A week later found Eric more tired than he had been in his life. Fortunately, most of his work was done, and he managed to purchase most of Naomi Wainwright's materials while the varnish dried, which made the storefront to noxious to remain in, anyway. Quality Quidditch had their stands, Flourish and Blott's had their furniture ( Eric had carefully avoided any conversation about helping to keep them stocked ), and he could deliver Ollivander's table on the same visit as picking up Naomi's wand.
The crowd was already forming outside of the bookstore as Eric walked by. He was pleased that most of the buyers would be crowded in one place – a place where he didn't have to go. He picked up the books he needed for the fall term last night as an added bonus for delivering on time without being too early. One part of Eric wanted to wait about the bookstore; based on the booklist this year, the Dark Arts teacher had to show up. However, the young Ms. Wainwright was probably waiting, and it wouldn't do to be late.
The Wainwrights were, indeed, waiting for Eric at the Leaky Cauldron. Eric noted that Mr. and Mrs. Wainwright seemed to be dressed the exact same way as they were before. This time, however, they had their daughter between them. Naomi was a small girl, narrowly built. Besides magic, her light brown hair was another of her mother's traits she gained. Clearly her father contributed more to her manner than her looks, as her stance was as severe and posture-perfect as his was. She bore a dark, unhappy expression, looking more like someone facing judgment than a student going shopping.
Roger introduced them, encouraging Naomi to go with Eric into the dimly lit rear of the tavern. He would return in the evening to pick up his daughter and settle on the bill. "You have fine references, young man. I'm sure you'll do well."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Naomi is the cousin of Katie Bell. We all know what you went through on her behalf, and that speaks very well of you." Roger finished by motioning his hand as if tipping a hat.
Eric expressed his gratitude with some embarrassment. He never did things for the sake of reputation, but it was clear that he was building one. This left Eric with some misgivings. He never wanted a reputation for they had the tendency of becoming one of two things: either something you had to live up to, or something you had to live down. Eric didn't want either.
He guided Naomi through the patrons, doing his best to use proper manners that he never had an opportunity to learn. His charge, however, seemed to have a gift for drifting between things, weaving in and out of tight crowds as if they were never even there. This served extremely well until they came to the rear of the tavern, just shy of the entrance to Diagon Alley. There their paths were crossed by Marcus Flint and the Slytherin quidditch team.
"How's the horsetail, Sable?" Flint showed up at Diagon Alley periodically to heap misery on Eric's life, never forgetting or forgiving Eric for the embarrassment Slytherin suffered after the Gryffindor match. The fact that it was the Slytherin team that caused the incident by trashing Eric's belongings for doing what he was supposed to never seemed to occur to him; therefore all the teasing, tripping, and torturing that he could inflict was somehow justified. Flint slid sideways to flank Eric, who slowly rotated to face him. Eric was deeply tired of having his hair pulled each time he passed a Slytherin student, and it was getting to hurt.
Seeing Naomi, Flint's attention was turned towards a new target. "So, the do-gooder has another charity case. Does this one have you trained better than your Chaser girlfriend did?" Eric bristled at Flint's attack. Katie Bell was one of the nicest people he had ever met, caring for him properly after Flint and his cronies had gotten through pounding him senseless. He wasn't about to have her name dragged in the dirt.
Suddenly, Flint stiffened as his eyes locked with Naomi's. She said nothing, nor did she move, but something about her seemed to grow even as Flint's bullying strength appeared to dissolve. As she took one step then another towards Flint, all seven Slytherins backed away from her. It was as if they'd catch fire if she touched them. Flint backed away so quickly that he didn't notice the chair behind him until he was falling over it.
As entertaining as the scene before him was it was also quite disturbing; so Eric brought an end to it, gesturing to the back exit. It wasn't fast enough to keep people from noticing, however; Eric could tell by the whispers around him. Seeing what she did, all the patrons had Naomi picked as Slytherin for sure – Salazar's blood if ever a person bore it.
Unfortunately, Naomi heard them as well. "Who is Salazar?"
Eric was startled by her sudden break from silence. Her voice was like she was – quiet and even, but possessing a deep, dark power that could easily be considered frightening by most, including him. "Salazar Slytherin; one of the four founders of Hogwarts' School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Of the four of them, he was the darkest, and his house has been known for stirring up more trouble than any of the others, attracting the ambitious and the callous more than the other three."
