Chapter 5: Settle
Guin handed the hat to a short Korean boy named Moon, bowing lightly as the Slytherins applauded. She was forced into a seat next to Mikael L'Argent, who smirked sideways at her. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" he inquired. Guin surveyed him silently for several seconds before she spoke. "I have masochistic tendencies," she said sadly, "to some extent. They force me to sit near egotistical fools." To her surprise, he laughed, gray eyes crinkling in a grin.
"Very good, Marlowe. You're not afraid to answer back."
"Afraid, L'Argent? Of you? You look like a puppy dog." And he did. The wide eyes and sweet features, combined with tousled hair, gave the boy the appearance of an innocent, tiny canine. With a sigh, Guin looked across the room and caught Rilla's – Amarilla's – eye. Rilla winked, than pointed at L'Argent and smirked, making a face. Guin nodded to her in sad agreement, before McGonagall's voice occupied her full attention.
"Potter, Harry!"
"The Harry Potter?" whispered a thin, florid Hufflepuff.
All around them people were buzzing excitedly as the pale-faced boy moved towards the Sorting Hat, almost as if in a trance. Guin could barely make out the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead; he shook his head as though steeling himself, and took the hat resolutely. It sat on his head for barely a second before yelling, "GRYFFINDOR!" That table erupted into cheers, along with the rest of the school – except for the Slytherins. They were notably silent.
Defiantly Guin clapped along with the rest of them, after a moment joined by L'Argent – she looked at him, shocked, and received a grin in return. "We got Potter! We got Potter!" yelled the two redheaded twins – Weasleys, she supposed. They had the look about them. Potter walked to the Gryffindor table, looking surprised as well, where another red haired boy shook his hand. The Slytherins, in majority, rolled their eyes and ignored him. The number of children left was gradually winding down, culminating in Zabini, Blaise, who was a Slytherin.
Finally! They'd be eating soon. "Welcome," said Dumbledore, standing with a beatific smile on his gnarled features. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words—" ("Oh, no, I'm starving!" moaned Blaise Zabini,) "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you," he said placidly, taking his seat. ("At least it was short!" exclaimed Blaise.)
Food appeared on their plates, which appeared to be solid gold. Guin ran a fingernail experimentally along the rim, but it did not scratch. So much to choose from; in the end, Guin piled her plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, and French bread. It was wonderful – better than what the servants made at home. Especially Sarah: her food was either lumpy, peppery, or tasted vaguely of fish. L'Argent echoed her thoughts aloud. "Mother's food can't compare."
Across the table, Malfoy sat next to the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The Baron sat stiffly for several moments before rising and floating away. Malfoy relaxed and scowled at the other boy. "No one asked you, L'Argent," he stated, eyes narrowing. Again, L'Argent smiled mirthlessly, lips drawing away from his teeth. "Malfoy, you miserable worm," he said softly, "I'm warning you. Leave me alone."
Surprisingly enough, Malfoy did just that. Guin shrugged and began to eat her dinner again, slowly, enjoying it. "My da knew yours, in school," L'Argent whispered to her. Surprised, she spit out her piece of chicken: it landed on Malfoy, who looked furious, but he didn't say anything. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared at him.
"My da's dead," Guin whispered.
"I know. But they were both Slytherins. Ask you mother," and for some reason, his voice was suddenly bitter, "If she remembers Jack L'Argent." Grinning toothily at Malfoy, who was flicking a piece of chicken from his sleeve, he said, "Your da should remember that name, too. And Aviva Greenburn, as well."
"Ahem," said Dumbledore, just as they were finishing dessert, "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." Guin watched as he folded his hands before him, gaze encompassing them all. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Guin noticed he glanced at the Weasley twins, who looked back at him innocently.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." He explained about Quidditch trials, which she didn't need to worry about anyway. Maybe second year, I'll try, thought Guin, as Dumbledore concluded. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Some people laughed. "Idiots," Guin murmured before the entire school burst into song. She whispered the words along, but did not sing. Finally, they finished and the Slytherin prefect stood and waved his hand at them. "Come on, kiddies, it's beddy-time," he said, not unkindly. They trotted obediently after: despite the fact that Guin's eyelids were growing heavier, she took careful notice of the route they followed. No need to get lost, not when it was all explained now.
