Chapter 8
Winter at Diagon Alley

Clara and I were actually forming a good friendship over the holidays. After our trip to the Lion's Head, she pestered me to orient her more on football, her interest sparking ever since she watched the airing. I shared with her some books and magazines that she could read about English football, even proclaiming herself an Arsenal fan now too since it was my team.

There was one morning when she shook me awake and I groggily registered the sporty outfit she wore and the football tucked under her arm. Claiming she borrowed the ball from my dad, she apparently decided she couldn't leave before learning how to actually play the game, or else it wouldn't have been a full and complete immersion. How her holiday in London became a football camp in her head, I had no idea.

Nevertheless, my dad and I agreed to teach her in our small backyard that probably wasn't even the size of a quarter of an actual pitch. But we made do with what we had and Clara surprisingly wasn't terrible at kicking and passing the ball. She was a fast learner and my dad and I clearly enjoyed having a third person to play with for the time being.

While I grew closer with Clara over the break, I could feel myself distancing from my mother even more, only really talking to her over meals. Oddly enough, it felt as if she was keeping her distance from me too, occasionally catching her watching us play on the sidelines with a contented smile on her face, but she never really initiated much conversation. This was a drastic change over the smothering and side comments about my attitude and mannerisms that I was used to.

What I did notice was the closeness she had with my dad who she frequently visited in his study and helped prepare our meals when he wasn't at work. I'd caught them talking casually in the kitchen more than enough times to know that they had a connection that was likely forbidden by her family.

Seeing it with my own eyes, I noticed the way she balanced out with my dad, his notorious rambling never seeming to bother her as she always knew what to say and when to say it. She never told him to stop talking, patiently waiting for him to finish his long-winded sentences before giving her point of view. What was especially impressive was how she seemed to remember everything he would say, never missing out a single detail.

One conversation I overheard was a gruelling discussion about corporate culture in the Muggle world. My dad had gone on and on about the varying injustices of their lack of work-life balance and gender discrimination in the office.

"It's ridiculous how they refuse to listen to her word just because she's a woman, and mind you, they make her work fourteen hours a day!" my dad had said.

"Have you tried to check if there's anything you can help her with? Maybe you can divide some work and cut down her hours to work overtime. She's your subordinate too, you need to show you're there to support and guide her," my mother had given advice.

"I suppose you're right." My dad had calmed down.

I couldn't stand being around the both of them, usually finding myself spending time with Clara instead, either playing in the backyard or just lounging in my room. It killed me to think she was bound to leave him alone again in three weeks after seeing him so calm and happy when she was here. I thought she wanted to visit to spend time with me, but she spent most of her time so far twisting her way back into my dad's life, completely aware of the fact that they could never be together in the end.

A few days after Christmas, my mother called me and Clara down to the kitchen at half past nine in the morning. We just finished eating breakfast and it was much too early for lunch. As we both reached the kitchen, neither of us knew what she wanted.

"You girls get dressed," she said, charming the last of the utensils to wash themselves. "We're going to Diagon Alley."

"What?" I said incredulously, as opposed to Clara cheering, "Oh, finally!"

We got changed quickly, Clara finishing up twenty minutes before I did and hurrying me up as soon as I left the shower. She chatted about how long she's been to Diagon Alley, only having gone once when she was too young to remember. She spoke about her friends in France who told her stories of the lively bustling street and the various stores you could find pretty much anything.

"The wizarding streets in France are a bit dull," Clara said as I brushed my hair. "The sellers are quite rude too."

"Diagon Alley's nice and all, but it's a bit different now with the war," I tried explaining. "Most people want to stay indoors and those who go just buy and leave. It hasn't been the same in years now."

"Oh," she said, a bit of disappointment crossing her face but her ears caught something else I said. "It's getting serious then? The war here?"

I blinked in surprise, realizing we hadn't exactly touched on this topic in the two weeks of her stay so far. The conversation with the Marauders echoed in my head but I tried to block it off. I couldn't imagine Clara being the pureblood supremacist I judged her as before I met her.

