Guin trudged back up the road to the house, tired. She had joined in the game with the children, though it was nowhere near as exciting as Quidditch. There were several new bruises decorating her arms and legs, the ball they'd been throwing was harder than it looked at first sight. With a tiny smile, Guin remembered that she'd given as good as she'd got, Gregory was limping and Anthony swore that she'd broken his arm. Things with the village children had smoothed out somewhat; they didn't see her as such an outsider. As an added bonus, she had numerous notes on the way in which Muggles behaved.
The sky was no longer a china Sunday blue, it had deepened to a pale rose pink slashed with bold crimson streaks, like blood. The scarlet lines trailed over the horizon, misting into darker purples and royal blues at the skyline. Misty light bathed the Marlowe manor and transformed it into a fairy-tale castle on a hill, where a knight could rescue a stranded princess. In Guin's mind, however, she was not the one awaiting deliverance, nor the one on the shining horse doing the rescuing. That was silly. No, in projected fables, Guin was the Queen or King: the one who got things /done/. No wimpy princessing would do for /her/.
Besides, when you had a horse, no matter how snow white its coat was, the muck in the stables was always the same color.
A sudden squawk distracted her from her reverie, and Guin whirled to find the feathered form of an owl careening towards her. She swerved to the side to avoid its rapid, unchecked descent, and winced as a loud thump sounded. Crumpled on the ground was Anatoly, golden eyes blinking dazedly up at her. "Oh, /Anatoly/," Guin said in exasperation, kneeling to pick the bird up and straighten him out. His head swiveled around experimentally as Guin checked his foot, making sure her letters had been delivered.
"Oh, good, at least you managed that," Guin told him, lifting the creature up. "Ooof," she grunted. He was heavier than she'd expected, but she didn't think that Anatoly was up to the fly back to the owlery. With a sigh, she put off going back and taking a bath, and instead ambled towards the shed, to return her owl to his perch, to rest away the concussion.
The various members of Angeline's Owl Fleet rustled their wings at her disapprovingly as she entered; Guin was disrupting their rest and they were not pleased. Rolling her eyes at the snowy owl, who was looking particularly venomous, Guin patted Anatoly on the head, listening to him make small wuffling noises. They were not usual to owls, but then, Guin had always thought secretly that Anatoly should have been born as a dog: it would most likely have suited his temperament better.
Guin noticed that there was one owl missing: the tiniest one. Odd. Angeline must have been sending letters to someone – but whom? Not only that, but someone who wished to remain secret, or the impressive snowy would be gone, instead of the dun-colored, easy to miss hoot owl. This boded ill, but Guin put it out of her mind momentarily. What Angeline chose to do with her time was none of Guin's business. She settled Anatoly onto the perch and slipped through the door.
-----
To continue the research she had begun, Guin returned to the village the next morning. Liadan followed after her, a tiny gray shadow trailing and swatting at her heels. The cat had, Guin found, an unhealthy fascination with ankles and feet, they caused her to pounce and scratch. Luckily, the people on the receiving end of these attentions usually deserved it, but sometimes, out of habit, Liadan would good-naturedly savage Guin as well, and then act surprised when her mistress yelped and cursed.
"Don't /do/ that, Liadan," Guin told her sternly, "I'm going to have to train you to behave."
The cat resisted any such attempts at reeducation with vehemence, and eventually, Guin simply gave up. "Hi, Greg," she greeted the boy, as Liadan watched him suspiciously. Gregory Brynes was rather short, and his hair a pale, flaxen hue that highlighted dark chocolate eyes. The hair was downy and soft, and feathered around his head and ears. In many ways, he was the exact opposite of L'Argent, right down to the cheerful smile that was usually on his face. Now that, Guin thought, was an odd thing to consider. Why had that particular thought popped into her head?
She was startled out of her reverie by the arrival of the others. The children crowded around her, the girls cooing at Liadan, the boys standing off the side and watching. It wouldn't be good for their image, of course, to be seen petting a kitten. It wasn't "manly." Gregory, however, patted Liadan on the head and grinned widely at her. "It's amazing," he said, eyeing the cat askance.
"What is?" Guin asked absently.
"Liadan," he replied, "The way she follows you.. she's almost like a witch's familiar. Guin? What's wrong?" the boy asked, a bit surprised at the look of shock plastered onto her face.
