Chapter 12: Wanders Through London: The Naked Child

Sorry for the slight delay. I had a bit of a break in uni so life is all good, and updates will commence.

Wow, a slight surge in reviews since the last chapter. Thank you all for the compliments and constructive criticism.

To HoneyBadger7437 and MannyisdaBEST1—

I also have a deep hatred for Isabel, but unfortunately, she isn't going anywhere yet and there are still some surprises to turn over.

To Simplyecho, Alice Nicklen, and Stromsten—you are the ones who have consistently reviewed every couple chapters, so thanks for your continuously giving your feedback. It's been healthy to my writing esteem.

Anyhoo. To Chapter 12.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR; I just tinker-tanker.

"Good morning Londoners. This is the WWN and I'm Deanna Jones with the ten-o-clock news. Our top story of the hour: Ministry officials continue to conduct their investigations surrounding allegations of a Death-Eater retaliation supposed to occur synonymously with the 25th memorandum of Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. There has been no physical proof of such an event yet to occur, but several suspects have been taken into custody for further questioning and notable Death-Eater households are currently being searched for Dark objects and illicit magical materials. The sudden and unwarranted search is a source of much controversy amongst ex-veterans of the Dark Lord's War.

An anonymous witness quotes: "We ended the war twenty-five years ago. If they could not make Death-Eater arrests then, then they certainly should not be able to now. Ridiculous bouts of public paranoia are not sufficient enough grounds for the Ministry to violate privacy rights if there is no solid evidence. It is time for the Public Security Act to be abolished."

The Public Security Act, first proposed by renowned war heroine Hermione Granger-Weasley during the rebuilding of Wizengamot, constitutes the right for authorities to invade Death-Eater homes without official documentation…"

"Look, there's mum's name on the radio again," said Hugo cheerfully, biting into his toast with a crunch.

Rose blinked, feeling herself returning to a state of normalcy. She promptly switched off the radio and resumed cutting her blueberry bagel into halves.

"Why do you do that? It's so weird," commented Hugo as Rose took her halved bagels and began smearing two different colored jams on each surface. "Bagels are meant to be eaten whole."

"And you're suddenly the expert on breakfast cuisine, are you?" replied Rose sardonically, "Pass the cereal."

Hugo silently handed her the rainbow colored box of Wizarding Cheerios, of which several loopy-looking pieces had struggled out of the box and were inching towards the edge of the table.

Rose gently collected the escapees into her hand and let them fall back into the box. "I meant the muggle one."

Hugo eyed the other cereal box at the end of the table with distaste. It was a simple, static box of corn flakes. "Why? They're so bland," he grumbled as he shoved the box towards her.

"They don't try to crawl out of my bowl," answered Rose with a small hum as she spooned several unmoving flakes into her bowl. "No survivor's guilt."

Hugo popped several wriggling Wizarding cheerios gleefully into his mouth in response. "Ya might as well be a squib, Rosie."

"Oh, cornflakes? Lovely. It's been so long since I had any," interrupted Hermione Granger-Weasley breezily, sweeping by the table in a wave of cologne and taking the box with one hand. Rose tossed Hugo a smirk. "Where did you buy these, darling?"

"There's a Marks and Spencer's right down the street, mum."

"Is there? I hardly noticed," replied Hermione distractedly, chewing on the flakes with satisfaction and pulling out an official-looking document to scroll through at the same time.

"You hardly have time to sit down for breakfast anyway," pointed out Rose, noting the fact that her mum's graying hair was already pulled back into an office-bun and that already had grey slacks and suit jacket on. "Where to today?"

"Court," said Hermione with a dismissive wave, finally turning her attention towards Rose with crinkling, brown eyes.

"I thought you became a judge so that your life would be less hectic."

"That was the plan, but with all the controversy going around about these Death-Eater household searches…sometimes, I do wish the Ministry would conduct their investigations after my children have gone back to school." She sighed, stood up and paused to give Hugo a kiss on the cheek (to which Hugo uttered an indignant yelp). "Do give your father my best, will you? And leave him some breakfast. He was up late drinking with Harry and Charlie again."

She slipped the Ministry document back into a black, leather bag and then slung it over her shoulders with a small grunt. "Any plans for today, Rosie dear?"

Rose exhaled, trying not to sound too exasperated with her mother's scattered memory. "Yes, actually."

"Oh? With whom?"

"Just a couple people I like to call David and Moira Granger. Remember them? I think you know them as 'mum and dad.'"

"Oh, that was today?" answered Hermione, barely catching onto Rose's sarcasm. She smiled at her daughter. "Well, that's awfully nice of you, dear. They haven't seen you or Hugo in awhile. Do send them my love."

"And give them your best, right?"

But Hermione's mind was already elsewhere and she didn't answer. That brilliant, press-worthy mind, whirring and ticking over new ways to save the world no doubt. Rose and Hugo watched their mother put on her shoes and head for the door as the children had countless of times in their lives.

Right before Hermione walked out, a thought suddenly occurred to Rose and she called out: "Mum? Why don't you just abolish the act?"

At the sound of her daughter's voice, Hermione poked her head back through the door wearing a perplexed expression. "What act?"

"The Public Security Act," elaborated Rose, turning over her spoon in her cereal bowl contemplatively. "You know, so that the Ministry stops ransacking innocent people's homes." Like the Malfoys. The thought slipped into her mind before she could have the chance to weed it out.

"Is that what the radio was going on about?" Hermione replied with a frown settling on her features. She pondered over this for several silent moments, and then exhaled and responded with a curt: "It's complicated, Rose."

