In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Ella 21
"Thanks again for helping with this," said Josephine as she removed her gloves and threw them in the nearby bin. "That Polvosueño stuff is revolutionary. You'll go down in history, you know." The door shut, and they were greeted by a taupe hallway with florescent lights.
Ella removed her helmet and checked her hair in the mirror. A few twists with her wand and it was back to its wild, curly perfection, swept elegantly to one side. She grinned. "It's definitely going on my Chocolate Frog card, that's for sure."
Josephine smiled; her other friends called her Jo but Ella thought that Josephine was a much more appropriate name for a witch. "How was your camping trip with Theo, by the way? I don't think I ever asked." She plucked the clipboard off the nail and walked with Ella down the hall to her office.
"Great, as always," she answered, opening the door for Josephine. They walked inside and removed their work robes. "I'm frankly shocked that I was even allowed to go, all things considered… But I guess I'm not necessarily a suspect in the murder trial."
She scoffed, putting her feet up on her desk as she dipped her occamy feather quill into the ink pot, and scratching out notes. "April 13th, 2001," she mumbled to herself as she wrote. They were examining—rather closely—an extremely aggressive Mountain Troll, and needing gargantuan amounts of Polvosueño to keep it sedated. Ella's most-famous invention had made her richer than she thought possible from a single thing; her most-profitable demographic was the over-tired Witch that had over-active children that just wouldn't go to sleep. Ella wasn't sure how much she liked the thought of her invention being used to drug children, but the sweet taste of being wealthy on her own and making something of herself soon smothered any bitterness she may have felt about it. Now that magizoologists were using it to sedate aggressive large creatures, a whole new demographic may have been opened.
"I'm happy to hear that your business hasn't suffered at all," she mentioned, adjusting her glasses. She likely needed new ones, but that wasn't Ella's business.
"I guess the world will never want for aggressive animals and tired mothers," she deadpanned.
Josephine laughed. "As a lesbian, I'll never know."
"Hey! You could have kids someday…maybe adopt a baby?"
"My animals are my children, Ella. I'm fine with that." The voice of Ella's grandmother rang in her ear about how a Witch's life is incomplete without children. But who was she to judge anyone on their choices? Ella wanted children, and marriage—ideally the former after the latter—but she didn't think that choice was an attack on someone else's…was it? No, certainly not, she quickly decided. Someone else's choices are not an attack on mine.
"I'm happy to have found a career that will always need me," Ella mentioned, deciding to lounge on the old sofa that was covered in files. "I'm also fabulously grateful that my grandmother has decided to take over the manufacturing of my inventions… I'll tell you: that was a chore, in and of itself…" She sighed. "The hardest thing was to find and re-train the old Potioneers that used to manage the factory floors. I'm just so glad that they were all still living in the UK."
"You lead a charmed life, indeed. Not every potioneer has the factory of their ancestors at their disposal….but a Spelling always pays their debts." Ella couldn't help but laugh. An owl came swooping in the open window and dropped a letter on the desk. "Oh, goody—the test results from down the street!" Josephine put her feet down and quickly opened the envelope, her bright green eyes almost glowing through her thick frames. The smile quickly turned to a frown. "What the…?"
"What?"
Josephine turned the parchment to face Ella. "It's got rabies." Ella was shocked.
"I'm sorry…rabies?"
Josephine nodded. "Rabies."
"How—?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Can a magical creature get rabies? I thought it was just some nasty disease that dogs got."
"Apparently," she said, looking back at the parchment. "Rabies is contracted through bites and scratches in the Muggle world…dogs, cats, raccoons… My mum was a vet for years; she saw rabies all the time! Maybe there's a strain that can affect magical creatures?"
"Oh, Lord," groaned Ella, her mind reeling. "Please don't let this affect my Lycanthropes…"
"You keep yours out of the woods and safe at St. Mungo's," said Josephine without looking up. "It should be fine… Maybe we'll see if we can't give it a shot of some kind. There's no cure for rabies. Unless you can somehow come up with a miracle cure, we'll have to euthanize this poor troll."