"What do you know about it?" I asked innocently, deciding going with 'What are your views on pureblood supremacy?' was a bit too forward.

"Not much, to be honest," Clara admitted. "The reports in other countries in Europe just touch on the basics. A manic dark wizard trying to take control of Great Britain in an effort to cleanse the Wizarding World of muggles and mudbloods."

My head twisted around to look at her, heart dropping at the word. The friendship we formed crumbled into a million pieces before my eyes as I looked at her in shock. As soon as she caught my gaze, she stood up from the bed and slowly approached me with a pained look on her face

"I meant muggleborns," she said quickly. "Really. Please don't misunderstand, I'm not— I mean, muggleborn, halfblood, pureblood, they're all the same to me. I would never discriminate against anyone over their parentage. Oh, man…"

I looked at her, suspicion clouding my judgment. It was like a wall had instantly grown between us and I almost kicked myself for thinking she could have been different.

"It's a force of habit, Monica," she said after a deep breath, pleading with her eyes. "My family… I don't take after their beliefs. I used the word at home, only because they encouraged it."

"So the Bordeauxs…" I said, confirming my worst fear. "They support You-Know-Who?"

"It isn't happening in France yet," she said, ashamed. "So I'm not exactly sure where they stand."

"But if they have the same beliefs, then they're just as bad to me," I said harshly, turning back to the mirror, hating how I looked. I took after my mother, the jet-black black hair, the almond-shaped brown eyes and freckles. That moment seemed to highlight the resemblance tenfold, and I hated every single bit of it.

"I understand," Clara said softly, taking a step towards me. "I hate it too. I couldn't stand it to the point that I'm here. I couldn't marry into another family who saw the world the same way. I've traveled all over the world for over three years now and it's been eye opening. I've been exposed to wizards, witches, and muggles who are ten times the man I could've married. Ten times our entire family combined."

I looked at her again, taking in the genuine look of shame in her face. She was still young, just like me. And she was learning. Her open-mindedness was what drew me to like her in the first place and I didn't doubt her willingness to change and discover what was out there beyond the sheltered life she was forced to live.

But she reminded me of my mother. Convinced that she was bound by circumstance and in the end, she knew she had to return home. Yet, I pitied her. I actually felt lucky I'd been left behind, knowing growing up in an environment like hers would have been more difficult to handle.

In a way she also reminded me of Sirius Black. How was he able to go against his family so early in his life? Where could he have possibly found the light in a darkened childhood like Clara's? It must have taken a lot of backbone and willingness to learn, and I couldn't deny her the credit.

So where did that put my mother? Because being in her forties, she should have been smarter by now. She should have gathered enough wisdom to leave and find a better life for herself. Perhaps I knew deep inside that she was different too, but the defining trait in dealing with a situation like this was guts. And I still couldn't feel the fight in her.

"Just don't use it again, Clara," I said with a sigh. "You could get hexed by saying stuff like that here. It's almost as taboo as his name."

She visibly gulped but her posture relaxed.

"I'm sorry. I really am," she said, and then muttering, "What must you think of me now?"

"Nothing nice, to be honest," I said, grabbing my coat and scarf. "But I think I believe you."

Evident relief showed on her face.

"Just don't say it again, yeah?" I repeated, making my way out the door. "I honestly feel like puking now."

As expected, Diagon Alley was much less happy and crowded than Clara had described. While a good number of shops were still open, families and friends were huddled together in groups, reaching one destination to another in brisk walks.

Nonetheless, Clara couldn't contain her excitement, immediately darting inside Twilfitt and Tatting's as they advertised a new collection of winter robes behind the glass. My mother and I patiently followed inside, the former taking her own time to look through a rack of dress robes.

I personally preferred my muggle clothing over Wizarding clothing any day, but Twilfitt and Tatting's did have some sets that were comfortable and quite modern. I liked the shop better than Madam Malkin's at least, mostly because the lady shop owner poked needles into my skin intentionally.

