Beaded Trail

The Weasleys, minus Percy, Bill, and Charlie spent most of their summer with the company of Harry and Hermione. After Ginny had confessed the feelings she had long bottled inside, Harry, Ron, and Hermione could never see her in the same light. The horrors she had lived in her second year were no longer a gigantic secret she carried in her shoulders, concealed behind her eyes. Tom Riddle had shattered her world. Never again would she feel completely alone. Never again would life be so simple.

"Somehow, I feel I'm forgetting something," said Ron to Taonga as he checked the inventory for size 7 sneakers.

Ron had been feeling this way often this summer.

" Well, you do remember that me and the rest of the lot are going out tonight and that you must come, right?"

Taonga bore her eyes into his.

"Ur-yeah," replied Ron nervously. He hated when Taonga stared him in the eyes like that. For some strange reason, it made him think of Hermione when she would get angry. He liked to believe Taonga knew close to nothing about him. At the summer's end he didn't even know if he would work there again

Most of the staff at Catchpole Sport grew very fond of Ron, Muggle and Wizard alike. He had gone to see his first movie in an outing two weeks ago, in which he dragged Harry along to show him how to handle Muggle currency when buying tickets.

Tonight, August 25th, Ron was going alone.

Ron was pacing the entire Burrow, thinking about what he would say and do. No matter how many times he brushed his hair, he just didn't seem to feel that it was perfect. Tonight, Ron wanted Hermione to be with him, not back home, so that she could go with him, so they could talk, and Taonga could meet her.

London was the last place in the world Harry would imagine to be on a Wednesday night, so naturally, Dumbeldore owled him with a note asking to meet him there. The Order had traced Voldemort and the Death Eaters in Egypt, so it was safe for Harry at the time.

As safe as it could be, considering the location.

"I would be right, I hope, to assume that you are confounded by my choice of meeting place?"

"Yes, sir."

"Harry, at the end of last term I finally told you the prophecy, informing you of something you probably should have known earlier. Now that you know of the responsibility and the task that lies before you of defeating Lord Voldemort, we must start to fight and grow and discover."

The street they stood on was dark and lined with buildings and trees. There were a few sparse street lights that glowed orange over deserted sidewalks. It was misty that night, and there was complete silence save the music emanating from one of the buildings across the street.

"So what are we doing here, sir?"

"From what I learned from several reliable sources, Voldemort disappeared for two years after 1977. Not even his Death Eaters knew his whereabouts. One source claims he was living the entire time right here in London, hiding in plain sight. Harry, there may be great evidence of one his endeavors in his adulthood. Remember, this is shortly before your birth."

"Where do we begin," asked Harry, "to gather this evidence?"

Dumbeldore pointed to an apartment building on Old Brompton Road. Above a red door was a brass number 32. On the sixth and seventh floors there were two windows open exposing a living room and a bedroom. Harry deducted that the sixth and seventh floor windows pertained to the same apartment. There was loud music on the sixth floor living room.

The pair pushed through a surprisingly unlocked red door, and proceeded up seven flights of stairs. Harry was surprised that Dumbeldore could do this effortlessly at his age.

At the seventh landing, Dumbeldore turned left and walked toward an old apartment door at the end of the seventh floor corridor. The blue-green paint on the door looked ancient and was chipping. An odor escaped from within of mold and smoke. Harry barely made out a faded copper number 726 on the top center of the door.

Dumbeldore raised his hand, and the lock on the door clicked. As he pushed the door open, a cold draft blew out, making the hairs on Harry's neck stand. Inside the apartment was empty. It was a studio apartment. Harry clicked on a single, yellowish light bulb on the ceiling in the center of the room. The walls seemed to have been painted white, though now they were a sort of bile color, with paint chipping and peeling from water saturation. The floor creaked angrily as the wooden floor boards were dark red and saturated with water. A smell of rotten eggs seemed to concentrate itself in a far corner of the room opposite a large window that looked out to Old Brompton Road. Dumbeldore seemed to disappear from Harry's sight.

"Harry?"

The last inhabitants of this apartment had left behind several random objects. There was an old vinyl record lying on the floor labeled Elton John. Draped on a rusty metal chair in the middle of the room was a delicate, lavender-colored silk veil. At the foot of the chair lay a small, pink, heart-shaped cushion. At the foot of the kitchenette stove lay grains of uncooked white rice. There was an abandoned refrigerator with its door missing, and inside it on a rusted shelf lay a single onion, loking as if it were bought yesterday. In front of the large windowsill sat a brown radiator. At the base of it was a large puddle, and immersed in that puddle was a small red bead with the letter "M" engraved in it.

"Harry?"

And then Harry walked over to the window. The frame was bare of paint and the wood was warped. Harry had the inexplicabe urge to touch the wood. And then it came; the scent of roses rushed into his nostrils. Harry pressed his face against the frame, taking in the scent. This filled his heart, it made him feel, it let him rest, it helped him die...

"HARRY!" Dumbeldore yelled. He grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him out of the corridor. He shoved something in his robes without Harry noticing.

Harry suddenly felt really cold, and noticed that his fingernails were blue. He felt inexplicably annoyed by Dumbeldore, though he was ashamed by his stupor. "I believe this is enough for tonight," said the headmaster as he forced Harry down the stairs and out onto the street, "I hope you can tell me why you were completely ignoring me for twenty minutes."

"Sir, I didn't hear you."

"That is what I was afraid of. There were several forces present in that apartment, namely passions."

