Chapter 2: The Game is Afoot!

[In which we see Diagon Alley from a different perspective, and Lucius Malfoy is a petty dick.]

Monday, 3 August 1992 Urquhart Mansion

Mary returned to the Urquhart Mansion, as scheduled, on the morning of the first Sunday in August. Professor McGonagall stayed for tea, and on Monday, Mary's lessons picked up exactly where they had left off, at least for the first few hours.

While Laina and William were practicing wand movements under Miss Catherine's supervision, and Mary was playing blocks with the younger Urquhart children, Mary asked Miss Catherine what the family had done while she was gone. She expected that the answer would be something like 'just the usual, and what is the degree of relationship between yourself and the head of House Parkinson,' but instead the older girl said that she had missed the annual Lammas celebration, which took place on the evening of her birthday, and ended on the morning of the first of August.

"Oh! I didn't even realize! May I ask how the holiday is celebrated?" Mary also realized, belatedly, that she had forgotten all about Midsummer in the rush of exams and all the excitement with Quirrellmort, and that she never did figure out why Slytherin didn't celebrate Imbolc or the spring equinox.

Miss Catherine smiled. "Yes, you may. I'm glad you're taking an interest in the traditional holidays."

"I was invited to the Samhain and Yule rituals at Hogwarts," Mary volunteered. "They were… pretty amazing."

"Who led the Yule ritual?" Miss Catherine asked.

"Miss… Carpenter," Mary had to think about it. "Aeronwyn Carpenter. She's a fifth-year Slytherin. Well, sixth, now."

"Oh, little Wynnie! I remember her. I was a prefect her first year, you know. Well, good for her. She would have done a Balanced ritual, right?"

Mary nodded. The Professor had said it was 'well-balanced' at their Christmas tea, at least.

"The thing you have to understand about the holiday rituals is that each family has their own way of doing things. The Samhain ritual at Hogwarts is always the same, and it's different than any particular family's celebration, but that's because it's more focused on the dead than the dark. You know about the Powers?" she asked, correcting William's 'swish' movement.

"Yes," Mary said firmly. She really just wanted to know what the Urquharts had done for Lammas, not get another confusing lesson on the Powers. "Theo Nott told me about them before Yule."

"Well, I'm sure he was very thorough. Cadmus Nott is a right bastard, but he's raised his son traditional, well enough." Mary raised an eyebrow. Miss Catherine didn't normally swear, especially about the Heads of other Noble Houses. She made a mental note to avoid Lord Nott. "Yule, and Mabon and Midsummer at Hogwarts are led by one Slytherin student, normally from a Balanced House, but sometimes Dark, if they don't have a good candidate from a Balanced House. That student adapts their family ritual, usually with the help of Professor Sinistra or Professor Flitwick, to be appropriate for a larger group. Good, Laina, but that's more of a thrust than a jab. Jabs are short."

"Like this, Aunt Cathy?" The girl poked her practice wand forward again.

"Try not to move your arm so much. It's in the fingers and the wrist. William, if you're tired of swishing, your flicks could use work."

William made a pouting face, but turned away from his sister to focus on his own wand-work. He was only five, and easily distracted. "Yes, Laina, like that. That was a good one. Twenty more of those, and then you may practice whatever you want, so long as it's an actual movement."

"Yes, Aunt Cathy."

Miss Catherine turned back to Mary, who was waiting patiently for the lecture to continue as she summoned back the small wooden blocks that Tommy and Angel were throwing across the room. "There aren't enough Light Traditionalists left, and certainly not in Slytherin, to have a House ritual for Imbolc or Ostara. Aunt Minnie and Professor Flitwick hold a light ritual for themselves and any students from Light or Balanced families who are interested. From what I remember, they trade off on leading them, though of course, only children actually participate in the ritual on Imbolc. And then for Walpurgis, the Wild Dark chooses a person to lead the celebration. House and family affiliation don't matter, and it's always different – personal and impulsive. No one is invited to that until they're fifteen, because things tend to get a bit… out of hand."

Mary smiled. The older Slytherins had given her the impression that there was a lot of snogging at Walpurgis, and possibly more than snogging, if the smirks Adrian and Perry had been exchanging meant anything. They weren't old enough yet, either, but they claimed to be looking forward to it. Neither Mary nor Miss Catherine would say anything about that with the littles in the room.

"Because you are never at school for Lammas, most people only ever learn their own family's Lammas ritual, and that of the family they marry into."

Mary was sure her face fell visibly. "Does that mean you can't tell me, Miss Catherine?"

"No," Miss Catherine corrected her, "it just means that you should be mindful of the fact that House Urquhart is extending you an honor by telling you, and treat the information accordingly. Ouch! That's it, Tommy, no more blocks! And you're in time out for five minutes. Go to the corner, now."

"Bu' Aunt Cathy…" Tommy tried (and utterly failed) to look innocent.