Ella cringed. "Isn't that a little extreme?"
"This is a preemptive strike," said Josephine. "In the Muggle world, there's no real 'cure' for rabies, only a vaccine. There's not any treatment for animals. If a human gets rabies, it's a different story. We could try giving it some strain of vaccine, but it might be kinder to simply euthanize the animal and harvest blood for the sake of experiment. You can have as many litres as you like to work with. I don't want to endanger everyone in the rescue because of a rabid troll."
She sighed through her nose and eventually nodded. Ella always liked animals, but certainly not on the level that her mother had. Mama was a brilliant magizoologist and often made her own salves and tonics for any sick animals she'd had. Ella hadn't ever recalled any cases of rabies back in Albany, but she wasn't a Muggleborn, like Josephine. It was a hard reality to face, that death is often the only cure for certain diseases. Trolls weren't intelligent creatures by any stretch of the imagination, but that didn't mean they didn't deserve a place on the surface of the planet...
"How will you do it?" Ella asked. "Euthanize the troll?"
"An injectable," Josephine answered. "It's like overdosing on Morphine." Ella blinked. "Er, this ridiculously powerful painkiller that is used for extreme cases of pain, like recovering from surgery or a caesarian section when in childbirth." Ella tilted her head in question. "A super-powerful feel-good potion that you don't drink, but is injected directly into your bloodstream. The point is that the troll will feel no pain. In fact, it'll be the happiest it's ever been before it dies."
"That's good, then, I suppose," she conceded. No-Majs were truly rather ingenious… "I suppose it's much kinder than just sticking it in the sunlight," she joked.
"Oh, much kinder!" agreed Josephine, her quill now scratching on various parchment scrolls. "Sunlight is a horrible, traumatic death for trolls. I wish they didn't have to go through so much pain…" Her Hufflepuff was truly showing… "Do you know why trolls turn to stone in the sunlight?" Ella shook her head 'no.' "Vitamin D."
"What's Vitamin D?"
"Well…" She popped her neck, trying to think of the best way to explain it. "Vitamin D is a kind of vitamin you get from sitting in the sunlight. It helps you absorb things like calcium—er, the strong bone compound—and iron from your food. It's very hard to get all the Vitamin D you need from food alone, so being outside in the fresh air is very important to your health. Ever wonder why you feel tired or lethargic during a long stint of rainy days?" Ella wanted to make a joke about London weather, but decided against it. "It's because you become Vitamin D deficient after that period of time. I mean, you can get Vitamin D from drinking orange juice, but not nearly as much as you need."
"Huh…" Ella felt her Mind Palace expanding, deciding to store this particular bit of knowledge away in the 'nature' room, next to the camping supplies. Though Ella much preferred cold, cloudy days, a sunny day in the forest was a wonderful thing for camping. "What's this have to do with trolls?"
"Trolls can't process Vitamin D. They lack the necessary—er—stuff to make it work in their bloodstream, so it calcifies their skin…er, I mean, it turns them to stone. They feel their skin, their eyes, their blood calcifying…like I said, it's traumatizing for them to experience, even if it only lasts a few seconds. Nobody should have to die like that." She shook her head. "No, no…best give the injectable to the poor thing. Rabies causes seizures…we don't want a rabid, seizing troll on our hands."
The clock struck three. "I should get back," said Ella. "Fleur is dropping off Victoire at 5 and I should clean my house beforehand."
Josephine grinned. "She's trusting you with the baby even though there's a murder trial going on?"
Ella narrowed her eyes, annoyed. "Is there something you wanna say to me?" Her face fell from a teasing grin to a gasping gawk. "Because it feels like there's something you wanna say to me." She stood, her feathers ruffling.
"Nothing, Ella, really," said she with a wave of her hand. "Forget I said anything."
