Disclaimer: All of Harry Potter still belongs to J. K. Rowling, Morgaine
and Blanche still belong to me.
Summary: Morgaine and Blanche arrive in England and meet a very strange old
man; Who is Garnet?
A/N: Sorry updates are so slow. I'm at home, and only have computer access
when Dad's out. Also, there is a reason why she didn't go to Beauxbatons,
but you don't find that out until later.
Chapter Two.
At Waterloo station, to the sound of a recorded voice- "Mind the Gap"- the EUROSTAR 1597 pulled up. In their first class carriage, Morgaine leaned over the dark head in her lap, her hair falling like a curtain of fire between her sister and the rest of the carriage. She woke Blanche, who had been asleep since half way through the story of Midsummer Nights Dream, as told by her older sister. Morgaine loved Shakespeare, and told the stories to Blanche, simplified, when they had nothing better to do.
The two girls had left the house at ten o'clock, French time. They walked some of the two hour drive from Chef Boutonne to Poitiers, but drove most of the way with a friendly lorry driver who gave them a lift. The TGV left Poitiers at 12:15, and from Lille they had got the connecting Eurostar, arriving in London at 3 am.
They stumbled onto the platform, dishevelled and half asleep, and followed the crowd towards the exit. Once outside, Morgaine produced Garnet's map, and, having studied it for a minute, set off down an alley.
The rout marked took them down side streets and under bridges, through all sorts of unsavoury places. Morgaine, terrified but determined, grasped Blanche's hand firmly and dragged her along, expecting to be set upon at any moment.
Surprisingly enough, though, nothing happened, and they arrived, twenty minutes later, at a small pub in a neglected square, whose sign depicted a goblet brimming with scarlet liquid. They pushed resolutely on the door, and went in.
Morgaine's first thought was that there must be a mistake. The place was dimly lit, a large room paved with black marble, and upholstered in red velvet. Red silk curtains hung at the windows. It was busy, as busy as if it had been day, full of tall people in dark clothing who all turned white faces towards the door, stared, and then seemed to sniff the air as the girls entered.
Sensing the distinctly threatening atmosphere, Morgaine drew herself up to her full height. Her long hair, reflecting the red all around, seemed scarlet rather than black, her dark eyes threw sparks, and she pulled dignity around her with the reminder of who she was, and who her parents had been. She walked resolutely across the now silent room to the bar; Looking up, she said in a clear, carrying voice: "Good evening. I am the Countess of Karnstein, Morgaine De la Fee, and I was sent by Garnet."
There was an imperceptible sigh around the room, and the figures all seemed to draw back slightly, before returning to their conversations. The bar tender looked down at the girls. "Come this way, if you please." All eyes followed the trio, as they left the room. The man led them across a passage, and into a private parlour.
No sooner had he closed the door than, to his dismay, the tension and the extra effort to appear fearless in the bar took their toll, and Morgaine keeled over in a dead faint. She lay on the floor, her white face pillowed by thick black hair. Blanche cried out, and dropped to her knees by her sister. It took the capable manager, however, no time at all to revive Morgaine, and quiet her sister. He soon had her sitting on a sofa, Blanche next to her, apologising for the inconvenience. "Never mind, there's no harm so long as you're better now. Right then, young lady. I didn't want to talk out there, with the whole pub listening. Glad to see you got here safely, not that I doubted it, with Garnets protection. He's booked a room for you, and he said for me to give you this." The man handed Morgaine a small green sack, like the one her mother used to wear at her waist. Now that she had time to look, she saw that he was very old, a little wizened old man with pale skin and white hair. "That was a performance and a half in the bar, if you don't mind my saying so. Extraordinary like your Mother, you look, dear." The old man started to lead the way up a flight of stairs, carpeted in red, without for a moment abating his chatter. " And I'm sure it's a great pleasure to have your mother's daughters in the house again after all these years, even if you're not exactly one of us, so to speak. By the way, Garnet said you were to tell me where you're going, tomorrow morning, if you leave this place. I'm sure I needn't remind you to be extra quiet in the mornings, being as how you'll be getting up at the self-same hour most of my customers are retiring to bed for the day." By this time, they had arrived in front of a door, which he flung open. "This is it, the very same room your mother used the first time she came here. The bathroom's through there- I hope everything's to your liking, dears. Call me if it isn't. Oh, and remember to lock the door. Goodnight." With this their host departed, leaving them alone. The room was well proportioned, decorated, like the lower floor, in red. There was a great four-poster bed, with scarlet hangings. A fire blazed in the hearth, on either side of which were set two armchairs. Morgaine collapsed into one of these, stunned by the man's ruthless eloquence. Between the two chairs was a table, on which was set a meal for two. The girls ate hungrily, their first food for twelve hours. After that, Morgaine, remembering the man's warning, went over and locked the door, slipping the key under the pillows on the bed. She then dragged the armchair she had sat in over, and wedged it behind the door.