They moved down several staircases, underneath tapestries and behind panels, moving into the marble heart of the Hogwarts underworld, cool and dank. The prefect finally stopped in front of what appeared to be a bare stretch of wall, and said loudly, so that they could all hear, "Reptilius." The wall opened obligingly, and admitted them into the common room. It was majestic, in a cold sort of way, with its own warmth. Torches flared green flame around the walls, but she didn't notice: trudging upwards to the bedroom for first year girls, Guin yawned mightily. She was asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillow.
-----
Hogwarts, Guin found, as nothing like Shadehurst. Understandably she was quite pleased to find this, but the comparisons were still somewhat shocking. Many of the Slytherins reminded her unpleasantly of the Shadehurst children, but some were nice enough. Blaise Zabini, for one, was friendly and almost seemed as though she should have been placed in another house; she was benevolent to everyone but close friends with none. Most of the others seemed to be either afraid of Guin or snubbed her, but Blaise was pleasant and L'Argent went out of his way to bother her, or so it seemed. "Your magnetic personality," was his cheerful response to inquiries on his actions.
Rilla was absorbed into Gryffindor house easily and instantaneously. Guin, who had never before had a friend, was quite prepared to spend an evening or two moping around feeling martyred and abandoned, but this was not to be. Rilla made every effort to continue what had begun in Diagon Alley, and Guin was surprised to see that she, the ice child incarnate, was pleased. Together they explored Hogwarts in the time not spent in classes, haunting the library or a small abandoned chamber discovered one rainy afternoon.
The ghosts fascinated Guin, and she went out of her way to observe them. "I wonder why they stayed, but others disappeared?" she mused. The answer was found in a heavy library book – unfinished business, it said. "I know what Nearly Headless Nick's unfinished business was," giggled Rilla, pointing as the ghost flipped his head to the side at the request of some wide-eyed first years. He looked quite exasperated and stalked off in a high temper.
Classes had already begun, but the workload was light. The air, though crisper, still permitted extended amounts of time to be spent outside, so Rilla and Guin prowled the grounds. "So, how's the legendary Gryffindor house treating you?" drawled Guin, glancing down at the petite, curly-headed girl. A gust of wind stirred the crinkling trees, sending swirls of red-orange leaves flying around them in a cloud of autumn colors.
"They're all so nice," Rilla said, looking a bit sad. "It's somewhat boring, really."
"You're kidding."
"Well, yes," Rilla grinned, showing her teeth. "It's wonderful. There's always something going on in the Common Rooms; the Weasley twins are so funny! And I've read all about Harry Potter. With a legacy like that you'd think he'd have a swelled head, but he doesn't." She kicked lightly at a leaf that skirled by. "I was put in the right house, I think. McGonagall's fair; the first-year girls are a little silly, but not bad sorts. How are you, Guin?" the tone was concerned. "The other first-years don't seem particularly.. pleasant."
"It's not so bad," Guin replied, "Malfoy's an ass, Crabbe and Goyle don't have enough brains between them to fill a pickle jar, and Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson are, well, witches." She shrugged. "I knew Pansy's older sister at Shadehurst. She was held back a year." Guin grinned wickedly. "And L'Argent is.. well.. L'Argent." They paused, and Guin glanced back at the castle-school. "We should prob'ly start heading back.. I have Transfiguration in a quarter of an hour."
"Ugh, I've got History of magic," Rilla groaned, shaking her head. Everyone hated History, which was taught by a ghost. Professor Binns was as deathly dull as one could expect a phantom to be, and worse, but Guin found that she rather liked the class. History, though quite boring as presented by Professor Binns, was really fascinating. Better than an adventure story, almost. "Better hurry," Rilla said, "I think we're running a bit late."