"You threw a block at me, Thomas Elphinstone Urquhart. You know you're not to throw things at people. Don't make me body bind you. Time out! Now!"

The four-year old's shoulders slumped, and he shuffled off to sit quietly by himself. Miss Catherine set a timer, then spotted the look on Angel's face. "Angel, don't you dare think that just because your cousin is in time out you get to pick on him! There are other corners just waiting for you!" Angel and Tommy were only a few months apart in age, and spent all their time together, wreaking havoc on the household (and each other, whenever one of them couldn't fight back). The girl sent a sly look at her cousin, but didn't do anything until Miss Catherine was distracted by some swirly, indistinct wand movement on the part of Laina. Then she threw a block at Tommy as hard as she could. Mary had been waiting for it, and caught it in mid-flight with a quick, "Accio block!"

"Thank you, Miss Mary. Angel, pick a corner. You'll be staying there until Tommy is done with his time out."

"Ha, ha!" the boy called from his corner.

"Which will be another five minutes, now, and five more for every time he decides to speak out of turn!" Miss Catherine raised her voice, adjusting the timer accordingly. "Angelica, corner, now!"

The girl dragged her feet, but she went.

"Some days…" Miss Catherine said. "Where was I?"

"I ought to be mindful of the honor bestowed by the House of Urquhart in allowing me knowledge of their Lammas ritual, Miss Catherine" Mary said promptly. "And my apologies if it was forward to ask."

"Quite all right, Miss Mary. As our fosterling, you have every right to be included, and would have been if you hadn't made alternative plans for your birthday. So, Lammas is the day for commitment. The light side of that is duty and responsibility, and the dark side is compulsion, binding, and coercion. There are lots of rituals that are meant to be performed then, and any new chapter of your life that requires commitment traditionally begins on that day."

"Like marriages?" She thought she remembered Theo saying something about that.

"Yes, many marriages happen on Lammas, including short-term, Talitian, year-and-a-day marriages, but also Auror intake begins as the holiday ends, and Hogwarts requires new students to respond to its invitation letters by that day. All the other magical schools do the same, and most businesses like to hire new employees to start on the first of August, because on Lammas, things are begun in a spirit of continuation."

Mary nodded. She had had no idea the wizarding world was so superstitious like that, but it made sense with what she knew of the culture.

"House Urquhart is a traditional house, which means we celebrate the Old Ways, the holidays like Lammas and Yule, and we're what they call 'Balanced'. We used to be considered 'neutral,' but that term's mostly been taken over by progressives, and now means people who don't really follow or honor the old ways at all, either light or dark. Balanced, on the other hand, means we celebrate both light and dark, recognizing and giving honor to both, because both are integral and necessary parts of the natural and human world. The reason Slytherin House generally tries to find a scion of a Balanced family to lead their rituals is so that they can call on both the light and the dark. Since you're not dedicated to either, by family tradition or personally, you should have felt both energies at Yule."

Mary nodded, remembering the Yule ritual, now so long ago. "Dark was like anything was possible, and light was… excitement for the future, and being sad about the past, and happy to be there in the moment." She noticed when she stopped speaking that it had suddenly gotten very quiet in the room.

The younger children were watching closely, and listening to the older girls talk. Miss Catherine smiled at them, and explained quietly that they wouldn't participate in their family's rituals until they were seven, so this was all new to them, too.

"We wanna know," William said, sitting cross-legged next to Mary and Bryce.

"Oh, all right. I would have told you all before your first rite, anyway. But yes, sit." She ushered Liana into line. "You two can come, too, if you'll be good." Tommy and Angel scampered over from their respective corners and sat obediently beside the older children. Miss Catherine swallowed her dignity, and joined them on the floor, tucking her robes around herself.

"These little scamps," she said, "get to participate in the first solar sabbat, that is, the first solstice or equinox, after they turn seven. Generally I would take them aside and tell them about each ritual in preparation for it."

"But we want to know now," Laina whined.

"How about I tell you about each one as we work our way around the year," Miss Catherine offered. Mary thought that was probably a good idea. All she wanted to know about was Lammas, and what she'd missed out on, and there was no way the kids had the attention span to hear about all of them, especially Angel and Tommy.

There were scattered mumbles of 'okay' from the children, though it hadn't really been up for discussion.

"Lammas, like Yule, is preceded by a day of reflection. Because light is in ascendance, but not at its peak, one is encouraged to talk to others about one's plans for the coming year, but it is not required, like solitude is for the Yule vigil. Sometimes, people who are making a major commitment for the year will make a minor commitment for the day, like fasting from sunup to sunup, or a vow of silence among friends. It's a little bit of sympathetic magic, telling the universe that as you have done the one thing, so you will do the other.