Having done this, she woke the protesting Blanche, and dragged her into the bathroom, where both girls proceeded to wash hands and face, and to brush their teeth with brushes which Morgaine produced from her pocket. The Sabourin household had never laid much store by cleanliness, a fact which disgusted Morgaine, and she had always been careful never to descend to their level, especially where hygiene was concerned
They then stripped, having brought no night clothes, and tumbled, exhausted, into the big bed. Blanch fell asleep immediately, but Morgaine lay awake, going over in her mind everything the host had told them.
She thought, confusedly, of customers who slept during the day, drank nothing but red wine, and seemed to sniff the air when one walked in. It took a while for her tired brain to make the connection, but she concluded, in the end, that they were all either eccentrics or vampires, and felt uncommon glad of the locked door. That would also, she reflected, explain their marked predilection for red and black.
She thought of a mysterious person whose name was not a name but a stone, and who knew her mother. Who seemed, for no more reason than that, bent on seeing that she reached Hogwarts, and whose "name" had scared a whole room of vampires into letting her pass unscathed.
Finally, and longest, she thought of her mother. Her mother who had been known, and respected, by their host, whose name still commanded respect from the vampires downstairs. Who had slept in this very room, a long time ago. Who had been, apparently, very close to the one called Garnet, that he would do all this for her memory. Who she remembered, but vaguely, as an impetuous, voluptuous presence, a musical voice, a cascade of black hair with a hint of fire, and an unfamiliar, rusty, spicy smell.
Thinking of this, she drifted off, and never knew that she cried out for her mother in her sleep, or that the tears rolled down her cheeks, and soaked the pillows, although many of the customers paused outside her door, hearing a name that hadn't been uttered there for 11 years.
Chapter Two.
At Waterloo station, to the sound of a recorded voice- "Mind the Gap"- the EUROSTAR 1597 pulled up. In their first class carriage, Morgaine leaned over the dark head in her lap, her hair falling like a curtain of fire between her sister and the rest of the carriage. She woke Blanche, who had been asleep since half way through the story of Midsummer Nights Dream, as told by her older sister. Morgaine loved Shakespeare, and told the stories to Blanche, simplified, when they had nothing better to do.
The two girls had left the house at ten o'clock, French time. They walked some of the two hour drive from Chef Boutonne to Poitiers, but drove most of the way with a friendly lorry driver who gave them a lift. The TGV left Poitiers at 12:15, and from Lille they had got the connecting Eurostar, arriving in London at 3 am.
They stumbled onto the platform, dishevelled and half asleep, and followed the crowd towards the exit. Once outside, Morgaine produced Garnet's map, and, having studied it for a minute, set off down an alley.
The rout marked took them down side streets and under bridges, through all sorts of unsavoury places. Morgaine, terrified but determined, grasped Blanche's hand firmly and dragged her along, expecting to be set upon at any moment.
Surprisingly enough, though, nothing happened, and they arrived, twenty minutes later, at a small pub in a neglected square, whose sign depicted a goblet brimming with scarlet liquid. They pushed resolutely on the door, and went in.
Morgaine's first thought was that there must be a mistake. The place was dimly lit, a large room paved with black marble, and upholstered in red velvet. Red silk curtains hung at the windows. It was busy, as busy as if it had been day, full of tall people in dark clothing who all turned white faces towards the door, stared, and then seemed to sniff the air as the girls entered.
Sensing the distinctly threatening atmosphere, Morgaine drew herself up to her full height. Her long hair, reflecting the red all around, seemed scarlet rather than black, her dark eyes threw sparks, and she pulled dignity around her with the reminder of who she was, and who her parents had been. She walked resolutely across the now silent room to the bar; Looking up, she said in a clear, carrying voice: "Good evening. I am the Countess of Karnstein, Morgaine De la Fee, and I was sent by Garnet."