"I – I have to go," Guin said, and turned to run. Feet thumping against the pavement, Guin berated herself. How could she have ever thought that she could fit in with the Muggles? Closing her eyes as she ran, breath ragged in her throat, the girl bit her lip. She was /proud/ to be a witch, she really was, but sometimes.. sometimes she wished things weren't so complicated. Sometimes she didn't know what to think. But whatever her personal opinions, she couldn't let the village children know her secret. She would avoid them. At all costs.
-----
"Guin, would you mind terribly going to Diagon Alley by yourself today?"
"You'd let me?"
"Well, there is a very important meeting this morning that I must attend, and I won't be able to take you any other time."
Guin peered at Angeline for a moment, surprised. "I wouldn't mind, but.. I can't believe you'd let me do that."
"You know I trust you, Guin, and you're more than able to take care of yourself."
"..Thanks, Mother," Guin said, "Although you've been really busy lately.. it's not like you."
"Are you saying, dear heart, that I don't work hard enough for you?" Angeline's eyes glimmered with amusement and a tiny hint of menace.
"No.." Guin said, treading carefully, "But as I've said, Experimental Magic doesn't usually have such a heavy workload."
"There's been some trouble with a new batch of spells," Angeline said, "Rather dangerous – they're making trouble for the lot of us, I haven't even had time to work on new charms of my own. A shame. I shall see you later – you know how to get to the Alley. You can use Floo powder, if you wish." So saying, she kissed Guin lightly on the forehead, and Disapparated.
A light wind ruffled through the place where Angeline had stood a moment before. The displaced air filled the vacuum left by her presence with a small, barely heard pop. There were laws of magic and there were laws of science, and sometimes the two clashed. Guin shook her head and headed upstairs to find the Floo powder and some money; several days before, she and Angeline had visited Gringotts to fetch the money needed to buy new school supplies.
There was a new teacher that year, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Angeline had rolled her eyes when she saw the paper, and clicked her tongue. When Guin inquired about the negative reaction, her mother had several choice words to say about the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff. "He's an idiot. No, not just an idiot, he's a pompous one as well. I think he's been lying to himself all these years about his abilities and he actually believes it now. But you listen to me, Guin, don't be taken in by his looks. He's an incompetent nincompoop."
Angeline flatly refused to buy any of his books, but Guin had seen in the wizard library several volumes of his. They all had glossy pictures emblazoned on the front, of a broad shouldered blond wizard with a strong chin and blue eyes. She had wrinkled her nose upon seeing it: he even /looked/ arrogant, and Guin decided that she preferred dark hair.
The bag was waiting on the counter of her wardrobe; Guin slipped it into her shorts pocket and went to the kitchen, where the Floo powder was contained in an elaborately carved silver container. Like many things in the house, it had a snake-oriented motif, though the reptiles here were creatures that were vaguely reminiscent of medieval dragons, a long, thick body with a bulbous-eyed head. Facing the large kitchen hearth, Guin took a pinch of the powder and tossed it onto the low fire.
It was an odd noise, a sort of silence that resonated deep into her limbs: a noiseless fizzling and snap of the flames. They roared upwards without a peep, emerald green fire high enough to devour a child like Guin. Facing the flame, she bit her lip. "Diagon Alley!" she proclaimed, and stepped into the inferno.
She was falling, down, down, and down again: sliding past a rush of doors and openings too quickly to see. It was slightly disconcerting, but Guin had always enjoyed the ride. It was something like a roller coaster, or the cart at Gringotts, the sheer speed of the motion carried her away into the thrall of velocity. The same thing, she supposed, went to flying. Ah – in sight was the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, and she slid to a stop and tumbled out onto the hearth.
"Hoy, Guin," Tom greeted her genially, polishing a mug behind the bar. She grinned at the barman, a familiar and welcome face. He was friendly, even to Angeline, and knew most of the wizard world by first name. Tom was that kind of a man – everyone liked him and told him their stories, he remembered them all and passed them along. Without Tom, the Leaky Cauldron would not be what it was, a hub of socializing wizards with grins on their faces.
"'Lo, Tom," Guin said, picking herself up, "Have you seen Rilla or L'Argent yet?"
"Young Mikael's already arrived, he should be haunting Fortescue's shop, an' I haven't seen Miss Jackson 'round, yet. She should be arriving through the Underway.."
"Do you mean the Underground, Tom?" Guin asked gently.
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
Guin didn't push the point, and instead grinned and waved at him. "I'll see you later, Tom, I have to go buy some of my books!"
"Have fun, Guin – and I hear that Gilderoy Lockhart's going to be signing books in Flourish and Blotts – you might want to check that out. Get me an autograph, maybe?"