"Rituals like weddings or welcome ceremonies generally begin on the 31st, and are finalized on the first. Most of that is symbolic, but it leaves time for the night, when the family rites honoring the Orderly and Binding Powers and the light and the dark take place, to be spent in transition.

"The Urquhart Lammas ceremony is a seer-ritual. We assemble just after sundown around that old oak tree in the smallest courtyard. We sit with our backs to it, and they pass around a goblet which contains a potion. The oldest man in the family, Lord Urquhart, now, makes the potion over the course of the day. Its recipe has never been written down, and he teaches each boy as he comes of age, so it will never be lost so long as the family line survives. Everyone takes a sip of the potion, and passes it along to the next person. It goes around until the cup is empty. The last person to drink is the one who invokes the Powers.

"This year it was my father. The invocation goes like this: 'We gather beneath the leaves of our heart-tree, strong and steady, family like the oak. We gather in darkness, holding light in our souls, to honor the Powers of Order and Binding, acknowledging and embracing the ties of our commitments and our duties, to family and friends, to ourselves, and to our people and the wider world. We witness what we would have come to pass, and what warnings may be offered in this, our moment of decision.'

"The magic rises up like a fog from the roots of the tree, and then you slip into a trance. You see the possible outcomes of the path you have been meditating on over the course of the day, and how it will affect yourself and those you care about, and all the ways it might go wrong, and everything you stand to gain if it goes right. The trance breaks when the sun rises, and the magic seeps back into the ground. The person who invoked the Powers stands and moves around the tree counter-clockwise, helping each one stand. He says, 'Go with grace, and make your choices, not in ignorance, but in confidence.'

"And then there's a big breakfast, and everyone usually goes and takes a nap, and in the afternoon, they finish whatever rituals they started the day before, if they are certain they want to keep that commitment. You don't ask anyone what they saw, but they can tell you if they want. I've decided not to speak about what I saw this year," she added, before Laina and William could say anything. "And it would be very impolite to ask why." The children looked disappointed. There was a momentary pause, and then, "Now, I do believe it's time for lunch!"

"Thank you for telling me," Mary said, feeling like the occasion warranted some sort of solemnity. She was sorry to have missed out on participating. Next year, she thought. The younger kids leapt up with as much energy as they ever had, calling 'Thanks!' behind them as they raced for the dining room.

"Don't mention it." Miss Catherine gave Mary a quiet smile, and followed her charges, her youngest nephew balanced on her hip.

Wednesday, 19 August 1992 Diagon Alley

The afternoon after they talked about the Lammas ritual, Miss Catherine had given Mary a test over the family trees and lists of pureblood and Wizengamot families. Mary had passed – she would have been disappointed if she hadn't, since she was fairly certain she could copy those family trees in her sleep, at this point. This meant that Miss Catherine could safely shift to talking about something else (which she admitted she was quite relieved about, since she found talking about family rank and endlessly determining how different people were related to be terribly boring). Mary also suspected that the number of mistakes she made at meals was decreasing, as well, because the number of essays she had to write on proper behavior had fallen away to almost nothing over the course of the first week of August.

This worked out well, as far as Mary was concerned, because it meant she had more and more time, as the month progressed, to fly her new broom in the back gardens. It handled like a dream, and she was almost positive that wasn't just because she had gotten used to the terrible school brooms.

As a reward for all her work so far, Mary was allowed to choose their next topic of study. She decided that she needed to know about social settings other than tea-parties. She could count on one hand the number of words she had exchanged with any of the Urquhart men, and strongly suspected that there were things she ought to know outside of tea, even when it came to talking to women. Miss Catherine said that was a perfectly acceptable topic, and so shifted to talking about balls, and from there innuendo, which she said (with a completely straight face) was the main form of conversational gambit between men and women. When Mary comprehensively failed to understand why that should be funny, she was treated to an entire afternoon of Miss Catherine, Ms. Primrose, and Ms. Nanette telling her what they called "the facts of life." Mary hadn't known her face could get so red.

Surprisingly, very little was said about Hogwarts. When Mary asked, Miss Catherine said that they would wait to talk about school and social interactions with her peers when Lilian arrived to stay at the end of the month. Her Hogwarts letter arrived about halfway through August, book list enclosed. The letter itself only said to catch the train from King's Cross on the thirtieth of August. Classes would begin on the thirty-first, and as a reminder to all older students, only one pet was allowed per child. The Professor had written in a post-script by hand for her ward: No snakes!

From that point, lectures shifted from expectations at major social functions and decoding adult conversations to expectations in public, and around 'those of lesser status' such as shopkeepers and the unwashed masses of Diagon Alley. Mary thought she was getting to know Miss Catherine, and she was at first appalled to hear her speak of shopkeepers and 'peasants' as though they were legitimately inferior to herself. She hadn't been nearly so condescending about muggles, even, when Mary had explained her plans for the week of her birthday. It wasn't until the third day of 'How to Deal with Commoners' that she realized her tutor was saying these things with the driest, faintest hint of sarcasm, and a certain glint in her eye that suggested it was a bit tongue-in-cheek.

