Unbeknownst to Astra, she wasn't just accompanied on her journey by Clacker. She was being overseen by her own personal patron. Death was satisfied that his sentry, who was actually called Stefanus, was already looking after and guiding his Charge. It pained Death to see how lonely the girl felt, that her family had turned her back on her so thoroughly that she needed to flee. It angered him to a point that even the muggles felt a distinct eeriness in the air, being cautious as they went about their mornings.
He had been complacent in his looking after her welfare, trusting that in time the Dursleys would recognise her power and learn to respect their better in every way. But he underestimated the stupidity of mortals once more. Lady Magic was right, he was getting old if he was so attached to
a Child who would soon reach her potential and be his equal. He blamed his soft spot for the family on Ignotys Peverell, the wily chap.
He needed to alert his other sentry for her. And he had the perfect candidate in mind.
Despite the rocky start, Aster's journey to Diagon Alley with the navigation of a crow went alright in the end. Sure there were concerned looks at why a young girl was walking around in the middle of the night, catching buses, with nothing but a bag slung across her back. Which was kind of sad, to be honest, because everyone always says that adults, especially parents themselves, will always approach a child they worried was at risk. Maybe they sensed something about her, who knew?
It was maybe mid to late morning when Aster, with Clacker now on her shoulder, came to stand in front of a rundown pub, leaning to one side and its decor reminiscent of the Tudor style. It's powdery white walls were strangely clean despite the traffic of the city, both by foot and vehicular, the aged wooden beams were split in several places yet didn't appear to be at risk of collapse. It made for a quaint sight and Aster absolutely loved it.
Straightening her shoulders and throwing her head back in a bid to show confidence, Aster opened the door and strode into the pub, taking in the inside. It was lowly lit with what appeared to be gas lamps on the walls which were the same powdery plaster as its outside. Tables and benches were placed on the walls with a walkway clear from the door to the bar which was an old stained oak, with four stools along it. At the back of the room there was a rickety staircase leading upstairs and two fireplaces beside it with little jars on the mantel pieces along with a sign asking for a donation of three sickles to use.
The patrons of the pub itself was varied, there was a man with a turban muttering to himself and twitching in a back and darkened corner (note to self: avoid him), a man and woman both with shockingly bright ginger hair holding hands and slurping soup with great delight and a prim woman with her hair neatly made in a chignon and a green shawl across her shoulders, standing at the bar talking to the barkeep himself. A relatively stocky man with very little hair (just shave it, man, honestly), with a crooked cravat and a shirt that looked like it had better days.
Walking up to the bar, she felt the eyes of others following her, and the two at the bar itself stopped their conversation.
"Oi, what're you doing here by yourself? Where're your parents? You can't just go wandering about on your own. It ain't safe for a squirt like you." The stocky man said, placing his hands on the surface and leaning down to look at her.
"Um... I'm meant to be meeting my dad here. I'm a bit late, bus nearly didn't turn up. Is he here?" She widened her eyes to make her look innocent as she went on her tiptoes to see if she could spot this long dead man, who if turned up she wouldn't recognise and would likely be more than a little scared that magic could do such a thing.
"The hell is a bus? No, not the point. What's he look like then?"
Scrambling for an idea of a description she fumbled a bit to describe he was quite tall, lean and liked to wear tweed, but had shoulder length black hair.
"Nope, not seen a bloke like that, sorry." Well this was awkward. She hadn't thought of how to go from here after declaring waiting for a non existent parent.
The woman scrutinised her through slightly narrowed eyes, her brow slightly furrowing as she came to a decision.
"Don't worry Tom. He may already be in the Alley. I'll let her through. Not like anything will really happen when she's there. Come along miss." Her voice was soft, with a girlish quality to it in contrast to her old fashioned style.
With a farewell of "Right you are Em" from Tom, Aster followed the lady through a back door leading to a small yard with a couple of barrels. Wondering if she was slightly barmy, she watched as the woman named Em stared at the red brick wall before sliding out her wand from her sleeve and tapping a random pattern on it.
