing the symbols on pieces of paper, which led to the circle of yellow post-it notes bearing a circular symbol around her and Chewie.
"Is it a wizard thing, a British thing, or a British wizard thing?" joked Marco.
As she tore them in half, the orbs vanished one by one. "It's the only spell I can practice without getting interrogated by aurors. Not that I'm any good at it…"
"Hey, the fact that you made any light is impressive." She was heartened by his encouragement. "If we're ever in spooky woods and my flashlight dies, you've got the fix. If I throw a rager, boom. Instant strobe lights. We've got to get going so I grabbed you breakfast from the bakery on my way back. Natalie gave me a discount."
He tossed her a paper bag. "Natalie, huh? You're on first name basis with the cute bakery girl?" she asked, taking a bite of the croissant and picking up her tote. "Don't tell Grace."
"I can't help it that all the ladies love me," he said, sticking out his tongue. "Now that we're living here, this face plus the accent? It drives them wild."
During the drive to London, where they planned to purchase Faye's school supplies, she perused her Hogwarts letter. Enclosed was a personalized letter that described how to get onto the train on September 1st, emphasizing that it left promptly at eleven o'clock, and that she would be sorted with the first years at the welcoming feast and a supply list. Being a transfer student, Faye required more than a typical second year.
The starkest difference in the two schools was the collection of books written by Gilderoy Lockhart. When Faye had mentioned it to Charlotte, her perky best friend gushed over the handsome author, apparently a celebrity in the wizarding world. He was well-known for his skirmishes with dark creatures, awarded prestigious honors for his feats and gracing numerous magazine covers. After two paragraphs about his attractive looks, Charlotte spent another on how she almost met him at MACUSA and swore that he smiled at her.
"It's on this road," she told her father. The Leaky Cauldron, an entrance to Diagon Alley, was hidden from nomajs. "I see it."
Faye pointed to a grubby pub nestled between a bookstore and a record store. People passed by as if it was a stretch of brick wall or a run-down building. Getting out of the car, Claire deposited money into the parking meter.
"Faye!"
Her stepcousin Hermione emerged from a crowd at the nearby bus stop, her bushy hair flying behind her as she sprinted up the sidewalk. The two girls embraced then Hermione moved onto Marco, her father, and Claire. Her parents came into view, Claire emitting a tut of disbelief at Mr. Granger's comment to Faye's father, in jest, that he had survived his younger sister's cooking.
"Don't listen to him, Claire. He's lucky if he doesn't burn the house down when making eggs," said Mrs. Granger, patting her husband's arm. "I hope the drive wasn't too bad."
The conversation veered from cooking to the men grousing over the terrible traffic. "Did you enjoy Hogwarts, a History?" Hermione asked Faye, having lent her the book. "I thought it would be useful."
"Yeah, it was interesting," said Faye, as they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron. "The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall is like the windows at Ilvermorny, except you can change the scenery with a charm. A seventh year in Pukwudgie got like a month's detention for making a group of third year girls think that there was a Chinese Fireball outside their dormitory."
"At least it wasn't a real dragon," said Hermione, terrified by the thought. "Harry and Ron should be getting their supplies today as well so you'll get to meet them. I apologize in advance for anything they may say, given they can be tactless at times, but it'll be a bit less daunting if you know people before you're at Hogwarts."
"I already met someone, actually," acknowledged Faye. "He was at Reese and Charlotte's for their birthday."
Hermione's inquiry was interrupted by Mr. Granger reminding her that due to the enchantment, she and Faye needed to guide them into the Leaky Cauldron. The inside of the pub matched its shabby exterior. Faye contemplated drawing a rune with the grime on the floor, to brighten the dimly lit room. Following Hermione to a back door, she told her how Ilvermorny students purchased their supplies in Laveau Lane in New Orleans.
Each region of the country had a designated spot, the states interconnected with a spell so someone did not have to travel hours for books and potion ingredients. Unlike Diagon Alley, its entrance was a street that nomajs were unable to see and to them, according to Marco, it was a roped off path under construction. Taking out her wand, Hermione tapped a specific brick in the walled courtyard and an archway formed in the wall, revealing a busy cobblestone street.