"Yeah," Guin replied, though she intended no such thing. From what Angeline had told her about the man, she wouldn't ask him for an autograph if her life depended on it. There was no avoiding the bookstore, however, and it was normally one of Guin's favorite stops. Out of the dark pub and into the sunlight, blinking at the sudden burst of light.
The first stop was Madam Malkin's robe shop; she had outgrown last year's set of school robes (about three inches of wrist and ankle were exposed by the old ones) and needed fitting for new ones. That was always where Guin went first, to get the tedium out of the way – clothes, especially robes, held little interest for her. The Madam, however, was friendly and enjoyed gossip, exclaiming her shock over the heavy workload of the Ministry wizards these days. It was getting so that a body couldn't relax at all!
Next she replenished her store of basic potions ingredients, gagging at the sickly smell given off by leg of newt and eye of frog, and struggled to keep from ripping apart the delicate lacewing flies. Why, oh why, she wondered, did all the potions implements have to stink so horribly? It was as though whoever invented the mixtures purposely tried to make them all as disgusting as possible. The clerks in the store were rather strange, as well, shifty looking men with pale skin, as though they spent most of their time inside. Rather like Professor Snape, she thought, though he was not as .. odd .. as these.
"Guin!" someone yelled, causing her to turn and spill the tiny, marbled black beetles eggs all over the floor. One of the clerks glared at her and began to lecture, but was halted by the arrival of a small, curly-haired whirlwind. Rilla threw her arms around her friend's waist and squeezed her with a strength surprising in such a petite girl. Embarrassed, Guin squirmed out of Rilla's grasp and grinned sheepishly at her.
"Um. Hi," she said, running a hand through her hair. Rilla had a bad habit of greeting her in exactly this fashion. "How're you?" Bending down, she helped the salesman scoop the fallen eggs into a bag.
"Well, pretty good I suppose," Rilla said, glancing belatedly, ingenuously, at the salesman. "Oops," she said innocently, "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that!" At her wide-eyed look of genuine surprise, the man was unable to say anything. Even he hadn't the heart. Grumbling to himself, he charged Guin the required Knuts and shoved the paper package at her.
"You suppose? Something's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, per say, but you know my parents.."
"Ohhh," Guin nodded sympathetically, "Are they still being overprotective?"
"Like hell they are!" Rilla exclaimed with sudden vehemence, "They didn't want me to come to Hogwarts again this year. Dumbledore had to come and speak to them! Can you believe it? They're always trying to do this – they're always trying to control my life!"
Guin glanced sideways at the other girl, whose face was flushed red with anger. She had always seen Rilla as something of a milksop, meekly going along with the rules and listening to her elders. True, she mused, Rilla had a spirit of mischief and a Machiavellian streak to her, but she generally played by the rules and let life happen to her without complaint. Still, Guin supposed that everyone had a breaking point, and it seemed that Rilla had reached hers.
"They just want what's best for you," Guin told her, "Even if they're really misguided about it.."
"Eh," Rilla grunted, "That's what everyone says, but it doesn't help. At all."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. It's not your problem."
"I don't mind listening."
"I don't like complaining."
"You're not complaining."
"Yes, I am! Now you're just saying that to make me feel better."
"I'm not, I'm really not."
"You are!"
"Okay, okay, I am."
"See?"
"That doesn't mean I don't want to hear, Ril."
"I feel funny complaining. I couldn't complain to people at my old school."
"I'm your friend, Ril. You've got a right to complain to me. No – it's your /duty/ to complain to me."
"Thanks, Guin."
"Ack! Ack! Complain, not hug! No hugs! Help!"
Rilla released Guin, who mock-glared at her for a moment. "Sorry," she said, sniffing. "You're—"
"Stop!" Guin ordered, "You were going to say something sentimental, weren't you?"
"Well – yes.."
"You've already hugged me, twice," Guin said, pulling a sad face, "And now you're going to be sentimental, too?"
Rilla caught the drift of the conversation and adopted an overly apologetic expression. "I'm.. I'm sorry!"
"That's more like it," Guin said, punching Rilla lightly on the shoulder.
"What an utterly touching scene," a voice behind them drawled.
"I don't even have to turn around – I'd recognize the sarcasm anywhere. Draco Malfoy?" Guin asked, wicked grin on her face.
"No!" L'Argent yelped, sounding panicked, "That was a joke, right? You didn't really think I sounded like him, did you?!"
"I dunno. Sounded kind of similar to me. What d' you think, Ril?"