After giving a funny look, the wall began to rearrange itself into an arch, opening the way to a brightly coloured street with mismatch streets that had a tendency to lean like the pub. The noise of people clipping along the cobbled streets joined the sound of people yelling and laughter ringing, bringing together a cacophony of sheer joy.
"I'm sure your... dad...is at the bank. It's that big white building there, Gringrotts it's called. Don't stare at the Goblins. Keep safe and enjoy your day." With that suspicious and brusk tone Em melted into the crowd, leaving a gaping Aster in the archway which felt like it was trying to prod her away so it could close back up.
Shaking her head and amazement away, she rearranged herself to look blank and confident once again and pushed her way through the throng of people to go straight ahead to the big, white, marble looking building that dominated the scene. Once she got there, she took heed of the advice and avoided gawking at the small, hobbling creatures that hopped on to great big stools to stand at obscenely high podiums. Probably to make themselves intimidating, although they didn't need much help with their rather large and pointy noses and talon like fingernails. Writing must be a pain in the arse with those.
She picked a random Goblin who didn't appear to be overly busy and cleared her throat.
"Um, excuse me, sir. Can I have some help on, well, everything? I have no idea if I have an account."
The Goblin in question slowly leered over the edge, it's beetle like eyes leveling her a look of contempt, which confused Aster.
After a put upon sigh, he merely barked "Agnark!" then went back to whatever he was doing. Not thirty seconds later, another Goblin made his way over, wearing a smart vest with a chain as if he had a pocket watch but was attached to nothing. Peculiar, but you do you.
He made an impatient gesture for her to follow him, leading her through a door which lead to another opulent corridor with marble walls and doors, which was inlaid with gold filigree. Opening one of them, he waved her into the room, telling her to sit as he moved behind the desk.
Without prompting he proceeded to ask her a number of questions; her name, her date of birth, her parents names, and if she knew her blood status. After giving the information she knew, she informed him that she didn't even know what blood status meant, in which she got a blink from him before he told her in a bland tone.
"It pertains on how magical your blood is. There is pureblood, which is complete magical heritage as far as known, half-blood which means that you'll likely have a pureblood heritage along with either muggle or muggleborn ancestors. Although muggleborns are likely descended from squibs, people who were born without magic but from a magical family. A half-blood may also be part... creature" this was spat with a curl of his lip, "such as Veela, Giant, Goblin or other. Then there is muggleborn, which you Wizards believe just somehow pop up in a complete magic free heritage. But your stupidity would take longer to teach than I can be bothered with. Read a book.
"Now, since you've got no idea what you are by the look of your face, I'll do a Heritage Blood Test. All I need is three or seven drops of your blood, depending on how far back and thorough you wish to be. Most only do three as you horde blood like you do our things. What will it be?"
Blinking at the wave of information, and silently agreeing she'll need to obtain a book to fully understand what he just said, she decided she'd do the seven drops. She had spent all her life desperately wanting information on her family outside of the Dursleys and this was her chance. Apparently Agnark was somewhat appeased by this decision as he nodded and grunted in reply while he went off to gather what he needed.
After only five minutes he came back with an obsidian bowl, a wicked sharp silver knife that glinted in the light, a jar of glittering white powder and a jar of clear viscous looking liquid.
Clearing her throat, rather nervous at how her enquiry may be received she asked on what the ingredients were and what he was doing.
"This is ground moonstone powder, which was gathered at the new moon, this liquid is a form of a potion Wizards would call Veriterserum, although this is a Goblin trade secret recipe. I assume you know what a bowl and a knife is."
At her nod, she nervously asked further "Is this a Goblin practice then?" A nod from him. "Well, it seems very powerful. I know new moons are meant to represent new beginnings so this alone appears to be a wonderfully intuitive process." Flattery gets you everywhere, no matter what anyone says, and appeared to do the trick as he seemed to puff up his chest even more in acknowledgement.
Watching the ritual was fascinating, he lit a candle and bathed the knife in the flame before he poured the liquid into the bowl while murmuring in a foreign language before grabbing one of her fingers and knicking it with the knife. As the blood dripped into the bowl he levitated the jar of powder, slowly pouring it in simultaneously as well as chanting, the flame getting higher and a pot of purple dust she hadn't noticed already sitting on the desk before trickled in maybe two teaspoons worth before it all stopped.