When Mary finally accused Miss Catherine of having her on, the older girl told her she could drop the 'Miss' in private. She explained that learning how to say things you didn't mean in such a way that others who agreed with you would understand, but those who didn't, wouldn't, was probably the most important lesson when it came to dealing with adults. Her exact words were, "That's what Professor Snape means when he says Slytherins are subtle. What you say and what you mean don't have to be the same thing, and a good Slytherin knows how to read between the lines and get at the meaning, not just the words." She also added that, "Prim owes Nan a galleon – she thought you were too young to catch on."

Madam Urquhart, and to a certain extent, Lord and Lady Urquhart, genuinely did believe themselves superior to 'commoners'. Mr. and Mrs. Urquhart had a slightly broader view, and Catherine and her brothers had been raised to say the 'right words,' but not to believe them. It was Catherine's responsibility to teach the kids what Lord and Madam Urquhart wanted them to know, but if she had her way, she would wait to teach these lessons until the children were old enough to understand the difference between what she wanted them to do and say, and what she wanted them to believe.

That was Sunday. Catherine had declared that Mary would be fit to be seen in public by Wednesday, and they planned to go shopping for her books and new robes that day accordingly. In fact, Mary did not learn much that was new on Monday – only how not to look like a stuck up wench while still maintaining standards (something she thought Pansy Parkinson could take a lesson in). Most of Tuesday was spent getting the kids ahead in their lessons, as they would have a day off with Catherine out of the house.

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

Wednesday morning, after breakfast, Mary and Catherine floo'd to the Leakey Cauldron. Catherine had apologized for the inconvenience, but insisted that she was not confident enough in her apparition to side-along anyone who didn't also know what they were doing. Mary thought she was probably making the responsible choice. Splinching sounded terrifying. In comparison to that, she didn't mind the floo. She had used it to visit Mr. Fulton from Hogwarts the year before, and knew that it was just as uncomfortable as apparition, but in a different way – a decidedly dizzier and dirtier way.

She went first, stumbling out of the twisting flames directly into the arms of a tall, red-headed boy. It wasn't until he helped her back to her feet and out of the danger zone (the six foot square of pub-floor devoid of tables and lined with cushioning charms, for those even less coordinated than Mary), that she realized it was Percy Weasley. They made small talk while they waited for the rest of their respective parties. The twins arrived next, the second one following the first so closely that they bowled each other over. Miss Catherine was close behind.

"Greetings, Miss Urquhart," Percy said, bowing over Catherine's hand.

She graced him with a genuinely amused grin. "Likewise, Mr. Weasley. Percy, right? You were… four years behind William?"

"I believe it was five, Miss Urquhart."

"Well, give my best to William, please, Mr. Weasley. Miss Potter and I must be off."

("Potter?" "Not-Mary?" "Where?" "Hey, Not-Mary!" Mary waved at the twins as Ron fell out of the fire, taking out both of them with his lanky form. "Not-Mary! Hi!" "We'll catch you," "Later!" "On the train!")

"Of course, Miss Urquhart. Delightful to see you, as always." Percy nodded deeply in farewell, and both girls dipped slightly in response.

"Bye Fred, George!" Mary called as they slipped away through the crowd.

"Percy and Bill are the only Weasleys who care much for tradition," Catherine said, as she led Mary into the crush, heading up the alley toward Gringott's. "I was the year between Bill and Charlie in school, so I got to know them fairly well as we were all prefects together. Charlie's too rough and tumble to mind the proprieties, and honestly I think the twins were a bit much for poor Molly. Percy comes off as a bit of a prat, but once he gets his head out of his swotty arse, he'll be a good sort."

"I like the twins," Mary said. "They're kind of a pain, but they're there when you need them."

Catherine nodded. "Bit of an understatement, there. They were a major pain, even as firsties. I can't imagine they've gotten any better with age. Any thoughts on the younger two?"

"Not really. I haven't met the youngest one, I don't think. Their only girl, right? Goes by Ginny, I think. The twins have mentioned her. Virginia?"

"Ginevra."

"Ronald is in my year, and I think I've only really talked to him twice. He doesn't like me because I told him I wasn't Mary Potter on the train before first year. Hermione and Lilian think he's a bit dense, but I only ever really saw him in Potions, and you know how Professor Snape is with Gryffindors, so it's hard to say."

Catherine seemed to accept this analysis of the younger Weasleys' characters, or perhaps she only let it go because they were at the bank. They made their withdrawals over the counter rather than take the ridiculous mine cart into the vaults. Mary was surprised you could do that, and when Catherine asked what she had thought they were there for, Mary was forced to admit she'd thought they were mostly for show.

