Disclaimer: If only I had created HMC, then my life's purpose would be fulfilled. Unfortunately, I didn't ... but DWJ did! So yay for her!

A/n: Ok, I tweaked this chapter a little, although not by much. I basically just changedsome ofCordelia's backstory in an attempt to make her less Mary-Sueish.

Chapter One: In which a wizard finds employment, and then some ...

"Porthaven?" Howell tried, but he could not quite keep himself from scoffing.

Mrs. Pentstemmon gave him a scathing look that made Howell feel like he was slowly being vaporized by an atomic bomb. Not that he had ever experienced that particular sensation, but he was sure that if he ever did, it would be quite similar to this. He braced himself for a sharp remark, or perhaps even a lecture. But Mrs. Pentstemmon simply averted her gaze, pointedly (and thankfully) looking somewhere over Howell's right shoulder.

"Yes, Porthaven," Mrs. Pentstemmon finally said, her tone mild. "I felt that it would be a most convenient location in which you could get started, considering the fact that the portal that leads to your home world is in Porthaven."

"Right ... convenient ..." Howell swallowed hard. A part of himself argued that he was being ungrateful. With everything that he had recently put Mrs. Pentstemmon through, he was lucky that she was helping him to find a job at all. However, the rest of himself was absolutely indignant. Porthaven? A fishing town? That was no place for a person of his abilities.

"That's very considerate of you," Howell forced a smile, took a deep breath, and then took the plunge. "But I was thinking—"

"You were thinking what?" Mrs. Pentstemmon rounded on him.

Here it comes, Howell thought …

"You were thinking that you might sell your services in Kingsbury?" Mrs. Pentstemmon continued, arching an expectant eyebrow.

"Yes, exactly," Howell smiled, trying to sound confident. "As usual, it looks as though my heart and mind are open books to you, Mrs. Pentstemmon."

"And what makes you think that anyone would come to you in Kingsbury right now? After the scandal you caused with the Countess of Wexfield?"

"Come now, not everyone knows about that," Howell protested.

"I'm lucky that anyone still comes to me after the outrageous way in which you've behaved," Mrs. Pentstemmon shook her head ruefully. "As my student, you've reflected quite poorly on me."

"I can't see why my love affairs should reflect upon you at all … you were meant to teach me magic, not proper romantic conduct," Howell laughed. "And besides … a seventeen year old girl married off to a sixty year old man? Even if he is a Count, that's the outrage in this situation. Poor girl should be allowed to live a little—to have some fun with someone her own age!"

"How altruistic of you Howell, to show her a 'fun' time," Mrs. Pentstemmon's words were positively venomous.

"You know me," Howell murmured quietly. "Always thinking of others."

"Well, I've done my best to help you," Mrs. Pentstemmon abruptly stood up, her jewel-studded gown flashing in the evening sunlight.

"I'll take it," Howell announced, just as abruptly. "I'll … work in Porthaven."

With that, he turned a wistful gaze towards the hall's expansive windows, and the shining spires of Kingsbury that lay beyond them. The light of the setting sun traced his profile in scarlet and gold. He sighed heavily.

"Now don't look so tragic, boy," Mrs. Pentstemmon snapped, but in a remarkably sympathetic manner, her tone softened by the sight of her gloomy student. "I have high hopes for you yet. Remember … you're only twenty-one. Most magicians work all of their lives without developing the skills that come so naturally to you. And you're still improving. Yes, you'll certainly have your day in the royal court … if you don't destroy it first, that is. You just need to have some patience—and to learn some self-restraint."

"I am self-restrained," Howell grumbled. "It isn't my fault if women throw themselves at me."

Cordelia Parry had been raised to be a lady. Back at home, under her parents' watchful gaze and wrapped in her brother's overprotective arms, there was no question about what this meant. You had to be sweet and proper and obedient; a caring daughter, a dutiful wife, a charming hostess. It really couldn't have been simpler.