Agnark pulled a piece of long parchment towards him and placed it inside the bowl, the gelatinous mixture seeping into the fibres and turning it grey before it snapped back to its original colour with writing the colour of her blood appearing.
He snatched it up, reading the contents, and if she hadn't been watching so closely she would have missed the slight uptick of his long eyebrows indicating surprise, and a quirk of his mouth that may mean pleasure. What the hell did it say for that reaction?
"Well Miss Potter...it appears there is a lot more to you than meets the eye." He passed the parchment over to her, and she couldn't help but be astonished at how just in depth this meant and the connections she had to this hidden world.
Aster Euphemia Potter
Born 31st July 1980 from Lord James Fleamont Potter and Lily Alice Potter nee Evans. Both deceased as of Samhain 1981
Heir to;
- House of Potter - no regent, five properties, Ancestral Home burned down. Trust Vault available in minority, Family Vault available when majority reached
- House of Black - named with no blood relation; seven properties, Ancestral Home inhabitable; current Lord incarcerated, no regent. Family Vault available in majority.
- House of Peverell - no regent, unclaimed for 500 years; three properties, Ancestral Home in hands of muggles. Family Vault available now.
Clan of Dylwythen - current Patriarch alive; three properties in hands of said Patriarch
Networth: 200, 000, 000 galleons, 900 knuts and 70 sickles
All she could think of was "Bloody hell" (if that was anything like muggle money, then she was richer than she could think possible).
"As you can see, Heir Peverell, you are well equipped for anything you wish. Here are your Heir Rings. They allow others to see your status and place in the social and political hierarchy." As she looked she could see three boxes, one was glittering silver or platinum with what appeared to be three ravens and a gauntlet, another which was a duller silver (though still polished) with a sword and ruby at the hilt and the final was a burnished silver, with an odd symbol of a triangle with a circle and a line through it. Out of all of them, that was her favourite.
"I'd recommend not wearing all three out in public, especially the Black ring - the platinum - as there are members of the Black family who would ... contest the validity of your inheritance. The Potter ring is the silver, which would be expected of you, and the burnished is the Peverell. This is one of the oldest lines I'm Wizarding history, although due to its previously unclaimed status for centuries, most would not recognise the coat of arms.
"By taking any, or all, of these three is to accept your heritage, vaults and networth, including the properties it entails. How do you wish to proceed?"
Bloody hell. Screw it, she'll take them all and take Agnark's advice of hiding the Black one, and wear the Potter one in view. She'll wear the Peverell just cause its unrecognisable and her favourite. Probably not why she should do it, but she almost felt compelled to, something drawing her in. It didn't help that Agnark was looking hungrily at it, likely due to its age (she dreaded to think what the interest on it would be, if there was such a thing) and Clacker also seemed excited at the appearance of it when she picked it up. Taking a deep breath she put them all on, the Peverell on her right pointer finger, the Potter on her right ring finger and the Black on her left middle before taking it off after a few seconds and putting it back in the box.
"Excellent. Now," he leered, "what do you intend to do about your accountancy?" Sodding hell, she could barely do long division, let alone finance. Only one thing for it.
"Are you able to look after my assets Mr Angnark?"
He pulled a face, "We don't go by such titles here Heir Peverell. We go by caste. I am Warlock Agnark, due to my work such as what we have done here today. However, only Goblins may use this."
"My apologies, sir. I didn't mean to offend. My question still stands though. Are you able to help?" Agnark leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of him, as he gazed at her before suddenly leaning forwards.
"Yes. We can come to an agreement. An elected Goblin can...oversee your accounts and, if wanted, make investments in which would be your favour. Of course, there would be a recurring fee for this." He grinned maliciously, sharp teeth bared.
