Petunia inspects the shelves upon shelves of comic books before her. Much of what she was reading before seems to have continued, but there were some definite new additions that intrigued her. This "Star Wars" thing seemed to be quite the phenomenon – books upon books with the Star Wars label took their place side by side.
"I still don't really understand why you insisted on coming here." Lily turns to Silas and asks, "This doesn't really seem to be the best use of our time. We should be getting to Hogwarts as soon as possible!" Silas squints at her, then shrugs, turning to Petunia to see what she would be picking up.
"Found anything you like?" Petunia grins and holds up a stack of floppy comics and one or two trades.
"I'm mostly just trying to catch up on what I've missed out, but I did pick up some others that seemed interesting. Are you sure that you're fine with paying for this?" Petunia seems a little hesitant to be accepting charity from anyone, especially some boy she'd only just met, an attitude that she's always held. Lily interjects.
"And I've told you, 'Tuney, that my Gringotts account has been sitting and accumulating interest for eighteen years. I can pay him back as soon as we get to Diagon Alley." Petunia nods, still unsure of the whole thing. Charity from her sister was still charity, after all.
They exit Renee's Labyrinth, the comic book store that Silas had taken them to and which Petunia insisted on hitting up, with Petunia clutching a plastic bag with a couple of recent issues as well as some trades collecting what she missed over the time jump. Their next destination is Gandalf the Grey's, a local pub that was hooked up to the Floo network to make transportation to and from Diagon Alley and Platform 9 ¾ easier for the local Muggleborns. Lily used it herself back in the '70s and Petunia had tagged along on occasion to see her sister and parents off when they went to drop off Lily at the station or get some back to school shopping done.
Gandalf the Grey's, much like the Leaky Cauldron was invisible to Muggles due to some generous application of a Notice Me Not charm on its perimeter. Lucky for them, what little magical blood Silas had from being the child of a Squib was enough to get him into the pub with no problems. This raised some rather interesting questions about Wizarding genetics that Lily might want to look into in the future.
Pushing open the wooden door to Gandalf's, they find a rather homey place with a couple of people sitting around on colourful beanbags. One person, being around their own ages, stood out to Lily. This was especially true once she put down the book she was reading to smile at Silas and become him over. He did as beckoned, with Lily and Petunia following suit.
"Sally-Anne! What's up, you crazy bitch?" The girl, presumably Sally-Anne, stands up and holds out her hand and he grabs it, pulling her into a hug. Lily
"Silas? Hey lad, I've missed ya! How was your trip to America?" They speak with familiarity, giving them away as friends. She notices his two strays and asks, "What's with the ladies?"
"Oh, them?" Silas had momentarily forgotten that he had brought along the two, evidenced by a sheepish look towards them. "Just a case of accidental time travel. They need to get in touch with Dumbledore and sort out what kind of case they've got in order to figure out what to do next.
Professor Dumbledore's alive? Lily Evans is most definitely surprised. Albus Dumbledore was very old and it seems that his longevity had lasted him through the years she had missed out on. If he was alive, that would make sorting everything out that much easier seeing as he knew Lily as a student back when she attended Hogwarts.
"I see," Said Sally-Anne, pondering the situation, then turning to the girls, "What are your names?" Getting introductions out of the way. Smart. Lily takes a moment to realise that she and her sister were addressed, then hastily replies.
"Oh, me? M' name's Lily. Lily Evans." Sally-Anne's face turns a little grim at the name but refrains from saying anything. "The other girl over here is my sister Petunia." Petunia nods politely, her presence then retreating to the background to see what would happen and what could be done.
"Now, you've probably gathered from Silas, but my name is Sally-Anne. Sally-Anne Perks. Seems to me like you need my help. I'll see what I can do, but I haven't gone to Hogwarts since Second Year. That business with the Chamber of Secrets was just so dreadful so I decided to continue learning Witchcraft under an apprenticeship." The Chamber of Secrets? There had been rumors of it being opened a few decades back. The upper-year Gryffindors usually only referenced that old legend to scare off firsties from interacting with the Slytherins.
They go settle at a table to discuss in comfort and the shopkeeper comes up to greet the new customers. He's a tall man, his aura almost crushing. He wore long, black robes, only making him loom even more menacingly. His well-combed hair is slick, it would almost look professional if it weren't down to his shoulder.
