Chapter 32: A stroll through Oulwike
"Alright, children, are you all ready?"
Various degrees of "yes" and "sure" echoed around the entrance hall as the children organized themselves in groups – always the same, siblings from one mother, for now.
Their craft project for group cloaks – and other accessories – meant they had to go and get supplies at a craft store. Melania did have some of it on hand – but not enough to make eighteen cloaks in the exact way they'd decided on together – such as needles and threads, but she'd never made a hobby of sewing in itself, only embroidery.
Which was also why Melania had called on her youngest sister, Penelope, to assist in the children's endeavor. Penelope did like sewing, had made a career out of it as a magical seamstress for nearly five decades, operating out of the Millan Hotel in Fairen Square until her retirement a couple of years ago.
Melania's sister tucked her working bag under her arm and shook her head.
"Are you certain you want to go to Diagon Alley again? Wandwavin' is good for crafting and the Everlooms are of course perfect to get fabric, but... There was another attack yesterday. No one saw anything, but patrollers found Hedwig Luciole bleeding from her eyes next to the Sea Rest. They say she might not see ever again, and people think..."
Penelope didn't finish, trailing off with a slight tremor in her voice.
Unmarried and without children, the youngest of Melania's siblings had never left the family wing of the Macmillan ancestral house in Fairen Square, a high-class hotel that prided itself on it hospitality and manners. Penelope still lived there at seventy-two, sharing the family quarters behind the patio with their brother Lincoln and his family – and, until not-so-long-ago, with their mother and father.
All that meant, as Melania saw it, that Penelope, for all her qualities, had never really learned to stand on her own – and hearing about people being attacked in her neighborhood every other day wasn't doing her any favor.
Not that her concerns were irrelevant, considering their last outing to Diagon Alley had been with the help and assumed protection of many other relatives...
"Where else would we buy everything we need, Penelope? You worked in that field, if anything I assume you would know where to look if not in Diagon Alley."
Melania's sister bit on her lower lip.
"I... There was... If you want wool fabric, I used to order from the Bogden farm in the East Riding, but they haven't been answering through the owl post in three years. I mean, they seem to be alive because the Ministry sent patrollers to check some time ago, but they might have hidden the farm away? I'm sorry, Mellie, it's just... Everything and everyone has..."
Lamia, who'd wandered over in the last minute, half-raised a hand and interrupted:
"Hmm, sorry, but does it have to be magical?"
Melania and Penelope blinked at the teenager – oldest of the bunch, an adult by the laws of the wizarding community.
"...I'm unsure of what you mean?"
The girl pushed her hair behind her neck – just like Sirius would – and elaborated:
"Well, we need wool fabric and embroidery thread and a bunch of other things, but unless we need those to be charmed or, I don't know, self-sewing, then we could just buy it in a muggle store?"
Melania and Penelope shared a surprised look – and didn't find anything to refute that logic.
Nothing they'd discussed for the children's project implied any kind of magical materials. Spells, yes – mostly to make more than a dozen cloaks in the same fashion without it taking weeks – but they weren't looking for protective enchantments already woven into the fabric.
Part of the reason for Penelope's presence and help was that she'd guide the children into doing that themselves, for the little magic they'd decided on – a simple anti-sooting charm, plus something that would allow them to alter the cloaks as they grew up.
"I... suppose we could?"
"Though we don't have any muggle money on hand, and to get some we'd need to go to Gringotts in Diagon Alley anyway."
Lamia shrugged at her great-grandmother's words.
"Then we go to a store in a mixed village. There might be one in Oulwike, and maybe they only sell muggle sewing materials, but if we don't care... They'll take muggle money and galleons alike, no problem there, and we don't have to go all the way to London and chance a bad encounter."
The girl had a point: while mixed villages got attacked just like Diagon Alley, they were less often so, and you had a lower chance of stumbling on the most unsavory characters – too many muggles about for them, even if those did know about magic through familial ties.
Melania – and Penelope – just... hadn't thought of it.
As pureblooded witches from a terribly old family, the sisters had always gone to wizarding spaces. When they had to buy something, they usually went to Diagon Alley – where most of the magical shops in the country could be found – and only wandered into the few shops scattered in the various mixed villages and neighborhoods when they knew what they were looking for and where to find it.