Catherine was hard-pressed to hide her amusement. "Only mostly. They do actually do some work, aside from intimidating the customers."

After the bank, Catherine headed not for Madam Malkin's, which she later explained would be full of new Hogwarts students, but for a tiny, hob-run shop around the corner from it – Peaseblossom and Puck's. Mary felt like a giant in the shop, since everything except the mirrors and fitting blocks was built on the scale of the proprietors, but Catherine swore they were miracle-workers with cloth, and Mary had to admit she was right. Unlike Madam Malkin's, where enchanted needles took the clothes in, the hobs of Peaseblossom and Puck's just snapped their fingers and the cloth re-worked itself to form perfectly even tucks and hems, the seams woven together without actual stitching at all. They tugged to let one spot or another out, and the cloth flowed like soft clay, sculpted to fit. Mary got to watch a fitting in progress before it was her turn.

The feeling of it was strange, as though she was engulfed in the hobs' magic while they manipulated the robes (and underclothes, as she had grown quite a bit since her previous Diagon Alley excursion) around her limbs. When the lead hob declared her fitting complete, the magic sank away, locking the clothes into their final shape. Mary thought they might be the most comfortable clothes she'd ever worn. They cost almost twice as she had spent the year before for the same number of garments, but she thought it was well worth it, especially when the hob at the register said they were enchanted to grow with the wearer, so that she wouldn't be caught out with too-short hems until at least this time next summer.

After the tailors', Catherine followed Mary to Daily's, the shop where Mary had gotten her boots (which, like the new robes, had a growth-enchantment on them, but one that was good for three years, instead of one), and they had them re-soled. They needed it badly, as Mary had gone through the entire year with only the one pair of shoes. When Catherine realized that, she insisted the younger girl get at least two other pairs – they settled on a brown, ankle-high boot, and a round-toed black leather shoe that Catherine called a 'Mary Jane' and also 'absolutely darling.'

They had lunch at a sandwich shop off the main Alley. Mary was beginning to get the impression that Catherine didn't care much for the shops on the main drag. Catherine was explaining that she had nothing against them for most of the year, but they were simply insufferable when the back-to-school crowds arrived, when Mary spotted the Grangers, who were clearly of a similar mindset. She waved them over, awkwardly introducing Dan and Emma to Catherine across the ribbon denoting the edge of the sandwich shop's outdoor seating area.

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

"We were just looking for a place to lunch," Emma said, after the introductions were accomplished. "Would you happen to have a recommendation?"

"Oh, you simply must join us, Mrs. Granger," Catharine said with a polite smile, not missing a beat. She was well aware that the Grangers were the muggles with whom Mary had spent her birthday.

"Please, Miss Urquhart, call me Emma."

"Only if I am Catherine."

"Of course, Catherine. I am delighted to make your acquaintance, but we simply couldn't intrude." It might have been Mary's imagination, but she thought Emma sounded a bit more American when she was putting on her posh manners.

"Nonsense, Emma. We've yet to order; you and your lovely family are more than welcome."

"Well, if you insist, we could hardly refuse such a gracious offer."

"Not at all. Do come 'round. Tell the boy at the door you're to join the Urquhart party."

Emma ushered her husband and daughter (both of whom were looking at her as though she had suddenly grown a second head) toward the door of the restaurant.

Before they were quite out of earshot, Catherine said, "I like her."

Mary nodded. "Me too. From what I know of her, her upbringing was the muggle equivalent of yours."

"I didn't know muggles bothered anymore."

"Mostly they don't," Mary said, just before their waiter appeared, Grangers in tow. The seating was re-arranged so that Mary and Hermione had a table to themselves, and the adults had another nearby – close enough so that they could keep an eye on each other, but not so close that Mary would be expected to converse with Catherine or Hermione with her parents.

"It's so good to see you!" Hermione exclaimed, falling into her seat. "Did you know, Gilderoy Lockhart, that bloke who wrote all of our school texts, is signing books at Flourish and Blotts?"

Mary grinned. "No, I hadn't heard. And I'm surprised to see you, since I never got your owl! Your parents finally decided to let you go back?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, after mum sent a few nasty letters to Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall, and got them to promise to keep them informed if anything untoward was happening at school, they finally admitted it was rather unlikely for anything like last year to happen again next year. And I was grounded from reading for the month for lying to them. Lucky I finished my homework already. They actually locked my books up."

"I know, you told me." At least four times, over three letters. Personally, Mary thought Hermione had probably gotten off easy. She was still allowed to do everything but read, and she was sure the Ravenclaw had read all of the Standard Book of Spells Grade 2 last year. Yes, she would have to wait until Hogwarts to read the Lockhart books, but Mary was certain her bookish friend would manage.

