The Music of Minstrel

(Dis/Claimer): I do not own any of the canon Harry Potter characters nor the world in which they reside; Harry Potter is the creation of J. K. Rowling, and she is welcome to him. On the other hand, this painstaking reconstruction of "background events" starting from the Marauder's Era is entirely of my own making. I did the research to make it as canon as possible, while keeping a certain logic, only adjusting some details to make things jell better. However, this is NOT Harry's story at all. If you are looking for things that have a relation to the plot of the actual Harry Potter series, kindly turn elsewhere. However, if you are looking for something extremely long to read, carry on. Thank you.

The Music of Minstrel

Diagon Alley

Minstrel looked around in wonder at the first purely-magical locale she had ever been in. Despite having grown up in a magical household, most things around her were new to her; the magic she was used to was more integrated into national culture and not so much set apart as it was here, in Diagon Alley. She immediately zoned towards Magical Menagerie, which had a display of cats, rabbits, turtles, toads, hamsters, rats, Fire-crabs, and Puffskeins in different shapes and sizes. She turned beseeching violet eyes to her parents. "I want a cat," she said. "I don't know, Minstrel, we were planning to get you an owl to send us letters," Alain said, pointing to Eeylops Owl Emporium. Minstrel pouted and batted her eyelids, making her father laugh. "Oh fine, I'll get you a cat too," he said. "But you're taking an owl to Hogwarts, alright? Now, hang on a minute... I have to get my money changed over at Gringotts..."

Minstrel knew what Gringotts was. In the months since she'd found out that she was adopted, she'd wheedled out as much information about Britain's wizarding world as she could from her parents, and had even managed to locate an old copy of Hogwarts, A History from Alain's crates of books. So she happily tagged along with her father as he got himself a pouchful of Galleons, and then dragged him back to the pet shops. After around half an hour, Minstrel had a steel gray Chartreux kitten, while her father held a cage in which was perched a handsome Northern Hawk owl. "I'll name him Graal, after the Holy Grail," Minstrel told Alain. "And this one can be... um... Emrys. After Merlin," she said, nuzzling the kitten. Alain smiled at his daughter's enthusiasm. She had always been fond of animals; he had had a rather hard time keeping her from buying a couple of rabbits and a hamster as well. But she was a responsible child and he was sure she'd take good care of her pets. "Let's go get you a wand," he said. "Personally I'd prefer a rune staff or something similar, but as it's part of your required school supplies..." His violet eyes scanned the shops on either side of the street before alighting on one. "Ah, there it is, Ollivander's. Come, Minstrel; we can go get your books from Flourish and Blotts right after." Minstrel's eyes glittered happily. Animals and books; they were some of the things she was fondest of. "Wand, then," she said, wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible.

*

Ollivander's wand shop was an asthmatic's nightmare. As soon as she stepped into the dusty, musty interior, Minstrel started sneezing uncontrollably. Her nose twitched in irritation. But at the same time, the organic woodsy scent of the boxes and of the wands was very similar to the scent of old books - something to which Minstrel was not only used, but was positively attracted. As soon as she stopped sneezing, therefore, she eagerly set to exploring the place, her sensitive nose inquisitively leading the way and her myopic eyes a brilliant violet behind her glasses.

She came to a stop some distance away from two handsome, dark-haired boys, who seemed quite uncomfortable and displeased with each other. Feeling discomfited herself, Minstrel tried not to seem as if she were eavesdropping on the rather loud discussion they were having. "Hurry up and pick a wand, why don't you," the elder complained, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his red-and-gold scarf around his neck, as if staying with his brother was disturbing him so much. The other boy, who was holding a wand in his left hand, scowled. "Busy, aren't you, Sirius?" he sneered. "I really dunno why you insisted on taking me today, I'd have preferred going with Mother."

"Smart boy, Regulus," the boy named Sirius said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. "So I'm supposed to meet James and Remus today, alright? You know full well Mother won't let me out anywhere anymore, unless I take you with me."

Regulus did not reply to his brother, but a small smile curved his lips at those words. He put down the wand he was holding and picked up another one from the array on the table before him. It emitted several sparks (to Minstrel's surprise); and when Regulus flicked it randomly around, a nearby vase turned into a toad. He grinned and pointed his wand at his brother's hat.