"Oh? Is it nothing? Because it sounds like you think I killed Lucius Malfoy." She stood up slowly and leaned on Josephine's desk with both of her hands. "If I did kill him, you'd know. Because I'd have the blood all over my clothes." Her face went a little white. "If I killed Lucius Malfoy, I wouldn't have bothered with a potion. I'd have punched him in the face as hard as I could, and – when he fell – I'd have reached for the nearest blunt object and bashed him in the nose until – his – skull – caved – in." She threw off her labcoat and snatched up her clutch before disapparating in a blink. She was back in Cokeworth, two blocks from her house. She stormed down the sidewalk, looking extremely out of place in her nice clothes and shoes.
Ella was stomping so angrily down the sidewalk that she might have put craters in the cement, had she been any heavier than 150 lbs and able to create a force more than 1000 lbs with a kick...but she was not a professional soccer player that could not kick that well. She was a frail little raven that just happened to be a little more thick than the average 21-year-old, specifically around her ass. She then wondered how much force it would take to create craters as she walked, and then wondered if her current shoes would be able to withstand such force, and by the time she tried to remember how to figure out the algebraic formula, she had reached her front door and calmed down significantly. Ah, science...you weird, wonderful, therapeutic thing...
The key clicked in the lock and she opened the door, finding her entryway full of letters and bouquets of flowers. There were several parcels of chocolates and a few boxes, she recognized, was from Cache's, the finest jeweler in Europe. She kicked them away, mildly annoyed, and swished-and-flicked her wand to organize the parcels neatly in piles upstairs on her bed. She gathered the bouquets in her arms and took them to the kitchen. Let's see...red roses, red roses, red roses... There were far less wizards in Europe that were trying to woo her than there would be in America, but she had to admit that the attention was nice. Red roses, red roses, red roses—what's this?
One of the bouquets was fashioned of a deep, dark pink punch of roses wrapped with...walnut branches? She took the sprig of leaves, so young and tender...it had undoubtedly come from a walnut tree. And dark pink roses? Ella searched for the card that it had come with, but there was none, not even one that had somehow fallen in the hallway or stuck to her dress. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She quickly answered it to see Fleur there, grinning wide, bouncing with glee.
"Fleur?" She came inside, alone, and Ella closed the door as she followed her to the library. "What's going on?"
Her cousin turned around, her face glowing, looking annoyingly gorgeous in the afternoon light. "I'm pregnant," she announced.
Ella's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped in shock. "How—?!" She immediately felt stupid for she knew how that happened. "I mean—! Oh my— I—" They both began to laugh. "Congratulations!" Fleur swept Ella up in her arms in such a tight embrace.
"Ella, I'm pregnant!" she said again, tears of joy filling at her bright blue eyes.
"I just—I'm so happy for you! That's wonderful! What'd Bill say?"
"Oh, I 'avent told 'im yet—I've jjust come from ze 'ospital. You were ze closzest...I jjust 'ad to tell someone! Alors," she sighed. "So you will not be needing to watch Victoire zees evening... We are staying in and I am telling 'im tonight."
"Well, here," said Ella, dashing to the kitchen. She took one of the rose bouquets—one of the red ones—and removed the card. She came to Fleur and handed the bouquet over. "Take these. Decorate the cottage. In fact..." She waved her wand and summoned the rest of the red roses and plucked the cards away. "Take all of them. Congratulations."
"Zsuitorzs?" Fleur asked with a quirked eyebrow. "'Ow many do you 'ave?" Ella shrugged. "Alors, merci," she said, kissing Ella on both cheeks. "Enjoy a night off!" Ella was smiling as Fleur gathered the flowers and left as quickly as she came. As she closed the door behind her, she sighed wistfully; she was actually looking forward to a night with Victoire...that sweet little angel had no idea what was going on. Ella had her pick of the litter when it came to who she wanted to be with, but with how her career was going, she wasn't sure if she would have time for marriage and babies. She wanted them desperately, of course, but with all the momentum of what was going on, it just didn't seem feasible. Meme had made it more than clear to never let the Christophe line end; with Victoire, however, it wasn't. Maybe Ella would pass on Chateau Christophe, the Oubliette, the Cambiatus all to her? Maybe she should just move to France and change her name to Ella Christophe and call it good?
