The bleak weather of London reminded me of the goodbye I have had to endure this morning at home, as I gaze out of the window. It's dainty sprinkles and depressing cloudiness remind me of Gabrielle's teary goodbye as she had hugged me farewell, along with a suppressed downpour of mother's constant barks of commands in a choked voice as she tried to keep her tears at bay by displaying haughtiness and anger. The only smile bestowed upon me was by my father as he had hugged me tightly and patted my back with his well wishes for the journey. The light drizzle has started from heavy black clouds, with a promise of a downpour any minute. I already miss the cheery and sunny weather of France, but it is the last thing on my mind as I stepped out of the black muggle transportation in front of a plain, black door of the place called leaky cauldron. Even with the distance between London and France, my journey should not have taken a couple of minutes as I had planned to apparate from my home to London's leaky cauldron, but a letter from Madame Maxime that had arrived just this morning said in explicit details to use as much muggle ways to reach my destination as possible once I step foot in Britain. My Father, having left Britain years ago, remembered the only station in London called King's cross station where I apparated and took black muggle vehicle to reach this pub which, according to the letter, will take me to Diagon Alley. It was because of this detour that I was late, as I had planned to reach Gringotts wizarding bank at 10 am in the morning, but instead reached almost 2 hours late. As I gaze at the innocent looking door of the shabby pub, I realize that it was no wonder that the muggle vehicle driver did not recognize the name "leaky cauldron" even with my vigorous attempts to clear my english enough to give him the name. The place was a small, grubby pub that stood between a big book store and a record store. It was so inconspicuous and ordinary that the muggles passing around me did not even spare a glance at it, their gaze skipping right over the black door like it didn't even exist. And maybe it didn't, to them. Giving the muggle driver a few paper bills - which barely distracted him from staring at me with dazed eyes - I set off towards the door, while excitement make my stomach hurt. This is what I have been waiting to do for the last two months. The prospect of reaching my destination and finally starting to do what I have been wanting to do for so long made me both nervous and excited. Even with the frequent warnings from a number of people, advising me against working anywhere near goblins; that aspect of the job held a half the appeal to me. I knew goblins are supposed to be most shrewd creatures of the world. They rarely, if ever, trust a human being and were most resilient to any kind of enchantments that would render a human helpless. The goblins, I am sure, will not care about my beauty or the enchantment that I know I put on people around me. They won't nod to every thing I say just because they are too out of their wits to respond or correct me if I go wrong. Squaring my shoulders and taking a deep breath, I twist the brass handle on the door and step inside. It is as shabby and tiny as the door itself. For a place known even to Madame Maxime in France, the place did not have anything to speak for itself. It took a couple of minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the pub, and that was saying something as there was twilight darkness outside. As the room came into focus, I take in a few tables and chairs setup inside. The whole room seem to buzz with a low hum of conversation around me. An old lady sitting in the far corner of the room is drinking sherry from a mug - like glass, which fills itself up as soon as she finishes it, while being emerged in a book on the table. It is a wonder that she can read in this darkness. Another couple of men are sitting on the middle tables side by side, their feet on the table reading from daily prophet and discussing an article about mandrake vegetation loudly. A couple of men and women are standing by the bar, with a middle aged woman with corkscrew curls, wearing dark maroon robes and having deep conversation with the bartender. The bartender himself is bald, with a toothless smile as his gaze slide from the woman in front of him to the door to check on the new arrival. I know the second his gaze fell on me, as his toothless smile froze and his eyes widened. Following his gaze, the corkscrew hair woman turn her gaze towards me and gasped loudly attracting attention of rest of the patrons. All at once, I felt like a spotlight has been targeted at me, as I make my way towards the bar. The bartender immediately straightens and I have the distinct impression of him straightening his cuffs behind the bar. I am aware of having all eyes on me as I say, "Bonjour meester, can you tell me 'ow to reach Diagon Alley?" The bartender makes a low bow from behind the bar, his bald head brushing the bar counter as he says, "with pleasure Madame, may I introduce myself as the owner and bartender of leaky cauldron. My name is Tom and I would be delighted to be of service to you. Would you care for a drink?" Being used to this kind of gallantry from men, I give him a polite smile and say, "Tom, I would 'ave to decline your offer as I am already veeery late for my businezz. 