Faye's father grasped Marco's sleeve, to keep him from wandering off into one of the many shops. Their first stop was Gringotts, the sole bank in the wizarding world that was owned and staffed by goblins, to exchange their money, dragots not a common currency in Britain. A bearded goblin was standing at the top of the white stone steps, wearing a scarlet and gold uniform.
"No mires," Faye whispered, nudging Marco's side. "You saw them last year in New Orleans."
"It looks like abuelito when he hasn't gotten enough sleep." Hermione held back a quiet giggle. "They could be distant relatives."
"I wouldn't feed it after midnight," muttered her father, receiving a backhanded slap on the chest from Claire.
Donning an innocent grin, he gave his wallet to Faye. She approached the long counter, where goblins were seated on high stools as they scribbled in ledgers, weighed coins, and inspected gems. Speaking with a free goblin, Faye, unable to get the image of her grandfather out of her head thanks to Marco, exchanged money. The goblin provided her a swift lesson on exchange rates between knuts, sickles, and galleons, her father clearing his throat when she was offered a personal vault.
Hermione re-entered the vast marble hall with a boy in clothes that were two sizes too big and round-rimmed glasses and a family of redheads. Though they had only known about each other's abilities since the day before her father and Claire's weddings, Faye and Hermione had spoken at length on the phone in the weeks after, talking for hours about their lives at their schools.
Faye had never met them in person but from Hermione's descriptions, she deduced that the redheads were the Weasleys. Hermione introduced them in turn: Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, their sons Percy, a studious prefect who abided by the rules and had an aura of authority, Fred and George, a pair of mischievous twins, and Ron, her best friend who was almost as tall as Marco, and the youngest and sole daughter Ginny, who was beginning at Hogwarts. The boy beside her was her other best friend Harry Potter.
"And this is my aunt Claire and my stepuncle Antonio and cousins Marco and Faye," said Hermione, happily.
Ginny shyly waved at Faye while Fred and George lowered themselves into exaggerated bows and Percy adjusted his sweater vest to highlight his shiny prefect badge. Neither Harry nor Ron said a word, staring at Faye.
"It's wonderful to meet you." Whatever she had been inaudibly arguing with her husband about, Mrs. Weasley left it in the past. "All the way from North America? It's quite a journey."
"I have a cousin that lives in the states. Texas, isn't it, Molly? We must have a drink. What's that you've got there?" An eager Mr. Weasley was examining the ten-pound notes in Mr. Granger's hand. "Oh, you're changing muggle money. Molly, lo—oh, I didn't mean to offend, Mr. Rivera."
Faye noted her father's confusion. "You didn't, Mr. Weasley. In North America, we call nonmagical people nomajs, not muggles."
"Ah, yes, different cultures, different words…" he said, in understanding. "You could tell us more over drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. My treat."
They waited as Harry and the Weasleys retrieved money from their vaults. Hermione explained that Mr. Weasley had an interest in the nomaj world, working in a department at the British Ministry that dealt with regulating the use of magic on normal objects and preventing them from harming nomajs. Once they were back on the steps, they decided to separate, with Mr. Weasley taking their parents and Marco for drinks, Percy needing a new quill, Fred and George wanting to meet up with a friend, and Mrs. Weasley purchasing Ginny's uniform.
"Faye, you'll be all right getting your supplies with Hermione, Ron, and Harry?" her father asked, holding onto Marco who desired to visit the shops.
"I'm Harry," he piped up, instant regret on his face. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "But you um knew that."
"Dad, I could go with them," proposed Marco, likening it to a heroic sacrifice. "We wouldn't want Faye to forget anything so they could benefit from a mature influence to keep them in line."
"And in what world would that be you, mijo?" he quipped. "They'll be fine. Essentials only. I know what's on that list."
After agreeing to meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour, they went into an ice cream parlor across from Gringotts, where Harry bought four strawberry and peanut butter cones. Mere seconds after leaving the parlor, Ron ambled over to the window of a quidditch shop, admiring a set of orange robes modeled after those worn by the Chudley Cannons, his favorite British team. Hermione attempted to pull him away from the display, brandishing Faye's supply list.