"Now, that's quite enough," a gentle, gravelly old voice said as a wizened hand intercepted the wand before it could do anything to the endangered hat. "I'm glad you've found a most suitable wand, Master Regulus, but it would be best if you practiced on something other than your brother's clothes. We wouldn't want to have to see Master Sirius naked, now, would we?"

The boy laughed, even as his older brother frowned and turned faintly scarlet. "How much for the wand?" Sirius asked.

"Well, it's 12 inches of beech, maple handle, somewhat brittle, with a core of unicorn hair..." Ollivander paused a moment, as if mentally calculating. "14 Galleons, 12 Sickles, and 23 Knuts," he concluded. As Sirius counted out coins from his money pouch, the old man asked him, "And you, Sirius? 15 inches, rowan and oak, surprisingly flexible, core of dragon heartstring; bought two years and three days ago, precisely. How are you treating each other?"

"Rather well, thank you," Sirius answered in a tight voice. He steered his brother by the shoulder and led him out of the shop, not even bothering to acknowledge the presence of Minstrel and her father. Minstrel gave a small sigh of relief. She had never before seen such an unpleasant, cold-seeming boy, and she was glad he had gone on his way. She approached the old man. "I would like to get a wand, please, sir," she said. Ollivander looked her over, analyzing her, though not in an unkind way. "But of course, child," he said. "Don't be bothered by the young Masters Black. They've simply got issues." He tsk-tsk'ed a bit, muttering to himself. "More similar than they admit. Imagine both being chosen by two of the few double-wooded wands I've made..." He bustled off, clearing away the wands which Regulus had been choosing from and instead setting out a new pile of wands which he selected from the shelves with quick, decisive jerks. "I'm Ollivander, by the way," he said, opening one of the boxes and holding out its contents to Minstrel.

As Minstrel reached out to take the wand, however, Ollivander jerked his hand back. He looked at her again as if trying to remember something. After a moment he looked Alain over critically. "Is that your father over there?" Ollivander asked Minstrel, who nodded. "I thought so," the old man mused, "you've got his eyes. But for a moment there you reminded me of someone else. Apple, her wand was, ten inches flat, with a unicorn-hair core that was rather useful for most charms but awful for medicinal or household magic. Her name was Calypso Prince, and she married a man named Evermoor. Heard they'd died in a fire years ago, though." Unaware that he'd just given Minstrel the shock of her life, Ollivander shrugged and offered her the wand again. "Try this. Yew, pleasantly springy, ten and three-quarters of an inch, phoenix feather core."

Minstrel picked up the wand, not knowing quite what to expect. Immediately, however, the wand shot out a stream of water. "What, already?" Ollivander asked, clearly surprised. "Most customers take at least three tries. Very well then, let's get that wrapped up for you..."

But Minstrel had already set down the wand, her eyes on the other wands laid out on the table. Her hand skimmed over another; it sent out a cloud of powder. Ollivander looked confused for a moment. But as Minstrel's hands passed each wand, they all responded positively in some manner, and gradually the old man's expression changed from confusion to wonder and then to delight. "Why, you're one in a thousand!" He declared, apprising the small girl. "You just might become a good wand maker someday, the way you seem to attract all wands!" Minstrel smiled at the old man's praise. Yes, the wands all seemed to like her; she could feel that much. Bet there were two, in particular, that seemed to dance for her, and it was these two that she at last spent the most time hovering over.

Finally she chose one, and held it out to Ollivander. "I'll take this, please," she said.

The old man nodded seriously, but he had a mildly surprised expression on his face. "I thought you would take the birch," he said. "It seemed made for you; I'm sure it would have made you happy. Why are you buying willow? It's a sad wood."

The girl seemed to contemplate her answer. Finally, she said, "It felt... best."

Ollivander nodded in understanding. Sometimes, even the most perfect logical fit would lose out in matters of the heart. What mattered was that each chose the other. "Willow, 13 inches, phoenix-feather core; a good wand for female power, increases the sense of intuition and communication," he said, beginning to wrap the wand in tissue.

"A moment, please," Alain said suddenly, stepping up. "I would like to request something of you, Mr. Ollivander."