'owever, I would be delighted eef you can tell me 'ow to get to ze Diagon Alleeey". Tom looks heartbroken, but steps from behind the counter and offers me to carry my medium sized travel bag that I am holding in my hands. I decline and wave my hand for him to lead the way while keeping one hand on my wand in the side pocket of my bag. This is a new place and however friendly, Tom is a stranger. I cannot help but remember my mother's commands to stay vigilant at all times. Tom leads us through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there is nothing but a smelly trash can and a few weeds. I am generally used to hidden and inconspicuous gateways from muggle world to mine, but this is admittedly the most weird of them all. Tom turns, smiling dazedly and gestures to the plain brick wall. I stared at it blankly, not quiet sure what to do to get through. Thankfully Tom, gallantly and with a flourish, removes his wand, while my hand tighten around mine and start counting the bricks on the wall. He tap three bricks up the wall from a particularly moss covered brick and two bricks across before standing back. Almost immediately, the bricks he had touched start quivering and wriggling in the middle. A small hole appear on the wall, which widen and widen until a second later, I am standing to face an archway large enough for a herd of elephants to pass. The archway opens onto a cobbled street that twist and turn out of sight and Tom says, almost slurring, "Diagon Alley, Madame". As I step into the archway and ahead, I hear the bricks shifting and archway closing off with Tom's voice wishing me farewell and to visit again, but I barely glance over my shoulder to wall or him. My eyes are immediately drawn to the sight in front of my eyes. Even with the gray light and light drizzle of late london morning, the place seemed jump out with an array of colours. This is obviously a very lively neighborhood as I see row after row of stalls and shops of each and every magical object that I have ever seen or used, from cauldrons to dress robes. As I walk on, taking in my surroundings, I see many people have ventured the market this morning even with the oncoming storm. People are milling everywhere I look, dressed in colourful robes. After few of the depressing minutes spent in near darkness of the leaky cauldron, the colours around me almost seem overwhelming. Shop after shop pass by, until I am standing in front of a tall and stark white building, which towers over all shops around. Standing beside the burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, is a goblin with an impassive, almost angry expression. He is very short, shorter than my hip level, with very long fingers and pointy beard that made him look like a disciplinarian. As I step up the white marbled steps of the Gringotts wizard bank, the goblin makes a bow, but its nothing like the entranced or gallant bow made by Tom. No, this bow is rigid and seems to be the repetition of an event that has occurred many times today already. I immediately feel a little better about my decision to work with goblins. Yes, they were very unfriendly and nasty to witches and wizards, even distrustful, but they would not see me for anything more than an able employee that can accomplish their job. They couldn't care less how I look as long as I am good at my work here. I had tried to secure a permanent job here at Gringotts, but because of its goblin - dominated work environment, I was given a part - time job to work as an assistant to one of their curse breakers that has been recently transferred from Gringotts branch in Egypt to Britain, and who would need assistance with the desk job assigned to him to keep records of all Gringotts account holders transactions and their valuables stored. As I pass the bronze door, I find myself facing a second pair of doors, silver this time with words engraved upon it:

"Enter, stranger, but take heed,

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn,

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors,

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned,

beware of finding more than treasure there."