The answer was rather disappointing to Rose, who had expected something a lot more in-depth coming from her mother. But then again, Hermione was never good with divulging her past, or divulging anything that didn't have to do with her work. The elderly woman disappeared, and the door shut behind her with a firm clunk.

After Rose had finished her bowl of cereal, she hopped off her stool and tousled her brother's hair. "Well, I'm off to go change now. Wash the dishes."

"Bloody hell I will!" exclaimed Hugo in protestation.

Rose raised her eyebrows at his outburst and he flushed. "I'll tell you the fast way of doing it."

Hugo's eyes widened. "Mum says we ought to do them by hand."

"Mum's not here."

Hugo was silent. A fair point.

Rose tapped his wand, which was lying beside his fork. "Just stack up the plates, point, and say virastalis. If you drop anything, use a Reparo charm. But don't drop anything," she added with a stern glare.

With that, she retreated up the stairs two at a time towards her room. She slipped into a comfortable navy-blue sleeveless top and jean shorts. The weather was remarkably beautiful for London standards, and she wanted to enjoy the summer sun while it lasted. Before leaving the room, she paused and swiped a packet of Mint Mice from her desk. Her grandparents, despite being dentists, loved sweets beyond imagining.

When she arrived back in the kitchen, the dishes were neatly piled beside the sink and her father was sitting at the table. Rose smiled at this familiar sight, wondering when Ron Weasley was ever going to stop looking the picture of home to her.

As usual, his faded red hair was mussed about his head in a weary mess and he was wearing a bathrobe, a pin-striped one barely covered his rotund stomach.

"Oh hello dad, you're awake," greeted Rose, skipping towards the kitchen countertop to pour herself a mug of tea into her thermos. "Had fun last night with Uncle Harry and Uncle George?"

Ron offered her a tired smile in response and sipped his coffee. "Where you off to, Rosie?"

"Grandpa and Grandma Grangers'," she responded, capping her thermos and stepping over to kiss him swiftly on the cheek.

The kiss seemed to liven him up significantly. "Oh yes, now I remember. How are you getting back?"

"I'm meeting Al at Leicester, if he hasn't forgotten. But in the case he does forget, I'll just wait for a cute muggle boy with a bitchin' motorbike to stop by and hop on," said Rose, her grin dropping at Ron's alarmed expression. "Only joking, dad. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

"Bloody better be joking," grumbled Ron, "Hang on, why isn't Al going with you to begin with? Your grandparents love him."

Rose shrugged. "How should I know, dad? I've barely seen him this summer. Isabel's over at his place all the bloody time."

Ron snorted into his coffee. "Right. That Harry mentioned." He continued chuckling to himself, no doubt over something he had discussed with his drinking partners last night, and Rose rolled her eyes affectionately.

"Well, I ought to be off." He nodded his consent and she walked towards the door, pausing momentarily to add: "Before I forget, mum asked me to give you 'her best', quote unquote."

"Don't be snarky. She's got a lot on her plate," she heard her father call to her before she turned the doorknob and walked out from her cozy, magic-ridden flat into the streets of muggle London.

AAA.

It was five weeks and four days after the train-ride back to King's Cross that Al finally had a chance to meet up with Carpathia over the holiday. After returning from a two-week vacation in Monaco, Al had spent the remaining time entertaining Isabel, who seemed to have developed a sudden penchant for dropping by the Potter residence without notice. While Al was certainly taken aback and flattered by his girlfriend's spurt of affection, he found it strangely relieving to take some time off when Carpathia finally replied to his many owls with a simple, brief letter that read:

"Al,

Sorry for the delay; it's been mental lately around the house. Meet me outside Camden Town Station at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. I'd like to take you to one of my favorite places.

Don't be late.

–Thia."

Al, who had little to no experience with traveling around muggle London, had promptly phoned Rose to ask her quickly how to get there.

"Oh, that's easy. Just take the tube," she'd replied. He could've practically heard her rolling her eyes.

"What's that?" he'd asked.
"The tube—god, the subway. You know, an underground train that muggles use to get around to places? Honestly, Al, you're so dense I wonder how we're even related. How is it that a girl from an old pureblood family knows how to get around London better than you do?"

"Stuff it. Will you be out tomorrow by any chance?"

"Finally have time for me now, do you? I was actually going to go see Granddad and Grandmum Granger. Shall we meet afterwards? I've got to pick up a present for Rowan's birthday somewhere downtown anyway."

"Er, yeah. Sure. Where?"

"Leicester Square, five'o'clock. If you don't know where that is, ask Carpathia." And with that, she had hung up.

The next morning, after consulting his father on how exactly to ride the tube and pocketing several maps into his jeans, Al set off on the arduous task of mastering London's public transportation system. When he finally reached Camden station he was fifteen minutes late, but thankfully, Carpathia didn't seem in the least irritated.

"Goodness. How hard is it to ride the tube?" she inquired amusedly. She hopped off the ledge she'd been sitting on and greeted him with a cheerful hug.

Al opened his mouth to explain his tardiness, but his words were drowned out when his eyes registered the little changes in his friend. She seemed, for a lack of a better word, healthier. There was a flush in her cheeks, and the deep eye circles brought on by smoking and lack of sleep had faded away. Even more noticeably, her hair was no longer a complete inky-black. There were two thin streaks of deep blue and magenta lying side-by-side that fell from the right side of her head and curved around her cheeks. They complimented the new rosiness in her cheeks quite nicely.