As Eric opened the wall behind the tavern, Naomi looked on complacently. He noted a second disturbing thing about her; she took everything that happened around her with a disturbing calm. Normally, when someone from a muggle family sees Diagon Alley for the first time, everything is an amazement or a surprise. Naomi simply seemed to take it in impartially, as if she was examining an oil painting.
As they continued down the street, their walk was punctuated with questions. Naomi asked about the school, the teachers, the students, anything and everything that would be considered relevant or even interesting. It was a revelation for Eric as well, for he wouldn't have believed that he knew so much about the school until he was answering question after question. He finally caught a break at Madam Malkin's, sitting down and resting while Naomi was being measured.
Eric looked at himself in one of the shop's mirrors, examining his hair as if he was seeing himself for the first time. True, it was always long, and he never thought to cut it, but after spending a summer in London, he came to realize how different he looked from everyone around him. Sure, there were boys and men with longer hair, but none of it came down as far as his did. Only the women wore their hair that long. As much as he hated to admit it, he did appear drastically off. Perhaps if he looked more like some of the other students, or perhaps like Roger Wainwright, then…
"I wouldn't cut it."
Eric jumped from his seat at the sound of someone behind him. Naomi had finished her fittings, and was hovering over him. Eric collected his wits. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Your hair – you were thinking about cutting it back to look more typical. I wouldn't." Eric suddenly noticed that she had the most piercing eyes; dark brown, almost black, and completely uniform in color. It was as if she wasn't simply looking at him, she was looking into him.
What surprised Eric most was that he was thinking about cutting his hair. "Um, why would it matter to you?"
"I didn't say that it did. I voiced an opinion. I would never change my appearance because of what other people think. It diminishes who I am, and my ability to control my life." Of all the odd habits and quirks that she exhibited so far, perhaps the most disturbing thing Eric felt about Naomi was how much she acted like an adult, and an extremely focused one at that.
This left Eric confused and befuddled. "Yes, um, thanks I guess. We should be moving on." He led her on into the alley, making their way down the street. They'd have to fight upstream against the crowds working their way to Flourish & Blott's now, but at least the stores would be clear.
"Eric! Over 'ere!" The booming voice of Hagrid could be heard over the din of the street. He had parked himself just shy of Knockturn Alley and was waving them over. Eric was extremely pleased to see Hagrid again after months of work in London, and it was a full five minutes of catching up before his foster uncle reminded him of his manners. "Well, now's we got all that settled, d'yeh plan to introduce me?"
Eric blushed when he realized how rude he was being. "Sorry: Naomi Wainwright, this is Hagrid – the Hogwarts groundskeeper." Naomi simply looked upward, fixing Hagrid with the same gaze she shared with so many others that day.
Hagrid, however, did not seem to be as taken aback as everyone else. "Wainwright – lessee, I know that name. Waitaminnit; yer gran'mother would'n' be Clarissa Bell, would she?" Naomi nodded. "I went to school with her; yeh must be Dorothy's daughter! I knew that girl had magic in 'er, even if she couldn' use it. Yeh'll be sorted into Gryffindor for sure - don' you worry."
If Naomi had any thoughts on how much Hagrid knew about her family, she didn't show it. "It was very nice meeting you, Hagrid, and I hope we talk again. I need to finish my shopping."
"Well a'course you do. I gotta make my way up the back here. Hate to do it, but they got the best slug repellent, and you'll be potting mandrakes this year!" Hagrid seemed more than pleased about that, even though Eric wasn't looking forward to it. Of all the magical plants, mandrakes might not have been the most dangerous, but they were Eric's least favorite.
Moving onward up the alley, Naomi continued her questioning. "This sorting – you said a hat does it?"
"That's right. It's enchanted to place students where their traits would serve them best." Eric stopped by his shop to pick up the end table. Fortunately, it was light enough to be held over his shoulder.
"So, how does one choose their house?" Naomi seemed determined to stay on the subject.
"You don't. The hat chooses." This seemed an odd line of questioning, since they had already gone over it.
"The hat never makes mistakes?" Eric could tell that her mind was working on something, but he couldn't fathom what.
"No, the hat can make mistakes." Eric's encounter with it certainly was one. Being sorted into Slytherin led to the worst months of his life. "When it does, there are ways to correct the situation, but it doesn't happen very often."
"I see." Naomi looked upward as they arrived at Ollivander's. Eric sorely wished that her expression would change, just once.