But Cordelia's parents soon began to feel that their daughter was too smart to end her days as a wife and homemaker. So at the tender age of fourteen, she was sent across the Atlantic to attend an American boarding school. And suddenly, what it meant to be a lady became much more complex.

Under the tutelage of her fellow female students, Cordelia underwent the kind of education that your parents definitely don't pay for. Her first lesson was on how to do moderately well in school while doing a minimal amount of work. This ensured that there was plenty of time available to learn other, more valuable lessons. She learned how to wear her skirts short and her heels high. She learned how to smoke cigarettes and to do shots of hard liquor without grimacing. She learned how to get into clubs and bars using a confident attitude, a fake ID card, and cleavage. She learned how to be both easy and hard to get.

Yes, with the help of her fellow female students, Cordelia learned that being a lady could actually be quite fun.

And now here she was, back in Wales to start university. It was the first time that she had come home in four years. Before now, she had always managed to find an excuse to stay away, even during school vacations—there were always internships or summer courses or friends who were dying to have her stay with them for a few weeks. But now that she had finally graduated... well, let's quit beating around the bush ... truth be told, she was finally feeling homesick.

She lifted her oversized sunglasses, peering out from beneath their rims at her parents' unassuming house.

"What they don't know can't hurt them," she told herself, snapping her gum, and smiling merrily at the thought of her many exploits. She then lowered her shades back into position, and swaggered towards the front door.

"So what's Gareth up to these days?" Cordelia asked casually, observing an apple she'd just taken a bite out of. "Megan keeping him on a tight leash?"

"Your brother doesn't need to be kept on a tight leash," Enid Parry told her daughter reproachfully. "He's quite responsible enough on his own."

Enid turned from her dishwashing, and scrutinized Cordelia's appearance with a look of intense displeasure in her eyes. Cordelia had to repress a convulsion of laughter. Surely this was not the first time her mother had seen a girl wearing leather pants and stiletto heels. Well, on second thought, perhaps it was ...

"Oh Mam," Cordelia leapt at her mother, giving her a rambunctious hug and a big kiss on the cheek. "I'm sure Gareth has a wild side, even if we've never seen it."

"Well, I certainly hope it doesn't look like yours," Enid chuckled, finally warming a bit to her transformed little girl. "Leather doesn't suit Gareth."

"What about heels?" Cordelia tore out another chunk of apple. "I think Megan'd fancy Gareth in some heels. With some little rhinestones sprinkled around the toes, perhaps?"

And the two women dissolved in amiable laughter.

"Gareth, why don't you come here?" Cordelia pouted over the phone. "It's such a long way to that little ... swamp ... that you call home! And it's terribly boring ... there's nothing to do. I shall die of ennui if you make me go there."

"Cordelia, this place is hardly a swamp—" Gareth began.

"I know, I know, the ground is quite dry, I just couldn't think of a word that sounded more in-the-middle-of-nowhere-ish."

"—and Neil has a nasty stomach bug right now. I can't just leave Megan alone with him."

"Well, Howell still lives with you, doesn't he? He can help, can't he?" Cordelia tried.

Gareth chuckled. "Howell's about as helpful as a hole in the head, considering he's never around anymore ... lord only knows where that boy gets off to ... look, just come for a day or two. Megan would love to see you again—"

"Don't be so sure," Cordelia muttered to herself.

"—and if Howell actually materializes again, I think you two would get along quite well now," Gareth finished.

"Really?" Cordelia's tone was skeptical. "And what makes you think Howell and I will get along now? Last time I saw him, he teased me so thoroughly I swear I still need psychological therapy in order to recover."

At this, Gareth became possessed by a fit of laughter that went on for several minutes.

"Are you quite done yet, brother?" Cordelia asked.

"Yes," Gareth finally managed to speak as he gasped for air. "But that is exactly why I say you and Howell are going to get along. You both have ... a melodramatic flair, shall we say? A tendency to overexaggerate?"