There was an imperceptible sigh around the room, and the figures all seemed to draw back slightly, before returning to their conversations. The bar tender looked down at the girls. "Come this way, if you please." All eyes followed the trio, as they left the room. The man led them across a passage, and into a private parlour.
No sooner had he closed the door than, to his dismay, the tension and the extra effort to appear fearless in the bar took their toll, and Morgaine keeled over in a dead faint. She lay on the floor, her white face pillowed by thick black hair. Blanche cried out, and dropped to her knees by her sister. It took the capable manager, however, no time at all to revive Morgaine, and quiet her sister. He soon had her sitting on a sofa, Blanche next to her, apologising for the inconvenience. "Never mind, there's no harm so long as you're better now. Right then, young lady. I didn't want to talk out there, with the whole pub listening. Glad to see you got here safely, not that I doubted it, with Garnets protection. He's booked a room for you, and he said for me to give you this." The man handed Morgaine a small green sack, like the one her mother used to wear at her waist. Now that she had time to look, she saw that he was very old, a little wizened old man with pale skin and white hair. "That was a performance and a half in the bar, if you don't mind my saying so. Extraordinary like your Mother, you look, dear." The old man started to lead the way up a flight of stairs, carpeted in red, without for a moment abating his chatter. " And I'm sure it's a great pleasure to have your mother's daughters in the house again after all these years, even if you're not exactly one of us, so to speak. By the way, Garnet said you were to tell me where you're going, tomorrow morning, if you leave this place. I'm sure I needn't remind you to be extra quiet in the mornings, being as how you'll be getting up at the self-same hour most of my customers are retiring to bed for the day." By this time, they had arrived in front of a door, which he flung open. "This is it, the very same room your mother used the first time she came here. The bathroom's through there- I hope everything's to your liking, dears. Call me if it isn't. Oh, and remember to lock the door. Goodnight." With this their host departed, leaving them alone. The room was well proportioned, decorated, like the lower floor, in red. There was a great four-poster bed, with scarlet hangings. A fire blazed in the hearth, on either side of which were set two armchairs. Morgaine collapsed into one of these, stunned by the man's ruthless eloquence. Between the two chairs was a table, on which was set a meal for two. The girls ate hungrily, their first food for twelve hours. After that, Morgaine, remembering the man's warning, went over and locked the door, slipping the key under the pillows on the bed. She then dragged the armchair she had sat in over, and wedged it behind the door.
Having done this, she woke the protesting Blanche, and dragged her into the bathroom, where both girls proceeded to wash hands and face, and to brush their teeth with brushes which Morgaine produced from her pocket. The Sabourin household had never laid much store by cleanliness, a fact which disgusted Morgaine, and she had always been careful never to descend to their level, especially where hygiene was concerned
They then stripped, having brought no night clothes, and tumbled, exhausted, into the big bed. Blanch fell asleep immediately, but Morgaine lay awake, going over in her mind everything the host had told them.
She thought, confusedly, of customers who slept during the day, drank nothing but red wine, and seemed to sniff the air when one walked in. It took a while for her tired brain to make the connection, but she concluded, in the end, that they were all either eccentrics or vampires, and felt uncommon glad of the locked door. That would also, she reflected, explain their marked predilection for red and black.
She thought of a mysterious person whose name was not a name but a stone, and who knew her mother. Who seemed, for no more reason than that, bent on seeing that she reached Hogwarts, and whose "name" had scared a whole room of vampires into letting her pass unscathed.
Finally, and longest, she thought of her mother. Her mother who had been known, and respected, by their host, whose name still commanded respect from the vampires downstairs. Who had slept in this very room, a long time ago. Who had been, apparently, very close to the one called Garnet, that he would do all this for her memory. Who she remembered, but vaguely, as an impetuous, voluptuous presence, a musical voice, a cascade of black hair with a hint of fire, and an unfamiliar, rusty, spicy smell.
Thinking of this, she drifted off, and never knew that she cried out for her mother in her sleep, or that the tears rolled down her cheeks, and soaked the pillows, although many of the customers paused outside her door, hearing a name that hadn't been uttered there for 11 years.