The Macmillans didn't consider muggles as being beneath them, no – but they also didn't expect them to have anything to offer that they could need. They lived in different worlds, with different ways and needs. The fact that some of those needs did overlap, if only because muggles and wizards were all human beings, didn't really register most of the time.
The separation of lives brought by the Statute of Secrecy was, perhaps, partially to blame for that.
The rest fell on the comfort found in remaining within your own social and cultural circle.
Melania had to admit, Lamia's solution was something she could attribute to someone like her grandson: a person who didn't care about comfort and familiarity half as much as they did about being efficient.
"...You do raise a point, Lamia. Still, I do not know which stores can be found in Oulwike besides the wizarding ones. Sterhn is usually the one who shops for food and other needs, I can't say I've walked through much of the village myself."
The girl smiled and shook her head.
"Can I... Sterhn, please?"
A crack, and the house-elf appeared by Penelope's side, making her jump slightly – the Macmillan family had no house-elf, preferring human hires to deal with the hotel and its many, ever-changing occupants that could give a house-elf performance anxiety.
"Miss? Is there anything the young mistress needs, perhaps?"
As the house-elf said that, he also glanced scrupulously at Melania – which wasn't a surprise: while Arcturus was Sterhn's true master, the house-elf also considered his wife to be the mistress of the manor, and thus her word superceeded the rest of the family's.
The witch carefully nodded, allowing Sterhn to complete whatever request Lamia could have, but readied herself to intervene if she disagreed.
It had been a long time since she'd last needed to act in such a way – since Lucretia and Orion's teenage years, certainly. Children who lived within the manor and thus were considered as more than simple guests did change the game, didn't they...
Lamia didn't seem to realize – or perhaps she didn't care, perhaps she understood the caution.
"Could you fetch us a phonebook? From Oulwike. There should be all the muggle-passing businesses on there."
Melania, of course, had no idea what a "phonebook" was, but the request didn't seem that weird so she let it go. The only problem might be that Sterhn, if a "phonebook" was a muggle thing, might be just as clueless as her.
About two minutes later, the house-elf reappeared with a crack and a thick paper book in his hands.
"Sterhn had to ask at the grocery, but he did find Miss Lamia's phonebook."
The girl took it from him and started perusing an endless list of names and numbers on terribly thin yellow pages with a distracted "thanks, Sterhn".
"The national directory, uh, but, alright. Oulwike, Oulwike... And, hmm, fabric store, craft store? Haberdashery, perhaps? We'd still need the fabric itself, though. Oh, look: Marnie's Threads & Cloth, Oulwike, 13 Fowlx Street. Haberdashery, fabric store, special orders on demand. And I think we can leave Fania with Sterhn this time."
Lamia handed over the book, pointing at a very small line near the bottom of the page. Melania took it curiously, but found no more than what the girl had just read to her except for a series of numbers that didn't seem to mean anything.
Penelope took a look over her sister's shoulder and hummed:
"I suppose this would do, yes... If the shop is muggle-passing, the owner might be a muggle relative, then? And we would only find mundane fabric, but for your needs it would be enough."
Lamia delightedly clapped her hands.
"Time for a stroll through Oulwike, then! We're in the middle of summer, the sky is bright blue and the sun shines just enough that most of us should better get a large hat, lest we burn like salamander hearts' in Worcestershire sauce!"
Dana's voice rose somewhere behind them:
"Speak for yourself, you tan-less citizen of the isles!"
A smirk tilted Lamia's mouth as she answered back:
"Italian mongrels can only imitate my everlasting pallor."
"Some people like to turn into lobsters at the slightest hint of sun, I guess."
Melania chuckled, surprising even herself: it was true that her husband's family was on the paler side of the typical British complexion – which wasn't very likely to darken to begin with. Melania herself was more beige, but both her children had inherited their father's paleness, and many of Sirius' children did show it too.
Which meant they sunburned at the slightest time spent under a summer sun.
"Alright, alright, wait a minute, I have a sunlight vaporizer upstairs, Merlin knows Arcturus needs it whenever fairer weather knocks at the door. Not that I don't, but at least I have more than an hour out before I start sunburning..."