Clara had already taken five pieces into the dressing room and I admired one of the winter robes that had just been released, scarlet in color with big buttons and a tie around the waist. It looked inspired by muggle fashion but the shape and material still showed they were wizarding robes.

"That looks nice," my mother said, appearing next to me.

"It's also worth seventeen Galleons," I snorted. "Dad would cut my head off."

"New releases are always the most expensive," she said, taking the robes by the hanger. "This one's made with care. The stitching is just impeccable. And I think it has a permanent heating charm."

She pushed the robes on me.

"At least try it on?" she said.

I furrowed my eyebrows, curious how it looked on me anyway. Shrugging off my gray coat, I slipped on the expensive robes and buttoned it up. Looking at myself in the full body mirror, it fit perfectly, the tie hugging my waist comfortably and the heating charm taking effect, feeling more warm than any of the thickest coats I've worn.

"That's a limited edition," one of the lady shopkeepers said, approaching my mother and I from the counter. "Just shipped from France last week. It was difficult to make in bulk and we weren't sure how fast it would sell here given the price."

"They're quite beautiful actually," I mumbled, almost regretting trying it on.

"Do you want it?" my mother asked.

"No," I immediately said, knowing where this was going.

I shrugged off the robes and placed it back on the rack. Unable to look at her in the eye, I stepped out of the shop and back into the cold. Clara may not be too bothered about taking money from my mother but I physically could not imagine her buying me things like I was actually her daughter. Especially when it came from a dirty family like theirs.

I shivered as I waited for another ten minutes and the two French women stepped out with their own bags in hand, taking advantage of the shopping opportunity. I didn't bother to ask what they bought, partly too cold and the other part not particularly interested.

"I think I'm going to head to Flourish and Blotts," Clara said, wrapping her scarf around her neck. "My friend recommended a book I could only buy from there. It's a bit of a walk from here so you two should get warmed up in that cafe nearby. I won't take long so I can join you there for lunch."

Before I could protest, my mother said, "Sounds good. You can meet us there in half an hour."

Clara smiled, nodded, and briskly made her way down the street. I sighed and immediately headed to the cafe she mentioned which was just across Twilfitt and Tatting's, my mother following behind me. As soon as I felt the warmth of entering the cafe, I left my coat on the hanger and claimed the table next to the window.

My mother joined me shortly after and took the seat across me. Menus materialized in front of us and I buried my face in it, blocking her from view. I heard her chuckle and my glaring eyes poked over the large menu. She was staring at me with a strange expression on her face, lips curled up in a smile but her eyes looking quite sad.

"What?" I said snippily, laying down the menu to see her in full view.

"Nothing," she said, watching her empty glass refill with water on its own. "We just haven't been alone since the holidays began. I'm thankful for this moment."

"You had plenty of opportunities at home." I crossed my arms. "But you spend most of your time with Dad."

She pursed her lips, looking a bit guilty. I wanted to throw my water at her face to wake her up.

"You do know you're leaving again in three weeks right?" I said, unable to hold myself back. "Merlin, I actually would rather have you bothering me this entire month and a half than see you… you… doing that to him!"

She sighed and took a sip of her glass. A moment of silence passed before she could find the words to respond.

"I'm sorry, Monica," she said, voice soft. "You mustn't misunderstand."

"I think I understand completely, thanks," I snapped. "My dad loved you. And you left. I always hated you. So you might as well keep trying to worm yourself back into my life because it won't affect me as much as it does him. You've always been so… so selfish."

She looked on the verge of tears, watery eyes pleading something to me but she couldn't find the words.

"Fine, I don't hate you," I continued, mentally cursing her for making me feel bad. "But just stop it please. Just stop."

"It's… difficult," she said. "You and him are both so different. I thought I could come here and it would be the same, but being around him, I cannot treat you the same way either."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"In France," she continued effortlessly, "I had to show everyone that you could be one of us. They pressured me to show that. But I just wanted to see you. For the first eleven years of your life, I didn't have a single dream that wasn't about you and your father. And when you finally knew you were a witch, I got excited. Even with the conditions my family set, I did not care so long as I could see you. It was selfish. I apologize."