"Well...can I ask you to be my accountant? You have a knowledge of my history, it appears, which I obviously do not. As for the fee, well I'm hardly strapped for, err, galleons?" Was that how you said it? Hoped so, she already felt like an utter idiot with her struggle to comprehend numbers - she wasn't entirely sure if she had millions as all the zeros kept jumping about in her vision, but she did know there were an awful lot of them. No matter, she seemed to have said the right thing as Agnark almost preened (if he was even capable of such an emotion) at her offer.
"I can certainly be your allocated Vault Keeper. There may be a time when I will need one of my brothers to assist in the upkeep. After all, I have other business to attend to. But, I'd use Griphook. He has looked after the Potter Vault for decades, even when your grandparents were still around." Cool, he's going to be a smarmy little git then with his knowledge of it. She didn't say this of course, she just nodded sagely, or at least that's what she was going for.
"I have a couple questions, if I can further impose on your time?" Keep milking the bootlicking, keep him sweet...ish. With a put upon sniff, he gestured her to continue.
"Is there a way for me to give you the fees now? Um, anyway I can get money from the...what was it? Ah, the Trust Vault for my school supplies etc? And, er, why do you keep calling me Heir Peverell and not Potter, if I may be so...rude?"
"I can transfer the fees immediately - just sign here. Heat the Potter and Peverell rings with the candle, yes like that, and press them to the line. Good.
"I can give you a book of sorts in which you scribble whatever amount of money you need, and the specified amount will appear to you. That will take time to make however as it needs to be enchanted to only your signature and chosen Vault. I can owl it ahead to you. In the meantime, take this pouch, its from your Trust and is similar to the book - however all you need to do is think and reach your hand in. I trust you can do that. Its not a secure method, but it was created by Wizards after all. But it'll do for now.
"As to your name. Peverell is the oldest names of your three, and instead of calling you Peverell-Black-Potter or even just Peverell-Potter as your blood lines, it's quicker to call you by the one. Of course if you wish Gringrotts will only call you thus in secure correspondence and meetings."
Well she asked for it. She just didn't expect another spewed lesson. At least the fees side of things was done, and the pouch was interesting. It was a silky black thing, about the size of her palm, with silver threading and string to secure it closed.
"Can I put things inside the pouch as well? Or does it just...disappear?"
"Of course it doesn't just disappear. You aren't Vanishing it. The item would be transferred to the Trust Vault, and if you wanted it again, you just think and grab."
"Right. Cool. Um. Yeah, so if we stick to the
Peverell thing between us, meaning Gringrotts and I, then that'd be appreciated. But um yeah. That was all I really wanted to know. Sooo thanks."
The Goblin just rolled his eyes, got up from his desk and then proceeded to rush her out of the room. As they were walking down the corridor, he gave her a side eye before sighing again.
"I'd recommend that you don't stay at the Leaky Cauldron. It has too many eyes and ears and seeing a Child such as yourself on your own would rouse suspicion. I'd recommend the Cloak and Wand Inn, down Raven Path Way. It's in between Ollivanders and the beauty shop. It's more circumspect, but will respect a Child such as yourself." With that, he turned around and disappeared back down the corridor, leaving her standing in the atrium of the bank.
Shrugging to herself, she walked out, nodding to the Goblins who were stationed at the doors, and walked into the sun. Shuffling about her bag, she dug out her school list and began scanning her surroundings to see where she needed to go.
She could see Madam Malkins, where moving mannequin were displaying school robes, across the way were two stationery shops, one being more popular than the other. When she looked she thought it likely because one was rather flashy and had all sorts of fancy feathers and things. She'll stick to the quieter one with the duller looking ones. She had never written with a quill or parchment and didn't want to ruin a whole load of them because she was writing with them wrong.
Instead of lugging around a whole load of things without anywhere to go, she decided to take Agnark's advice, scanning for a sign to show her to the correct street. When she found it, it was nearly deserted. There were still people littering the streets, however most appeared more than human; there were people with a blueish hue to their skin tones, folks with pointed ears, a chap with dreadlocks (so cool) that seemed to seamlessly be part of his skin, not to mention a few Goblins who stared at her suspiciously as she wound her way down, looking for the Inn, eyes following her as she went.