Ella laid on her sofa in the library and sighed, kicking her shoes off. If she didn't have a baby by the time she was twenty-five, like all of those in the Christophe line, the ability to access everything would be shut out forever. Her mother had her when she was only nineteen—nineteen—and ensured her success in taking on everything... When she thought of how her parents met, it was likely that her mother got pregnant before she and Daddy were married...and then she wondered if Daddy only married her mother because of it. Either way, she was still, somehow of Christophe blood, no matter the messy details of her parentage, which was—frankly—a miracle.
The details of the 'binding magical contracts' of the Christophes were hidden away, in that secret chamber at Meme's house, all made more inaccessible by the fact that Ella could barely speak French, let alone read it. She just knew that a Christophe must have an heir before their 25th year or the secrets would be lost unto them forever. Frankly, she didn't much like the thought of having an hourglass on her uterus, but what was to be done? Meme had taken Ella under her wing instead of Fleur, and showed her powerful magic beyond any and all stretches of imagination. Ella wanted marriage and babies anyway...it was just the fact that someone was telling her to do it that made it uncomfortable. Oh well.
Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, an idea came into her head. She sat up and ran to the telephone in the kitchen. It was an old rotary-style phone that was—she guessed—Snape's parents that she'd decided to keep hanging there. It was painted white, now, instead of the avocado green it had once been. She pulled each number with conviction, just to make sure it would work, and put it to her ear.
"Hello?" came Hermione's voice on the other side of the line.
"Hey, Hermione, it's me," said Ella.
Ella heard her gasp excitedly. "You've learned how to use your phone, finally!"
"Finally, indeed!" laughed she, twirling the cord in her finger. "Watching old black and white movies helped a lot... They're on the phone all the time in this movie "Bye Bye Birdie!" Have you ever seen it? It's this musical movie with this No-Maj called Anne Margaret and it's set in the 50s, I think. Her voice is kind of pitchy and shrill, but I guess that was the style...supposed to be girlish. Anyway, what are doing right now?"
"I'm preparing for my proposal hearing! They're moving forward with the bill—can you believe it? It's this coming Monday, first thing on the docket! I suppose I have you to thank. Dressing me up like a Barbie..."
"I should say," Ella chortled. "I don't want to keep you too long, but I was wondering if you could explain sunlight to me."
There was a dead silent pause. "Er...what do you want to know...?"
"Okay, maybe not sunlight, but—specifically—this thing called Vitamin D?"
"Well, I know a little. It's something you get from sitting in the sunlight. It's good for you. It gives you energy. Why?" Ella could hear the shuffling of papers in the background.
"So... You only get it from sunlight, right?"
"Erm—" She heard Hermione switch the phone from one ear to the other, more papers shuffling in the background. Ella could just see her, sitting on her bed in her tiny flat, scrolls of parchment splayed everywhere. "—I mean, you can get some from your food, but mostly the sun, yes." A beat. "Why?"
"Do you get any vitamins from moonlight?"
"Moonlight—? Er, no, but... Moonlight and sunlight are the same thing."
"Wait, what?" Surely that was a joke.
"It's true. Moonlight is a reflection of sunlight. See, the earth revolves around the sun, and the moon revolves around the earth. The moon itself doesn't produce any light, but rather reflects the sunlight back onto us."
"So the moon is...?" Ella was dreadfully confused. "...A mirror?"
"Well, for lack of a better term, yes. Its bright white surface reflects the light. You know how bright it gets when there's snow and sunlight out? White reflects light better than any other color. Actually, hang on—" Ella heard Hermione put the phone down. She heard quite a bit of shuffling, then a crash, some very choice cuss words, and then the phone receiver being picked up again. "—Alright, sorry about that. So," she cleared her throat, "according to this medical journal, the production of Vitamin D requires UVB radiation, not simply light." Ella blinked in confusion, but Hermione couldn't see that. "The moonlight is much weaker than direct sunlight, which produces said rays, and is therefore simply not enough to excite the process in our bodies that produces Vitamin D."
"Uh..."
"Sorry, did I go too fast?"