I sniff, my mother's haughtiness entering my system at once as I read the warning engraved on the door. Like, I am barking mad to try to rob Gringotts. Or even that desperate for gold, or death. Even with no experience of British Gringotts, I am aware of how any wizarding banks controlled by goblins work. There are even rumours of locked monsters and dragons in its dungeons and high security vaults. Which I find absolutely pointless as only an incomparably powerful wizard will be able to get past goblins, for dragons to take turns charring the thief. As I pass silver double doors with engravings, two more goblin bow at me from each side of the door with same impassive, almost angry expressions and I find myself standing in a great white marble hall. Here, there are more than hundreds of goblins are milling about or sitting on high stools while they weight or examine gems on their long desks with eyeglasses. Nobody pays me any attention as I pass them, all of them too engrossed on their work to pay any heed to a new arrival. This is a new experience for me, as usually I command all the attention of the room the minute I step in. This reception both delights and unsettles me, as I make my way to a long white marble counter filled with goblins behind it and many witches and wizards standing in front of it, waiting for their turn. As I stand behind a gray haired wizard with green robes and matching pointy hat, I try to control the nervous belly flops taking place in my stomach. Finally, after a few minutes, its my turn at the desk and I approach a bored faced goblin with white tuft collars and cuffs behind the desk. As he looks up at me, I realise that the goblin is anything but bored. Even though his face seem indifferent and forelone, his eyes are sharp and clever, as if not a slightest twitch will be missed by him. In what I assume, is a friendly smile and voice, I start, "Bonjo- I mean, 'elloo, my name eez Fleur Delacour, and I am suppozed to start my job 'ere from today. Can you pleeze tell me where to find ze right person?" The goblin stares at me for a moment, but it is not the bedazzled stare I am used from people. His stare is more of surprise, which, after a beat turns annoyed as he gazes up at me. In a slightly nasely high pitched voice he replies, "You are very late, miss. You were supposed to reach here one hour thirty-nine minutes ago" referring to his big pocket watch. Something in his accusatory tone makes me raise my eyebrow and reply a little haughtily, "weeell, eef I am correctly notified, ze only person I am suppozed to answer 'ere ees ze curze breaker from Egypt. Eef you are ze one zen I weel surely answer you. But eef you are not, zen would you kindly tell me where to find 'im?" Now the goblin definitely looks angry. Glaring at me, he raises his hand and stretches out his palm in front of me. I gaze from his palm to his face, my eyebrow raising again, this time in silent query. "Wand. I need to register your wand before you proceed," he explains is a nasty voice designed to make me feel stupid. Not wanting to let him succeed in his obvious attempts, I straighten my shoulders and toss my silver blonde hair behind my shoulders, narrowly missing the wizard behind me, whip my wand out of the side pocket of my bag, and place it in his outstretched palm holding his eyes all the while. I might want these goblins to judge me on basis of my attributes and not my beauty, but I refuse to be bossed and dominated around. The goblin push aside the money register in front of him, and from behind the desk produce a very thick roll of parchment unrolling just a quarter of it and sliding my wand across it. With a pale white light shining off the parchment where the wand had just slid, there appears straight, precise writing, noting down my wand height, core and last spell casted by it. The goblin looks up after the light vanishes, and sneers at me, returning my wand and muttering something that oddly sounds like "veela hair" and "bird of a human." I stare defiantly back, challenging him to say it out loud, but he merely calls out to zothart and in a second, another goblin appears beside him. Not taking his disdainful eyes off me, he addresses zothart and says, "Please take Ms. Delacour to the red head curse breaker from Egypt, who she will be answering to." Zothart, who is as unfriendly looking as his fellow goblin nods and gestures at me to follow him. He leads me through one of the many doors lined against both side of great marble hall. As I step past the threshold of the door, I find myself in an endlessly long corridor with doors on both the sides. Many of the doors seem to be locked shut and quiet, whereas some of the unlocked rooms were occupied by goblins and wizards, though the ratio of goblin and wizards were close to 10:1. About halfway down the corridor, Zothart stops and raises his long fingers to knock on a brown door with bronze knob. Without waiting for a reply, zothart push the door open leading me into a large sparsely decorated room. On the right hand side of the door is the same stark marble wall as is all around the bank. On the left hand side, however, there stands a medium sized brown marble counter with the same high seats that all the other goblins use. The top of marble table is currently holding rolls and rolls of parchments, so much that it is a wonder how the contents have not tumbled down the sides yet. A little space beside the marble counter table is a sitting area with a worn leather sofa, two chairs and a small glass coffee table. And on the far end of the room, is a large mahagony desk, cluttered with what seems like piles of books and rolls of parchments, variety of quills and ink bottles. Behind a particularly large pile of books with golden rim, I can barely make out bright red flashing in and out of sight, from my place at the door behind zothart. In the same