Once she found the Inn, it was strangely painted in forest colours, all intermingling to give the effect of dark pine trees and large oaks. As she stepped inside, all conversation stopped, and they all turned to look at her, and as one, seemed to sniff the air. More than a little creepy, but OK. The decor of the establishment continued with a forest theme, the tables and chairs seeming to be made of one piece of wood, vines making up the anchor points and. Green flames floated above the table surfaces and little shelves on the walls, yet didn't lend a green tint to the lighting of the room. There was one smaller fireplace to the side of the room which didn't seem to appear to have much use considering the dust on the floor around it.
The bar itself was another dark wood, maybe mahogany or cherry, a scene with carved figures dancing about on the inlaid rivers and mountains. There were two staircases, one leading down to a basement, and the other up to a landing, the banister yet again entwined wood, which appeared to lead to a small corridor above.
Clearing her throat, Aster straightened her spine, tried to raise an eyebrow (she could never really do it on purpose, she more looked vaguely surprised) before settling on a superior look before intoning a simple "Yes?" At the lot of the crowd, which gave the desired result of people turning back to their previous conversations and allowing her to walk to the bar.
"I'd like to have a room please." Best get straight to the point. If any of the books she had read before, the occupants of the room consistered possibly of fae, and she wished to get herself sorted before she did anything else.
The lady, who had her navy hair bound in a plait across her head and then shoulders, with milky grey eyes, stared at her before incling her head. She glanced at the man who stood beside her with a softly worded "mind the room", before she glided (no other word for it really) from behind the bar and up the stairs.
Aster followed her to the furthermost room on the corridor. It was lavish to be sure, but not ostentatious. The bedding was a chocolate brown, furs slung across the foot, a blanket box tucked against the footboard and a dresser against the back wall. A chaise lounge overlooked the room, facing the door to a balcony which gave view of the back courtyard filled with all kinds of magical flora. The adjoined
bathroom had the necessities, but the inset bath and shower itself were luxurious with copper accents.
"It's beautiful." Aster murmured, forgetting about the stranger beside her, who was taking in the awed look on her esteemed patrons face with glee.
"It's not much, the best we have. I am sorry we don't have more, for someone as treasured as yourself." Aster looked up, confused at the word choice. Was it because she was a witch who was choosing to stay here? No, that can't be right. If the Goblins were anything to go by, and the avoidance that the people in Diagon Alley went to were to be copied, establishments such as these would not welcome Witches and Wizards into their midst.
At her confused look, the lady continued in her softly lilting voice, "To house not only a Child of the Peverells, a most traditional ally of us Fae, but also an Heir to the Clan of Dylwythen is an honour I've not yet had. I freely give our hospitality to you, ungadh an bháis. If you wish for assistance, you may call me Sagina." The hell she call me? And there's that name again (which she just remembered she forgot to ask Agnark about, balls).
Knowing that she needed to answer, but also knowing that to give a Fae her actual name, whether first or middle, was not a Wise Move, she floundered until she picked a random name up. Probably not the best, but hey ho. "Err, you can call me Morrigan. If you want."
Sagina smiled, and if it wasn't for the fangs poking out, her face could be compared to an angel, or goddess. But, then again, all Fae were said to be made to lure people in. She couldn't help but wonder if the myths that this was a glamour was true. Not like she was going to ask though. She didn't want to become fairy food.
"How much do I owe you? I don't know how long I'm gonna be here either. Could be a few weeks. And is galleons OK or do you go by a different custom?" Best to ask that stuff out the way, Sagina seemed to be a chill one and she didn't want to offend someone by being a presumptuous twat.
"You owe us nothing. And we will not hold this as a debt. Your family is important to our way of life. Champions of the Fair Folk, if you will. But, to answer your question, galleons are accepted, we must if we intend to live amongst humans and mortals. Bartering is limited to few settlements and markets nowadays."
"Oh. Right, cool. Tha- wait no. Gotcha. Um. Sorry."
Sagina giggled, "You can thank us, ungadh an bháis, after all you are one of us." And with that cryptic message she bowed out the room. Actually bowed.