"So Clara was telling the truth then," I said, face hard. "She said you had to compromise with your family. Was it about me and Dad?"

Her eyes looked sadly out the window, as if recalling every painful moment of her life.

"Yes, it was. I was sworn to secrecy about your true parentage. And they allowed you to visit so long that you acted like them. They weren't happy that I was coming to London to see you but I had to come."

"Why?" I pressed. "Why now? I could've just visited over the summer like usual. You could've seen me then. And you wouldn't have to see my dad and put him through this mess."

Actual tears fell from my mother's eyes and she quickly dabbed on her cheeks with a napkin. I was confused at the emotion she was showing, not entirely sure what to expect.

Then she pulled a small cushioned box from her bag and placed it on the table. I gulped, shakily reaching for it and popped it open. There lay the most beautiful emerald stone I had seen attached to a silver ring.

"You're joking," I croaked. "This isn't… You're not… Are you getting married?"

Tears were free flowing from her eyes at this point but her breathing was kept normal. She constantly dabbed at her cheeks, staring out at the window to hide her face from the other customers of the cafe. I almost felt bad for her, but a burning sensation filled my chest.

"Does my dad know?" I said, nails gripping on the edge of the table.

To my surprise, she nodded solemnly and my grip loosened.

"We exchanged letters while you were at school," she said softly. "I told him then. But he insisted I visited so we could all get some closure."

"He told you to come," I said breathlessly.

"I agreed but we didn't settle for a date. So I just came on the day I knew you would return. I tried to avoid spending time alone with him. So I brought Clara along who just returned from Amsterdam. I thought you two would get along. She reminded me of you."

"And this marriage, is it arranged?" I asked, recalling Clara's own story.

"Not exactly," my mother admitted. "The man is someone who has loved me for years. And he proposed earlier this year. My family approves and has since pressured me to say yes. But I haven't given him a response yet. I told them I needed to spend time with you first and figure it out because if I go through with this, I… I won't be able to see you anymore."

I looked at her, utterly speechless.

"I tried to invite you to come spend the holidays with me but Martin told me you were not keen," she continued. "When I told him about my situation, he thought it would be best if I came to London instead. That way I would be separate from my family and really think for myself."

"And has it worked?" I asked.

"I think I have never been more confused in my life," she laughed a bit. "I think he's trying to help me. He knows what makes me happy."

It was all very dramatic and I still couldn't see her in a completely different light. But the happiness she showed when she talked about my dad, I couldn't ignore.

"What about me?" I asked. "If you go through with this, what happens to me? You'll disappear again? And come back into my life when you eventually get divorced, is that it?"

It was harsh, but I knew her heart was with my dad. She wouldn't be here in the first place if it weren't for him. But I still couldn't feel the fight in her for me. She had all the conditions laid out just to see me, but the determination she had for my dad, I never felt applied to me.

"Monica, I am telling you this because I don't think I can go through another eleven years without seeing you," she said.

"So what's the plan then?" I snapped. "Get married then what? Find another compromise? Visit me every holiday but lie to your other family that you're taking a business trip? I'm not supposed to be your secret, Mum. I'm your daughter!"

A genuine smile lit up on her face that caught me off guard. I frowned at her, wondering if she'd gone loopy.

"You called me Mum," she whispered

I felt myself soften and chugged my water down in an attempt to hide it. She still smiled to herself, gaze not leaving the window for a second.

"Yeah, well," I said, flustered. "Because you are. I mean, it's been hard for me, y'know? All the memories I have of you. They're not nice. Trying to make me into my prejudiced cousins. Smothering me with gifts that I don't need. Not to mention appearing in my house out of nowhere after my eleventh birthday and trying to fill a gap in my life that I didn't even know existed.

"I kept thinking… Why didn't you just stay? Was it really that difficult? I mean, it must have been but don't they say all that rubbish about love making ends meet? Like… I can't just be a compromise for you. I needed you to try harder."