"You'd think," Rilla said, with an equally evil smile, "That you two were twins!"
L'Argent covered his face with his hands. "I just say hello, and look how they cut me up!" he told a passing witch, who gave the three children an odd glance and skirted widely around them. Relaxing, L'Argent quirked an eyebrow at them and shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching comfortably. "It took me all afternoon to find you two – where were you?"
"Well," Guin said, "I was buying school supplies. I guess that's not too high on your priority list, mm?"
"Nope," L'Argent said with an airy wave of his hand. "School? Hah! I laugh at the very word."
"Maybe," Rilla whispered to Guin, "That's why he's failing History of Magic."
"No, I'm failing History of Magic because Binns is a boring bastard."
"Oooh, he alliterates, too. Why can't you apply that sort of effort to your schoolwork, dearie?" Guin asked.
"It would ruin my image, of course. C'mon, Marlowe, you're an intelligent girl. You should have figured that one out."
"Right. Anyway, genius-boy, we should be buying our books now." Striking a dramatic pose, Guin aped the over-exaggerated concentration of a movie-star protagonist, chest puffed out and hand resting over her heart. "Onward! To Flourish and Blotts!"
"Has she always been a loony, or is this a recent development?" L'Argent whispered to Rilla.
-----
"Oh, no," Guin groaned as they saw the front of the bookstore, crowded with witches and signs that had pictures of a handsome blond wizard with a wide, fake grin. "/He's/ here?" The tanned face of Gilderoy Lockhart
"My mum told me about him," L'Argent said grimly, "The Sorting had couldn't place him. They had to get him to try it again, and it finally put him in Hufflepuff."
Guin laughed. "Really? Mother didn't say anything about that."
"She also didn't tell you that he was always trying to get your mum and mine to go out with him?"
Rilla suddenly burst into giggles, eyes crinkling into a smile. "I can't see him and Angeline the Ice-Queen together... She'd probably kill him!"
"Or at least," Guin mused, "Shrivel his arms off of his shoulders." The other two shuddered reflexively.
"Still... he's /handsome/," Rilla sighed.
Revolted, Guin and L'Argent stared at her, mouths open. "Ril.. Ril, please tell me you didn't just say that.."
"..Lockhart! Gilderoy Lockhart?" L'Argent was saying, mouth twisted. "Ugh. Marlowe, if I run out of vomit, can I borrow some of yours?"
"Well, he /is/," Rilla said defensively. "Let's get our books and go, right?"
They shoved their way past the waiting crowds of witches, many of whom were practically panting with their longing to see the great, the wonderful, Gilderoy Lockhart. One of them, probably a woman a little older than Angeline, was fanning her face and swooning against the wall. "He's so /handsome/!" Guin and L'Argent glanced at each other, then at Rilla, and started to laugh. Rilla, on the other hand, did not look happy at all.
"Oh, stop it," she insisted bad-temperedly.
"Sorry," they chorused contritely.
"...When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—" Lockhart was saying. Guin caught sight of a small, dark-haired boy clutched under his arm, looking very uncomfortable, with a face almost as red as a Weasley's head. Guin rolled her eyes and sighed, pushing past another witch. "'Scuse me, ma'am, coming through, move out of the way.."
Glancing over her shoulder at Lockhart, Rilla wasn't exactly looking where she was going – with a small squeak, she bumped into a tall, lean man, with pale blond hair, who whirled around in annoyance. His face was, scarily enough, an exact replica of Draco Malfoy's. Rilla jumped backwards again with a shriek. "Aaack! An Aging potion?" she managed, almost knocking Guin over, as well.
"No," the man said coldly, as Malfoy appeared at his side. "Who are these ... children, Draco?"
"No one important," Malfoy sneered. "She's a Mudblood."
"Come, Draco.. It is time." These words murmured so softly that Guin almost thought she'd imagined them. No, that was what the man had said – Malfoy's father. That would make him Lucius Malfoy. From what Angeline had said, a Death Eater... Another unsavory character. They slipped by, through the crowd, just as Lockhart finished his speech and released Harry Potter from his stranglehold. Flushed and angry looking, Harry stalked through the crowd to a girl who was obviously of the Weasley family.
"Right – we need the Lockhart books and /The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2/ and then we can go—" Guin began, but suddenly a commotion in the corner – Arthur Weasley tackling Lucius Malfoy into a bookshelf – books flying everywhere, yelling – the photographer flashing his camera and sending smoke everywhere – complete chaos. Then the assistant breaking it up, dragging them apart, where they stood glaring at each other. Something thrust into the Weasley girl's hand—
"C'mon," Guin said, "It's been a long day and it's too crowded in here." They paid for their books.