"It was a close call on coming here today, though. We were just in on Saturday, you see. But mum thought they could both use a day off, and now they've got Padraig and Marcie working at their practice as well, they didn't even need to cancel any appointments. Still, two days was a bit short notice. I only got them to agree last night, so there wasn't time to owl."

"We need to get your mum to work on getting them a floo connection."

"Oh, Merlin, don't tell her that. She's been going around trying to get information about house elves for the last two weeks. I don't know if she's more angry about the state of that Dobby, or the fact that it's slavery, or the fact that apparently there aren't any common anti-elf wards. We spent an hour at the bank last week so she could talk to one of their ward specialists, and she said only a house elf can ward against another house elf. So I've been assigned to find and question an elf when we get back to school, and then go from there. I mean, they don't want an elf, they just want to hire one to put up wards for them, but every time she owls the ministry to ask about it, she gets a nasty letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures saying that muggles aren't allowed to own house elves, pursuant to Section 54, Subsection Q of the 1897 Restriction of Interactions of Non-Humans with Muggles. I think we're up to four copies, now."

"So you're sure you don't want me to distract her with the floo?" Mary laughed at her friend. She could have sworn Hermione's hair puffed up as she got more irritated.

"No, it won't distract her, it will just be another crusade." Hermione let her head drop to the table, only to have to lift it immediately as the waiter arrived with their food. "Before she knew about magic, she used to spend ages working with the PTA and the Housing Association for the neighborhood. Besides, can you imagine mum with easy access to Diagon Alley, or the Ministry, or Hogwarts? Nowhere would be safe."

"I like your mum."

"So do I, but you have to admit she can be a bit… much, sometimes."

"Well, I could say the same thing about you," Mary pointed out.

"Where do you think I get it from?" Hermione threw up her hands dramatically. Mary couldn't help but laugh. "This is really good, by the way," she noted, taking another bite of her roasted chicken and swiss.

"Mine's not bad either." Mary had decided on something called a 'Mediterranean Special'. She had no idea what was in it. Feta cheese, definitely, but the meat was a mystery. It might have been lamb, but as it was a magical restaurant, it could just as easily have been some kind of magical creature. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

"Did you know my mum could talk like that?" Hermione asked suddenly, nodding at her parents and Catherine. Dan was nodding along, occasionally throwing sidelong glances at his wife. Catherine seemed pleased with the conversation, but Mary couldn't see Emma's face.

Mary shrugged. "She mentioned something about her childhood being a lot like what I was telling you about my lessons at the Urquharts, plus a bunch of other stuff like riding lessons and piano. It doesn't really surprise me. Aren't you the one who said she'd be a Slytherin?"

"Well, yes, but… I didn't expect that. What else did she tell you?"

"She's from an old Southern family, and had elocution lessons, which is why she doesn't sound like it… I think she was raised and disowned by her grandmum, she didn't say why… Oh! And she said something about teaching you to dance before your cotillion. Why?"

"Why? Because I didn't know any of that! Mum's a complete mystery! I know she's from Georgia, and she ran away from home to go to college, and had to leave the States for some reason in the middle of dental school, so she transferred to the Royal College in London. Mum and Dad call that the Kafkaesque Nightmare. She met dad there, and they got married and had me a few years later. That's it."

"Well, apparently before all that, she was a society girl."

Hermione made a harrumphing noise and muttered something that might have been, "She could have told me!"

Mary finished her sandwich before changing the subject. "So where have you been all day? And where do you have left to go?"

"Oh, well, we started at Flourish and Blotts, of course. We already got the school books last time, but mum wanted something on elves –" "Of course," Mary interjected. Hermione grinned. "Of course. And dad got some advanced theory book. I think they're just trying to torture me, surrounding me with the only thing I can't have."

"Oh, like you didn't get something to take with you."

"Of course I did. What do you take me for? A Basic Guide to Potioneering. Mum confiscated it already, of course. It's supposed to be about how to make new potions, or change their effects. Mr. Brown said it's the best for theory, and I figured since Professor Snape doesn't really teach it…"

"Mr. Brown the apothecary?"

"Yes, didn't I say? We've been to Flourish and Blotts, Brown's Apothecary, and Scrivener's, of course. We still need to go for robes and I've been thinking about getting a pair of boots like yours. Where did you go?"

"Daily's, for the boots, and you have to go to Peaseblossom and Puck's for robes. It's around the corner from Madam Malkin's, and it's run by hobs. They're amazing, look at this!" She dug a shrunken robe out of the bag the hobs had given her. "No seams! They just snap their fingers and pull things around and they fit. I mean, they're more expensive, but so comfortable, and they've got sizing enchantments on them, so they'll fit for the whole year."

"How much more expensive?"

Mary cringed, "Like twice as much?"