"No, not at all! It's just..." She felt a little embarrassed for her ignorance on how the human body worked. "So...the sun doesn't give us Vitamin D, necessarily, but...the...rays of sunlight makes your body produce it on its own? UVB or whatever?"
"That's what it looks like," Hermione said. "Why?"
The click of a switch went off in the back of her mind. "When you cast Lumos Solarum," she began. "Does it create those same rays?"
A pause. "Enough to make Devil's Snare shrink," she replied with a tiny laugh.
That was a 'yes,' most likely. "And which foods do you get Vitamin D from?"
Hermione thought for a moment. "Aside from milk...?" Milk...? She glanced at her icebox in thought. Ella heard the phone be put down again, and the sound of even more books went shuffling around. There wasn't a crash this time, but there was an audible 'aha!' heard in the background. "Cod liver oil," said Hermione. "It's this nasty stuff, but it's terribly rich in Vitamin D! Most fish are rich in it, in fact!"
Ella frowned. "Is that a potion ingredient?" Hermione laughed.
"No, it's this nasty dietary supplement that muggles take...specifically the older generation. It's foul stuff, but they have pills now if you don't want to swallow the awful stuff."
"Where do you get it?"
"Er..." She paused. "The Pharmacy...it's like a muggle apothecary. What are you doing?"
"Trying to buy cod liver oil, apparently," she said. "How much would it take to replace a day's worth of sunlight?"
She heard Hermione stifling. "Wh—" A pause. "Well, you're supposed to take one per day..."
"That's a start." She hung up the phone, then immediately redialed the same number. The phone rang.
"Did you mean to hang up on me?!"
"Yeah. What's a pharmacy?" Hermione sighed deeply.
"I'll be right there..."
About an hour later, Hermione was sitting at her kitchen table, a plastic bag full of various Vitamin D accoutrements in front of her while Ella sauteed a pair of steaks. It was still spring, so there was plenty of purple asparagus to go around, which was roasting with olive oil in the oven. She was hoping to find fiddleferns at the market, too, but she supposed that there weren't any in the UK. The garlic was in season, though, as were the new potatoes, which were already hot and ready, waiting on the plates for the rest of the food.
"What a brilliant idea," said Hermione, looking over an old medical journal she'd taken from her parent's house. "Vitamin D deficiencies can cause loads of problems in humans...why not animals?" Ella nodded. "All you have to do is figure out how to test it!"
"I've got a friend at Royal Stoke University Hospital. It's one of those kinds of hospitals that teach and do research... I think that she's got those machines that test your blood for stuff. If my hypothesis is right, lycanthropic blood is deficient in Vitamin D." She removed the steaks from the pan and put it on the wooden cutting board to let them rest. She turned the heat immediately off and popped in some shallots and a small glug of the Beaujolais Nouveau from last Thanksgiving, while a red wine vinegar bottle lowered itself to put a splash in the pan. It sizzled and popped and reduced, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma, sizzling just long enough to put about a tablespoon or so of green peppercorns in. She shook the pan back and forth and added a big knob of butter, using a whisk to stir vigorously, hoping it was just the right temperature to form the emulsion. To her delight, it turned wonderfully thick. "You haven't lived until you've had Mama's beurre rouge on a steak," she bragged as the asparagus danced from the hot oven, twirling onto the plate in a beautiful magical ballet. With her Chef knife, she sliced the steaks on a bias and plated them on a bed of the asparagus and potatoes, a perfect medium-rare. She forgot to ask if Hermione even liked her steak medium-rare, but these steaks were honestly too nice to overcook...and British people didn't know a damn about food, anyway, so what was the difference? She spooned the sauce over in an artful design. "Let's eat."
"Thank you," said Hermione, looking hungrily down at the plate. "I know it sounds silly but I hadn't any idea you cooked." Ella shrugged and poured the wine. "I suppose it only makes sense you do."
Ella sat and raised her glass, which Hermione toasted. "I actually can't cook," she said, folding a napkin in her lap. "It was my mother that could cook, and I was just allowed to help. I wish you could have had my mom's food...it was so—"
"—Unnnmmmmm! Holy cricket!" Ella's eyes went a little wide as Hermione made a borderline orgasmic sound at the first bite of steak. "That sauce tastes of how velvet feels!" Ella couldn't help but laugh. "You could have been a chef!"