"We can go inside. I have to replace my gloves," said Faye, opening the door.
"Essentials, Faye," stressed Hermione, in a motherly tone.
"They're essential for when I'm on the team." Faye wiggled her fingers. "Do you want these to get bruised?"
"You play quidditch?" asked Ron, stunned. He shrunk under Hermione's reproachful glare. "I wasn't—not that a girl can't play. At Hogwarts, first years aren't allowed to try out for the house teams and we're the same age."
"Technically, you can't at Ilvermorny either but we're allowed on the reserve teams. I was a reserve chaser for Thunderbird," she said, as they entered the shop. "For the final match with Wampus, I subbed in for a fifth year. He was dared to kick a billywig nest and ended up in the hospital wing. It drove this jerk Warner mad. He kept whining that he had special training from a professional chaser. The match was intense and the gloves my friend Reese loaned me couldn't handle the awesomeness of la racha."
"La what?" asked Harry, thinking he misheard her.
"It's my nickname. It's because I'm super fast, like a gust of wind." She moved her hand side to side. "You'd have an easier time catching a cheetah. You play too, don't you?"
Quidditch proved to be the key to cracking Harry and Ron's shells. Their nerves around Faye ebbed, her and Ron getting into a lighthearted squabble over the ranking of teams in the leagues. When she was not listing reasons why the American National team would trounce the Irish team in a match occurring at the end of the month, she was trading stories about playing for their school teams with Harry. He was an actual member of the Gryffindor team, his head of house bending the rules, and played as a seeker, telling her how he accidentally swallowed the snitch in his first match.
His broom was a superior model, a Nimbus 2000 like Reese's, and though Reese would have loaned it to her in a heartbeat or convinced his parents to buy her own, she settled for her Cleansweep Nine. Hermione eventually ushered them out of the shop, after dissuading Faye from purchasing an expensive pair of gloves that altered their fabric based on the weather instead of a cheaper alternative.
Conceding that they were on a tight schedule, Faye concentrated on her supply list. As they weaved through Diagon Alley, Hermione checking off each item, they encountered Fred and George with their friend Lee in a joke shop, digging through a box of fireworks, and a stuffy Percy in a junk shop, immersed in a book about successful prefects.
Visiting Madam Malkin's for her uniform, the squat witch beckoned her onto a footstool. She slipped a long black robe over Faye's head.
"My, you're a tiny one," said Madam Malkin, her measuring tape wrapping around Faye's waist.
"At least you won't stick out around the first years for the sorting," cracked Ron. Harry snorted into his fist. "How do they sort at Ilvermorny?"
"You stand in the middle of four wooden statues of the mascots for the houses and then whichever statue reacts, that's your house." A pin pricked her wrist. "You can get picked by multiple houses and if that happens, it's your choice. Reese could've gone into either Thunderbird or Pukwudgie and Charlotte was Thunderbird or Horned Serpent. I had the worst of it, having to choose between all four."
She climbed off from the footstool. "Well, at Hogwarts, you just have to listen to a hat talking in your ear. You'll be a shoo-in for Gryffindor," assured Harry.
"Definitely," affirmed Ron. "You're muggleborn so Slytherin's not an option. It's full of pompous toerags. Ravenclaw's not that bad but to be honest, they're kind of nerds."
"Ron!" snapped Hermione, sounding offended. "You know, Faye was top of her class at Ilvermorny. She even received extra lessons from her headmistress. Being athletic and intelligent aren't mutually exclusive."
"I didn't say that," he said, defensively. "She'd like Gryffindor be—Faye, is that a dragon egg?"
Exiting the shop, Faye tucked the bag with her uniform into her tote. The egg was poking out beneath her quidditch gloves and cardigan. She carefully showed it to him and Harry, retelling the story of how it came into her possession as they walked in the direction of Flourish and Blotts. Ron's older brother Charlie was currently studying dragons at a sanctuary in Romania.
"That's where my creatures professor is taking it once it hatches," she said, zipping her bag. "He wrote to Dumbledore how it's bonded to me so as long as I have it somewhere secure, I can take it to Hogwarts."