But to her surprise, Hermione looked like that sounded reasonable. "If they really do fit all year, mum would probably go for it. We came back over Christmas and replaced my robes last year, and they're short again already. Do they do underthings?" Hermione gestured toward her chest. Mary nodded. She herself was still flat as a board, but Hermione was starting to fill out. "Excellent. Mum was worried my things wouldn't fit right before the winter hols. Peaseblossom and Puck's, you said? Like from Shakespeare?"

"Yes, and I have no idea."

"What? It's a Midsummer Night's Dream! You have to read it! I'll bring my copy from home. And Daily's for boots?"

Mary rolled her eyes at the offer of literature – Hermione offered her a new book at least once a week, even by letter – and said, "Yes, Daily's for boots. It's across the street from Madam Malkin's, and the tailor shop is right around the corner, next street toward Gringott's."

"Alright, toward Gringott's. Got it."

Just then, with impeccable timing that suggested they had been eavesdropping on the girls, both Emma and Catherine rose from their table and floated over to Mary and Hermione, Dan wandering behind them. "Ready to go, girls?" Emma asked.

Mary nodded, folding her napkin and arranging the silverware to signal she was done. Hermione said, "Yes, mum," and the girls followed the adults back through the restaurant.

The two groups parted ways at the main alley. Hermione hugged Mary goodbye, and whispered in her ear, "Watch, mum's up to something!" before pulling away and saying she looked forward to seeing her on the train. Mary promised letters in the meanwhile.

Emma was saying how lovely it was to meet Catherine, and wishing Mary a good remainder of her holidays. Dan, still looking a bit lost, echoed her sentiments. Mary thought she saw something like a smirk twitch across Catherine's face at his farewell.

And then Catherine, to everyone's surprise, including, apparently, her own, said, "It was lovely to meet you as well, Emma. You simply must join me for tea one day after the girls are back to school."

"Of course," the older woman said with a polite smile, with a deep nod in lieu of a curtsey - her trousers simply didn't allow the more formal courtesy, which Mary thought was awfully convenient, since even she had no idea how a muggle matron should curtsey to a much younger unmarried witch from a Noble house. "I shall look forward to your owl."

Catherine curtsied in return, and, with that, they left, the Grangers headed back toward Madam Malkin's, and Mary and Catherine toward the bookstore. "I just invited a muggle to tea," Catherine said. She looked a bit stunned, as though she could not imagine why she might have done such a thing. "I can't bring a muggle to the Mansion..."

"Don't worry," Mary said, smirking at her tutor. "From what I gather, Emma Granger has that effect on most people."

"I suppose I'll have to owl her now… Perhaps we could go to… no…"

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

Catherine was almost immediately distracted from her worries about whether and how she could actually manage to have tea with Emma (without her grandmother realizing that she was associating with muggles), by a crush of people as they entered the bookstore.

The book signing that Hermione had mentioned was still going on. From the banner above the door, Mary suspected Hermione might have missed out on seeing the celebrity entirely, since it had apparently started at half-past twelve. That might have been for the best.

Lockhart, the author, was set up near the door, surrounded by posters of his own face, and a line of middle-aged witches wound through the shop. A photographer was hovering around, taking pictures of the signing. Catherine glared haughtily at anyone who came within two feet of her, clearing a path through the crowd of onlookers with an attitude Mary had never seen her put on before. It was sort of 'bored' crossed with 'incredibly irritated by your very presence,' crossed with 'I will kill you for breathing wrong and not even blink.' It reminded her a bit of a more-threatening…

"Lord Malfoy." Yes, Malfoy! Mary thought, then realized that she hadn't been speaking aloud, and Catherine was actually greeting a tall man with long, white-blond hair, and a pointy face – Draco's father, whom Mary had met at the train station at the beginning of summer.

"Miss Urquhart," he replied, bowing over her hand.

"Lord Malfoy," Mary echoed, copying Catherine's curtsy.

"Miss Potter," Draco's father bowed over Mary's hand as well, though not so deeply, since she was underage.

"Father," came Draco's unmistakable drawl from the crowd, followed closely by his familiar face, "That muggle-lover Weasley is here. Oh! Hello, Miss Urquhart."

He bowed, and she nodded at him. "Mr. Malfoy."

"Mary," he nodded.

She nodded back, following his lead. "Draco."

Lord Malfoy gave his son an odd look, possibly because he was being so familiar with her, but said, "If you will excuse me, Miss Urquhart, I have an appointment I must keep."

"Of course, Lord Malfoy. Always a pleasure." She dipped a perfunctory curtsy, and he nodded.

"Miss Potter." Another nod.

"Lord Malfoy." Mary copied her earlier curtsy, because when in doubt, it was better to be too polite, and she had rather lost track of things with the quick turn-around between greeting and farewell.

Now it was apparently Draco's turn to give an odd look, this one directed at Mary. She wondered if she had done something wrong. Pureblood interactions in the real world were terribly odd. It all made sense on paper, more or less, but they had just spent two minutes greeting each other in passing, only to not say anything of substance. They could have just waved, for all the information they'd exchanged.