"Go on," the wand-maker said.

"I would like you to inscribe the wand with a bind-rune."

At this the old man's eyebrows shot up. He focused a shrewd, suddenly narrowed and calculating stare on the tall, thin man with light brown hair and violet eyes. "You are a scholar of wand-lore?" he said sharply.

Alain smiled and waved the sudden sharpness aside. "No, merely a student of rune-magic," he said. "I know nothing of wands save that they may be imbued with certain attributes depending on the runes inscribed on them by their maker."

Ollivander gave a tacit nod, as if to accept this explanation, but his suspicious look remained. "What would you have me engrave upon the wand, Mr...?"

"Lehman," Alain replied, supplying his name automatically. "I am Alain Lehman, and this is my daughter Minstrel."

"That is not a name I have heard around here before," the old man said, still suspicious. "And I know most, if not all, of the wizarding folk in Britain. I am the best supplier of wands around, and anybody with sense goes to me."

"Oh, we're not from around here," Alain said. He refrained from adding any more information; this old man was too shrewd. It occurred to Alain that he did not wish to have Ollivander know that, contrary to what he took to be physical proof of descent, Minstrel's having violet eyes like Alain's was mere coincidence. Instead, he parried the wand-maker's interest by drawing his own wand and using it to draw a glowing red-orange sigil in the air, like a three-pronged Y with a lightning bolt on its stem.

"Elhaz-Sigel," the wand-maker read. "A protective force as signified by the Elk, and a beacon of truth which is the Sun. This is strong protection you wish to impart upon your daughter through her wand. What makes you think she would have need of it?"

Alain seemed to consider his answer. "She didn't choose the birch," he said. "It is, I think, what she was born for; but she would rather choose her own path. I fear it might be a difficult one for her, and I shall not always be there to protect her."

Ollivander nodded and turned his attention to the willow wand. Yes; that was how it was. He knew that the tall man was no mere student of rune-lore if he had picked up on the meaning of his daughter's chosen wand. He could certainly understand the man's worry. No; what Ollivander could not understand was - he told himself as he took out the miniature diamond-tipped borer he used for the rare occasions that he was asked to imbue objects - why wasn't Lehman doing the imbuing himself? Surely he knew that blood-protection would be as strong or even stronger than the protection afforded by the wand-maker? If he was so concerned about his little girl... Did he think himself in such danger that his protection would break earlier than expected? Or...

Ollivander finished inscribing a spiral of tiny bind-runes across and around the wand handle. He blew away wood-dust from the tip of his borer and wiped the wand clean with a bit of lint-free flannel. He quickly wrapped the wand, packed it in a box, accepted the fifteen Galleons he had charged for it, and handed it to the little girl. Minstrel and her father left the wand right after saying a profusion of polite thanks. Ollivander continued to watch them until they disappeared from his view. Lehman. And... perhaps... Calypso Evermoor's daughter?

*

Minstrel thoroughly enjoyed shopping at Flourish and Blott's; but it being a book store, perhaps few people would have as much interest in it as she (not everyone being such a bibliophile), and so most of her waxing poetic about the book-covers, parchment, and paper shall be glossed over. Suffice it to say that by the time she and Alain exited the shop a few hours later, Minstrel was the proud owner not just of new copies of her schoolbooks, but a personal copy of Hogwarts, A History (which she had made Alain promise to illuminate); the seventeen-volume hardbound set of Lexicon's Encyclopedie Mago; and an ornate bejeweled copy of The Original Brothers Grimm, as well as a firm desire to visit Whizz Hard and Obscurus, both publishing houses which she had heard were located in Diagon Alley. Alain himself had bought a new glossary of Celtic Runes (his own having fallen apart from age earlier in the week), a compendium of Old Dwarvish and High-Elvish Runic Scripts (which were no longer used, both races having long disappeared and leaving only their weaker and far less-comely distant cousins, Goblins and House-Elves, behind), and a copy of Newt Scamander's Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which he intended to give to Lucita. He felt his moke-skin moneybag; it was considerably lighter, but he knew there would be enough for the rest of the things they needed to buy. He had expected this shopping spree, knowing his daughter as he did, and so had budgeted for it. They were not a rich family, but Minstrel had never wanted for anything. Nor had her parents ever denied her any reasonable thing she'd asked for; as she'd generally asked for books, art supplies, or pets, and not much else beyond that, being a remarkably content child, they saw no reason to curtail her wants. The only times they'd ever drawn the line was when she'd asked for a tiger, a giant panda, and a polar bear.