The sky was no longer a china Sunday blue, it had deepened to a pale rose pink slashed with bold crimson streaks, like blood. The scarlet lines trailed over the horizon, misting into darker purples and royal blues at the skyline. Misty light bathed the Marlowe manor and transformed it into a fairy-tale castle on a hill, where a knight could rescue a stranded princess. In Guin's mind, however, she was not the one awaiting deliverance, nor the one on the shining horse doing the rescuing. That was silly. No, in projected fables, Guin was the Queen or King: the one who got things /done/. No wimpy princessing would do for /her/.
Besides, when you had a horse, no matter how snow white its coat was, the muck in the stables was always the same color.
A sudden squawk distracted her from her reverie, and Guin whirled to find the feathered form of an owl careening towards her. She swerved to the side to avoid its rapid, unchecked descent, and winced as a loud thump sounded. Crumpled on the ground was Anatoly, golden eyes blinking dazedly up at her. "Oh, /Anatoly/," Guin said in exasperation, kneeling to pick the bird up and straighten him out. His head swiveled around experimentally as Guin checked his foot, making sure her letters had been delivered.
"Oh, good, at least you managed that," Guin told him, lifting the creature up. "Ooof," she grunted. He was heavier than she'd expected, but she didn't think that Anatoly was up to the fly back to the owlery. With a sigh, she put off going back and taking a bath, and instead ambled towards the shed, to return her owl to his perch, to rest away the concussion.
The various members of Angeline's Owl Fleet rustled their wings at her disapprovingly as she entered; Guin was disrupting their rest and they were not pleased. Rolling her eyes at the snowy owl, who was looking particularly venomous, Guin patted Anatoly on the head, listening to him make small wuffling noises. They were not usual to owls, but then, Guin had always thought secretly that Anatoly should have been born as a dog: it would most likely have suited his temperament better.
Guin noticed that there was one owl missing: the tiniest one. Odd. Angeline must have been sending letters to someone – but whom? Not only that, but someone who wished to remain secret, or the impressive snowy would be gone, instead of the dun-colored, easy to miss hoot owl. This boded ill, but Guin put it out of her mind momentarily. What Angeline chose to do with her time was none of Guin's business. She settled Anatoly onto the perch and slipped through the door.
-----
To continue the research she had begun, Guin returned to the village the next morning. Liadan followed after her, a tiny gray shadow trailing and swatting at her heels. The cat had, Guin found, an unhealthy fascination with ankles and feet, they caused her to pounce and scratch. Luckily, the people on the receiving end of these attentions usually deserved it, but sometimes, out of habit, Liadan would good-naturedly savage Guin as well, and then act surprised when her mistress yelped and cursed.
"Don't /do/ that, Liadan," Guin told her sternly, "I'm going to have to train you to behave."
The cat resisted any such attempts at reeducation with vehemence, and eventually, Guin simply gave up. "Hi, Greg," she greeted the boy, as Liadan watched him suspiciously. Gregory Brynes was rather short, and his hair a pale, flaxen hue that highlighted dark chocolate eyes. The hair was downy and soft, and feathered around his head and ears. In many ways, he was the exact opposite of L'Argent, right down to the cheerful smile that was usually on his face. Now that, Guin thought, was an odd thing to consider. Why had that particular thought popped into her head?
She was startled out of her reverie by the arrival of the others. The children crowded around her, the girls cooing at Liadan, the boys standing off the side and watching. It wouldn't be good for their image, of course, to be seen petting a kitten. It wasn't "manly." Gregory, however, patted Liadan on the head and grinned widely at her. "It's amazing," he said, eyeing the cat askance.
"What is?" Guin asked absently.
"Liadan," he replied, "The way she follows you.. she's almost like a witch's familiar. Guin? What's wrong?" the boy asked, a bit surprised at the look of shock plastered onto her face.
"I – I have to go," Guin said, and turned to run. Feet thumping against the pavement, Guin berated herself. How could she have ever thought that she could fit in with the Muggles? Closing her eyes as she ran, breath ragged in her throat, the girl bit her lip. She was /proud/ to be a witch, she really was, but sometimes.. sometimes she wished things weren't so complicated. Sometimes she didn't know what to think. But whatever her personal opinions, she couldn't let the village children know her secret. She would avoid them. At all costs.