"Well, what do you children wish to eat or drink?" His voice sounds condescending – like he's not too fond of children. His gaze falls on Lily and then stops. His eyes are… familiar, but they aren't anything she's seen before. They are old. It is as if they have seen hell and lived to tell tales of it.
The man realises that his eyes have been on Lily for too long and he blinks a couple of times as if to shake him from his stupor. Lily is understandably weirded out by this occurrence.
"Four Butterbeers, please. Two slices of chocolate cake as well." Sally-Anne orders for the rest of them. The man leaves to go get what the blonde witch had ordered, but Lily could almost swear to herself that she could hear the man muttering a soft "Lily…?" as he walked away.
"Beer? Aren't we a little young to drink?" Petunia speaks for the first time since they'd entered the pub. Lily breaks out into a fit of giggles, forgetting about the oddity from earlier.
"What's so funny?" Petunia asks, completely seriously. Lily calms herself down enough to explain.
"There isn't any actual alcohol in Butterbeer, Petunia. It's just very, very sugary."
"I thought the stuff was absolutely vile when I first had it," Silas cuts in, "But it's suprisingly grown on me." Both Lily and Sally-Anne nod in agreement at that assessment. From thinking it atrocious to becoming fond of it, like vegetables as you grow up (but rather in reverse for such a childish drink as Butterbeer), was exactly the relationship every newcomer to Wizarding Britain experienced with the culturally ubiquitous drink.
Soon enough, Petunia Evans finds a tall glass mug of Butterbeer before her. It looks, in every way, shape, or form, like beer. From its colour to the foam that tops it, it looks like beer. Petunia is almost scared to try it – almost. The temptation to drink something that she knows she will hate is so disgustingly all-consuming and confusing. In a series of bad choices throughout her life, why was this the most daunting of them all?
By some strange warping of reality, Petunia finds herself downing the whole glass. Seconds pass. Then, she coughs something fierce.
"Congratulations sis, you're a witch!" Lily exclaims, only half-jokingly. She really was happy though, that her sister chose to drink it. Part of her is glad – glad that her sister might want to be part of Lily's world. After the year she's had, it meant a lot.
Petunia merely smiles at Lily's comment.
"It wasn't that bad, actually." She says, on the matter of Butterbeer.
"You and your damn sweet tooth, Petunia!" Turning to the others she says, "I once caught her snacking on a jar of sugar cubes. She ate the whole, entire jar!"
"Hey, it tasted good, alright?" Petunia raises as a defense. A weak defence. Sally-Anne perks up at Lily's words.
"Sweet tooth, eh? I simply must take you to Honeydukes, then." Lily nods in agreement. If there were any place that was probably made for the sole purpose of serving Petunia Evans, it would have to be Honeydukes. The sheer variety of sweets made her stop dead in her tracks the first time she'd been dragged to Hogsmeade by Alice… Alice. What happened to Alice? Did anything ever come of her and that Longbottom boy?
Albus Dumbledore, as one would expect from your typical bearded Wizard-type, was an eccentric and unpredictable man. Like most people, his perspective was limited by his own experiences. He struggled to pull his head out of his own arse when the situation demanded it. Nevertheless, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was still one to go to whenever something particularly peculiar took place. And a particularly peculiar happening it was.
"Professor Dumbledore!" Snape's head appears in the old man's fireplace, looking rather more worried than his usual stern demeanour would suggest.
"Ah, Severus, do come in! And how many times must I ask you to just call me Albus? We're colleagues, now." As Dumbledore responds, Snape flashes into the Headmaster's office with the same rigid grace as always.
They find themselves sitting across from each other. Dumbledore, sitting on a seat behind his desk, unwraps some yellow Muggle candy and pops it into his mouth.
"Lemon drop?" He offers, though not expecting Snape to take one.
"Err, no thank you." Severus' reply is expected. He clearly had more pressing matters on his mind. "What in Merlin's name is Fudge thinking?" The Potions Professor's disdainful emphasis on the Minister's name is apparent.
"I take it you've received word on the upcoming Triwizard Tournament? Yes, I had the same reaction. It is all so last minute and I do not take kindly to the Minister meddling in the school's affairs. The past couple of years have taught me that the man's interference has done more harm than good."