A enormous crowd, consisting of a majority of middle-aged women, was gathered outside Flourish and Blotts. The answer to why a bookstore would be the site of such a chaotic scene was printed on a banner stretching across the windows.
Gilderoy Lockhart will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME
Today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.
An uncharacteristic gasp came out of Hermione, who was clearly as enamored with the famous wizard as Charlotte. They squeezed through the door, past an overwhelmed man controlling the crowd, Faye saving Harry from being reprimanded by a woman draped in a pale blue shawl. Not fluent in Spanish, the woman believed that she was casting a curse.
"Let her squawk." Harry looked at her with a puzzled expression. "You okay? Did she scratch you?"
"It's dumb. I'm used to people gawking at my scar when they meet me but you haven't done it once." Her eyes grazed the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. "Not that I want you to do that."
"Hey, if you want me to fangirl, say the word," she said, jokingly. "It'll be a New Kids on the Block concert."
He chuckled. "No, it beats getting stared at like an animal at the zoo."
Her family was in the line with Mr. and Mrs. Granger and the Weasleys. Marco was entertaining Mr. Weasley with a magic trick, involving a quarter appearing behind Ginny's ear. Instead of joining the line, Faye searched for the books on her list. The shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books of varying sizes, from a postage stamp to a concrete block. Going section by section, she found the necessary books, every so often hearing a cheer from the crowd.
Three teenage girls, clutching copies of Witch Weekly and reapplying their lipstick, scurried past her in the creatures section to get closer to Lockhart. She scanned the crammed shelf for a guide on dragon care, recommended to her by Professor Collins. To her frustration, the book was high on the shelf and as she stood on her tiptoes, the shelf wobbled from a person bumping into it to avert being flattened by a stampede of girls.
Draco clasped his shoulder. "Hurt again?" asked Faye.
There was something off about his demeanor when he turned towards her. If she was naive, she would have thought that he retained no memory of meeting her at the Beaumonts' party but having dealt with a similar look at Ilvermorny, she knew its meaning and it confirmed what she had presumed during the game of quodpot.
"I'm Faye. I rescued you this summer when Jaxon Beaumont wanted to pierce your throat with his wand," she said, picking up a book on nifflers that had fallen from the unsteady shelf.
"I know who you are, Rivera." He was a carbon copy of Brendan, mirroring how he acted as if her name was akin to ingesting acid. "If I had known what you were, I wouldn't have let you anywhere near me. I don't associate with your kind."
"Got it," she replied, simply.
She stood on her tiptoes again. "Don't beg me to change my mind. It'd be pathetic and desperate," he grumbled.
"Nah, I'm good. I don't want to be friends with people like you," she said, echoing his remark. "Egotistical, spoiled brats aren't my type. It's your loss, not mine. If I could get through a year with dimwits like Brendan, I'm not sweating a round two with his British doppelganger. Except he's at least smart enough to not get in Jaxon's crosshairs so it'll be less of a headache."
Grabbing the guide, she strolled past him, purposely hitting him in the face with her hair. He wrenched her back by her elbow. For what felt like an eternity, he said nothing, their eyes locked in a charged staring contest.
"The lesson obviously didn't sink in at Ilvermorny so I'll teach you how this works, Rivera," he snarled. "The Beaumonts took pity on you but make no mistake. We're nothing alike. You should learn to respect your superiors."
"When you see one, let me know," she said, breaking his grip.
Faye squeezed through the crowd to rejoin her family. Her father took the books from her and Lockhart slowly came into view, seated at a table as he signed books and photographs for customers. He was an admittedly handsome man in his late twenties, with wavy golden blond hair and eyes that matched the shawl of the woman Faye had argued with earlier, but he also seemed vain, surrounding himself with giant self-portraits. A photographer danced around the line, snapping pictures with a camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke.
"Out of the way, there," he barked at Ron, crushing his foot. Marco pulled Ginny back before she suffered a similar fate. "This is for the Daily Prophet."
"Big deal," muttered Ron.
Hearing the commotion, Lockhart glanced up from the magazine he had been signing, his face plastered on the cover, his gaze landing on Harry. "It can't be. Harry Potter?!"