Draco hadn't been told to come along, so he hovered near Mary and Catherine as his father made his way through the crowd, clearing the way with the same 'step back' aura Catherine had been projecting. Mary wondered if it was something Catherine would teach her, given enough time, or if she had to pick it up on her own.

She grabbed the copy of the Standard Book of Spells they had come to get before moving in the same general direction, after the required Lockhart texts.

They were just close enough to overhear Lord Malfoy saying through the crowd, "…disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't pay you well for it?"

A tall red-head who looked like an older Percy, and had to be Mr. Weasley (Lord Weasley? No, wait, that's still his father…) blustered at the aristocrat. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."

"Clearly," Lord Malfoy said. Mary didn't catch what happened next, but there was a thud of a dropped cauldron, and a clatter as the two men hit a bookshelf. Books fell, and people were yelling.

Mary thought she heard one of the twins yelling, "Get him, Dad!" and a woman was shrieking, "No, Arthur, NO!"

The three shop-assistants who had been roaming the floor converged on the two men as the nearby shoppers pressed away, knocking over two different displays. And then, when the employees couldn't seem to get a handle on things, the celebrity author swanned over, photographer in tow. Puffs of purple smoke were appearing over patrons' heads as he flashed several pictures of the scuffle.

"What's all this? What's all this?" he said, very loudly and smarmily. "I know you're all eager to see me, but, gentlemen, really… a bookstore brawl?"

Silence fell as most people turned their attention to Lockhart, and then Lord Malfoy's voice floated over the crowd. "Here, girl, take your book – it's the best your father can give you." And with that, Lord Malfoy swept from the shop. Draco, who was caught in the crush near Mary and Catherine, fought his way free, and Mary watched them walk past the shop window a moment later, the boy smirking over his shoulder.

}{-}{-}{-}{-}{

"What do you think that was about?" Mary asked, as the shopkeepers hustled most of the book signing guests out, loudly announcing that the event would be postponed for half an hour while they fixed the displays. She grabbed the books she needed and made for the till.

"With Lucius Malfoy? Who knows? Probably something incredibly petty. He doesn't know when to just let things go. I heard he got caught up in those Muggle Artifacts raids that have been going on. Could be something to do with that. It's all a bit stupid, really. I don't know anyone who doesn't have a few enchanted muggle artifacts lying around. But then, I suppose it gets the ministry their fines –"

Catherine's speculation on the misuse of muggle artifacts and the relative merits of ministry raids was cut off by the celebrity author's smarmy voice calling out from behind them: "That can't be Mary Potter!"

Bloody hell, we were almost out! Mary thought, taking her change and turning around slowly.

The crush had cleared, for the most part, or Mary suspected it would have been much worse. Still, the blonde wizard swept up to her, in forget-me-not blue robes that matched his eyes exactly, and flung his arm around her, shouting jovially that together, they were worth the front page. She froze in shock, and before she could decide what to do, the camera flashed.

Mary squawked in protest (though she decided immediately that she would never admit that particular sound had come out of her mouth), trying to push the awful man away, and Catherine started haranguing the photographer at once, demanding that he expose the shot. He refused, holding the camera well out of her reach, and declaring that it would be in the Daily Prophet come morning.

The horrid celebrity ignored their spat, holding Mary tightly in place as he announced to the remaining patrons (many of whom were his fans, who had refused to leave when asked – just as pushy as the man they had come to see, apparently), that Hogwarts would soon be "getting the real magical me." He had valiantly taken on the mantle of Hogwarts' DADA professorship. Mary hoped he died, just like Quirrell. She elbowed him in the gut and finally escaped him, nearly running from the bookstore in her rush to get away from the foul, overbearing creature, his comment about "feisty young girls" echoing behind her.

"Are you all right?" Catherine asked, following with the bag of books.

"No." Mary was leaning against a wall and glaring at passers-by. "I hate being touched, and he wouldn't let me go! All he wanted was a stupid publicity shot, and he didn't even ask. Did you at least destroy the wretched picture?"

"Sorry, Mary. He wouldn't hand it over, and I followed you instead of just hexing the bastard."

Mary sighed heavily. She supposed it was better that Miss Catherine Urquhart wasn't on the front page of the Prophet for assaulting a photographer, but that didn't mean she wanted to be there, with some horrible picture with some poncy, self-obsessed idiot assaulting her. It was so galling to be used like that.

"Do you want to just head home?" Catherine asked, sounding much more kindly and concerned than she had ever been toward Mary before.

"No. We just need to go to the apothecary and the stationary store, right? Let's do that, so we don't have to come back."

Catherine nodded and led the way down the Alley. The last two stops were completed quickly. Mary didn't mind: The new 'professor' had managed to completely ruin her shopping mood.