Throwing her bag on the bed, Aster pottered about, looking at all the crevices, before she went into the bathroom. Seeing the shower again, she grabbed a towel, and looked at all the bottles on the sides, choosing a honeysuckle and lilac shampoo and random body wash. Stepping in, the tiles immediately warmed to a toasty heat, the water immediately adjusted to the perfect temperature of near enough scalding her (she had only had brief cold showers at the Dursleys, once they had used all the hot water), and started to scrub herself clean.
She lost how long she was in there, but when she came out the mirror was completely steamed up, she herself was steaming, and her fingers pruned up. Slipping into the bedroom she dug out her nicest clothes, a faded pastel sun dress and an old white cardigan that was Aunt Petunia's before two small holes appeared. Grabbing the black silk pouch and Clacker on her shoulder, she walked out the room.
Taking a deep breath, she went to go downstairs, noticing with relief that nobody paid her any mind this time, even once she was in the middle of the room, allowing her to walk outside unhindered. Once there, she saw a glimpse of Diagon Alley and that it had seemed to triple the amount of people there, when an hour or so ago this area was quiet. Deciding against the main street, she decided to venture further into Raven Path Way.
The shops on the street here were vastly different to the Wizarding ones. They seemed almost darker in nature, yet nothing but peace seemed to float about the place. Seeing a store that appeared to sell clothes, Aster decided to go in.
It was what she always imagined a carnival fortune tellers tent would look like, with beads of sea glass strewn about on strings, colours of blues and purples dotted about the entirety of the shop.
Crystal lights fluttered, and sandlewood incense wafted in the air, curling different smoke shapes about. The man who stood behind the counter was of a rather short stature, although not near as short as a Goblin, had a riot of chestnut curls which had a fair amount of streaks of silver, and small horns peeking out of his mass of hair.
"Umm. Hello. Could you er, help me with getting some clothes please?" She bit her lip, wondering if she had put herself in some form of servitude for asking for help. Maybe she should have bought some books first on What Not To Do.
The man grinned, his eyes sparkling in merriment, "Yes! Yes, of course I can! It is an honour to help ungadh an bháis. Come, come here so that I may look at you."
Grabbing her hand, he dragged her to the back of the store and proceeded to unroll a piece of gossamer string which he used to measure her from head to toe.
"Hm. Your pale skin lends you to darker colours. But! Not too dark I think. You are not Death Himself. Greys suit you well, and greens of course for your eyes to sparkle!" Blimey he was hyper. He skipped and jumped about, trailing fabrics to her then tossing them away if he didn't like them. "Oh! I know! Blue! No, wait. Not blue, what are you saying? No! Navy! Indigo! Dark blues for you. Oh, and that yellow looks decent. I'll do a couple of those, not too many though. You're not a daffodil." And with that he whisked away behind a curtain, the sound of shears, pops and fizzles from within. Shrugging to herself, Aster decided to look at the wares already made and shown.
There were some interest designs, some clearly marked for certain creatures they were made for, which helped her a little in just what people liked. Goblins appeared to favour plain courdoroy-like material in black and charcoal waistcoats and trousers, Brownies appeared to be extremely small and use top hats and breeches in all shades of browns and cream tops. Kobold appeared to favour utility with dark leather trousers and thick shirts with leather straps, and there a few other bits and pieces which didn't seem to be really actively advertised for one race.
There were silver and gold trinkets, although bracelets and necklaces were the predominant products, with few bangles and even fewer rings. Ribbons were another common product in the shop, bundles of them all over the place. Braided two tone ones, meshed ribbons, leather, silk and twine were the most recurring.
She was examining some of the necklaces when the curtain was yanked aside and the shopkeeper toddled out with a towering pile of packages, already wrapped up.
"Come, come. Here are your clothes. Anything you don't like, just pass on to someone else, if not send back here. No I won't be offended, no! You staying at the Cloak and Wand? Good, good! I shall send them there and Sagina will place in your room. She is a good girl." He nodded to himself, as if she had said so instead. Noticing her holding three ribbons, his eye lit up (again) "You like those ribbons too? Take them, take them!!"