"You look great," he replied with a genuine grin. "Like the new hair."

Carpathia shot him a sideways look. "Really? I thought you hated me dyeing my hair."

"I never said that." I said that?

"I seem to recall a certain redheaded gent declaring that dyed hair was unnatural and unattractive."

"Your memory seems to be faulty, Nott. Need a check-up at St. Mungo's?" Al replied a matter-of-factly, knocking the side of her head teasingly. She withdrew away from his reach and stuck her tongue out at him.

"You were the one that said we would see each other soon after the year ended, and it's been how many weeks? Six? Who's the one with brain damage now?"

Al opened his mouth immediately to apologize, but to his relief, she was smiling in a fairly good-natured manner.

"Cor, I'm an awful friend," he admitted abashedly, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "I tried to owl you to check if you were alright when I heard about the Ministry searches, but Dad said it was better not to. He said they'd be censoring your mail, so I thought I'd ask you in person instead."

Carpathia flashed him a small, twitching smile. "So ask."

"How you been, then? Since…since that all happened?"

"At this moment, I'm wonderful," she replied resolutely, tugging on the arm he had around her shoulders in a cheerful manner.

"Not just about the Ministry, Thia. I meant about…y'know, him, as well."

"I'm fine."

When he looked at her with slight disbelief she pressed on. "Really, Al, I am. I can't say it hasn't been difficult. I almost wrote him a couple times, but now…now I almost don't think of him at all. There are other more important things at hand."

She paused. "You owl was a bloody life-saver. I finally got to leave that suffocating house. Ever since the Ministry took Father away for questioning, Mother's been driving Gareth and I mad over behaving ourselves, which means as little public exposure as possible." Her mouth twisted wryly. "Though if it's a good public image she wants, I don't think she'd mind me spending more time with a Potter."

Al let out a frustrated puff of air through his lips. He squeezed her shoulder a little too tightly, causing her to wince slightly. "Mental. They can't think your father's the sort to plan a terrorist attack."

"Father's just always been a bit…vocal about his anti-sentiments," replied Carpathia with a contemplative sigh. "Never tried to fit into regular society, either. Not like the Malfoys did."

"Dad's putting in a good word for the Notts in the Auror department," Al told her quietly, "Hopefully, they'll let him out soon."

"Merlin, Al. You shouldn't have."

" 'course I would've, Thia."

Carpathia let the smile on her face linger briefly before smacking him on the arm.

"Ow!" he yelped.

"What you should have done was owl me a couple weeks after term ended, you twat."

"I meant to! I swear…I've just been…" Al paused for several moments, and his good-natured grin twisted into a grimace. "Held up."

Carpathia raised her eyebrows at his off-beat tone. "Oh dear. I thought paradise was trouble-free."

"Well, don't get me wrong, Izzie's still brilliant and all. I never thought I'd have to say this…" he smiled sheepishly, and lowered his voice to frantic whisper. "She's around all the bloody time."

Carpathia snorted and a smile tugged at her lips. "So she's finally let you cop a feel, then?"

"What—how do you—does everybody know?"

Carpathia shrugged. "They call you Virgin Potter in the girls' dormitories."

"Oh." After a beat, he grimaced. "Bugger. What do they call James?"

Carpathia rolled her eyes. "The Hotter Potter."

"Bugger."

"It used to be James Potter the Shaggable, if that helps."

"Ugh. Kill me."

"Mm-hmm." She nudged him then, looking at him slyly from under her lashes. "So have you then?"

"Have I what?"

Carpathia smacked his arm and replied sarcastically, "Oh sorry was I not clear enough? My question was: have you bought your rocking chair yet-you know, the one you're going to spend the rest of your life sitting alone in?"

"When did you suddenly become so feisty?" asked Al teasingly, feigning shock. He conceded to her somewhat exasperated expression and said rather awkwardly: "Er, well, since Isabel's been coming 'round the house a lot, I've got to say that there has been a lot more, erm, stuff happening."
"'Stuff happening'," quoted Carpathia amusedly. "And it's been good?"

"It's been," Al paused. "Intriguing."

"Goodness, you're practically screaming in excitement."

"I just…" Al ran his hands through his red-brown hair in agitation, and stopped in the middle of the street, prompting a heavy-set woman behind him to grunt in irritation and side-step around the two of them. "I don't think she's as, ah, intrigued as I am."

"How so?"

Al flashed her a quick look to see if he had gauged a reaction, but her voice was deceptively neutral.

"I dunno if you want to hear this, Thia, I mean it's quite private-"

"I can handle it," interrupted Carpathia with a roll of her eyes.

"Right." He coughed and rubbed his hands in anticipation. "So there was this one time when James finally left the two of us alone after what seemed like ages, and the two of us were sitting on the couch snogging. Like normal, y'know? And I dunno why, but I was feeling particularly up for it, so then I…" He shifted uncomfortably, and then leaned into Carpathia's ear and proceeded to whisper something that made her eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh," Carpathia uttered in realization, her cheeks turning pink as well. "Merlin, Al."

"Right?" exclaimed Al in frustration, drawing away from her ear when she winced a little at his heightened volume. "Sorry. But, honestly, I thought that would work!"

"That's got to be rough."

"Two years! We've been going out for two years," said Al miserably, "I know she's not saving herself or anything, because when we first started dating she kept making passes, only back then I wasn't ready," his mouth twitched slightly at the irony. "And I know she fancies me enough because why else would she come visit me and my family all summer?" he exhaled when Carpathia said nothing. "Which leaves the option that I'm absolute shit at it. That, or she's got male parts."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and grumbled forlornly: "Can't decide which option's better."