Likewise, the time spent on the fittings and frippery at Twilfit and Tattings shall be glossed over, though for the completely opposite reason: Minstrel just had no interest in the stuff. Although Twilfit and Tatting's was an upscale clothing shop and most of Minstrel's clothes were especially tailored for her in similar establishments, Minstrel did not care overmuch for her clothes. She would generally just wear the things set out for her by either Alain or Lucita. Alain smiled fondly as he thought of how his wife would cluck at his daughter for having spoiled yet another suit of clothes while playing out in the mud; yet, despite all the trouble she went through to dress Minstrel, Lucita staunchly maintained that the girl was just too young and would eventually develop an appreciation for fashion. Perhaps this would be the case later; but for the moment, they left the couturier's rather quickly, bearing the required three new plain black work robes, two extras, a silver-lined winter cloak (which were engraved with castles on the fastenings, sparking the only bit of interest Minstrel had shown), two pairs of dragon-hide gloves, and three pointed black hats.

"I need potions stuff next, Papa," Minstrel said as they walked down the alley, after checking her list. The pair veered towards Slug and Jiggers' Apothecary and entered the revolving door. The first thing Minstrel noticed was that the happy wind chimes on the door caused an incongruity to the dusk of the interior; there was a strange smell about the place, partly sulfurous like rotten eggs, partly like spoiled cabbages, partly sickly sweet and clinging. Next, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she noticed that they were standing in an old-fashioned pharmacy with lots of glass jars with various contents lining the walls. Many different things - feathers, fangs, claws, strung-up roots and fruits, bundled leaves or dried stalks and flower umbels - hung from the ceiling; and boxes, drums, and barrels full of powders or grains and whatnot stood in rows on the floor, each with a price and a scoop stuck into the mound of its contents. Shelves and shelves of more things disappeared into the shadows, tightly-packed and forbidding. Several rusty measuring scales stood on the counter next to an old stone gargoyle. There was nobody there.

She marched up to the counter, where what seemed to be an old-fashioned announcer's microphone stood in the center. "One standard size two pewter cauldron, please, and a ladle and a basic potioneer's kit," she said into the mouthpiece, which seemed to be set there for just that purpose. True enough, a disembodied voice thundered out from (she supposed) the back room: "We don't sell cauldrons here. For the rest, aisle seven!" But there didn't seem to be much of a difference between the shelves, at least to Minstrel's eyes; certainly there were none of the friendly Muggle-store labels stating what were to be found in each aisle. She and Alain stood there, bewildered, quite unsure where to begin their search and looking positively lost.

At that moment the door of the shop opened, making the wind chimes tinkle, and a pretty red-haired girl a couple of years older than Minstrel sailed in, closely followed by a sallow-skinned boy with a curtain of black hair falling over and framing his face, which he nervously tucked behind his ear. Both of them had lists out, and they calmly and efficiently went straight for separate racks and began to rummage through them. After a while the red-haired girl noticed that Alain and Minstrel still hadn't moved towards the chaotic ramble of potions ingredients, and that both were wearing rather dumbstruck expressions on their faces. Her eyes flicked over the parcels surrounding them, the caged owl, the kitten asleep in its carrying basket; she smiled and came over. "Are you starting Hogwarts?" she asked. Minstrel nodded. The red-head beamed. "That's great! Severus and I are from Hogwarts too, we're starting our third year. My name's Lily."

She held out her hand. After a moment, Minstrel took it. "I'm Minstrel," she said. Lily smiled kindly at her, then looked up at Alain. "May I borrow your daughter for a while, please, Sir? I'll help her get her ingredients, Severus and I know where everything is." Alain could only nod. Minstrel followed Lily into the glass-and-powder jungle; the older girl did, indeed, seem to know exactly where she was going.