They set off at a faster trot, moving in separate directions once they reached the Great Hall. "See you later, Guin!" called Rilla, as she disappeared up the stairs. Guin stopped at the common rooms for her books, than ran all the way to the Transfiguration class. She arrived just as the hell announcing the start of class chimed loudly. Pansy whispered a snide remark to Millicent about people who were too noble and good to show up to class on time – it was a load of nonsense; Guin ignored her and slipped into a seat next to Blaise.
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Miss Marlowe, as class has not yet begun, I will take no points from Slytherin. However, I suggest that you take the art of punctuality more seriously in the future." With that said, she sat behind her desk and introduced the course. Malfoy had been bragging about how wonderful he'd be at Transfiguration, though from what McGonagall was saying, it sounded more difficult than he made it out to be.
They were supposed to be turning matchsticks into needles, though by the end of the class no one had managed satisfactorily. Guin's match was rather sharp on one end, as she whispered to Blaise: "If there's any miniature vampires around here, we're set." To her great gratification, Malfoy had not been able to transfigure his match in the least, though L'Argent was now the "proud" owner of a solid silver matchstick.
"Admirable, L'Argent," said McGonagall, with only a touch of dry sarcasm, before dismissing the class. "We'll try again next time." Guin pricked her finger on the sharpened edge of the match, and winced, sucking crimson blood from the wound.
-----
"L'Argent, what are you reading?" Guin demanded gleefully, snatching the book from his hand and examining the title with disbelief. "The Hardy Boys?"
"I thought it would be beneficial to read Muggle literature—"
"There's plenty of decent Muggle literature, and that doesn't qualify, I'm sorry. The Hardy Boys?"
"Yes," L'Argent said resignedly.
"I can't believe it."
"It's true."
"You were reading the Hardy Boys! What are you, a child detective? Going to find the Chamber of Secrets?"
"I know. I'm so ashamed."
"I'm not going to let you forget this, L'Argent."
"I should have known."
The verbal sparring with L'Argent wasn't friendly, but it wasn't quite enmity, either. It did, however, add a certain spice to life. The tousle-headed boy possessed a sense of humor much the same as hers – witty, wounding, and sarcastic. She might, Guin though, have even liked him, if he wasn't so similar to herself. And so obnoxious, of course. Today, L'Argent walked by and tapped her lightly on the arm, startling the girl into a yelp. "Napping, Marlowe dearest?" he wanted to know, "Wake up, we have double Potions with the Gryffindors today."
"Piss off, L'Argent," she said, standing and gathering together her cauldron and basic potion ingredients. A class with Rilla! That would be fun, even if the teacher was Snape. He was nicer to the Slytherins than he was to any of the other houses, but even to them he was sharp and almost intolerant. It wasn't a far walk to the dungeons, since the Common Room was but a few halls down. It was a disconcerting room, until you got used to the ghastly green jars with bits of animal and human parts suspended in them.
Rilla had arrived early to save her a seat. Snape raised his eyebrows at them as Guin sat down next to her, but said nothing. She watched as the other students filtered in: Harry Potter and his friend Ron, and Hermione Granger, who greeted them civilly and sat down with an Indian girl named Parvati: Potter was who interested her, though, and she eyed him covertly – he looked just like anyone else, to her. The scar, of course, but besides that.. Nothing extraordinary. When everyone was seated, Snape began role-call, stopping when he reached her name.
"Guinivere Marlowe. I knew your mother – Ministry witch, isn't she?"
"Experimental Charms. Sir."
He nodded and paused again. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity." Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy all sniggered dutifully, though Guin raised her brows and glanced sideways at Rilla. This was perhaps going a bit beyond what a teacher should. They both managed to sit in silence as Snape continued to pick on Potter, who was looking more annoyed as the minutes wore on – he finally snapped and gave a faintly sarcastic answer, to the growing rage of the Potions master.
"Ew, this is disgusting," Rilla complained, as they carefully stewed their horned slugs.
"I wonder how he knows my mother.." Guin muttered.