"You ought to ask her before you jump to conclusions."

"Yeah…" he let his voice trail off. "You don't—you don't think it's because I'm absolute shit, do you?"

"Al, I…" Carpathia hesitated and started to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. "If you did what you said you did, you're most certainly not absolute shit. At least," she amended herself, her lips curving into a smile. "Not from my experience."

Before he could comment, she gently took his arm and steered him around the corner. "Come on, we're going to be late for my appointment."

"Where are we going?"

Carpathia's mouth curved into a mysterious smile. "You'll see."

The surroundings around Camden Station was a frantic haze of spices and exotic smells. People dressed in vivacious colors and speaking a variety of different tongues jostled past Al, who recognized Hindi and Farsi among them. Despite the fact that she was an oddity in her dark clothes, Carpathia seemed completely at home in this energetic marketplace. She weaved through the throngs of people with ease, even stopping to say hello to several who passed by.

They rounded into a small alley and stopped in front of an old-fashioned, charmingly lit shop with the sign hanging over it: "The Naked Child". Before Al could make a comment on how blatantly weird the shop's name was, Carpathia had stepped inside and yanked him along.

The inside of the shop was a complete contrast to its 17th- century English exterior. Incense candles burned in every direction and translucent cloth hung from the ceiling like it was a fortune-teller's tent. A soothing tune vocalized by a woman in a foreign tongue emanated from crackling speakers. But more importantly, there were pictures. Black-and-white or colorful, images of animals, people, words. They were plastered all over the walls.

"What-" Al began, then his eyes focused on a small work station in the middle of the room. It was a beautiful mahogany desk, but on it, were needles. A whole lot of needles. "Thia, your favorite place is a tattoo parlour?"

"Oho. Do mine ears deceive me or is there a prudish gent in the room?" a female voice sang across the room, and from behind one of the translucent veils a brown-skinned woman stepped out. She seemed to be in her mid-twenties and her black hair stood up in tufts around her head. There was a bright golden ring glittering in her nose.

She gazed at Al up and down, and he tried to keep his eyes away from her bare mid-rift. Her eyes, which were almost buried under the heavy lines of black kohl, crinkled into amusement. "He's a cute fella. Yours?"

"Not," acknowledged Carpathia with a slight flush of her cheeks. She turned and nudged Al, who looked flabbergasted: "Silky likes redheads. Boys and girls, much to her girlfriend's annoyance."

"Tina's a blonde, bless her heart," sighed Silky, grinning in a slightly predatory way towards Al.

"Your name's Silky?" repeated Al, who appreciated the irony of calling a woman who seemed to prefer wearing metal over cloth an appellation that had do with fabric.

"Actually, its Salika Chattopadhyay, but that's a bloody mouthful, isn't it?" The woman headed briskly towards the work-table and ran her fingers over the needles. "So where will you be inking today? I hear crotches are all the rage nowadays." She winked at him.

Al instinctively placed his hands protectively over his trousers. "Ah, er, I'm not-"

"Al's just here to watch, Silky," interrupted Carpathia with a knowing smile.

The woman turned towards her and nodded, casting Al a slightly disappointed glance.

"Gotcha, little C. How did you like the last one I gave you? No problems with the birdie?"

"No, not a bit. You're an artist."

"How many tattoos do you have Thia?" demanded Al, looking shocked.

"Not enough," sang Silky again, pulling out a maroon, puffy armchair from behind one of the veils.

Carpathia took off her jacket, exposing her ivory arms and a slim black tank-top. "Small of my back, third and fourth vertebrae, in between the shoulder bones."

Silky pursed her lips into a speculative smile, and reclined the arm chair so that it was in a completely straight-line. "Hmm, a personal spot. Are you using a design of mine or did you bring your own again?"

Carpathia reached into her pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to Silky before Al could see what was on it. The tattoo artist's eyes ran over the slip of parchment, and her lips curled. "Interesting. Do tell me the story behind this one sometime." She clucked her tongue. "Well, ya know the drill. Face-down, top-off." Her eyes fluttered towards Al for a brief second. "He doesn't mind, does he?"

It took several moments for Al to fully register Silky's words, and all of a sudden, his hands felt clammy and it was as if his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. "What? Do you mean—I'm gonna see, um—gah," he finished with his mouth hanging open.

"Oh god, that's not what I had in mind when I said 'watching'," interjected Carpathia quickly, "Maybe he could go behind the curtains."

The woman snorted. "Christ, it's just her bare back. No breasts or anything." Al stood, staring at Carpathia with a rather shell-shocked expression. And rightly so. This was taking their friendship to a whole new level.

"I, erm-"

"Look, you're awfully adorable with the whole naïve schoolboy persona, but it can really dampen the whole ambiance of this place." Silky waved her hands around at her surroundings quite dramatically. "Forget about the fact that she's taking off her clothes. It's not about her showing skin, it's about her expressing her nakedness in a way that lets people like you, dear boy, know who she really is." Silky crossed her arms, and gestured for Al to take a seat on the stool next to the reclined chair. Slowly, he sank downwards in compliance, and she continued while staring at him with a smoky, intense gaze. "My mum used to say that a naked child was the bravest person in the world. Why? 'Cause they don't have any inhibitions. They run around outside mucking about, unmolded by anyone, unafraid to be who they are. That is why," she pointed at the wooden sign with the clearly emblazoned words 'The Naked Child' hanging outside the shop. "Blammo. Only the brave come in here."