"Oh, sod off," Cordelia snorted.

Howell left Mrs. Pentstemmon's feeling dejected and martyred. Scandal or no scandal, he felt that he had done the Countess of Wexfield quite the favor by having a little tryst with her. Admittedly, she was stunningly beautiful, so he couldn't say that it had been a completely selfless act—and on second thought, if it had been a completely selfless act, that would make him something like a volunteer male prostitute. Howell Jenkins was many things, but definitely not that.

In any case, he shouldn't be punished for simply enjoying life. To be exiled to Porthaven, to waste the prime of his life upon the tedious, unchallenging work of wind spells and sailor's protection charms! Oh lord …

He hastily threw down a transport spell and found himself in the Porthaven marshes, standing before the portal that he had opened for himself four years ago. He distractedly transfigured his clothes, and strode through the interdimensional doorway into the midst of a wood that lay on the outside of his village. He managed to walk all the way home without even noticing that he had done so. His mind was so full of the afternoon's proceedings that it wasn't until he stumbled into another human being that he awoke to his surroundings.

"Whoa there, don't run me over!" Howell felt small, bony hands on his chest, pushing him backwards.

"'Whoa there?' Do I look like a horse?" Howell took a step backwards and carefully smoothed out his t-shirt. What a perfect ending to this day, to have his clothing accosted against his will …

"No, you …... is that you Howell?" a female voice inquired.

Howell looked up from his violated shirt. Standing there in front of him was one of the most intriguing specimens of the female sex that he had ever laid eyes upon. She was quite petite, with a face composed of features that were both elfin and doll-like. He would have thought she was delicate, except for … well, except for everything else about her. She wore leather pants and stiletto heels, her brown bob of hair was streaked with flaming purple, and her dark eyes contained a feisty spark.

"Do I know you?" Howell asked after a long minute, remembering that this spunky elf had said his name.

"It's me, Cordelia! Gareth's sister! Don't you remember me?"

Howell was having a hard time remembering himself at the moment. Usually the bad-punk-girl look didn't do it for him, especially after so much time in Ingary … but there was just something about her … and she had such a hypnotizing accent when she spoke English … it still had a Welsh lilt to it, but a heavy American flavoring had made it into an exotic hybrid animal …

"Howell?"

"Of course I remember you Cordelia," Howell recovered his composure as swiftly as he could, smiling and lowering his voice seductively.

Do I remember you? he thought to himself. I remember a shy little thirteen-year old with pigtails and frilly dresses. I've never even seen this Cordelia before …

"I must say, you look absolutely beautiful," Howell wasted absolutely no time, gazing at her with all the profound soulfulness that his green eyes could muster.

"Uh …" Cordelia gaped at what was clearly an unexpected advance. "… thank you. You … look … nice, too. I was just getting my bag from my car—"

"No need to exert yourself. I'll get it for you," Howell took her gently by the elbow and began walking in a random direction that he hoped was towards her car.

"This way," Cordelia released herself from his hold and went the other way. "And it's just one bag. I don't need any help. I'll meet you inside!"

"It's been such a long time since we've seen each other, Cordelia," Howell pressed onwards, seemingly unperturbed. "And I don't think we'll be able to do any proper catching up with Megan and Gareth around."

"I think we'll be able to catch up just fine with Megan and Gareth around," Cordelia tossed her head, flipping her short locks in a dismissive way.

"Why don't we sneak out tonight," Howell proposed. "It'll be an adventure."

"It'll be like we're little kids," Cordelia scoffed.

"Then it's a date!" Howell declared. He leaned in, gave her a peck on the cheek, then brushed his index finger against her lips. "Shh … no telling."

More a/n:To be seen in later chapters... Howell's first run in with Michael, and that fateful meeting with Calcifer ... but of course, not before Howell tries to bust a move on Gareth's baby sister ...