"Thankya, thankya," she sang playfully, taking a bite of her asparagus. She sighed contentedly at its familiar taste, remembering when her mother would make it. "Save room, though; I've got an almond souffle in the oven, too."
"A souffle?" Hermione looked up, shaking her head in disbelief. "Your family's French; no wonder you know how to cook. It's in your blood."
Ella laughed through her nose as she chewed her steak. "No, we just know what food's good. But my mother did go to Culinary school right after she graduated from Ilvermorny."
"Oh?" She sopped up some of the beurre rouge with some of the crusty bred. "But she's a Pureblood... I thought she was a Magizoologist? Did she want to be a Chef at some point?"
"Not at all. She just wanted to learn how to cook for herself. Culinary school was, like, the first thing she did when she graduated from Ilvermorny." Ella sipped her wine. "The Christophes and Spellings are Old World Purebloods that just don't do that, though; you know, cooking for themselves... You can imagine how horrified my grandmother was when she learned my mom was going to culinary school. She offered to send a House Elf to live with my mom to cook for her, but we don't really, uh, do that in America."
"What do you mean?" she asked, sipping her wine, obviously curious now.
"House Elves have been free since...well, I don't know the exact date, but the point is that up in the Northern USA, House Elves were among the first to get their freedom. It was a big part of the Civil War, actually, along with the No-Maj slaves. Southern Wizards weren't going to give up their House Elves easily, and they therefore took action in the North vs. South back in the 1800s. The point is that, especially in New York City, you don't keep House Elves...it's just not done. You can hire one, sure, but..." Ella shrugged and bit into her potato. Hermione seemed fascinated. "I don't know. One of the most-famous jazz singers from the 20s was a House Elf. You hear all sorts of tales about them in underground speakeasies, slinging Giggle Water in the middle of the No-Maj Prohibition—not that President Picquery would ban alcohol, of course."
"President Picquery?"
"Seraphina Picquery! She was an amazing President," Ella swooned as she sliced another bite of steak. "I went as her for Halloween, once, but nobody knew who I was until I told them." She sighed. "She was known for her dealings with Newt Scamander when he came to NYC back in the 20s, and she even captured Gellert Grindlewald!" Hermione's eyes went wide. "And she's also known for being the only Witch of her generation to have been picked for all four Houses when she attended Ilvermorny."
"You can do that?" gasped Hermione.
"Of course. Do you know how the sorting ceremony is at Ilvermorny?" Hermione shook her head. "Well, you're led into a circular room with four wooden statues. You're meant to stand in the middle of the cloverleaf knot and wait. Depending on which house you're accepted in to, the statue will come to life. The Wampus cat roared for my father, and the Pukwudgie's eyes glowed for my mother. When it was my turn, I hoped desperately for all four statues to come to life...but then that big Thunderbird flapped his wings so greatly that I thought he might fly away. So?" She shrugged. "I'm a Thunderbird; the first in my family. The Zamoras were in Wampus since we came over during Ellis Island."
"But your mother was a Slytherin?"
"Like every Spelling before her."
"And Pukwudgie...?" Ella could see that she wanted to ask if the Pukwudgie was Ilvermorny's Slytherin, if it produced Dark Wizards, too. She simply shook her head.
"To be honest, there's really no...equivalent to Hogwarts Houses. Pukwudgie favors those that are compassionate, with big hearts, that tend to grow up to be Healers, in some form or another." She could see the thoughts behind Hermione's eyes. Maybe Hermione had a mind palace, too? "I grew up hearing about House Wampus. They tended to favor warriors, duelists, champions of right and wrong...it's no wonder that my father was in it. His first instinct is to attack." She giggled a bit. "When I was little, Daddy used to drape my the Wampus skin rug over his body and chase me around Nana's house with it on all fours. He used to do the same thing to my mom, and she would laugh so hard..." Ella sighed through her nose. "I know this sounds weird out loud, but if you met her, I don't think you'd know she was an Old World Pureblooded Witch that had come from the background she had... She was such a pioneer, you know? Of course, it's easy to canonize the dead."