"Nobody should mold who you are," echoed Carpathia, sharing a brief smile with Silky, and Al realized where the sentiment he'd heard for years and years had originated from.

"That's right," nodded Silky with a pleased look on her face. She threw Al a sharp glance. "Y'know, Red, it completely boggles me that you've never seen little C's tattoos. How long you two been going out again?"

"We're friends," corrected Al quietly.

"Psht, such an ambiguous label," dismissed Silky. She began examining the tools on her work-desk, "Well, at any rate, you ought to know why people you care about like to poke themselves with needles."

Al gazed at Carpathia's guilty expression and for some reason he suddenly found the whole situation ridiculously comical. Of course, he'd end up in a scenario he completely wouldn't have imagined himself in except in the company of Carpathia. The whole thing was insane, but at the same time, so predictable. It's not like he'd left the house this morning expecting that the two of them would be going out having coffee and scones.

"Okay, then. In the name of art, right?" he shrugged in a half-resigned, half-amused manner. His nonchalance made Carpathia's eyebrow quirk in confusion, but nevertheless, she turned towards Silky for confirmation.

"Right, then. Hurry up, I haven't got all day."

She hesitated a little awkwardly at first. But this was Carpathia—who never hesitated for long—and so in one swift motion, her black top slipped off over the her head. Her back was slender and elegantly curved, like the neck of a swan. Al's eyes darted down before he could look any further, but his throat bobbed agitatedly as his mind fixated on what he'd just seen.

It's not my fault, he told himself wryly…she'd kept herself hidden under layers of dark clothing all those years, and now to suddenly be exposed and have all that assaulting his visual system at once…god, any male would have the same response.

When she unstrapped her bra and hooked it on the edge of the chair, he thought his heart was pounding so fast that his brain might explode, but to his immense relief, she lay face-down on the reclining chair like Silky had instructed. After several passing moments, Al dared himself to look up again at his best friend and saw only her exposed back and the back of her dark hair as she faced downward.

It's nothing. It's like looking at Rose in a two-piece swimsuit. She's like family. That's all.

The anxiety faded away, his breathing slowed to normal, and it was then when his eyes registered the inked lines curved on her flawless ivory skin, composing several images that he had never seen before.

Her tattoos.

He leaned forward and his finger grazed the largest one, an image of the Gryffindor lion comprised of black lines perched on her shoulder joint. Carpathia reacted to his touch, and he withdrew his hand.

"Gryffindor?" he inquired quietly, sensing Silky's silent but avid interest in their conversation as the woman prepped her needle.

"It was the first time I realized I had something to offer that had nothing to do with my past," she replied, her voice slightly muffled by the plush leather seat. "When you ink something…every placement on your body matters. The right shoulder symbolizes a guiding force, and that's what the lion became. It drove me to become brave."

Al looked at the Gryffindor lion's gaping mouth and smiled to himself. It wasn't quite like something he could sympathize with, but it was similar. He, too, had realized that there was more to offer than what his family knew of.

On a symmetrical plane with the first tattoo, a second tattoo was inked on Carpathia's left shoulder. The image was of a sword wrapped in a shawl. The sword had the letter 'N' etched on its blade.

Al didn't touch; he just looked. "The Nott family crest?"

He heard her laugh from the folds of the chair. "A direct contrast, I know, but a necessary one. The left shoulder represents an anchor, to remind you of your roots and origins." Carpathia's voice was taking on a softer quality now, as though she were falling asleep. "My family will always be important to me, no matter how much we might drift apart. It pulls me back when I feel myself floating away too far."

Al's eyes trailed down to her waist, and-just barely above the hem of her trousers—he saw the smallest tattoo of them yet. It was the silhouette of a dragon, completely inked out in black and barely visible. Long and elegant, it possessed a long flowing tail that curled around her hip and disappeared.

"What does this one mean?" Al asked, his voice barely above a breath. The image was quite mesmerizing for some reason.

"Oh, that was the last one she got done," said Silky breezily.

"Thia?"

"It was…" she paused and fell silent. Al watched her back sink and rise with her breathing. "It was the first time I fell in love."

She offered no elaboration. The silence in the room was filled by the soothing soundtrack in the background and Silky's faint humming. Al stared at the little dragon on Carpathia's hip, a memory stirring in his mind.

Somehow, he knew—deep down—that image had nothing to do with Devon.

"So what d'ya think about tattoos now, schoolboy?" prodded Silky with a cheeky smile, pulling him out of his reverie.

Al pondered on how to answer her question. It must be nice to have a map of your life like that and to be able to see it in the mirror every day.

And it was. Even now, he wondered why Carpathia had chosen him—the naïve redhead—to be her friend, why she could be so outlandish while he was so timid. Now he had an idea what their friendship truly offered, how they could teach one another how to live life.

He'd never thought it would be so, but the sharp permanence of black ink, the woody scent of incense in the shop and the images carved on flawless, porcelain skin was something that he would remember, as vivid as the breeze on the day of a Quidditch match or the smells of a cauldron.

"It's brilliant," the honest statement slipped out of his mouth without control.

"I told you he was a cool bloke," remarked Carpathia from the chair. The words were directed at Silky, and the older woman grinned.

AAA.

When Scorpius burst out the front doors of Malfoy Manor, rain was falling thickly from the skies.

Typical, he spat at the weather-gods as the drops fell in large chaotic splatters on his dusky grey shirt. Just when I've decided to opt for fresh air instead of this bloody hell-hole, London decides to turn on me.