After paying, in which she was sure he undercharged, but she really had no idea, she left the store and wandered further down until she came across a rickety black front which simply had the name of Books and Scrolls. Nice and easy to remember at least.
Walking in, the door seemed to hit against an invisible chime as notes struck the air, but Aster was too busy making heart eyes and what she saw. Bookshelves lined the walls from ceiling to floor, crammed with all sorts of shapes and sized books, scrolls placed on their own separate side of the room. More shelving was in the middle of the room, and more books, tomes and scrolls on tables dotted about the place.
Walking forwards, she scoured the titles and any covers that looked interesting enough to check. Titles of foreign tales and concepts met her. When a Brownie Invites you for Cake, Social Nasties of Goblin Politics, Is Luring Children Worth It? and the odd sad titles like How to be Invisible in the Wizarding World or Loopholes in Laws to Sagefuard You and Yours which gave an uncomfortable realisation that she was correct; these people were shunned.
Clearing her throat, she took the Goblin politics book, one on social castes, history of Fae, and Etiquette for the Everyday Fae. Moving about she saw books on how Fae magic worked and the type of spells and enchantments and potions that they could create, and finally two innocuous small leather bound vellum books, crammed into an available space ... on the Peverells. Grabbing them she reverently placed them on top of her growing pile and toddled over to the counter where there suddenly was a small fellow sitting on there. After her jaunt in the clothes shop she deduced he must be a Brownie as his size fit and he wore a tartan top hat tipped to the side.
Grinning at her mischievously he dug through her books, taking out any old scrap pieces of parchment from their previous owners and rang up the total. As she dug her hand into the pouch, she watched as he snapped his fingers, wrapping them up in newspaper and twine in an instant, and after forking over the three galleons she owed, another snap of the fingers and she was told it was at the Cloak and Wand.
Nodding her head vaguely, she slipped out the door again and went to the store next door, not realising it was an animal store until a cacophony of sound assaulted her ears with hoots, barks, yowling...and was that a goat?!
Shaking her head, she decided to just ponder about, not wanting to just go in and leave right away. She saw the dogs and immediately went over, making cooing noises at all their little faces, until one of them transformed into aa feral menace, causing her to make way to the cats instead.
They were all rather chaotic, not the prim and reserved types that she saw on Privet Drive, but more like the ones Mrs Figg had. They jumped all over each other, batting at the fireflies that danced in front of them. Except for one, which sat away from the rest, loafing on a shelf up top and observing everything going on. It was a blue-grey colour, with the pattern of a tabby cat, and bright green eyes. It was absolutely stunning, and was even better when Clacker clacked his beak, the cat turned its gaze on to her, and jumped lightly down, circling and scenting her. As she bent down to scratch behind its ears, Clacker got down and perched next to it, poking the cat with his beak, which he in turn got a batted paw to his face.
Knowing that if she kept paying attention to the cat, she reluctantly turned away and went on a hunt for bird stuff, hoping to get Clacker some things so he could be comfortable. Well that was her plan, instead she had Clacker and his new friend bounding after her through the shop. She quickly found what she was looking for, and gave Clacker options on what he wanted (he had already proven himself to be sentient basically anyway), which turned out that he was pretty damn snooty.
He opted for the plush blue cushion with gold tassels, and an actual gilded cage with filigree on its bars (after she told him that she couldn't take him on the train unless he had a cage - which she would let him out of anyway), a ceramic bowl for food and an Ever Replenishing Water bowl which was also blue and gold. She snatched up some fancy treats and tripped her way to the counter, with a cat still twining between her legs.
Putting the stuff down, she rummaged inside her pouch, ready to fork over the extensive payment.
"'E likes you, don't he?" A hoarse voice asked, looking down at where the cat now laid on her still feet purring up a storm.
"Heh, yeah he seems to. Don't think I can get him though. I'll need to see if he'd be accepted by Clacker and the Inn I'm staying at." With a noncommittal hum, the shopkeeper announced the total, took the money, transported the goods and toddled off back to where he came from.
