Ok, before anyone who sees this comes after me with flaming torches and pitchforks, I do have an excuse as to why I haven't updated in…well…a very long time. I suffer from a condition called lazyitosis. Scientists have yet to find a cure for this dreadful malady, but they have made links between it and cantbebotheredlysis and couchpotatonoma. So please, dear reader, spare a thought for all of us sufferers of these terrible illnesses as you sharpen your pitchforks and light your torches.
Disclaimer: If I was JK Rowling… well I'm not. So I don't own anything. At all.
Much to Lily's delight, Mrs Daniels transpired to be a great dog lover and was just as quickly besotted with her new friend as she had been.
"He's just gorgeous." She exclaimed when he scrambled down out of Lily's arms and sniffed hopefully at the older woman's feet. The touching moment was ruined somewhat by the squeal of tyres as the irate James Potter drove away. Lily pulled a face that made Mrs Daniels chuckle.
"Oh dear, did you and Jamie not like each other?" She inquired, leading Lily into the lounge where a pot of steaming tea sat on a low table accompanied by a large plate of fresh pastries. Lily waited until she had inhaled four mini treacle tarts and two doughnuts before answering an amused looking Mrs Daniels.
"He kidnapped me. Well, he ran over me first. Then he stole my bike." Lily swallowed hard and almost choked on a rather large piece of tart.
"Other than that, he seemed like a great bloke." She shrugged and poured herself a large cup of tea, adding two spoons of sugar and stirring vigorously. Mrs Daniels sucked hard on her teeth and sighed as she lowered herself into one of the overstuffed and ridiculously comfortable chairs that were scattered throughout the sizable room.
Now that Lily was sure she wasn't about to collapse from hunger, she took a moment to observe the house she'd be staying in until she had a room ready in the Chysler place. It was decorated in a dated kind of way, with a carpet that screamed a sixties garage sale, heavy oak furniture, large double glazed windows and from what little she could see of the walls, they were covered in pale blue wall paper. Now however, dozens and dozens of photographs took up almost all of the wall space. Upon closer inspection, Lily realized that the majority of the photographs were of famous people, politicians, athletes, singers, actors… chances were that if they were prominent in the last twenty years, they were on the walls, grinning enthusiastically, one arm wrapped around a portly middle aged man with a mustache that somehow gave him a walrus like appearance.
"That's my son, Horace Slughorn." Mrs Daniels said proudly, following Lily's fascinated gaze. She stood up and peered at a few of them.
"He's a teacher. He's amazing at picking out talented children, or up and comers. He gives them a bit of a leg up and they don't forget that, as you can see." She gave a little chuckle and led Lily down the length of the room, pointed at a picture that looked like it had been taken only a few years ago. It was of four boys with their arms around each other, laughing their heads off, while Horace Slughorn looked down at them fondly. Lily recognized Remus Lupin, one of the top neurosurgeons in the country and Peter Pettigrew, a famous artist. The other two boys in the middle looked kind of similar, one of them was clearly James Potter, the other she didn't know.
"James is a good boy. A little strong willed, perhaps-"Mrs Daniels shrugged as if kidnap was nothing to make a fuss over, much to Lily's indignation.
"-but a good boy. His friend there? That's Sirius Black, of the Kensington Blacks. He's in the process of setting up a chain of restaurants. Those pastries you had are his handiwork." Lily frowned. She didn't pay a huge amount of attention to high society news, but she was fairly certain the Kensington Blacks were all into politics or large scale corporate businesses. There were whispers that they had connections to several of England's biggest crime lords. She did, however, vaguely recall a piece about one of the Blacks running away and disappearing a few years ago. Or at least, that's what the Black clan claimed. This boy, who couldn't be any older than fifteen, certainly possessed the good looks that all Blacks were blessed with, if nothing else. Not to mention, his pastries were absolutely magnificent.
To Black's immediate right, James Potter looked crookedly at the camera, making no attempt to stifle his laughter at some long forgotten joke. He too, seemed to be around fifteen. He looked so much better when he was happy, Lily thought, smiling a little herself. Something she wouldn't have deemed possible upon first clapping her eyes on him.
Now though, she thought, wiping the smile from her face, she had the benefit of speaking to him, she had confirmed what she already knew, looks weren't everything. But Mrs Daniels was obviously very fond of the cretin, so she decided to change the subject, before she ended up offending her.
"If you're Daniels, how come your son is Slughorn?" She asked lightly. Mrs Daniels, she could see, wasn't fooled, but answered her regardless.
"Well Horace was my son from my first marriage. I changed my name when I married Mr Daniels twenty years ago. Buried him seventeen years later. Hit by a Frisbee, if you can imagine it. Of course, in hindsight, it was probably running out onto the road to get it and being squished by a bus that killed him. He was the unluckiest man I ever knew." She shook her head fondly and picked up the tea tray to carry it into the kitchen.
"You might want to take the rest of the evening to explore the town. It's a nice little place, if I do say so myself. Mind you, nobody gets any privacy round these parts. You'll find yourself a very popular topic of conversation." Mrs Daniels smiled when she made a disbelieving noise.
"An outsider sweeping in and buying the old haunted cottage that's been abandoned since before my grandfather was born? Of course the local gossips will pick you apart. They'll have your family history before you've had time to blink." Mrs Daniels was already in the kitchen, elbow deep in washing up, so she failed to see the way the colour drained from Lily's face at her last statement.
Her family history? Good luck to anyone who tried to find out anything, she thought bitterly. As far as her sister was concerned, she had no family. No, Lily definitely didn't figure with Perfect Petunia and her well off husband or her darling little son. Lily's brother in law and nephew, who she'd never met. Petunia had made that abundantly clear that she never would meet them, either. Lily clenched her fists. She would not let Petunia get to her again. The last time she did… She glanced down at the small scar on her right hand. She'd always had a vicious temper, but seldom did she commit an act of violence. All she knew was she'd seen red and wanted to draw blood. Too bad she'd drawn more of her own than anyone else's.
Shoving her hands in her pockets, she mooched out of the house and let loose a long string of colourful swear words when she saw her precious bike, dumped like a pile of scrap metal in the driveway. Merlin help James Potter if she ever laid eyes on him again. It'd take more than four portly uncles and Great Aunt Susie to yank her off him.
She'd made it about three meters down the road when she remembered the puppy. She couldn't leave the little guy at the B&B. He might get lonely. Besides, maybe she could train him to bite Potter. She grinned to herself as she jiggled the little guy so he fit comfortably against her chest and where he could poke his head out if he wanted. She didn't want another James Potter incident.
She peddled leisurely into town, taking time to admire the pretty little square and the neat, pastel coloured shop fronts. She hadn't paid much attention before, but now that she took the time to look around, it was all so… quaint, she decided. Like it had been this way for two hundred years and would be for two hundred more. In fact, it was almost adorable, she thought, until she rounded the corner.
Right in between what appeared to be a haberdashery and a butchers, it sat, bold and modern looking, almost like it had dropped out of some stylish suburb in the sky. Written over the door, in elegant italic cursive were the words "Black Magic". The paint was silver, almost glowing in the pale evening light and the tinted windows gave it a glamorous look. It was the kind of place, Lily thought, that bohemians would rub shoulders with A list celebrities. She was neither, but she pushed open the door anyway. The last thing she remembered thinking was that something smelled absolutely gorgeous before the flying sack of flour smacked her in the face.