-----
"Guin, would you mind terribly going to Diagon Alley by yourself today?"
"You'd let me?"
"Well, there is a very important meeting this morning that I must attend, and I won't be able to take you any other time."
Guin peered at Angeline for a moment, surprised. "I wouldn't mind, but.. I can't believe you'd let me do that."
"You know I trust you, Guin, and you're more than able to take care of yourself."
"..Thanks, Mother," Guin said, "Although you've been really busy lately.. it's not like you."
"Are you saying, dear heart, that I don't work hard enough for you?" Angeline's eyes glimmered with amusement and a tiny hint of menace.
"No.." Guin said, treading carefully, "But as I've said, Experimental Magic doesn't usually have such a heavy workload."
"There's been some trouble with a new batch of spells," Angeline said, "Rather dangerous – they're making trouble for the lot of us, I haven't even had time to work on new charms of my own. A shame. I shall see you later – you know how to get to the Alley. You can use Floo powder, if you wish." So saying, she kissed Guin lightly on the forehead, and Disapparated.
A light wind ruffled through the place where Angeline had stood a moment before. The displaced air filled the vacuum left by her presence with a small, barely heard pop. There were laws of magic and there were laws of science, and sometimes the two clashed. Guin shook her head and headed upstairs to find the Floo powder and some money; several days before, she and Angeline had visited Gringotts to fetch the money needed to buy new school supplies.
There was a new teacher that year, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Angeline had rolled her eyes when she saw the paper, and clicked her tongue. When Guin inquired about the negative reaction, her mother had several choice words to say about the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff. "He's an idiot. No, not just an idiot, he's a pompous one as well. I think he's been lying to himself all these years about his abilities and he actually believes it now. But you listen to me, Guin, don't be taken in by his looks. He's an incompetent nincompoop."
Angeline flatly refused to buy any of his books, but Guin had seen in the wizard library several volumes of his. They all had glossy pictures emblazoned on the front, of a broad shouldered blond wizard with a strong chin and blue eyes. She had wrinkled her nose upon seeing it: he even /looked/ arrogant, and Guin decided that she preferred dark hair.
The bag was waiting on the counter of her wardrobe; Guin slipped it into her shorts pocket and went to the kitchen, where the Floo powder was contained in an elaborately carved silver container. Like many things in the house, it had a snake-oriented motif, though the reptiles here were creatures that were vaguely reminiscent of medieval dragons, a long, thick body with a bulbous-eyed head. Facing the large kitchen hearth, Guin took a pinch of the powder and tossed it onto the low fire.
It was an odd noise, a sort of silence that resonated deep into her limbs: a noiseless fizzling and snap of the flames. They roared upwards without a peep, emerald green fire high enough to devour a child like Guin. Facing the flame, she bit her lip. "Diagon Alley!" she proclaimed, and stepped into the inferno.
She was falling, down, down, and down again: sliding past a rush of doors and openings too quickly to see. It was slightly disconcerting, but Guin had always enjoyed the ride. It was something like a roller coaster, or the cart at Gringotts, the sheer speed of the motion carried her away into the thrall of velocity. The same thing, she supposed, went to flying. Ah – in sight was the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron, and she slid to a stop and tumbled out onto the hearth.
"Hoy, Guin," Tom greeted her genially, polishing a mug behind the bar. She grinned at the barman, a familiar and welcome face. He was friendly, even to Angeline, and knew most of the wizard world by first name. Tom was that kind of a man – everyone liked him and told him their stories, he remembered them all and passed them along. Without Tom, the Leaky Cauldron would not be what it was, a hub of socializing wizards with grins on their faces.
"'Lo, Tom," Guin said, picking herself up, "Have you seen Rilla or L'Argent yet?"
"Young Mikael's already arrived, he should be haunting Fortescue's shop, an' I haven't seen Miss Jackson 'round, yet. She should be arriving through the Underway.."
"Do you mean the Underground, Tom?" Guin asked gently.
"That's what I said, wasn't it?"
Guin didn't push the point, and instead grinned and waved at him. "I'll see you later, Tom, I have to go buy some of my books!"
"Have fun, Guin – and I hear that Gilderoy Lockhart's going to be signing books in Flourish and Blotts – you might want to check that out. Get me an autograph, maybe?"
"Yeah," Guin replied, though she intended no such thing. From what Angeline had told her about the man, she wouldn't ask him for an autograph if her life depended on it. There was no avoiding the bookstore, however, and it was normally one of Guin's favorite stops. Out of the dark pub and into the sunlight, blinking at the sudden burst of light.
