The Scions found themselves, once again, in Diagon Alley in search of furniture, wands, new keys and, in a change of pace, clothes. If they were going to live in the Muggle World for a few months, they needed muggle clothes. Which led them to Darcy Angel's Mundane Emporium, for all your muggle needs. They had bought their clothes on Easter there, and were desperately hoping the in store collection was better than the mail order catalog. Otherwise, they were going to have to go out into the muggle world in bizarre clothes (well, G'raha and Harry had suits at least) to buy muggleware.
They entered the building to find the small shop filled to the brim with clothes. Everything from the suits G'raha and Harry had been made to wear, to shirts and short pants like Noctis had worn.
"Can I help you?" A woman behind the desk asked, brown hair pulled into a ponytail and amber eyes hidden by glasses
"Yes," Harry said, "I was looking for muggle clothes, we recently inherited a house in a muggle area and was hoping to have things that didn't make us stand out."
The woman, who Harry assumed was Darcy, stood up, "you need help, I take it?"
"Yes," Harry said, unintentionally sealing their fates.
They ended up spending the better part of three hours in the shop, Darcy walking them through the "short-sleeves section" and testing just about every men's shirt against Harry, Estinien and G'raha before returning it to the rack or tossing it into one of their arms. Then they did the same with the men's "shorts", before Darcy directed the three men to sit on a bench at the front of the shop as she took the ladies through the same torture. By the time they emerged, arms stuffed with shirts, shorts, dresses, and more, Alisaie looked very red in the face while Krile was chuckling, carrying clothes that had been shrunk to fit her.
"It appears Darcy here has a nose for relationships," Krile said quietly to the men, "She brought us to the unmentionables section for something to "spice up" Harry and Alisaie's love life."
Harry froze, brain repeatedly trying to reboot and failing. G'raha let out a loud laugh, throwing his arm around Harry and shaking him gently.
"You better be laughing because someone just told a funny joke, G'raha!" Alisaie growled out, face still rosey and incapable of meeting Harry in the eye.
They ended up paying 20 Galleons for the whole bunch, which were stuffed in magically expanded bags, and walked out into the noonday soon.
—
After lunch and another argument with the damn goblins about getting Krile and Estinien keys to the vault (as far as Harry was concerned, it was the Scions' Vault), which Harry had noticed has seemingly refilled in the months between visits, they headed to Olivander's. Alisaie finally able to look Harry in the eye again.
The truth was, Harry and her hadn't gone that far. This was the first real relationship either of them had (Alisaie had not held Alphinaud's romantic popularity at the Studium, or at least if she had, she hadn't ever noticed it. She hadn't been really interested in people romantically until she met Harry, and even that took going down into Dalmund's ruin to really get going), while Harry had been too busy getting off the streets of Ul'dah to even think about anything resembling a relationship. So they were still feeling it out.
She knew she wanted to go that far with Harry, and knew he felt the same, it was just getting around their uncomfortableness at the actual concept to do it. They were happy going at their own pace.
Stepping into Olivander's, Harry, Alisaie and G'raha found seats on the rickedy benches as Olivander came out of the back, "Mr. Potter, Miss Leveilleur, Mr. Tia, I looked up your wand after last visit, Pear, 12 ¾ inches, Dragon heartstring core. I take it you're here to get your new members of the Scions' wands? Let's start with the tall one, what's your name?
"Estinien Varlineau," Estinien said.
"Right handed, I take it?" Olivander said, beginning to measure Estinien as he pulled out a wand, "an odd combination, but it might just work for you… Give it a wave."
Estinien did so, and a small dragonlet rose from the wand before fading.
"Yew, a wand good for curses and dueling. I've never met a Yew wand that settled for an owner any less than remarkable. A wand for warriors and protectors. 14 ½ inches, a bit long, but fits you, and Dragon Heartstring, from a particularly large Ukrainian Ironbelly as I recall, stronger, more flamboyant spells, easier to lose in a duel but bonds particularly strongly to it's current wielder. Temperamental."