Mister Ollivander was very pleased to see Eric. "Ah, the end table. Very well done, and so intricately carved, too. You certainly have a gift for woodwork. That was eight Galleons, correct?"
"Yes, sir, though I'll forego the bill if you'd find a suitable wand for her." Eric moved aside to present Naomi to the shopkeeper, who instantly set about measuring her. She had taken to measuring him up as well, her eyes absorbing every manner and movement he took.
Finally, Ollivander brought out the first of his samples – a nine inch willow and griffin feather. However, when he presented it to Naomi, her answer was simple. "No."
Ollivander was stunned. "Excuse me?"
Naomi was as annoyingly calm as ever, and completely resolute. "No – it's the wrong one. May I see another, please?"
Distressed that his procedure for selecting a wand had been disrupted, he nevertheless brought out another sample, which Naomi looked at and rejected without touching again. Ollivander found this quite unacceptable. "Young lady, I feel I should explain – the wand chooses the witch, not the other way around."
"Sir, I understand what you're saying. However, this wand is unsuitable. May I see another?"
It took more than a dozen presentations before Eric finally caught a flicker in her eyes that suggested that she found something. "Sir? The second case on the right, fourteenth row from the floor, on the third row of shelves from the rear. May I see the wand in that one?"
Ollivander was stunned. Moving in a fog of amazement and confusion, he drew out the case she wanted and examined it. A look of astonishment sprung to his face as he brought it forward. "Six and a half inches, with Chimera mane – extremely resilient. Perhaps, just perhaps…" He gingerly handed the wand to Naomi, who drew it into a backhanded spiral. The result was a swirl of dark fog dotted with lights like a thousand fireflies, which curved upward, forming an intricate arch framing her, with an enormous capstone where emerald green letters clearly spelled out – 'Fate Cast By Will'.
Mr. Ollivander was speechless. Eric was stunned. Naomi, however, was as complacent as ever. "This is acceptable."
Eric and Naomi returned to the Leaky Cauldron to wait for her parents. All her supplies were packed beside her. In addition to everything else, she took a side trip to purchase a familiar – a stately black raven, fairly young and immaculately plumed. Eric had conceded at the time that, while the letter indicated only three recommendations, unusual options were often brought and accepted, so long as they required no more care or attention than the three choices offered.
While he wanted just to finish his business with the Wainwrights, Eric was burning with curiosity. "If you don't mind me asking, what happened at the wand shop?"
Naomi looked up from her cider. "My father taught me early on that if you don't control your fate, your fate will control you. It's upsetting enough that I'm a witch, and that I have no choice but to go to Hogwarts. Even if I ultimately want to live a normal life, I need to learn how to control magic simply to hide it from everyone else. All that being the case, I still intend to stay in control of what happens to me."
She paused for a sip, then continued. "I chose not to accept Mr. Ollivander's explanation, that I'd have to take whichever wand decided to work for me. Rather, I searched the shelves until something caught my attention. The case with this wand simply looked different than all the rest. Maybe the wand still chose me, maybe we found each other. The point is, I participated – rather than letting things happen to me."
Eric had to admire Naomi's determination. His own life was a cascade of one incident after another. He couldn't complain about how they turned out, but now he had to wonder what it would've been like if he did make more choices, rather than just reacting to events.
Naomi looked up at Eric once again. "I wish to ask you for a favor."
Again, Eric found himself facing that same expression; the request was polite, but the face held something he couldn't describe that compelled him. "What do you want?"
"Consider the circumstances in which the Sorting Hat has failed in it's judgment, and determine a means to influence it."
"Huh?"
Naomi had clearly been musing about this riddle all afternoon. "The Sorting Hat has made mistakes in the past; therefore, it is not foolproof. So, by definition, it can be fooled. I wish to know the circumstances, which will show the way that it can be influenced. I need to know this before the Sorting ceremony."
Eric didn't know what to think. On the one hand, this smacked of treachery against the Hogwarts establishment. On the other hand, well, it was an opportunity to one-up the school instructors. The ability to direct which house a student ended up in would be extremely valuable, even if only a matter of interest. "I'll think about it."
Roger Wainwright arrived around that time, ending the conversation. Greetings and fees were exchanged, and Naomi prepared to leave with her parents. As he watched them go, Eric had the uneasy feeling that knowing Naomi was going to severely complicate his life.