The crowd parted in excitement and as Lockhart dove forward, he seized Harry's arm, yanking him towards the table. It was the reaction he had grown accustomed to: being treated like a celebrity instead of a regular person. Lockhart was indifferent to his discomfort, too preoccupied with getting a good picture for the photographer.
"What a jackass," whispered Marco, as Lockhart boasted about Harry, who was trapped at his side, being eager to meet him.
Speaking over the crowd, Lockhart announced that he was not only giving Harry his entire collection of works for free and, solving the mystery of who would assign his works for their second year, that he would be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. Faye clapped with the crowd, more out of politeness than genuine joy.
Staggering under the weight of the books, Harry stumbled away from the table. Faye followed her father, Claire, and Marco, along with Hermione and her parents and Ron and Mr. Weasley, over to a sales counter to purchase their books, Lockhart's piled in a glossy cabinet behind the worker. Taking one of the bags, Faye turned to give Harry his copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2 but he was not with them at the counter. He was tipping the books gifted to him into Ginny's cauldron and a sneering Draco emerged from the shelves to confront him.
"Famous Harry Potter," she heard him say to Harry. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."
"Leave him alone. He didn't want all that!" snapped Ginny.
The shy girl went scarlet as Draco mockingly called her his girlfriend. His sneer wavered with the arrival of Faye.
"You forgot this," she told Harry, giving him the book. "Oh hey, it's you. Dave. Why don't you go somewhere that isn't here?"
"No one asked you, Rivera," he hissed.
"Well, I guess you have us beat, Dave. I didn't know I had to ask your permission before telling you to take your giant, pumpkin-sized head and walk out the door." He clenched his fists. "I can see nothing is going on between those ears so let me help you out. You put one foot in front of the other and keep doing that. A trained monkey could do it and I'd say you're at least half as intelligent."
"Faye?" Hermione and Ron fought their way over, clutching several bags. "What's going on?"
"Just talking to Dave. Is it not Dave? You're swelling like a puffer fish. Oh silly me. It isn't Dave. It's something really pretentious." His nostrils flared, Hermione giving her a look that said Don't anger him. "Got it. Dra…Derwin, duh."
Harry and Ron sniggered. "Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh?" Ron asked Draco.
The strange question diverted Draco from his inner thoughts of hexing Faye. "Not surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley. I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those."
Ron dumped his books into Ginny's cauldron and started towards him, Harry and Hermione grabbing the back of his jacket. Faye would have taken his place if she did not hear Mr. Weasley's voice. He sidled through the line with Marco, Fred, and George and suggested waiting outside the bookstore for their parents.
"Well, well, well, Arthur Weasley."
Draco's father appeared behind him, donning the same sneer. It was a direct contrast to the man who had been ingratiating himself with the Beaumonts in their home, commending Mr. Beaumont for his work at MACUSA. A chill hung in the air between the two men, Mr. Malfoy speaking with a condescension he had taught his son. His tone was reminiscent of how Mr. Gilbert had spoken to Mrs. Beaumont about Faye and her undeserving invitation to the Silverwing Society.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids…I hope they're paying you overtime?" He extracted a battered Transfiguration book from Ginny's cauldron. "Obviously not. Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"
Listening to him insult Mr. Weasley, Faye felt a burning within her chest. It spread down her arms and to her fingertips. She wanted to say something to Marco but he, like the others, was focused on the Malfoys.
"The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower."
If she was not dealing with the immense pain, she would have watched Mr. Weasley throw himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him into a shelf. Among Fred and George's yelling ("Get him, Dad!") and murmurs from the crowd, Faye saw symbols forming around the bookstore, in the shelves, on the wooden floor, and on the walls, ones that were in the rune book given to her by Mrs. Beaumont.
Someone gripped her shoulder. "Mi—"
The voice stopped but that was not the only thing that fell silent. Still feeling the burn, Faye looked up at her father, who seemed concerned but was not moving a muscle. Everyone in Flourish and Blotts was frozen, from Mrs. Weasley mid-shriek to Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley seizing each other's robes. Unlike the Weasley children, either cheering on their father or, in Percy's case, embarrassed, Draco was facing Faye. A spiral rune above the door glowed bright green. The burning ceased, substituted with a solitary strained whisper.
