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Practically a Bloody Gryffindor


When they left Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Andy and Ermalene wandered through the shops of Diagon Alley and the streets branching off of it together. They visited Florish & Blott’s, and the ice cream parlor, and a vendor’s cart near the brick archway to the Leaky Cauldron. The vendor’s cart boasted an incredible assortment of tiny wizarding figures encased in little glass bell jars. Tiny dragons that seemed to breathe fire and little figures of famous Quidditch players and itty bitty Harry Potters with lightning bolt scars on their foreheads moved under the dome lids, looking around and waving their wands and broomsticks and tails up at the faces that peered down at them.

They walked down the streets of London after ducking back through the Leaky Cauldron. London was busy in the mid-afternoon, and they surrounded by muggles rushing home from work or else out for the evening on the town. As they followed a printed map Ermalene had brought from home to the orphanage where the Notts had found her so many years before, Andy let her navigate and simply followed her, pausing to point out things along the way. “There’s Big Ben,” he said, pointing to the clock tower.

“Did you know Big Ben is actually only the name of the bell inside, and not actually the clock tower itself?” Ermalene asked.

Andy laughed, “I hadn’t the faintest.”

“Most people don’t,” Ermalene supplied.

“C’mon then, Smarty,” he said and he led the way across the courtyard where a man stood drawing with chalk upon the sidewalk, creating pictures of indescribable detail that seemed to open up the very stones beneath their feet. “You can see the palace over this way…”

Ermalene hurried after him, “What do wizards care about the muggle royals?” she asked, hurrying after him.

“I just fancy the princess, of course,” Andy joked, grinning as she practically had to run to keep up with him. “Actually, it’s just interesting to see those muggle soldiers with their funny caps.”

“They’re called bearskins,” Ermalene huffed.

“Whatever they’re called,” Andy answered.

They came to the far end of the long park after quite a long run and Ermalene lowered herself against the fence they’d come to a stop at to catch her breath. Andy pressed his face to the iron rails that kept them from the palace. “Bloody cool, they are,” he appraised the British Guard that lined the castle walls within.

“D’ya know the Ministry of Magic appoints specially aurors each year to help protect the royal family?” he asked, glancing down at her.

Ermalene looked up, “Do they wear the bearskins, too?”

“How do you think they came up with something so ridiculous for a guard to wear?” he laughed, “The aurors had no idea how to dress like muggles, messed up and started a centuries-old tradition quite by accident.” He laughed, then, with a twinkle to his eye, asked, “Did I just know something that you didn’t know?”

Ermalene flushed. “I imagine you know a great deal of British Wizarding trivia that I don’t,” she said haughtily, “Seeing as you grew up here and all.”

Andy grinned. “That’s never stopped you before from knowing everything.”

“Are you done looking at the silly hats?” she asked, “Can we go find the orphanage now?”

He laughed, “Yeah, let’s go.”

Finally, after quite a bit more walking and a ride on the underground, they arrived to a narrow hedge-lined street. “Down here,” Ermalene said as they turned and walked down, past the long row of houses. She glanced up at the numbers by the letter holders attached to the doors until she came to the one she was looking for. Even compared to the rest of the street with it’s less-than-prime-conditions, the orphanage looked quite dingy with barred windows. She stood on the street in front of it, staring up at the numbers by the door.

“Is this it, then?” Andy asked, looking at the map, then back up at the numbers as well. “Lousy yard for children,” he noted, waving at a three-foot rectangle of a mostly-dead patch of grass.

Ermalene’s eyes traveled over the stoop, the green-painted door that ended in a weathered welcome mat and dark, shutter-covered windows. She felt as though air were being compressed in her lungs. She’d always thought she could not remember a moment of her time in the orphanage, but now that she was here, looking at the place, she felt flooded by memories she’d long forgotten.

Andy looked at her and his eyes pinched in concern, “Are you alright?” he asked.

Ermalene nodded numbly.

“You’re sure?”

She wasn’t sure. She looked around and saw a bench a few yards away and went over to it, settling herself down. Andy followed, the worry obvious in the lines of his face, the way the skin hung around his mouth and eyes. “Erma,” he said as he sat beside her, “It’s just an old house.”

“But look at it, Andy,” she said, “Who leaves their child in a place like that?”

Andy looked up at the house and squinted. “Maybe it wasn’t as shabby then,” he suggested. “Maybe it looked like a right nice place to live back then.”

Ermalene very much doubted it.

Andy squeezed her shoulder and Ermalene realized for the first time that he’d put his arm ‘round her at some point. “We can come another time,” he suggested. “We can go back to Shell Cottage for now. We don’t have to go in.”

Ermalene could feel tears pooling in the aqueducts of her eyes and she reached up one hand and swept at them. Andy looked around them, saw no muggles, and pulled his wand from his belt loop, swishing it through the air and producing a clean handkerchief, his initials sewn into the corner in bright green thread that matched his eyes exactly. AFW.

“Here,” he whispered. “Here, it’s okay. Take my hand, I’ll apparate us away.” He held out his palm for her free hand as she took the handkerchief.

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. She felt foolish, sitting on a street bench crying into her best friend’s handkerchief after having had such a lovely day seeing Diagon Alley and the walk through London to the orphanage. She looked up at the building and wondered at it, ashamed that something so run down could seem so menacing. “I feel so stupid,” she admitted.

“Stupid?” Andy said, “Stupid is the very last adjective in all of the world that I would ever use to describe you, Ermalene. Ever.”

“I am,” she said. “Stupid and cowardly.”

Andy shook his head, “You’re practically a bloody Gryffindor, aren’t you, though?” he said, “Look at you! You’re in London, Ermalene, all the way from a small town back in the States. You’ve come all this way. You’re not a coward.”

“But I’m afraid,” she replied.

“It isn’t brave if you aren’t scared,” Andy said.

Ermalene chuckled in spite of herself.

“Didn’t think I paid attention when you made me watch that terrible movie, did you now?” he asked, poking her side, “Right awful it was, but I remember that line.”

“That’s my favorite, don’t make fun,” she poked him back, still dabbing tears from her eyes with the handkerchief.

“It boggles me what a big deal muggles make of cinema,” he said, “Wizarding photographs have moved for centuries.”

“They tell stories,” Ermalene explained. “Like moving picture books more than they are photographs.”

“The ones with explosions are all right,” Andy said, “But the love ones are right boring.”

Ermalene laughed, “That’s only because you’ve never been in love before.”

Andy shrugged.

Ermalene took a deep breath, turning serious again, and looked up at the orphanage. “Okay,” she said finally, “Let’s go inside.”

“Okay.” Andy stood up and pulled her up beside him.

She held up the handkerchief before her. “Tergeo,” she said, siphoning it clean, and held it out to him, “There you are, nice and clean.”

Andy laughed, “You keep it,” he replied, “You never know when you might need me to be there for you for another good cry.” He smiled as she tucked the handkerchief into her pocket and followed as she led the way up the stairs into the tiny muggle orphanage.