A handful of minutes later, Melania, her sister and her great-grandchildren exited the public chimney in Oulwike – in the middle of the town square, hidden as an old monument amongst trees and bushes to muggle eyes.
There weren't many people about, but Oulwike was still less tense than Diagon Alley during their visit a few days earlier, if not livelier. With some cooperation from the children – in other words, if they didn't just run out on Melania and disappear from her sight before she could react – and enough luck not to be caught in the middle of an attack, this outing might become altogether pleasant.
The group wandered for a bit, came across a bakery and left with enough pastries to eat on a bench near the river, and eventually found Marnie's Threads and Cloth, a ground-floor shop with a small flat and a balcony right above it. On the balcony, a drying rack with a whirligig that spun faster than the feeble gust of air could explain betrayed the use of magic within the house, if not in the shop.
A mixed couple, most likely.
Penelope took the lead, opening the shop's door with a tentative "Hello?".
As the children poured into the shop – just big enough for them not to feel crowded – a young woman with her hair in a messy bun and a baby in her arms appeared from the curtained backroom.
Marnie – Melania guessed but could be wrong there – looked frazzled, tear tracks visible on her cheeks, as if she'd just wiped those out.
The shopkeeper tried to smile, nevertheless.
It was a brittle, sad little thing.
"What... What can I do for you?"
The woman's eyes wandered to the many teenagers – some looking curiously at her ware, some standing right behind the older women, some whispering under their breath to their neighbor.
It looked almost like summer camp had walked into Marnie's shop, except her husband was in the hospital in London, cursed by a Death Eater on his way back from work, and Marnie Guthrie was left to man the shop, take care of the children and worry.
Alone.
The baby hiccuped – the nearest pin cushion started vibrating, the needles moving around worryingly.
"No, no, Victoria, please... Calm down, baby, Dad's going to be alright and Mommy is just being... Just... I'm so sorry, madam, I don't... Please, step back, I don't want a needle to graze you and I don't know if..."
One of the two older women – witches, Marnie thought, given the clothes they wore, and perhaps they'd know how to handle this, how to... – produced a wand that she delicately put against the pin cushion, stopping its shaking immediately.
The other witch kept her eyes on Victoria, something soft in her gaze.
"Try to sing her a lullaby. Something that would calm both you and her. Babies only do magic in response to a need that isn't met. Your daughter can feel your distress."
It took a few tries, but Marnie eventually managed to choke out a passable "Hushabye Mountain". Victoria quieted down, half-asleep.
Marnie kept whispering after that, between a sigh and her own work.
"Thank you. Is there something you are looking for?"
"Silver embroidery thread, and dark grey wool fabric. Given the quantity, we might have to order?"
As the adults arranged all that, the teenagers – and Juliet, sticking by Marianne and Harfang today – breathed a common sigh of relief. No one liked a crying baby.
Be it because of the sound itself or because it meant something was wrong for the baby.
Behind Orion and Dana who were eyeing the different buttonhole thread colors, the triplets started arguing – Hyades and Antares against Almaric, who had his hands stubbornly stuck in his pockets.
Antares muttered angrily at his brother:
"You have that... thing with you?"
Almaric huffed and dug his hands harder, gripping the round object of their disagreement.
"Well, it's not like I planned to take it on a transdimensional journey, but here we are."
Hyades gave him a deadpan look:
"Yeah, no, I think Ares is more upset because your damn experiment whacked him in the head last week and you promised you wouldn't walk around with it anymore."
Their brother pouted and mumbled.
"It's not like it broke your nose..."
"Oh right, it only almost did that, and Mom had you clean the bathroom alone because it was totally harmless fun, of course!"
"No need to be so pissy about it... Listen, I just have to step out for a moment, there are eighteen of us and no one will notice anything, they'll just assume I'm somewhere around the moment they see you two! I'll be back here before you know it."
Hyades threw a glance at their great-grandmother and aunt, but the adults were busy looking at fabric samples.
"1979, Almaric. Death Eater attacks, dark lord on the loose. I'm like half-convinced the whole crying thing the shopkeeper had going on is because something happened to her husband, and you want to just go out there alone?"
"Please, it's not a complete war zone either. We just took a stroll through the village, and you will all be one door away. I can scream if anything happens."