"I see," Estinien said in a voice that said he absolutely didn't.
"And now you," Olivander said, turning to Krile.
"Krile Mayer Baldesion, ambidextrous."
"Oh, those are always fun, need a wand that could work in either hand," Olivander picked his way through his wands, finally deciding on one.
"Poplar, 6 ⅓ inches, Phoenix Feather core. Give it a wave," Light began to trail from Krile's wand as she waved it, "Poplar finds its way into the hands of those with clear moral vision, making them perhaps the most consistent of wand woods. It follows the Wizard where they want to go, and gets better at it alongside them. Meanwhile Phoenix Feather is the most fickle of the three Supreme Cores, in the right hands, it can go far. I'm sure, if the wand picked you, you will be suited for it, Miss Baldesion."
They paid the galleons required, and left the store to go looking for furniture, passing by a sign for a blond haired man in Flourish and Blotts window.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"He said, turning and smiling at her.
"When we're done with the furniture, I'd like to look into getting a broom.""
—
For as long as a lot of people could remember, and definitely the entire time Abigail Winters had lived on Harwood West, Number 10 had been abandoned, rumor among the younger folks was that it was a tax write off for some rich family.
But when she talked to the older people on the street, they fondly remembered old Fleamont and Euphimia Potter, who had both succumbed to an unknown disease in the late 70s, and wondered what happened to their brat of a son James or the boy who moved in with them for a few years, Sirius.
But since their death, nobody had ever come to claim the house. It was clearly still in the family, because it hadn't gone up for sale, but it had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Then, shortly after Easter of this year, a group of young teens, watched over by a duo of young men and a woman, had begun to repair the house. Windows were seemingly replaced overnight, new shingles were put up, and the overgrown grass, weeds and shrubbery were cut down and, in the shrubbery's cases, replaced entirely. The door, hanging off its hinges, was put back in place and slowly the manor began to show its true beauty behind the damage.
Come mid June, the supervisors, alongside two new people, moved into the house. So Abigail cooked her best Manchester Tart and went to meet the new neighbors. Knocking on the door, it swung open to a man, a long scar went across his nose, another, far faded one sat on his brow in the shape of a lightning bolt, a faded but large discolored piece of skin on his neck and a relatively fresh scar across his neck. Had he fought in the Gulf? "Can I help you?" His voice was slightly raspy.
"I'm Abigail Winters, I live at Number Six," she said, "I came to greet the new neighbors. May I come in?""
"I guess," the man said, turning his head back towards the house, "We have a guest, behave!"
There was a certain intonation on "behave" that clearly meant more than Abigail understood as they walked in. On one side of the open walkway was a lounge where the silver haired woman was sitting on a couch, clearly bored as she lay her feet on the table and flipped through a book. On the other side was a dining room where two men sat talking, one with, of all things, fake cat ears and a tail.
"Haven't got the telly installed yet?"
"Telly?" The man muttered under his breath, before saying, "No. Krile!? Where are you, we have a guest.!"
"Coming!" Down the stairs came a woman with some form of dwarfism, barely reaching the tall man's knee, "Hello there, I'm Krile."
"Abigail," Abigail said, kneeling down to shake the woman's hand.
The man mumbled something under his breath as he pressed a finger to his ear.
"Oh, that does look delicious," Krile said, looking over the Manchester Tart, "Everyone, we'll be hosting our guest in the drawing room."
Walking into the living room, she immediately noticed an old fashioned but clearly brand new broom above the mantle. There was also a bizarre lack of photos for any of them.
"So, who are you all?"
"I'm Harry Potter," the man said, confirming his relationship to the Potters, "this is my fiancee, Alisaie Leveilleur, Estinien Varlineau, and-"
"G'raha Tia," the red haired man said, smiling at her as he sat down.