Guin handed the hat to a short Korean boy named Moon, bowing lightly as the Slytherins applauded. She was forced into a seat next to Mikael L'Argent, who smirked sideways at her. "Couldn't stay away, could you?" he inquired. Guin surveyed him silently for several seconds before she spoke. "I have masochistic tendencies," she said sadly, "to some extent. They force me to sit near egotistical fools." To her surprise, he laughed, gray eyes crinkling in a grin.
"Very good, Marlowe. You're not afraid to answer back."
"Afraid, L'Argent? Of you? You look like a puppy dog." And he did. The wide eyes and sweet features, combined with tousled hair, gave the boy the appearance of an innocent, tiny canine. With a sigh, Guin looked across the room and caught Rilla's – Amarilla's – eye. Rilla winked, than pointed at L'Argent and smirked, making a face. Guin nodded to her in sad agreement, before McGonagall's voice occupied her full attention.
"Potter, Harry!"
"The Harry Potter?" whispered a thin, florid Hufflepuff.
All around them people were buzzing excitedly as the pale-faced boy moved towards the Sorting Hat, almost as if in a trance. Guin could barely make out the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead; he shook his head as though steeling himself, and took the hat resolutely. It sat on his head for barely a second before yelling, "GRYFFINDOR!" That table erupted into cheers, along with the rest of the school – except for the Slytherins. They were notably silent.
Defiantly Guin clapped along with the rest of them, after a moment joined by L'Argent – she looked at him, shocked, and received a grin in return. "We got Potter! We got Potter!" yelled the two redheaded twins – Weasleys, she supposed. They had the look about them. Potter walked to the Gryffindor table, looking surprised as well, where another red haired boy shook his hand. The Slytherins, in majority, rolled their eyes and ignored him. The number of children left was gradually winding down, culminating in Zabini, Blaise, who was a Slytherin.
Finally! They'd be eating soon. "Welcome," said Dumbledore, standing with a beatific smile on his gnarled features. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words—" ("Oh, no, I'm starving!" moaned Blaise Zabini,) "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you," he said placidly, taking his seat. ("At least it was short!" exclaimed Blaise.)
Food appeared on their plates, which appeared to be solid gold. Guin ran a fingernail experimentally along the rim, but it did not scratch. So much to choose from; in the end, Guin piled her plate with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, and French bread. It was wonderful – better than what the servants made at home. Especially Sarah: her food was either lumpy, peppery, or tasted vaguely of fish. L'Argent echoed her thoughts aloud. "Mother's food can't compare."
Across the table, Malfoy sat next to the Slytherin ghost, the Bloody Baron, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The Baron sat stiffly for several moments before rising and floating away. Malfoy relaxed and scowled at the other boy. "No one asked you, L'Argent," he stated, eyes narrowing. Again, L'Argent smiled mirthlessly, lips drawing away from his teeth. "Malfoy, you miserable worm," he said softly, "I'm warning you. Leave me alone."
Surprisingly enough, Malfoy did just that. Guin shrugged and began to eat her dinner again, slowly, enjoying it. "My da knew yours, in school," L'Argent whispered to her. Surprised, she spit out her piece of chicken: it landed on Malfoy, who looked furious, but he didn't say anything. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stared at him.
"My da's dead," Guin whispered.
"I know. But they were both Slytherins. Ask you mother," and for some reason, his voice was suddenly bitter, "If she remembers Jack L'Argent." Grinning toothily at Malfoy, who was flicking a piece of chicken from his sleeve, he said, "Your da should remember that name, too. And Aviva Greenburn, as well."
"Ahem," said Dumbledore, just as they were finishing dessert, "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." Guin watched as he folded his hands before him, gaze encompassing them all. "First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Guin noticed he glanced at the Weasley twins, who looked back at him innocently.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors." He explained about Quidditch trials, which she didn't need to worry about anyway. Maybe second year, I'll try, thought Guin, as Dumbledore concluded. "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
Some people laughed. "Idiots," Guin murmured before the entire school burst into song. She whispered the words along, but did not sing. Finally, they finished and the Slytherin prefect stood and waved his hand at them. "Come on, kiddies, it's beddy-time," he said, not unkindly. They trotted obediently after: despite the fact that Guin's eyelids were growing heavier, she took careful notice of the route they followed. No need to get lost, not when it was all explained now.