He could still hear his mother's shrill warning echoing behind him:

"Don't you dare leave this house, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy!"

Livia Malfoy had a handle on words. She was an imperious woman, with curly dark hair and knife-like eyes that could stare down any man in her path. Her keen sense of self-pride and her temper flares were what had prompted Draco Malfoy to fall in love with her, but they were clearly not traits that had been working well for their marriage lately.

So far, Scorpius was the only one who had ever dared to defy her. He knew how to use his mother's scarce emotional range to his advantage, having antagonized on countless occasions when he was child, though he'd tried to do so less and less as he grew older. Lately, however, her crazy measures in trying to keep him in the manor ever since the Ministry had announced their investigation plans were pushing him over the edge.

He hadn't seen a single soul since term had ended. He hadn't even set foot once in Diagon Alley. The only scrap of communication he had entertained was a brief interaction with Gareth, in which he'd written him, asking:

Dear Gareth,

Being kept prisoner at the moment, thanks to the prime efficiency of our government. How are you?

-Scorpius

And then Gareth had replied:

Same on my end. Good luck.

On the day the Ministry cars had pulled up outside the manor, Scorpius had had the last straw. He was not going to sit around brooding like a wretched sod and watch well-dressed pricks take away his prized possessions like they had last time, waiting for the Ministry to generate the verdict for his family. He was going to get out of this fucking house, and he didn't care who stopped him.

"Ah, hello! Excuse me! Where do you think you're going?" A female voice called out from behind him.

He turned and registered quite a good-looking woman in her forties trudging towards him clumsily in black heels. She had long brown hair that was pinned back with an emerald barette, and a sharp, clever face. Scorpius realized with surprise that he recognized this Ministry official, though this realization immediately cooled down when he saw that she was holding up her badge and seemed to have every intention on slowing his progress.

"Scorpius, is it? I don't know if you remember me, but your father and I consider each other close friends-" she began in a friendly tone. She had a clipboard and pen by her side.

"Really? Would you consider the two of you close enough friends that you'd mind leaving our household possessions alone?" interrupted Scorpius bitingly. "And it's Mr. Malfoy to you, if you don't mind."

The woman exhaled and the pen clicked and unclicked once. "I don't like this anymore than you do, but it's my job and unfortunately, I was delegated to Malfoy Manor. I promise you, however, that if you're willing enough to cooperate with procedures then the Ministry will be out of your hair as soon as possible."

"You know this isn't just all about procedure, don't you?" replied Scorpius, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "You're ruining lives here. You take and take, and you don't realize what you're doing to families like mine. My parents-" he stopped himself before he could utter another word. My parents aren't very nearly my parents anymore, he'd been about to say.

The woman was regarding him with a drawn, sympathetic expression, and Scorpius wondered whether the Aurors had sent her on purpose because she had close ties to the Malfoys. Psychological warfare. He wouldn't put it past them.

"You do look so much like Draco," she started, her voice soft with reminiscence. "The face, the mouth, the same intensity…but you've got your mother's eyes, you know? Such lovely blue eyes."

"Don't pretend, Ms. Greengrass," snarled Scorpius before he could help it, and he stalked off in the opposite direction. "You might have been friends with my father once, and he might have cared enough to invite you to a few of my birthday parties, but you're not welcome here anymore. Finish your business and leave. Meanwhile, I'm going to go tour London."

Ms. Greengrass paused, her forehead crinkled in disturbance. "I don't think that's wise."

"Why? Afraid I'm going to kick every puppy that stands my way? Hex every muggle in the kilometer-radius?"

"I would simply suggest waiting until Ministry officials have left the premises. They would prefer having the entire family onsite while the search is ongoing."

"Go fuck yourself."

There was a triumphant pause as Scorpius continued stalking through the tall grass towards the iron-wrought gate. He whispered the security unlocking spell and heard a screech as the metal scraped against one another to signal the doors opening.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are not authorized to leave." There was a now sharp edge to the Ministry official's tone.

Scorpius took a deep breath and turned towards the woman with a calm, icy expression. "Actually, I am. According to clause nine under the Public Securities Act, Sub-text Four in 'Special Notifications', the Ministry is not allowed to hold minors during unwarranted investigations since individuals below the age of seventeen do not possess ownership of such homes being investigated nor can they claim items that may be stored therein, and thus are deemed unassociated with any suspected activity at hand." He watched her absorb the words with satisfaction. "Quote, unquote."

She said nothing, and he took that to mean her assent. He slid past the gap in the gates and murmured the locking spell, watching withtwisted pleasure as the bars slid over the space between him and his home.

"One more thing, Astoria," he added with barely concealed animosity. "My father has missed your company these last couple years. Do drop by and give him your regards—that is, if your colleagues haven't already taken him away for questioning."

And, after just catching the barest flicker of pain across the woman's face, Scorpius departed.

He strode off with a desperate, angry haze, not really paying attention to where he was going, until the pastoral green meadows of the endless Malfoy grounds had faded away into stone and concrete, and passersby were no longer donning long wizarding robes but instead wearing simple Muggle attire. Scorpius blinked, suddenly registering the abrupt change in the world around him, and then realized that somewhere along the way he had crossed over the barrier from wizarding to muggle London. This was hardly uncommon, since many ancient pureblood families had conjured up extremely powerful methods in concealing their expansive estates in 'pocket spaces' within muggle society. The only problem was that he was now standing on crooked pavement of what seemed to be an obscure, quiet muggle street, with no idea how he'd gotten there and where to head next.