Hermione smiled. "I think it takes a really special person to break the mold like that. Especially when you're from a Pureblooded family like yours."
"She was a pretty special lady," Ella agreed. "She had a really decorated life before she died... Did your mom ever teach you how to cook?"
"Both of my parents work," said Hermione. "I learned how to cook to help around the house when I was little. I can cook dinner, of course, but nothing this fancy."
The American shrugged. "You know, it's strange—I never think of this stuff as fancy." She looked at her half-eaten plate. "It's just...dinner. I mean, food changed a bit at Ilvermorny, but not really. It's like Hogwarts; you say what you want on your plate, and it shows up."
"Do you miss it? Ilvermorny? America?"
"Every day," she said, cutting her potatoes. She took a bite. Hermione was silent. When Ella looked up, she was looking across the table at her, her eyes full of puppy-dog-like compassion. She rolled her eyes. "Take it easy, Sylvia Plath. Not every semi-sad thing has to result in a poetic interpersonal moment." Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "I like it here, okay? I like living in Cokeworth. I like living alone in a small town."
"I would think you'd be more comfortable in London," she commented, eating the last of her asparagus.
"London's fun to visit," she agreed. "But I don't think I'd like to live there, especially when I can apparate anywhere I want." Hermione nodded in understanding. They ate for a moment in silence when Hermione broke it. The subject she brought up would have likely ruined the taste of any other meal, but this was steak with beurre rouge; it was too good to be ruined by any conversation.
"Um," she began. "I know you don't like talking about this kind of thing—"
"—And yet you're bringing it up—"
"—But Neville seems really hurt from the other night. I think you should talk to him."
"Okay. What would that accomplish?" Ella took her last bite of steak, which was thick with a delightfully crunchy bit of fat on the side. "He's dating Hannah, and I'm obviously not in the best place to be in a relationship right now—"
"—What makes you say that?"
"Well," she began, finishing off her asparagus. "The last person I kissed was my ex-boyfriend, in front of the entire Magical Law Department, including my father, my cousin, Harry, and my current boyfriend—who I'm pretty sure I broke up with by doing that but I haven't seen him since. Oh, and let's not forget that this particular ex-boyfriend is going to be married in less than two months, in spite of the fact that his father was just murdered." The entire sentence was said in a very matter-of-fact way. "And it wasn't a peck on the cheek. There was a lot of tongue." She poured herself some more wine and topped Hermione off. "I do mean a lot..." She immediately thought of and dismissed their even-more-recent interaction just earlier that week. "I'm pretty sure I'm not in a good place to pursue anyone seriously." She shook her head. "Nope. I've apparently got some soul-searching to do."
As if on cue, the front door swung open and Phoebus came flying in, hauling a bulky load of parcels, all tied in red ribbon. The door closed behind him as he brought them into the kitchen. Hermione gasped at the pile as Ella rolled her eyes in annoyance.
"You'd think that being part of a murder trial would stop this," she groaned, standing. Phoebus cawed as Ella grabbed a bag from the icebox which was full of scraps of meat. She popped it in a dish and put it on the counter, where Phoebus hopped on to eat. Ella stepped back over to the table and finished eating.
"Aren't you going to see who they're from?" said Hermione, absentmindedly dipping the rest of the beurre rouge up with her bread. Ella shook her head. "You know, if I was getting that much attention, I'd at least open it or send a 'thank you' note or something."
"Well you're not, are you?" Her face immediately softened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that how it sounded..." She sighed and summoned the smallest parcel on the top of the pile, which was likely jewelry, in hopes of mollifying her friend. She opened the package to reveal a red velvet box, along with a dragon's blood scented card written in a very masculine hand. Ella's eyes went wide when she read it. "Viktor Krum?" Hermione's face went a flustered shade of pink, and was obviously feeling conflicted. Ella grinned. "Want me to pitch it?" She asked, waving the box. The timer on the oven dinged.