gravel, high pitched, nassely voice as the other goblin, zothart addresses the person sitting behind the desk and announce, "your assistant has arrived. I'll let you take over from here. Good day." And again, without waiting for a reply, zothart leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Nervously tucking the hair behind my ear, I try to peek at the man behind the desk, but still I can only make out the flash of bright red behind the books. Then, a deep, grumpy voice sounds from somewhere behind the books. "You are very late. You were supposed to be here by 10 am and now it is nearly-" Something about this voice sends goosebumps across my arms. Not liking my reaction to the voice, I interrupt. Tossing my hairs behind my back and squaring my shoulders, I say, "Meedday. Yeez I am veery aware of zat as your coworker reminded me of eet juzt now. Eet waz a veery long journey, longer zan I 'ad expected and zat ees why I am late. 'Owever I do not beeleave een excuses so I apologize and guarantee zat eet weell not be repeated again." I think my outburst took him by surprise, as the man behind the desk stays quiet for a few moments and then release a breath and say in a much calmer, pleasant voice, "sorry for my rudeness miss. It has been a long day, even if it is still just midday. Why don't you come in?" As I make my way to the desk, the person behind it stands and before I can wonder who amongst the goblins can be as tall him, my gaze lands on his face and I freeze. Judging by the frozen smile on his face, I was not the only one frozen at the sight of other. My breath leaves my lungs as I gaze at the man in front of me. He is tall, taller than me with lean muscles and long bright red hairs. His clothes reminds me of the poster of Gabrelle's favourite musical wizard band weird sisters. There is a fang hanging from one of his ears. But those are not the reasons why I feel my whole body frozen on the spot. My state of daze is because, set in the unbelievably handsome face is a pair of clear blue eyes. The same eyes that I have not been able to get out of my head for past two months. He gazes at me with same shocked, confused eyes that I feel, only his eyes are glazing over a little, like they are losing focus. Shaking his head lightly, as if to clear it, he starts hesitantly, "can I help you, miss? Perhaps you have come at the wrong chamber?" His words snaps me out of my dazed state, making me feel a little irritated. Even though I try to control it, my reply comes out a little more harshly than I intend. "Per'aps not. Per'aps I 'ave come to ze right chamber eef thees ees ze chamber of ze curse breaker from Egypt." Frowning slightly, as though he is having difficulty understanding he slowly says, "It is. Do you mean to say that you have come for the job of my assistant?" At my nod, his eyes narrow with what could only be suspicion and a little coldness. Stepping out from behind the desk and he walks a short distance towards me, his dragon hide boots stopping right in front of me and stretching his hand out he introduces himself, "I am William Weasley. As you know, I have just been transferred from Gringotts - Egypt, and am in desperate need of an assistant." His blue eyes sweep around his overflowing, cluttered desk. Even though his voice sounded light and professional enough, there is some coldness in the way addressed me. For some reason, that tone bother me more than the hostility of goblins. I barely manage put my pale, cold palm in his strong, warm one when he withdraws and gestures behind me towards the brown marble counter while avoiding to look directly at my face. "That's your work space, Ms. Delacour. I have already placed the most urgent parchment rolls that needs to be sorted out and recorded in alphabetical order on the record register that you will find behind your desk. I have also been informed that you intend to use this job to improve your English, in which I am to assist you. But seeing as you are two hours late this morning, we will get to the tutoring part from tomorrow onwards, from 11 am to 12 pm. Right now, I would be greatful if you can start with that recording job. It is relatively easy, but if you need any help, feel free to ask." And with that, he turns away from me, still avoiding to look at my face and situates himself behind his desk again, leaving me standing there staring at his - now bent on his own register - red head, making me feel like last 5 minutes were just fragment of my imagination and I still have to introduce myself. I, quietly and more than a little bemusedly, turn and head towards my marble desk, sitting on the high stool and pulling my wand out of my travel bag with one hand while pulling register from the other kept on the second shelf of the desk. Soon I am engrossed in the mundane work of flicking my wand and summoning the next alphabetically correct parchment with one hand and noting down necessary details with the other. But even as I complete the last parchment - only for another set of rolled parchments flying at my desk from across the room, with the man on the desk flicking his wand and not even bothering to look up from his register - I cannot help but wonder, what have I done to receive such a cold welcome from him. I feel little disappointed with myself, having remembered that the last time I saw these particular set of bright blue eyes, I promised myself that next time they gaze at me, they will shine with admiration for me; for reasons other than my face. Feeling my spirits fall a little, I start tackling the next set of records, while my mind drifts to the other side of the room, to the man who won't even look at me. Suddenly feeling a little cold, I remove a scarf from my undetectable extension charmed travel bag and pulling it tightly around me, I try to ward off the cold that has nothing to do with the weather and temperature of London.