If, for some reason, everything had seemed confusing and jumbled when she had first entered, now, looking at everything she passed while Lily excitedly pointed things out and spouted little tidbits of information about them (" - that's Knotgrass over there, you use it for Shrinking Solutions, and that's Fluxweed for changing shape; over there, that's henbane - and that's aconite, also known as monkshood or wolfsbane - see that bunch of yellow flowers? That's asphodel, useful for Sleeping Draughts..."), it all began to look fascinating and even friendly. Minstrel noticed that either the rotten-egg smell was not so strong here among the shelves, or it simply wasn't bothering her as much any more; she was starting to notice other, different smells, like that freshness of mint, the sweet bitterness of orange peels, the spiciness of cloves, the sharp pungency she was sure was ginger. She also began to feel the same itch to explore that she usually got in libraries or book stores. After a while, they went down an aisle and then paused; Lily took down what seemed to be a broken ladle from the shelf and handed it to Minstrel. "This ought to work for a standard-size two," she said. "It would only contain at most two liters of potion." Seeing that the little girl seemed doubtful, Lily called attention to several small hinges on the "broken" edge of the handle; she laid it open and had a "whole" handle in a jiffy. "It's foldable for easy storage, just fits into your cauldron," she informed Minstrel. "It's also Impervious, won't get dirty no matter what you stick it in."

She took Minstrel by the hand that wasn't holding the ladle and continued to guide her along. As they turned the corner, they met the nervous, dark-haired boy as he knelt on one knee, trying to extricate a box that had seemingly glued itself onto the shelf that held it. Lily took one look at the boy, with his sticky, grimy hands, and sighed. "Oh, really," she said, kneeling down as well and tugging at the box. "I keep saying that the doxy eggs oughtn't be stored on the bottom shelves, too many people bump into them and smash them, and then they get all sticky..."

Together, Lily and the boy finally managed to extract the box of doxy eggs from the shelf. The boy immediately opened the box and gave a sigh of relief when he found several of the small, dark eggs still intact. "Most people don't care if they're smashed, you know," Lily told Minstrel, "because potion-books require only the shells. But Severus prefers to use them whole; and I must say, he's a brilliant potioneer. His potions work much better than anything I've ever seen."

"So do yours," the boy named Severus mumbled, turning his face away; his fingers fumbled at the eggs he held, and Minstrel could have sworn that she saw him blushing. She smiled slightly. He was cute, the way he was so painfully shy; she found herself liking him. "I'm Minstrel," she said, taking hold of the box of doxy eggs and poking among it for more whole eggs. The boy looked surprised at her suddenly kneeling beside him with all the airs of trying to be helpful. (For one thing, he noted, Minstrel was dressed in a silk blouse and a thick cashmere jumpsuit, and her bronze-buckled Mary Janes were shining patent leather; meanwhile, Lily was dressed in a typically pretty but simple linen dress of Muggle style, and he was wearing scruffy denim jeans, an overlarge cotton shirt, and old sneakers. And the floor was dusty, not something to be wiping with cashmere.) His eyes darted towards Lily, who smiled; he gave a small smile, too. "My name is Severus," he replied to Minstrel.

"She was looking for a basic potioneer's kit," Lily supplied helpfully, flitting among the shelves and picking up a bunch of hairs here, a corked bottle over there.

"Was she?" Severus asked. He turned to the dark head of hair, still bent in concentration over the box of doxy eggs. "I was," the head said, not looking up. "I can go make one up for you," Severus found himself offering, half to his own surprise.

"Knew you had it in you," Lily said seriously, although her green eyes were twinkling in merriment as she handed Severus a leather-covered, compartmentalized wooden box. Together, they began to fill the box with the basic supplies a freshman at Hogwarts would need, plus some more items they felt might come in useful: powdered dragon blood, spine of lionfish, black beetle eyes, essence of dittany, scarabs, monkshood, poppy seeds, boomslang skin, unicorn horn, gillyweed, a bezoar, peppermint leaves. They also added two sets of stoppered crystal vials, a set of corked glass test tubes and one of miniature glass bottles, a ceramic mortar and pestle, a silver knife, and a wooden chopping board that just fit into the cover of the box. After a while, the kit was as complete as it could get within the apothecary; Lily handed it to Severus and with a look, sent him over to Minstrel bearing the box.