"Shit," Scorpius muttered.

The rain began to fall even heavier, and it wasn't long before his hair was slicked down on the sides of his face and rainwater was trickling down in rivulets down his face. He rounded the corner hurriedly, keeping his head down as a pair of muggle teenagers giggled at the sight of his flashy wizarding robes. Exhaling to himself, Scorpius halted in his tracks and took off the robes, stuffing them into the nearest trash disposal he saw.

Never did like them much anyway.

He was near a park, that was for certain, and the area he was in was certainly rather upscale London. Even his parents knew how to be incognito in style.

"Excuse me, sir, have you come to visit the park?" a woman in official uniform stepped towards him, reminding him scarily of Astoria Greengrass, and he backed away.

"No, not me," he replied, shaking his head. He could see past the woman into the entrance of the park and glimpsed a row of trees and a beautifully planted set of orchids. It must have been quite a tourist attraction. "Actually, do you happen to know where the nearest means of transport is?"

The woman's nose wrinkled in confusion at his choice of words. "Er, do you mean the bus station? That's just down the road, at the crossroad of King's and St. James's."

Scorpius had no idea what the terms meant, but he simply followed the direction of the woman's finger. Before long, he was at a somewhat busier street aligned with multiple shopping malls, and a bright red, double-decker bus was coasting towards him.

Oh good, a seat at last.

Feeling cold, weary, and extremely wet, he stepped onto the bus and headed for the back row. When the bus took off, he felt a slight panic in his ribs when he realized he was altogether quite lost, but then it was swallowed by a strange sense of mad glee that he couldn't be bothered to care. He'd never been much of a believer in fate, but perhaps it was time to just bloody let go of everything and let life take the mickey on him.

And fifteen minutes into the bus-ride, fate responded just as he was contemplating it. For when the bus made its usual round near Oxford Circus and halted, Scorpius saw the unmistakable sunset hair of Rose Weasley ascend the steps of the bus and make her way through the other passengers and thought life was playing a very cruel trick indeed.

AAA.

Rose had been determined to spend her entire summer not thinking about Scorpius Malfoy, and it was succeeding with surprising ease. She'd dedicated loads of her time to exploring muggle London to the point of expertise, maintaining a firm correspondence with Rowan and Drew, and occasionally meeting the cute muggle boy here and there. It was a combination of these experiences and her last memory of Scorpius on the Hogwarts Express, in which the blatant tongue-action with Chantal had showcased the fact that they were still going strong, that made her realize that life was simply going to place itself back on track whether she liked it or not.

And yes, this was preferable. It was much less troublesome to occupy her mind on visiting her wonderful, sweet muggle grandparents than fixating (or god forbid, worrying) on what Scorpius might be doing now, especially since his family was linked to the current news.

But then, of course, she'd gotten on the bus that was meant to take her to the Grangers', and he was just…there.

At first, her eyes couldn't believe it. Scorpius Malfoy, pureblood spendthrift, idling away on the muggle public bus? And there was also the issue that he was soaked through, no doubt from the rain, but Rose's mind immediately flashed back to that memory on the lake because his hair had been slicked downwards the exact same way it was doing now, and because he'd been also been wearing the same shade of grey…

Oh my god, get a grip. He's here. Here.

He seemed just as equally shocked as she was, but the words that fell out of his mouth dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, of course."

Rose found her voice with a stammer. "What do you mean, of course? You don't—how did you—what?"

The bus jerked forward and she stumbled, promptly reminding her that she was still on a moving vehicle. She fumbled for the closest seat, which happened to be the one right across from Scorpius and sat with her heart hammering in her chest.

Why is this happening?

She closed her eyes, and then reopened them with a newfound bite in her words. "Are you stalking me, Malfoy?"

"Did you want me to?" replied Scorpius with a smirk.

"Why are you taking public transportation? Have you even heard of public transportation?"

"No you're right. I'm Scorpius Malfoy and I'm fabulously wealthy and I only travel in a carriage pulled by thorough-bred Byerley Turk stallions," answered Scorpius with an odd burst of irritation. "Is it so hard to believe that I simply felt like riding the bus today—y'know, for perks?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere. I can't get off. I don't have any muggle money to pay the toll." He flashed her a charming half-smile. "I suppose I should have thought of that before I got on."

"You're an idiot."

"This is actually going to squeeze some life out of my soul, but do you have any money I could borrow?"

Rose said nothing. Better that he gets off the bus earlier so that I can be left alone. She handed him two pounds, of which he regarded with interest.

"There. You can get off at the next stop and then double-back with the bus across the road."

"Nonsense. I'm not leaving, now that I've got company." He sounded much more cheerful now, much to Rose's puzzlement.

"Oh, so now you want sparkling conversation," she said quietly. "Well, I don't have anything to say to you."

She didn't want to look at his face, not at those clear blue eyes or those finely sculpted lips, which had plagued her thoughts incessantly at the end of last year and caused her so much unwanted confusion. She didn't want to hear that voice, because the last time she had heard him speak to her this way when they were alone, he had been so witty and genuine and funny and…well, he had driven her insane.

"Incidentally, Weasley, where are you off to?"

She clamped her mouth shut and refused to reply, choosing instead to shoot him a glare and reach into her bag for her headphones. She clamped them over her ears and plugged the cord into the iPod her mother had purchased for her the previous year, blasting the first song that came up on shuffle.