I sounded pathetic and the empty glass in front of me couldn't have refilled any slower.

"I'm sorry, Monica," she said sincerely. "It must have been as difficult for you as it was for me. Probably even more. When I came here, I thought I could finally be myself around you. Treat you the way you need to be treated. I guess… I was scared. You father and I went way back and it was not difficult with him. But with you, I was never a good mother. I got… nervous. You built a wall against me and I didn't know where to start to get through you."

"Mostly your fault," I muttered.

"I know," she said. "But I would really like to start over. If you would let me."

"But what about this?" I waved around the fancy box. "How are we supposed to start over with this?"

She smiled again, taking the box from my hand and opening it. She fiddled with the beautiful ring and stared at it almost as if it were an old friend.

"I only kept it to show you," she said. "But I have decided not to go through with it. The moment I saw you in King's Cross."

I blinked, mouth forming an O as I watched her tuck the ring back in its box and close it. My arms laxed and almost found myself speechless.

"You're… not?" I managed to croak out.

"No." She shook her head.

"But… your family…"

"They will survive," she said with a chuckle. "I don't plan to stay in France for too long anyway so they won't have to see me anymore. I think it's about time to go for what I want. And I am getting way too old to follow their traditions."

"But… I mean…" It was hard to find the words to express whatever I was feeling, but my loopy brain settled with, "You'll be broke."

My mother laughed, finally turning to look at me in merry.

"That's for sure," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "I'll finally get a job. Earn money for myself. It's all very exciting."

"Wow," I breathed.

"I know it must not be very impressive for you," she said a bit bashfully. "Only in my forties did I realize I could do so much more. I always thought the worst thing that could ever happen in my life was to lose my family. But since seeing you grow up to be the woman you are, I was so inspired. I wish I could have raised you this way. I wish I helped your dad. And I realized my life was with you both. I could never change that even if I wanted to."

I saw the wall between us break bit by bit, and I could finally see her through the cracks. It would take a lot to fully destroy it but seeing her so vulnerable now was a start.

"Have you told Dad?" I asked. "That you're not going through with it?"

She looked a bit embarrassed. "Not yet. I wanted to tell you first. I'm not sure what he would say."

He would've taken her back in a second, but of course I didn't say that.

"You're my first priority," she continued. "I want to make things right with you."

"So where will you stay?" I asked, but already knowing the answer at the back of my mind.

"I found a flat here," she said with a smile. "Diagon Alley. It's not much but I think I can handle the rent with my savings for the first few months until I can get a job. I needed to come today to take a look."

I nodded and sat back, taking in all the new information in the shortest amount of time. As I thought more about it, she wasn't asking for a lot from me. She would be moving here. She would take the first step in mending our relationship. I was her first priority and given she hadn't even told my dad, I actually believed her. On top of that, I never had to see my French side again. I felt a part of the weight lift off my shoulders, knowing I'd never have to pretend to listen to a disgusting group of prejudiced gits.

Life actually took a good turn for me and that was worth putting a smile on my face.

"Thank you, Monica," she said sincerely, placing her hand over mine. "I was worried you would not give me this chance."

"I think this is all on you," I said with a chuckle. "It's about time you left them anyway. If you really want to fix things with me, I suppose you're on the right track. You're not gonna like the traffic here though."

She laughed and directed her gaze out the window again, a contented smile on her face. I wondered where life was going to bring me next, but for the first time with my mother, I was a bit more optimistic.

Merlin, I sounded like Lacey. She would be over the moon when she heard about this and I reminded myself to write to her as soon as we got back.

"Is that Clara?" my mother asked, squinting through the window at a pair on the other side of the street. "Who is she with?"

I got a better angle from my seat, tilting my head closer to the window. It was definitely Clara in her black trench coat. She stood in front of Twilfitt and Tadding's and she was talking to a tall boy I could recognize anywhere, messy black hair, spectacles, and all.