"Mija." She was startled by her father. "Que te pasa? Do you need your medicine?"
"Holy shit," said Marco, turning away from the ongoing fight.
An extremely tall, bearded man waded through the sea of books, dwarfing the customers and the distressed manager. He separated the fighting men with ease, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley respectively sporting a black eye and cut lip.
"Here, girl—take your book," said Mr. Malfoy, maliciously. He thrust Ginny's book at her. "It's the best your father can give you."
Straightening his robes, he beckoned towards his son. Draco threw a contemptuous look at Faye then left the shop with his father.
"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," said the bearded man, lifting Mr. Weasley up from the floor. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that."
"Faye, do you need to sit?" her father asked in a hushed whisper.
How could she explain what had happened during the fight? Her father could never understand that somehow, time had frozen and she thought that she had caused it through her magic. It was not something that could be passed off as a side effect of her medication or her illness flaring in a period of stress.
Hermione came to her unintended rescue, introducing her to the bearded man Hagrid. He was the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, whose duties were to tend to the grounds and escort the first year students to the castle.
"He's huge," mouthed Marco.
"It's nice ter meet yeh, Faye. Yeh'll like Hogwarts. No finer place ter learn, if yeh ask me," he said, shaking her hand. "Loads o' friendly people. Don' worry about the rotten ones like Malfoy."
As they headed to the Leaky Cauldron, Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury over her husband's antics, Faye stayed quiet, listening to Fred and George reenact the fight. She absentmindedly rubbed her chest, noticing that it was the same spot as her scar.
"Have you met Malfoy?" Harry broke her out of her musing. "It sounded like you knew him."
"He was at Charlotte and Reese's birthday party. He wasn't a complete jerk to me but his nomaj radar must've been wonky," she said, not wanting to be overheard by her father. "We bumped into each other when I was getting my books and he made his opinion of me loud and clear."
"He's horrid," said Hermione, softly. "And not just to muggleborns. The way he behaves, you'd think his family's royalty."
"A royal pain in the butt," joked Faye.
Saying goodbye to Harry, the Grangers, and the Weasleys, Mr. Weasley intrigued by her father's '67 Mustang that he and Marco restored over the summer, Faye and her family drove back to Dover. While Claire and her father began to cook lunch, Faye retreated to her bedroom and propped her enchanted mirror against a pillow, next to the radio. With assistance from his father, Reese managed to link their mirrors and they had been using them to communicate during quidditch matches.
The glass shimmered, her reflection replaced by an image of Reese laying on his bed with a bowl of chips.
"Are you eating chips for breakfast?" she asked, tuning her radio. "What happened to the healthy food pledge?"
"One, that was Charlotte's pledge, not mine, and a man such as myself can not survive on glorified rabbit food," he said, through a mouthful of chips. "Two, she has no idea so don't tell her or my mother. Last time I broke a pledge of hers, I had to help Tibby clean the house without magic. I don't know how nomajs do it."
"A man?" she said, skeptically. He threw a chip at the mirror. "Is your mother around?"
"She and Dad left to visit Armstrong at the hospital." Faye tried to hide her disappointment. "What's up? Is something wrong?"
"No, I wanted to show her how I'm doing with that light spell," she lied. "It's not blinding but Marco did say it'd be good for parties."
"You could show me, peach," said Jaxon, his face not visible in the mirror.
Reese put the mirror down, giving her a view of his blanket. "Get out, Jax. The Spain-Bulgaria match is on and no one wants you ruining it with your ugly face. Shouldn't you be terrorizing the squirrels in the backyard?" He returned to the mirror, massaging his nose. "The psycho whacked me with a pillow. When that egg hatches, can we convince Professor Collins to let the dragon eat him? My parents are young. They can have another kid. Oh, they're announcing the players."
The quidditch match took her mind off of the incident in Flourish and Blotts. Some of the heavy weight lifted off her chest, she listened to the radio with Reese, hoping that it was nothing more than a freak accident.