"Here you go," Severus said, standing uncertainly in front of the girl who by then had a small mountain of entire doxy eggs beside her. Minstrel looked up and took the box with an appreciative "Thank you."

Severus nearly dropped the box. She had violet eyes - violet eyes that tilted up at the corners and seemed to reach out to him from an old photograph, right out of a time he had never forgotten: a childhood which was happy, when Tobias Snape had not known that his wife was a witch and that their son had inherited her abilities. He had been, more or less, a "normal" little boy then, enjoying quality time with his father on Sunday afternoons, looking forward to perhaps seeing a little red-haired girl on the swings and then going to his aunt's house for dinner. When Calypso Evermoor had died in a fire along with her husband (their little daughter's corpse was never found, but it was believed that she had burned to death with them), the depression of her only sister was so great that it broke her. Eileen lost control of her magic, and the subsequent emotional and magical fluctuations caused Severus's own abilities to take effect in a much more dramatic and obvious manner than they ever had before.

Tobias could no longer ignore the strange things his wife and son were doing. There was nobody who could explain to him, nobody he would listen to. Bewildered, hurt, frightened and furious, he began to abuse Eileen and Severus, perhaps thinking that he could physically beat out the magic from them. Eileen, who, treated with love and consideration, would have regained her control over her magic in a few months, but instead was driven further and further into a funk by the abuse of her husband, had succumbed to the beatings after a few years. Severus meanwhile learned to protect himself by means of potions and spells; he also developed a foul mouth to match the foul temper he used against his father, and the curses he knew were not only those that produced magical effects but those that hurt even deeper, by scarring emotions and maligning souls. The neighborhood heard these not-so-subtle family tiffs, of course, and the neighbors made sure to leave a wide swath around father or son whenever either left the house. Severus's only respite were the more-or-less weekly visits of the Evans girls, one blonde and one red-headed, who came over after church service and played with him at the public park. Or rather, the younger, red-headed Lily, did; the older one, Petunia, heard the rumors and believed them, and always looked at Severus with suspicion or spite, just like the rest of the neighbors did. He knew she only stayed to watch over her sister, whom she probably thought she could protect from him.

As time passed by, Severus got used to being treated so coldly; he got used to having Petunia around, glaring at him as if she were jealous of the attention Lily was paying him rather than spending time with her; and he got used to having just one friend, his best friend, always the only person who would tirelessly stick up for him during fights and would put bandages on him if accidents happened. Even after he told her she was a witch too, and the subsequent quarrel with Petunia had not been pretty - Lily had not talked with him for weeks after she received her Hogwarts letter, because Petunia had gotten angry at Lily for leaving her behind (and somehow he, Severus Snape, got blamed for that) - Lily was still his best friend, and most times the one bright spot in his life.

Nevertheless, Severus had never quite given up hoping that, despite all odds, his cousin might have survived the fire and would return. He continued to hope long after he realized that even if she should return, it would neither turn back the time nor make everything all right...

"Hey, what's wrong?" Minstrel asked, concerned. She had taken the wooden box from Severus' s nerveless fingers and set it aside; she was looking up at him as if she were about to put her small hand to his forehead to check his temperature. Severus gave himself a mental shake and drew away. Dreams! He told himself firmly. Just a coincidence. Nimue Evermoor is dead.

"Nothing's wrong," he said, picking up the wooden box again, closing it, and buckling the two belt straps that would lock it. He gave the finished kit to Minstrel, who took it again, but did not look convinced that he was indeed alright. "I'm fine," Severus insisted; "I just remembered that we haven't told you where to buy a cauldron and scales - get them from Stopper For Good Measure, just behind the Leaky. Now come, I'll show you how you pay for things here."

He led her to the front counter, where Alain was waiting. "Is that your father?" Severus asked Minstrel, wanting some substantive proof that he was only dreaming that perhaps his cousin had really come back from the dead. "Yes, that's Papa," Minstrel replied. Severus nodded. That was that, then. Even from a distance he could see that the man had violet eyes as well. So, obviously, that was where she had inherited her disturbingly familiar eyes from. She could not be Nimue!