They moved down several staircases, underneath tapestries and behind panels, moving into the marble heart of the Hogwarts underworld, cool and dank. The prefect finally stopped in front of what appeared to be a bare stretch of wall, and said loudly, so that they could all hear, "Reptilius." The wall opened obligingly, and admitted them into the common room. It was majestic, in a cold sort of way, with its own warmth. Torches flared green flame around the walls, but she didn't notice: trudging upwards to the bedroom for first year girls, Guin yawned mightily. She was asleep almost as soon as she hit the pillow.
-----
Hogwarts, Guin found, as nothing like Shadehurst. Understandably she was quite pleased to find this, but the comparisons were still somewhat shocking. Many of the Slytherins reminded her unpleasantly of the Shadehurst children, but some were nice enough. Blaise Zabini, for one, was friendly and almost seemed as though she should have been placed in another house; she was benevolent to everyone but close friends with none. Most of the others seemed to be either afraid of Guin or snubbed her, but Blaise was pleasant and L'Argent went out of his way to bother her, or so it seemed. "Your magnetic personality," was his cheerful response to inquiries on his actions.
Rilla was absorbed into Gryffindor house easily and instantaneously. Guin, who had never before had a friend, was quite prepared to spend an evening or two moping around feeling martyred and abandoned, but this was not to be. Rilla made every effort to continue what had begun in Diagon Alley, and Guin was surprised to see that she, the ice child incarnate, was pleased. Together they explored Hogwarts in the time not spent in classes, haunting the library or a small abandoned chamber discovered one rainy afternoon.
The ghosts fascinated Guin, and she went out of her way to observe them. "I wonder why they stayed, but others disappeared?" she mused. The answer was found in a heavy library book – unfinished business, it said. "I know what Nearly Headless Nick's unfinished business was," giggled Rilla, pointing as the ghost flipped his head to the side at the request of some wide-eyed first years. He looked quite exasperated and stalked off in a high temper.
Classes had already begun, but the workload was light. The air, though crisper, still permitted extended amounts of time to be spent outside, so Rilla and Guin prowled the grounds. "So, how's the legendary Gryffindor house treating you?" drawled Guin, glancing down at the petite, curly-headed girl. A gust of wind stirred the crinkling trees, sending swirls of red-orange leaves flying around them in a cloud of autumn colors.
"They're all so nice," Rilla said, looking a bit sad. "It's somewhat boring, really."
"You're kidding."
"Well, yes," Rilla grinned, showing her teeth. "It's wonderful. There's always something going on in the Common Rooms; the Weasley twins are so funny! And I've read all about Harry Potter. With a legacy like that you'd think he'd have a swelled head, but he doesn't." She kicked lightly at a leaf that skirled by. "I was put in the right house, I think. McGonagall's fair; the first-year girls are a little silly, but not bad sorts. How are you, Guin?" the tone was concerned. "The other first-years don't seem particularly.. pleasant."
"It's not so bad," Guin replied, "Malfoy's an ass, Crabbe and Goyle don't have enough brains between them to fill a pickle jar, and Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson are, well, witches." She shrugged. "I knew Pansy's older sister at Shadehurst. She was held back a year." Guin grinned wickedly. "And L'Argent is.. well.. L'Argent." They paused, and Guin glanced back at the castle-school. "We should prob'ly start heading back.. I have Transfiguration in a quarter of an hour."
"Ugh, I've got History of magic," Rilla groaned, shaking her head. Everyone hated History, which was taught by a ghost. Professor Binns was as deathly dull as one could expect a phantom to be, and worse, but Guin found that she rather liked the class. History, though quite boring as presented by Professor Binns, was really fascinating. Better than an adventure story, almost. "Better hurry," Rilla said, "I think we're running a bit late."