"Mmm, yes. Quite. Those Dementors were most unpleasant." Snape muses, reminiscing on the past year. So it wasn't Black's fault that Lily is dead, but rather Pettigrew's. The rat better watch his back. Even the Dark Lord won't stop me from using him as my own personal… lab rat… to test my potions of a more dubious nature on.
"Indeed, my dear Severus. Now, the question is: how will Voldemort take action?" Albus Dumbledore looks expectantly at the Potions Professor and double agent.
"Lucius, the fool, would not stop bragging about his involvement in bribing, sorry – encouraging dear Cornelius to announce a new Triwizard Tournament. There's been talk of using some Dark ritual to create a Homunculus for the Dark Lord to inhabit."
"This is most pressing, Severus. I've not read up on Dark rituals since my time with Gellert, so I have some reading to do to predict what exactly they are planning. For now, just keep watch and inform me of any new developments. Until then, I bid you a good day."
"There is one more thing, Albus."
"Yes, Severus?" Severus hesitates.
"Nothing."
Chrys Potter didn't have a name for what they were, yet, but they were hell-bent on finding out. Something told them that Aunt Petunia knew what they were, but she never said anything to indicate such. It was just a vague feeling – it was all a bunch of vague feelings. Maybe Hermione could figure out. Hermione was the smartest witch they knew.
When they approached their aunt on the matter of possibly visiting friends, they were surprised at the positive response.
"Now, er, these friends… are they normal?" A forty-something Petunia asks again to confirm.
"You mean Muggles?" Petunia winces at the word, "Yes, they are. Dentists, actually. I can take the Knight Bu-"
"Stop! I don't want to hear about your freakish flying bus!" Chrys is dumbfounded that their aunt actually knew what the Knight Bus was, but kept quiet, wary of this newfound freedom being revoked somehow.
"Anyways, I hope this visit will do you some good. I know you've never had many friends before." A rare display of affection (or was it concern?) comes from their aunt and they don't know what to make of it. Not just that, there was always that look Aunt Petunia gave Chrys whenever she looked them right in the eyes. Chrys just brushes it off as a weird event in a life which consists of weird event after weird event, mentally shrugging with forced indifference.
Hailing the Knight Bus intentionally turned out to be a lot more difficult than Chrys had initially assumed. The last time, it sort of just… showed up. Actually trying to get it to appear involved just wishing it, whistling, calling out "KNIGHT BUS!" at a volume much too loud for 10:00 PM in suburban England, and a whole host of other things too embarrassing to name. Finally, Chrys just took out their wand and whispered "Lumos."
In a matter of seconds, the Knight Bus, with Stan Shunpike at the wheel, appeared before them in all its anxiety-inducing, clearly unsafe glory. The purple, triple-decker AEC Regent III looked as ridiculous and misshapen as always – it seemed there was no way to design a bus with three floors and not make it look utterly stupid. Conscious of this, Chrys themselves felt extremely awkward as they stepped up the steps of the bus.
"Ah, 'Arry Potter, innit?" Chrys Potter flinches at the incorrect name, "Where to?"
"Umm..." They stop and think for a second before remembering what Hermione said to them on the Express ride back to King's Cross.
"Just say you need to get to Heathgate and Midway outside the St Jude On-The-Hill Anglican Parish Church." And Chrys repeats exactly that, thanking Merlin for their memory not failing them on the spot.
"No problem. Just find a seat we'll be there in a bit."
That "bit" may have been the most traumatic event of Chrys' life. Yes, this includes accidentally killing Professor Quirrell when they were eleven and reliving the murder of their mother via Dementors just last year. The Knight Bus really was that horrifying an experience. Words cannot describe the stomach-churning, topsy-turvy, and brain-melting way this bus simply travelled from point A to point B.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours, but in all actuality was only twenty minutes, the bus stopped and the doors opened.
"Oi, Potter! We're here! Heathgate and Midway!" Insides still uneasy, Chrys attempts to stabilise themselves as they walk out of the bus in a manner one might understandably mistake for intoxicated. However, Chrys Potter was perfectly sober.
Feet finally planted firmly on the ground, Chrys is almost tempted to kiss the earth like a sailor getting his first taste of land after months at sea. From the corner of their right eye, they spot a very familiar-looking mass of brown hair. Hermione.