Severus showed Minstrel a chute on one side of the counter, where he dropped the locked potions kit; a multitude of tiny, grasping hands reached out and passed the parcel down. Next he led Minstrel to the old stone gargoyle; its mouth was open, and a hole gaped in its stomach. After a moment, a rolled slip of paper shot out of the gargoyle's mouth. "37 G/ 16 S/ 3 K," Minstrel read out. She scampered to Alain and returned with the correct amount of coins. "Put it into the gargoyle's mouth," Severus instructed. Minstrel did; the gargoyle closed its mouth upon the coins and swallowed; moments later, more miniature hands bore her locked potions-kit out of the hole in the gargoyle's abdomen. She quickly took her kit and opened it to check for damage or missing items; there was none. "That's amazing," she said. Severus gave a small smile. "What if I don't give the correct amount of change, though?" Minstrel next wanted to know.

Another slip of paper flew out of the gargoyle's mouth as if in reply, and Lily came over to pick it up. "Fifteen Sickles for your doxy eggs, Sev, cough up," she said cheerfully. After a moment's search in his pockets Severus showed Minstrel a large gold coin - a Galleon, worth 17 Sickles - and put it in the gargoyle's mouth. The package of doxy eggs came out, and the gargoyle's mouth, when it next opened, contained two shining silver Sickles. "That's what happens when you put too much in," Severus said, "and to answer your next question, it won't close its mouth until you put enough money in."

A third slip of paper flew out of the gargoyle's mouth, and Lily paid for her own supplies. She picked up her package. "Well, we're all done here," she said. "What about you? Got another stop?"

"I've got to get a cauldron and scales - Severus already told me where - and then I need a telescope," Minstrel said, checking her list. "Oh and I need to get some writing supplies, where do you think I ought to get them?"

Lily nodded. "The telescope you can get from Arc en Ciel, it's this shop run by some French dude - they've got the original makes, all the way back from Leonardo da Vinci," she said. "It's just between Terrortours Travel Agency and a patisserie, you can't miss it. As for the stationery, I recommend Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, beside Quality Quidditch Supplies. They've got color-changing ink and exotic quills, you'd find their stock interesting."

"Thank you," Minstrel said. A thought suddenly occurred to her. "By the way, might I ask what Houses you belong to?"

Lily laughed. "Always the freshmen ask that question," she said. "Older ones tend to know at a look."

For some reason, Severus did not seem to share her amusement; in fact, he had turned not just quiet but rather reticent.

"Oh, come off it, Sev," Lily scoffed. "He's in Slytherin," she explained. "I wanted to go there too, but I got sorted into Gryffindor." She made a face. "Truth to say, I still wish I was a Slytherin sometimes, though I really dislike some of the people there, because based on the people I've met in my own House..."

Minstrel looked confused. "But I'd read -"

"That Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were the best of friends, of course," Lily said (Minstrel had read no such thing), "just as Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff were. Believe me, all the Houses have their good folk and their bad." She hissed something like "Yaxley!" to Severus, who pretended not to have heard, before continuing, "In any case, if you meet any Gryffies, stay away from Potter, Black, and their gang - they're the most obnoxious prats I ever saw."

Minstrel remembered the two boys she'd seen arguing earlier that day at Ollivander's wand shop. "Do you mean Sirius or Regulus Black?" she asked. Lily and Severus looked surprised. "You've heard of them? Nah, just Sirius, he's the older one," Lily said. "I've heard his younger brother's entering Hogwarts, so he'll be in the same year as you. I've never met him. But, Sirius is trouble."

Minstrel nodded. "I know, I've met him."

Lily laughed. "You see?" she said, already beginning to walk out of the apothecary. "Well, Severus and I really have got to bounce. It was nice meeting you. We'll see you on the Hogwarts Express then?"

"Yes, thank you, I'd like that," Minstrel said, waving to the red-haired girl and the taciturn young man as they left. She turned to Alain then. "Two last stops?" she asked him.

Alain smiled. The bind-rune was working already.

To be continued.

Questions? Comments? Owl me :D By the way, I'm really sorry for the arbitrary chapter cutting. I just wrote entire panels and cut them at what seems to be the most convenient parts for submission to FA... really, this thing is meant to be read at one go.