They set off at a faster trot, moving in separate directions once they reached the Great Hall. "See you later, Guin!" called Rilla, as she disappeared up the stairs. Guin stopped at the common rooms for her books, than ran all the way to the Transfiguration class. She arrived just as the hell announcing the start of class chimed loudly. Pansy whispered a snide remark to Millicent about people who were too noble and good to show up to class on time – it was a load of nonsense; Guin ignored her and slipped into a seat next to Blaise.
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Miss Marlowe, as class has not yet begun, I will take no points from Slytherin. However, I suggest that you take the art of punctuality more seriously in the future." With that said, she sat behind her desk and introduced the course. Malfoy had been bragging about how wonderful he'd be at Transfiguration, though from what McGonagall was saying, it sounded more difficult than he made it out to be.
They were supposed to be turning matchsticks into needles, though by the end of the class no one had managed satisfactorily. Guin's match was rather sharp on one end, as she whispered to Blaise: "If there's any miniature vampires around here, we're set." To her great gratification, Malfoy had not been able to transfigure his match in the least, though L'Argent was now the "proud" owner of a solid silver matchstick.
"Admirable, L'Argent," said McGonagall, with only a touch of dry sarcasm, before dismissing the class. "We'll try again next time." Guin pricked her finger on the sharpened edge of the match, and winced, sucking crimson blood from the wound.
-----
"L'Argent, what are you reading?" Guin demanded gleefully, snatching the book from his hand and examining the title with disbelief. "The Hardy Boys?"
"I thought it would be beneficial to read Muggle literature—"
"There's plenty of decent Muggle literature, and that doesn't qualify, I'm sorry. The Hardy Boys?"
"Yes," L'Argent said resignedly.
"I can't believe it."
"It's true."
"You were reading the Hardy Boys! What are you, a child detective? Going to find the Chamber of Secrets?"
"I know. I'm so ashamed."
"I'm not going to let you forget this, L'Argent."
"I should have known."
The verbal sparring with L'Argent wasn't friendly, but it wasn't quite enmity, either. It did, however, add a certain spice to life. The tousle-headed boy possessed a sense of humor much the same as hers – witty, wounding, and sarcastic. She might, Guin though, have even liked him, if he wasn't so similar to herself. And so obnoxious, of course. Today, L'Argent walked by and tapped her lightly on the arm, startling the girl into a yelp. "Napping, Marlowe dearest?" he wanted to know, "Wake up, we have double Potions with the Gryffindors today."
"Piss off, L'Argent," she said, standing and gathering together her cauldron and basic potion ingredients. A class with Rilla! That would be fun, even if the teacher was Snape. He was nicer to the Slytherins than he was to any of the other houses, but even to them he was sharp and almost intolerant. It wasn't a far walk to the dungeons, since the Common Room was but a few halls down. It was a disconcerting room, until you got used to the ghastly green jars with bits of animal and human parts suspended in them.
Rilla had arrived early to save her a seat. Snape raised his eyebrows at them as Guin sat down next to her, but said nothing. She watched as the other students filtered in: Harry Potter and his friend Ron, and Hermione Granger, who greeted them civilly and sat down with an Indian girl named Parvati: Potter was who interested her, though, and she eyed him covertly – he looked just like anyone else, to her. The scar, of course, but besides that.. Nothing extraordinary. When everyone was seated, Snape began role-call, stopping when he reached her name.
"Guinivere Marlowe. I knew your mother – Ministry witch, isn't she?"
"Experimental Charms. Sir."
He nodded and paused again. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity." Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy all sniggered dutifully, though Guin raised her brows and glanced sideways at Rilla. This was perhaps going a bit beyond what a teacher should. They both managed to sit in silence as Snape continued to pick on Potter, who was looking more annoyed as the minutes wore on – he finally snapped and gave a faintly sarcastic answer, to the growing rage of the Potions master.
"Ew, this is disgusting," Rilla complained, as they carefully stewed their horned slugs.
"I wonder how he knows my mother.." Guin muttered.