Hermione notices Chrys as well and waves them over.
"Hello, Harry!" Hermione notices Chrys' unconscious flinch at the name and resolves to ask them about it later. "Come on, my house is right around the corner. How was the bus?"
"Nauseating, Hermione. It was bloody nauseating." Chrys grumbles out, still suffering from the lasting effects of that freak of nature the magical people of Britain called a "bus".
Hermione dares to let out a small laugh, seeming much more carefree in that moment than all her years at Hogwarts. Summer break did her disposition good.
"Magical methods of transportation aren't very pleasant, are they?" Hermione's rhetorical question is met with a nod of agreement until Chrys remembers.
"Not all of them: The Hogwarts Express feels like an actual train." Hermione just shrugs,a tad miffed that she hadn't considered the obvious example. They continue along the footpath until they happen about Hermione's house: the Granger residence.
It looked… normal. Not the sterile "normal" of the Dursleys, but normal. Like a family would actually live there. Eat, sleep, laugh, watch a film on the telly. Chrys struggles to hold back a pang of jealousy, then looks up to find that Hermione is already at the door, opening it.
"Well, aren't you going to come in? My parents have been dying to meet you!" And all of a sudden, the door is wide open. And all of a sudden, it becomes more real. Chrys' first real interaction with Muggles outside of the Dursleys. Would they be anything like them: posh and obsessed with "normal"? Or would they be more like the Weasleys: eccentric and loving?
Chrys felt something holding them back… as if the open door was still very much closed. Shaking the feeling, they stepped inside, greeted by Hermione and two adults with inquisitive smiles. The taller one, presumably Hermione's father, is the one to break the ice.
"So this is the famous Harry Potter our Hermione has been going on about in her letters… What are your intentions towards my daughter?" The question catches them off-guard and heat rises in their cheeks, leaving them nervous and stuttering.
"Umm… uhh..." Seeing her friend's plight, Hermione – similarly blushing, chastises her father.
"Da-ad!"
"Oh hush, Hermione. You know your father was only joking, right dear?" Chrys hears Hermione's mother speak for the first time, her voice is stern and steady.
"Oh… yes, of course! Mostly."
"What was that? I didn't catch that last part."
"Nothing!"
"That's what I thought."
Hermione still looks a bit flustered, the red still evident on her face, but Chrys can't help but wear a grin at the exchange they witnessed. Her parents reminded them of Ron's folks, if maybe a little less eccentric. Tension in their shoulders they didn't even know was there was released and they let out a quite exhale.
"So would you like anything to eat? I'm sure the trip has left you famished." Hermione's mother bears a look of concern and Chrys only then notices the rumbling in their stomach.
Hermione leaves Chrys into her room to catch up in greater detail. Upon entering, Chrys finds that their friend's room – for a great many reasons – was not at all what they had expected. The room, rather unlike the neat and organised Hermione they were used to, was littered with papers, books, pens, pencils, quills, and most surprisingly several musical instruments and corresponding pieces of equipment. Plastering the walls are posters for bands that Chrys didn't recognise: Death, Crass, the Runaways, and various others. Chrys' jaw hangs open as Hermione clears out some space for the two to sit down and talk.
"So, Harry… what's wrong?" Hermione asks, worried. Chrys, however, is still befuddled at the state of Hermione's room and takes a moment to realise they've been asked a question. The use of the name does not slip by their notice and they try to conceal a small wince.
"I've no idea what you're talking about, Hermione." Chrys replies tersely, but Hermione doesn't buy it. Something was wrong and Hermione, ever-determined, would find out what it was at any cost.
"Are you sure? You've seemed off ever since you got here." Oh yeah, Hermione wouldn't back down now.
"Even if I did, that'd be none of your business. Don't push it." Chrys either doesn't notice the tears threatening to gush from their friend's eyes or just plain does not care.
"You're my guest, but more importantly my best friend, Harry Potter, and I won't be-" Hermione Granger was really going off now… that is, until Chrys cuts them off abruptly.
"Don't call me that." It was muttered under Chrys' breath, but was uttered with so much intensity that it was as if the very room shook. Hands fly to their mouth as their eyes water up as well. What have I done?