The first stop was Madam Malkin's robe shop; she had outgrown last year's set of school robes (about three inches of wrist and ankle were exposed by the old ones) and needed fitting for new ones. That was always where Guin went first, to get the tedium out of the way – clothes, especially robes, held little interest for her. The Madam, however, was friendly and enjoyed gossip, exclaiming her shock over the heavy workload of the Ministry wizards these days. It was getting so that a body couldn't relax at all!
Next she replenished her store of basic potions ingredients, gagging at the sickly smell given off by leg of newt and eye of frog, and struggled to keep from ripping apart the delicate lacewing flies. Why, oh why, she wondered, did all the potions implements have to stink so horribly? It was as though whoever invented the mixtures purposely tried to make them all as disgusting as possible. The clerks in the store were rather strange, as well, shifty looking men with pale skin, as though they spent most of their time inside. Rather like Professor Snape, she thought, though he was not as .. odd .. as these.
"Guin!" someone yelled, causing her to turn and spill the tiny, marbled black beetles eggs all over the floor. One of the clerks glared at her and began to lecture, but was halted by the arrival of a small, curly-haired whirlwind. Rilla threw her arms around her friend's waist and squeezed her with a strength surprising in such a petite girl. Embarrassed, Guin squirmed out of Rilla's grasp and grinned sheepishly at her.
"Um. Hi," she said, running a hand through her hair. Rilla had a bad habit of greeting her in exactly this fashion. "How're you?" Bending down, she helped the salesman scoop the fallen eggs into a bag.
"Well, pretty good I suppose," Rilla said, glancing belatedly, ingenuously, at the salesman. "Oops," she said innocently, "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that!" At her wide-eyed look of genuine surprise, the man was unable to say anything. Even he hadn't the heart. Grumbling to himself, he charged Guin the required Knuts and shoved the paper package at her.
"You suppose? Something's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, per say, but you know my parents.."
"Ohhh," Guin nodded sympathetically, "Are they still being overprotective?"
"Like hell they are!" Rilla exclaimed with sudden vehemence, "They didn't want me to come to Hogwarts again this year. Dumbledore had to come and speak to them! Can you believe it? They're always trying to do this – they're always trying to control my life!"
Guin glanced sideways at the other girl, whose face was flushed red with anger. She had always seen Rilla as something of a milksop, meekly going along with the rules and listening to her elders. True, she mused, Rilla had a spirit of mischief and a Machiavellian streak to her, but she generally played by the rules and let life happen to her without complaint. Still, Guin supposed that everyone had a breaking point, and it seemed that Rilla had reached hers.
"They just want what's best for you," Guin told her, "Even if they're really misguided about it.."
"Eh," Rilla grunted, "That's what everyone says, but it doesn't help. At all."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it. It's not your problem."
"I don't mind listening."
"I don't like complaining."
"You're not complaining."
"Yes, I am! Now you're just saying that to make me feel better."
"I'm not, I'm really not."
"You are!"
"Okay, okay, I am."
"See?"
"That doesn't mean I don't want to hear, Ril."
"I feel funny complaining. I couldn't complain to people at my old school."
"I'm your friend, Ril. You've got a right to complain to me. No – it's your /duty/ to complain to me."
"Thanks, Guin."
"Ack! Ack! Complain, not hug! No hugs! Help!"
Rilla released Guin, who mock-glared at her for a moment. "Sorry," she said, sniffing. "You're—"
"Stop!" Guin ordered, "You were going to say something sentimental, weren't you?"
"Well – yes.."
"You've already hugged me, twice," Guin said, pulling a sad face, "And now you're going to be sentimental, too?"
Rilla caught the drift of the conversation and adopted an overly apologetic expression. "I'm.. I'm sorry!"
"That's more like it," Guin said, punching Rilla lightly on the shoulder.
"What an utterly touching scene," a voice behind them drawled.
"I don't even have to turn around – I'd recognize the sarcasm anywhere. Draco Malfoy?" Guin asked, wicked grin on her face.
"No!" L'Argent yelped, sounding panicked, "That was a joke, right? You didn't really think I sounded like him, did you?!"
"I dunno. Sounded kind of similar to me. What d' you think, Ril?"
"You'd think," Rilla said, with an equally evil smile, "That you two were twins!"