Scorpius' cheerful expression faded into surprise when he seemed to realize that for the first time, she had chosen not to engage in their usual back-and-forth banter. This, it seemed, was a far worse insult than anything she had ever thrown at him.

"Fine." He shrugged, his eyes glazing over with cold nonchalance, and then faced the other way.

The next ten minutes into the journey Rose kept her eyes trained on the window outside, opting to look at passing architecture and occasional trees instead of the maddeningly calm boy next to her. But his mere presence was upsetting, and her mind was unable to stop itself from whirling back.

I damn well won't leave without leaving you something to remember.

The words were engrained in her mind, as well as the actions that had followed. When he had taken her face into his hands and gazed at her like she was the last person on the planet...

She could still remember the feeling of his lips on hers, even now, not just the physical shape of his mouth but the tidal wave of emotions. That mingled feeling of ludicrousness and—strangely—relief, like he was an entity that she'd been missing all her life and had suddenly been recovered back.

I'll be Malfoy and you'll be Weasley again.

How could he not remember? It was a moment that had touched her soul so ardently that she knew that no matter how much she convinced herself that he was a prick, Scorpius would still be able to look at her and make her heart feel so naked that she might as well have been on an operating table.

The bus screeched to a stop, and Rose realized from the windows that she had reached the station closest to her grandparents' house. Quickly, she stuffed her headphones into her bag and got up out of her seat, her face burning when she felt Scorpius' eyes tailing her.

"Sorry," she murmured to the conductor, who tapped his foot impatiently at her when she passed him on her way down the bus steps.

She hurried down the pavement, her feet clattering against the stone, and it was only a block away from the Granger residence that she realized that there was an echo behind her. She turned and her heart jumped in alarm when she saw him standing there, barely five meters behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets and wearing an amused expression.

"Flippin' hell," she exclaimed, clutching her chest. "What in Merlin's name are you doing? Are you following me?"

"You got off the bus without saying goodbye," stated Scorpius simply. "That was quite rude."

"Rude? That's rich. This is just downright creepy."

"I thought girls found it flattering when blokes paid their whereabouts more attention. Chantal would have snogged me half to death by now."

"Chantal…well, news-flash, Malfoy: not every girl is like your girlfriend. Oh, here's a thought. Why don't you get back on the bus and take it to where she lives?"

"Eh," he waved his hand dismissively in response, and his eyes retreated upwards towards the slightly dilapidated buildings. "So this is where you live?" His tone perked up in interest. "How…rustic."

"I'm visiting my grandparents," Rose snapped, "My muggle ones. They're very nice people who like to bake cookies and prefer not to be turned into teacups by irritating purebloods who can't take a hint."

"Teacups? Hardly. I would at least opt for a living creature," commented Scorpius lazily. Rose drew her wand out with dangerous calm. "Leave, Malfoy, before I hex your arse halfway across Scotland."

Scorpius eyed her wand and folded his arms. "That's underage magic."

"Well, when the Ministry hears my explanation, I'm sure they'll understand. Courtesy of your family background," she added scathingly, and his eyes flashed momentarily with heat.

"I'm not going to harm them, Weasley." There was something tightly wound in his voice, not quite anger, not quite viciousness either. Something that was etched more deeply within him. "I just don't really have anywhere else to go."

Rose lowered her wand, her heart thumping in her ears. The candidness in his voice had stirred warmer feelings towards him, which she found desperately perplexing. You can't let yourself be suckered in, Rosie. "So go home."

"Have you been watching the news? Home's not a very nice place to be at the moment," he remarked dryly. "Courtesy of your mum's nifty Securities Act," he added, mimicking her tone from earlier on.

Rose stared at the boy, trying to search for any plausible excuse to turn him away except for her own personal feelings but unable to come up with any. Scorpius looked fatigued. There were deep eye circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been able to sleep properly for days, and though he was trying to conceal it he was shivering slightly in his wet clothes.

This wasn't Hogwarts. Scorpius had no cronies to hide behind, no popularity boost from being a Seeker or a handsome deviant. This was muggle London, a place where he had no control over, and he was simply a boy who willingly left his home because of all places it was the one he hated most.

In some ways, he was as vulnerable as the boy who had lost his memories.

"Alright," she said, hating herself but nevertheless taking his arm with her hand. "C'mon. Let's go meet my bloody grandparents." She stopped in her tracks and veered around to face him with a sharp look. "But no teacups."

Scorpius grinned and followed her lead up the steps to the Granger home.

AAA.

It's a bit of a filler chapter, I know, but the next one will be good. I promise.

I always liked the idea of exploring the muggle world a bit better from a Wizarding perspective, since the muggle world that J.K Rowling addresses from the Harry Potter books is obviously not the same world that we live in today—with so many fancy gadgets we have to play with and modernization blablabla.

I hope you all enjoyed reading the Granger-Weasley family dynamic. I always pictured Hermione as a workaholic when she grew up. Some things don't change.

The theme of this chapter is also meant to revolve around being brave enough to expose yourself, since Carpathia and Scorpius are being put in situations where their family is vulnerable to society yet again and they have a lot of pent-up feelings about that inside.

Scorpius, especially, with his pride and pigheadedness, is a person that is very unlikely to ask for help from other people. Of course, he finally lets his guard down around Rose and he can't help himself because he comes to term with the reality that he "doesn't have anywhere to go".

Will update soon with the second part! I realize I've been doing a lot of two-parters, but it's hard to squeeze everything into one chapter when there's multiple things happening during one day.

Reviews (as always) are very welcome.

~Missuswitch