"I'll be right back, Mum," I said, quickly getting out of my seat and running straight into the cold.

When I reached Clara, she smiled brightly at me while James Potter gave me an enthusiastic greeting.

"Oi, Dyer," he said with a grin. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Hi Potter," I said, breath forming into clouds as I panted. "What are you—Why are you—?"

"I ran into him here," Clara said happily. "Recognized him from the platform."

"Yeah, she practically jumped me," Potter chuckled. "Asked if I was your friend. Didn't recognize her at first so I thought she was barmy."

"Sorry," Clara laughed. "Would you like to join us for lunch? We'll be in that cafe."

I nearly stepped on her toe. I glanced at the cafe and saw my mother curiously watching us with her hands wiping the glass for a clearer view.

"That your mum?" Potter said, looking amused. "She looks just like you, doesn't she?"

"I get that a lot, yeah," I said hurriedly.

"Well, thank you for the generous offer, Clara, but I already had my lunch," Potter said politely.

"Oh, pity," Clara said. "Well, it was nice to meet you. I'm only here for a while so I didn't think I'd get the chance to meet Monica's friends."

"Are you?" Potter said, hand shooting up to his hair. "You know you don't sound French. Wouldn't have guessed."

Clara laughed. "I've been traveling around Europe for a while now. Gotten used to my English."

"Cool, cool," Potter said, nodding his head with a strange expression on his face.

"Anyway we better head in," Clara said, taking a step towards the cafe. "Nice to meet you, James."

"See you around, Potter," I said, meaning to follow her in.

"Whoa, hold on, Dyer," he said, halting my exit as Clara disappeared behind the cafe's doors.

"Yes?" I said with raised eyebrows.

Potter reached inside the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a clean envelope. He handed it to me and I could barely feel the crisp paper under my numbing fingers.

"What's this?"

"It's a sealed envelope, Dyer, take a good look," he said with a glint in his eye.

I stared back, bored and arms crossed.

"Merlin, it's an invitation, psycho," he said in exasperation. "You think I'd cursed it or something?"

"You can never be so sure these days," I defended myself, looking back at the envelope. "Invitation to what?"

"Sirius and I are hosting a New Year's Eve party at my place," he said. "Actually meant to owl you the invite but since you're already here then might as well."

"So you just keep these invitations in your jacket pocket?" I snorted.

"Never know who you'd run into in Diagon Alley," Potter shrugged.

"You're not wrong there," I muttered, eyes skimming through the invitation which included his house address. Then I looked up and scanned his face for anything that could cause suspicion.

"What are you doing?" he asked with a frown.

"Trying to make sure you aren't about to pull a prank on me," I said honestly. "Why are you inviting me to your party?"

"Because we want to?" Potter said with a laugh. "Come on, it'll be fun. You can bring Clara along if it makes you feel better."

"What about Lacey?" I said.

"Oh, she's already been invited," Potter replied quickly. "Owled her this morning."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Potter mocked lightheartedly. "Actually we just wanted Lacey 'cause she's the nice one but you two came as a set so…"

I hit his arm with my fist and he grabbed it with a gasp of pain.

"Ow, bloody hell, I was kidding," he said in breathy giggles.

"Who else is going to this?" I asked, unfazed by his pain.

"Just a couple of friends," he said, straightening his back but still massaging his arm. "Mostly seventh years. A few sixth years I think. I dunno, Sirius took care of the list."

"So Black's gonna be there?"

"He and I are hosting so yes, Dyer. Merlin, are you even listening to me?"

I fought a smile that unwillingly appeared on my face, biting my lower lip and making me look like I had a toothache.

"I'll think about it," I said mysteriously, but I felt he knew he'd convinced me.

"Think about it hard, Dyer." He winked. "Actually Sirius is in the Leaky Cauldron right now if you'd like to say hi."

Having an inkling of what he was insinuating, my smile dropped and I shot him a glare. I turned to walk back into the cafe and waved swiftly as I said, "Bye Potter."

A/N - Let me know what you think! Feel free to leave a review. :)