L'Argent covered his face with his hands. "I just say hello, and look how they cut me up!" he told a passing witch, who gave the three children an odd glance and skirted widely around them. Relaxing, L'Argent quirked an eyebrow at them and shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching comfortably. "It took me all afternoon to find you two – where were you?"
"Well," Guin said, "I was buying school supplies. I guess that's not too high on your priority list, mm?"
"Nope," L'Argent said with an airy wave of his hand. "School? Hah! I laugh at the very word."
"Maybe," Rilla whispered to Guin, "That's why he's failing History of Magic."
"No, I'm failing History of Magic because Binns is a boring bastard."
"Oooh, he alliterates, too. Why can't you apply that sort of effort to your schoolwork, dearie?" Guin asked.
"It would ruin my image, of course. C'mon, Marlowe, you're an intelligent girl. You should have figured that one out."
"Right. Anyway, genius-boy, we should be buying our books now." Striking a dramatic pose, Guin aped the over-exaggerated concentration of a movie-star protagonist, chest puffed out and hand resting over her heart. "Onward! To Flourish and Blotts!"
"Has she always been a loony, or is this a recent development?" L'Argent whispered to Rilla.
-----
"Oh, no," Guin groaned as they saw the front of the bookstore, crowded with witches and signs that had pictures of a handsome blond wizard with a wide, fake grin. "/He's/ here?" The tanned face of Gilderoy Lockhart
"My mum told me about him," L'Argent said grimly, "The Sorting had couldn't place him. They had to get him to try it again, and it finally put him in Hufflepuff."
Guin laughed. "Really? Mother didn't say anything about that."
"She also didn't tell you that he was always trying to get your mum and mine to go out with him?"
Rilla suddenly burst into giggles, eyes crinkling into a smile. "I can't see him and Angeline the Ice-Queen together... She'd probably kill him!"
"Or at least," Guin mused, "Shrivel his arms off of his shoulders." The other two shuddered reflexively.
"Still... he's /handsome/," Rilla sighed.
Revolted, Guin and L'Argent stared at her, mouths open. "Ril.. Ril, please tell me you didn't just say that.."
"..Lockhart! Gilderoy Lockhart?" L'Argent was saying, mouth twisted. "Ugh. Marlowe, if I run out of vomit, can I borrow some of yours?"
"Well, he /is/," Rilla said defensively. "Let's get our books and go, right?"
They shoved their way past the waiting crowds of witches, many of whom were practically panting with their longing to see the great, the wonderful, Gilderoy Lockhart. One of them, probably a woman a little older than Angeline, was fanning her face and swooning against the wall. "He's so /handsome/!" Guin and L'Argent glanced at each other, then at Rilla, and started to laugh. Rilla, on the other hand, did not look happy at all.
"Oh, stop it," she insisted bad-temperedly.
"Sorry," they chorused contritely.
"...When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—" Lockhart was saying. Guin caught sight of a small, dark-haired boy clutched under his arm, looking very uncomfortable, with a face almost as red as a Weasley's head. Guin rolled her eyes and sighed, pushing past another witch. "'Scuse me, ma'am, coming through, move out of the way.."
Glancing over her shoulder at Lockhart, Rilla wasn't exactly looking where she was going – with a small squeak, she bumped into a tall, lean man, with pale blond hair, who whirled around in annoyance. His face was, scarily enough, an exact replica of Draco Malfoy's. Rilla jumped backwards again with a shriek. "Aaack! An Aging potion?" she managed, almost knocking Guin over, as well.
"No," the man said coldly, as Malfoy appeared at his side. "Who are these ... children, Draco?"
"No one important," Malfoy sneered. "She's a Mudblood."
"Come, Draco.. It is time." These words murmured so softly that Guin almost thought she'd imagined them. No, that was what the man had said – Malfoy's father. That would make him Lucius Malfoy. From what Angeline had said, a Death Eater... Another unsavory character. They slipped by, through the crowd, just as Lockhart finished his speech and released Harry Potter from his stranglehold. Flushed and angry looking, Harry stalked through the crowd to a girl who was obviously of the Weasley family.
"Right – we need the Lockhart books and /The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2/ and then we can go—" Guin began, but suddenly a commotion in the corner – Arthur Weasley tackling Lucius Malfoy into a bookshelf – books flying everywhere, yelling – the photographer flashing his camera and sending smoke everywhere – complete chaos. Then the assistant breaking it up, dragging them apart, where they stood glaring at each other. Something thrust into the Weasley girl's hand—
"C'mon," Guin said, "It's been a long day and it's too crowded in here." They paid for their books.