"Of course not!" gasped Hermione as Ella waved her wand towards the oven. The souffle came rising out of the open oven door, now, and set itself neatly on the table, a wobbling spectacle of jiggly cake. The icebox door flung open as a silver sauce boat full of creme anglaise came floating gently out, dancing on air with the silver dessert spoons and plates that found themselves in front of the two witches. A silver serving spoon dipped into the souffle, which stayed delightfully tall, and served Hermione a nice big portion. Ella took an equally large portion for herself, delighting at how visibly uncomfortable and emotionally conflicted Hermione suddenly seemed to be. She didn't like seeing her friends suffer, necessarily, but there was something fun about watching others squirm when it came to matters of the heart. The sauce boat poured its contents delicately on each plate and set itself down. Ella took her spoon and dipped into her dessert, a delightful dance of hot and cold coating her mouth. Hermione mimicked, her unease broken with souffle in her mouth.
"The secret is the Amaretto," said Ella, taking another bite, the gentle clanks of the self-washing dishes being the only thing louder than Hermione's pounding heart. "Seriously, I know that he was your first kiss—"
"—It doesn't matter!" Hermione insisted. "The last thing I am doing is being responsible for your unhappiness!" Ella quirked a brow. "What I'm saying is—" She then dropped her spoon and put her hand over hers "—Be happy, Ella. You deserve it." She nodded towards the red velvet box. "Go on. Open it. He certainly did make a nice effort, sending it all the way to Cokeworth from Bulgaria."
Ella shrugged, deciding to appease Hermione's wishes, and opened the box. Inside was a bejeweled silver necklace, fashioned into a wreath of leaf-shaped rubies, with a pair of pear-cut ruby earrings to match. Ella cringed as she picked them up; they turned out to be chandelier style earrings which cradled the rubies on a delicate silver chain. "You can really tell what a man thinks of you by the kind of earrings he buys you..."
"I think it's a lovely gesture!" gasped Hermione, obviously appalled by Ella's ungratefulness. "Rubies are beautiful jewels—really beautiful!"
"Everybody knows that my favorite color is green," she argued. "I mean, sure, rubies made it into the Bible and are a classic declaration of 'love' and 'passion' across continents..." She sighed. "I guess I've just grown out of wearing rubies..." She set the jewelry down.
"But you wear red lipstick all the time!"
"That's because green lipstick looks stupid." She sighed through her nose. "Fine. I'll write him a 'thank you.'" She took another bite of her souffle. Hermione seemed satisfied enough. "You're sure you don't mind it?"
Hermione looked up, her eyes full of sincerity. "No, not at all. Viktor and I are friends. Just friends. Really." She suddenly got this look on her face like she had been slapped. "Are you peeking into my mind?"
Ella giggled nervously. "Just wanted to make sure you were telling me the truth," she said, spooning another bite of her dessert in her smiling mouth. "Yeah, okay. He's kinda..." She didn't know the word she was looking for, so she just shrugged. "I mean, he's not necessarily my type..." The moment she said those words, she realized that she didn't have a real type that she preferred. She'd dated everyone from Draco to Neville to Percy...the only real common factor between those three was that they were all powerful. And who is more powerful than a TriWizard Champion? "Meh. Alright. I'll send him a 'thank you' letter."
Well, well, well...very interesting developments are happening here. We know it's now April, and Draco's getting married in June. We only have two short months to go between then and now to see what happens. And where does Viktor Krum play in? Will we see soon?
Oh, and just for some clarification: Ella's got an old rotary phone that was leftover from when Snape lived there, because it was his father's, Tobias Snape's, old house...and he was a muggle! (Or No-Maj, since I'm an American.) Ella doesn't necessarily like muggles, but she understands that they've made useful inventions, and she really loves old movies, let's not forget!
We know a lot so far. Will we ever find out whodunnit? Who killed Lucius Malfoy? The culprit might surprise you! Big thanks to HeartofAspen, Pancakestack, SabrinaJasmine, and my guest reviewers! Your continued support means the world to me!