Harry felt confused. How could he want to let himself die? How could they all count on him? Please forgive me. Please forgive me. Please forgive me. He whispered the silent beg for forgiveness to all of his loved ones. That night he lay in bed awake, strangely too tired to sleep. He felt an ache in his chest he could not explain, a sting forming in the back of his eyes that he did not summon, and a desire to comfort the person who smelled like roses, whoever they were.

Hermione sat on her bed, revising her checklist for all the things she needed to take with her to Hogwarts. She was almost fully packed and there were six more days left of the holidays. She had gotten all of her books for term, and even had a year's stock of parchment and quills. All that was missing was the exchange student from Beauxbatons. On Harry's birthday Hermione had received an owl requesting her to host a student named Mariana de las Casas. Hermione had volunteered to be an ambassador for Hogwarts to international students in fourth year. She now knew nothing about this Mariana, except that she had been eligible for matriculation at Hogwarts but registered in Beauxbatons.

As Hermione turned into her blankets, cursing her parents for their ruckus, and reached out to shut off the little lamp on her night stand, an envelope collided with her cheek. She scowled and grabbed the envelope. She glared at an innocent looking grey spotted owl perched on her windowsill. She opened the letter.

Dear Hermione,

I am Mariana de las Casas and I wanted to thank you for volunteering to be my guide in Hogwarts. I cannot express in words how much it means to me to be able to study and learn in Hogwarts. Between you and me, Beauxbatons is not interesting or challenging. I may have begun to deteriorate if I remained in that pit of pestilence. That said, I wanted to tell you that I will be arriving at your home tomorrow. I am most excited to see London before we travel to Hogwarts. Please forgive my late notice, I had a setback which involved the Ibiza police and a girl who claimed I assaulted her. Do not worry, it was a mutual fight and we are both underage. You do not need to send me back any more reply other than a simple ok. I'll explain when we meet.

See You Soon,

Mariana

Hermione sent back her "ok" after taking a very deep breath. Police? Fight? Hermione mused as she dusted off a three-week-old cot sitting opposite her bed.

Draco was on the floor, clutching his ribs, hysterical. His friend Mariana had written a detailed letter describing her fight with Priscilla Cortina which resulted in Priscilla's broken left leg, and Atilio's shock at realizing that it was a minor that, he hated to admit, was his most missed bartender amongst customers.

Draco had spent two weeks with Mariana every summer since he could remember. They had met when he was five. Lucius and Narcissa had been wary of the girl until they learned she was a witch.

The first memory Draco had of Mariana was fighting with her because he destroyed her sandcastle on a beach Angelica took her to. Other children would hide away, intimidated by his cold features. Not Mariana. She insulted him in English and Spanish and hissed at him. After that she proceeded to throttle the boy until Angelica and Narcissa pulled them apart.

Soon after that incident, they strangely became good acquaintances and eventually friends. Draco could not possibly explain their friendship, but he felt more at ease with Mariana than with anyone else in the world. Draco never kept in touch with anyone else he met on his travels, not with Crabbe, Goyle, or Zabini, and definitely not with the dozens of girls Narcissa paired him with.

This letter was a welcome distraction from the ordeal he had just faced that evening. Pansy must have thrown every temptation at him in existence. Sure, Pansy was not ugly, but she was not beautiful. He could bed her, but he didn't love her. He would hurt and break her with hate and enjoy it. He could even marry her. She was indeed an exemplary cook and great socialite. He could keep appearances and make her life hell. Hell, he was trapped, why not? Draco sat comfortably on his bed, reading his friend's letter.

If that's not enough fun for you, wait until you see my surprise. I won't tell you what or when, just wait.

Love From

Mariana

Draco was very intrigued by the secret Mariana had. He wondered what surprise she could present to him during the school year, when they were worlds apart. There were many things Draco didn't tell her, like the fact that Lucius was a convicted Death Eater and that Voldemort wanted him too. Mariana was the only Muggleborn Draco had ever befriended. She could do without being a Mudblood, he thought, but she is just about the only person that knows me.

The outing with Taonga and other co-workers from Catchpole Sport went fairly well for Ron. The group went to eat at Griselda's, a happening gathering spot for youths that reminded Ron of The Three Broomsticks, and then sat on the fountain in Chatterly Square. There they spoke about rugby, boxing, and strange dreams they had. At the end of the night, everyone went their separate ways home, except for Ron and Taonga, who walked to Taonga's house on Lucas Place, which was on the path back to the Burrow.

"Taonga, I had a fun night and I've had a good time at work."

"But--?" Taonga sensed he had news.

"I won't be coming back." Ron hung his head, as the words hung in the air. Why did he feel so bad? It's not like he was best friends with any of these people; he just worked with them to earn extra money.

Taonga pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Ron, you are one of the sweetest, honest, and humble beings to walk this earth. If I had had the chance, I may have asked you for a date."

"Taonga, you know, I don't see you as anything other than a friend." He was surprised and impressed by her forwardness.

"I hope she loves you very much. You deserve it."

"Thank you, Taonga."

As he pulled away, Ron gave Taonga an appraising look. Taonga looked into his eyes.

"Ron, I sense that you are part of a very large family and that at times you don't know where you fit in in the large scheme of things. I see your strength in your concern for the human condition, underneath your callous exterior. You also have a very good eye for fashion. You're not afraid to try new things. I have seen you grow in these two months. Thank you for opening my eyes. Remember to acknowledge your power and beauty. You-have-the-most-startling-blue-eyes-I've-ever-seen."

Taonga punched his arm. "Goodbye, Ron."

"Goodbye, Taonga."