Both Hyades and Antares squinted at him, and Almaric had the distinct feeling they were doubting his honest and totally valid points.
Eventually, Ares shook his head, glared at his brother's pockets and scoffed.
"Fine. Go out there. Take care of your damned pet. And if anything, anything happens, you scream so loud Sirius will hear you all the way from the Auror Office. No, better, Dad will hear it all the way from 1994 in another timeline. And I don't care if you're not scared, you said 'anything'."
Almaric almost commented on the obvious lack of faith, but quickly decided to choose his battles.
"Great! See you in five minutes!"
And with those words, the boy slipped back into the street, his fingers already on the...
Fowlx Street was just a bit less empty than when they'd walked into Marnie's and the witch who was kneeling by the nearest alley – or rather, by Marnie's underground window – was definitely up to something, muttering to herself with her wand across her thighs.
Well, that, and not very aware of her surroundings, because she just... didn't register Almaric's presence until the teen stood right behind her and asked:
"What's down?"
The witch started, her fingers clenching ineffectively on the cherry wand that twitched out of her grasp and almost rolled to the ground before she could grab it by the wrong tip.
"What the he... What do you want, kid?"
Brown hair, the kind of haircut you forgot the moment it was out of your sight, and too thin to look truly healthy. Almaric had no idea who this was.
Which was often how you met new people, but the boy wasn't certain this particular encounter was anything he should pursue.
Of course, he didn't go back to the shop.
"I asked what's down. What's up, but down, because you're kneeling and looking into the shop's basement, so: what's down?"
The witch scowled.
"None of your business."
Almaric pursed his lips, took a good long look at the woman, the empty street, the shop and the window, and decided that if she'd truly been dangerous, she'd have cursed him away already – or she'd have at least tried to. He remembered the shaky grip on her wand.
"I could scream, get my family to come over as well as whatever patroller is doing the rounds in Oulwike today. Then you'd get to explain why you're staring down Marnie's windows after something happened to her husband."
The witch's face twitched unpleasantly, but she only threw a look behind Almaric and made a face.
"Maybe I should just hex you, then."
"Yeah? I'd still get to shout, though, and then you'd need to explain why you hexed me on top of why you're being a creep. Worse case, you kill me and I'm dead, but you still get caught."
"What the hell is wrong with you, kid? And the wife is a muggle you've barely met, I'm sure, why do you care if anything happens to her?"
If Almaric's voice sounded sarcastic in the next moments, it was absolutely not a coincidence:
"Oh, I don't know, I don't like it when people get hurt for no good reason"
The witch stared at him for a long time, then stood back up and rolled her eyes.
"I'm not going to do anything to the shopkeeper, kid. And about what you're implying? Don't really care either way. I've got better things to do with my time than harassing muggles."
Almaric was only half-convinced – which was the same as not at all, really.
"Uh uh. And I guess you're hanging out by the basement's window for kicks and giggles, right?"
"...You shouldn't have been able to notice me. Not one of you did when you walked into the shop. Faulty potion, and that crook knew what he was doing, I'm sure."
Look at that, one more confirmation that this woman was doing something shady here. People didn't just hide their presence for no reason – you could have good reasons or bad reasons, but you needed a reason to do that and the teenager got neither "law enforcement undercover" nor "surprise birthday party" vibes from this situation.
This could be the moment things went wrong, if the witch was either more dangerous than she looked, or stupider – possibly both.
While the witch dusted off her robes, a keen eye on Almaric and a thoughtful twist to her lips, the boy's fingers closed onto the round – slightly bigger than a dungbomb, much harder to the touch and still unfinished – form of the experiment that had so exasperated his siblings.
If needed, he could break this stranger's nose, right? Better than trying to get into a duel with only two years of school magic under his belt, honestly.
She tilted her head, pursed her lips...
"I can't let you remember this, real..."
...And didn't get to finish that sentence, as Almaric let out his mini-bludger prototype from his pocket – it zoomed right past the witch's ear, failing to properly knock her out, but still causing her to stagger on her feet.
Almaric: gets offended when Sirius says he can't trust them to behave on an outing
Also Almaric: "Let me sneak away real quick."
Almaric: promises to be careful and call for help if anything suspicious happens
Still Almaric: sees someone suspicious, confronts them, does not call for help