Extricating herself from the puddle of cat on her feet, Aster made her way to the door, murmuring to the fluffball that if he's allowed then she'll be back to get him. That seemed to satisfy him as he sat back and narrowed his eyes at her in a fantastic feline rendition of you better.
Contemplating on her luck at coming across and somehow immediately bonding with two weirdly sentient animals within a week, she slipped out the door.
Realising that it was already dusk, and not wanting to be out in a strange place in the dark, as Aunt Petunia did instil that in her, she made her way back to the Inn, finding an obscure table by a lit hearth, playing with the green flames as she waited for her food to arrive after ordering the vegetable broth and roast sandwich. She figured after barely having anything to eat the past forty eight hours, and lack of a diet for her entire life, she best stick to simple faire.
When it arrived, they both came at the same time, the bowl of soup accompanied by a hunk of warmed bread and the sandwich was definitely a meal unto itself. Two slabs of bread just about held thick slices of roast beef, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and some form of dressing which she would call nectar, if she wasn't currently sitting in a Fae establishment.
It took her two hours to finish the meal, savouring each morsel of food, her stomach protesting at the sudden amount of nourishing food. She was ushered up the stairs by Sagina who ran her bath and pulled out a nightdress from somewhere before she fluttered out the door.
Once bathed she crawled into the massive bed, Clacker nestling into his new cushion and as she thought she didn't turn off the lights, they dimmed into nothing, sending her to sleep.
In her dreams she met the two figures who would frequently come to see her throughout her childhood, along with Clacker and the cat from earlier on in the day.
You've exhausted yourself, my love. The feminine entity gently chastised, carding her ghostly fingers through her hair, cupping her cheek lovingly as her amethyst eyes scanned her. You have done well though. You have begun to find where you belong. Things are now in motion for you to come home, to know your family and the magics that you wield. But be careful, she frowned, there are many who would discount you for your heritage, and abuse you for your power. There will be few who you will be able to trust. But I'll always be near to you, as I always have been, and will forever now.
The cloaked figure behind the motherly woman, drifted forwards, his hood shadowing his face as usual, his sleeves trailing on the floor.
You are protected, but take heed of Mother's warning. You will come into your inheritance, perhaps sooner than expected, and although brings independence, it will bring its own peril. But know this, Child, you are protected, you are wanted and you are loved. Now, take this with you he intoned before he bent down and picked up the cat with great care, his sleeves barely moving down with how voluminous they were. He gently placed the cat before placing a cold hand on the side of her head and cheek where her scar, from who knew where, tingled. Mother walked to his side and as one they moved to kiss her on the forehead, waking her up.
She blinked her eyes open, looking to the window where the curtains moved independently and silently open, showing the sun just peeking over the horizon, bathing the room in a golden glow. As she moved her eyes open, she half expected the cat to have turned up in the room while she slept. In those dreams things like that always happened, either Mother or the Nameless (she called him as he refused to answer to anything) things that were shown would turn up in the waking world. Small things usually, but the biggest was when she wished someone could be in the cupboard with her, both figures looked at one another and declared she would have a companion, and Nameless opened his sleeve and drew out a spider. When she woke up, Eddy was there when he hadn't before. She knew he was the same spider as he had a weird jittery walk, one leg slightly crooked. Either way, if they could magic one small spider into being, why not compel an already existing cat to be where she was.
But there was no cat, just Clacker preening himself on his cushion.
Shaking her head and the disappointment away, Aster got up and ready for the day. She was going to venture into the Wizarding sector for her actual school items. Books and Scrolls didn't have her textbooks sadly.
Skipping down the stairs she waved to Sagina, declined breakfast, advised that she may be in and out as she had to go to Diagon Alley for Hogwarts stuff. Sagina nodded before holding up a finger and dashing off before coming back with a crocheted bag and held it out to her.
"It is enchanted so that it can hold an endless amount of things without weight. Saves you endless to and froing." She smiled shyly, "I made it myself." She whispered.
Grinning up at her and the neat handiwork, Aster thanked her, told her how amazing it was and made her way out, ready to tackle the hubbub of Diagon Alley.