The Yearbook

"Yes, I'm sorry, but she is sick. She's asleep at the moment, and I don't want to wake her up..."

In the end, Hermione had contacted the Ministry to let them know that Christina wasn't coming in. Chris couldn't pretend to save her life, and had begged Hermione to say something to get her of the hook.

Christina herself was making breakfast. With time on her hands, she had decided to make waffles. She had just succeeded in producing at least three each when Hermione came in.

"Don't ask me to do that again," Hermione said warningly. "I'm probably a worse liar than you."

"Oh, no, I'm a great liar," Christina said, passing Hermione a plate. "As long as I'm not lying to my Boss. There's something odd about him. Probably that he's about fifty and he's got pimples. Maybe I should send him something to cure them. And there is something really off about talking to someone's head through a fireplace. What do you reckon I should send him?"

"Diluted Bubotuber pus," Hermione said vaguely. She dripped honey on her waffle. "Didn't you learn that at school?"

"Honey, I left school four years ago," Christina said, sitting down with her waffle. "I can't be expected to remember everything. Besides that, we never did any practical work with them. We just learned about them in Alchemy."

"What? Oh, Potions, you mean.'

"Basically. We had this old woman, and she was really vague about everything bar potions and magical plants. It was so funny. She forgot meals half the time, and if the greater majority of us hadn't done our homework (which most of us didn't) we'd tell her it was due tomorrow. She always believed us. Then, the next day, we'd lie again."

"That wasn't very nice," Hermione said, when she'd swallowed the waffle in her mouth. "Taking advantage of an old person like that."

"What do you expect?" Chris asked. "The woman was a fruit loop."

"A what?" Hermione asked.

Christina shook her head. "Don't worry," she replied. "I'm going shopping. Don't get too lost in your land of notes or I'll have to cook myself."

Right," Hermione said, clearing the table. Chris grabbed her coat from the front hall and left with a faint pop.

Looking up and down Diagon Alley, she wondered where to start. It was probably easier to go to a Muggle supermarket, she thought ruefully, but it was too late now. Besides, Muggle salespeople scared her, with their big cheesy grins and their urging you to buy stuff you didn't really need, much less want.

Turning around, she slipped dark glasses on and headed for the Royal Herb, Weed and Hoof, the local food market. It sold everything, from fruit and vegetables to fresh meats.

It took her nearly two hours to buy everything she needed, and she couldn't resist ducking into Flamebright, the candle store, and buying some white jasmine-scented tapers and glass holders shaped like stars with roses twined around the bottom.

After that, she took the moment and bought herself lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Old Tom was gone, but there was a guy about her own age serving drinks. "Hey," she said, smiling. "Can I get a Butterbeer and a plate of -" she studied the menu. "I don't know. What's good to eat here?"

"The chicken's all right," he replied. "That comes with a tomato and peppers sauce. Do you want thhat?"

"Make it happpen," Chris said, putting her bags under the stool. "How big is it?"

He showed her a plate that had even Christina's eyes widening. "Um - just a half plate, thanks."

"Where are you from?" the guy asked casually. "You don't sound British."

"Ten points," she said calmly. "I'm American. From Massachusetts."

"Where?"

"Never mind." She sighed. "Can you hurry that chicken up, please? I'm starved."

"Yes, miss," he said, not taking his eyes off her. Chris wasn't used to anybody staring at her so openly, especially a barman with patches on his shirt. He looked - like a bum, was her firm descision.

As she was eating, another guy came and sat next to her. The barman didn't seem to think much of this, but Chris was ignoring him. He'd brought her food, and would refill her drink if she needed him to. That was all she wanted from him.

"I'm Julian," the new guy said with a smile. He had straw coloured hair and brown eyes. "And you are?"

"Not interested," Christina said gaily, finishing her drink and asking for the bill. She grumbled a bit at the price, but added an extravagant tip. That was what she'd do at home, after all. She picked up her bags and left.

She swept out of the Leaky Cauldron and back into Diagon Alley grandly. The Julian guy was following her, but she really didn't care. With an exaggerated wave and smile, she Disapparated.

When she got home, she dumped the bags on the table and went in search of Hermione. She wasn't in the office, which was covered in pieces of parchment and other books. One wall was crammed with spare parchment and notebooks, and a typewriter dominated a small table.

She found her in the small room they'd converted into a library. Magazines such as Witch Weekly and Magic Style (Christina's favourite) mingled with old copies of the Daily and Evening Prophets. Books overflowed everywhere, reference books, novels, old schoolbooks Hermione had hung onto, and a few copies of the books Hermione had written.

Hermione herself was firmly esconced in the only chair not covered in dust or parchment, reading. Chris cleared her throat. Hermione didn't even look up.

"Hey, Hermione! Hello!" That's it, Christina decided firmly. "Avis!" she said, pointing her wand at Hermione. It went off with a bang and a number of birds found themselves propelled toward Hermione.

Hermione had jumped up with the bang, and was now waving the birds wildly toward the window. "Oh!" she said when she finally noticed Chris. "Hi."

"Where were you?" Chrisina asked, pulling Hermione to her feet and out of the library before she could stick her nose into the book again. "Anywhere interesting?"

"1692," Hermione replied. "I was reading about the Salem witch trials. They were fascinating, don't you think?"

"Not really," Christina replied. "They were stupid. It was close to three hundred years ago, but Salem is still the most witch conscious city on the Eastern Seaboard. I used to live there, before I went away to school."

"You used to live in Salem?" Hermione asked. "What's it like?"

"I just told you," Christina said. "Witch conscious. My mother used to tell me the stories of the witch trials, like her grandmother told her, and my great-grandmother." She shook her head. "This guy named Parris, he was the minister in charge of the trials. It was the most successful witch hunt in American history. And I mean witch. It wasn't them hanging Muggles, it was them finding and killing witches. But I didn't quite believe the stories I'd got through word of mouth, so I researched it. "It was just as bad as it sounded."

"Is that why you came here?" Hermione asked.

"What? Nah," she said with a grin. "I actually can't live with my mother. I have a brother named Jerry, and he lives in Los Angeles, California. But that was too close for me."

"You are horrible," Hermione said. They'd reached the kitchen, and she was looking through the bags Christina had brought home. "What are these, may I ask?" She held up the candles and the holders Chris hadn't been able to resist buying.

"Um... decorations?" Christina guessed hopefully. "I got them for half price at Flambright - you know, that candle store in Diagon Alley. We can decorate the table with them."

"This?" Hermione held up a packet of glitter stars.

"To sprinkle on the table."

"Exactly how much did you spend?" Hermione asked in a voice of deadly calm. Hermione was the sensible one, she only bought what she needed, and carefully budgeted or saved everything else. Christina, on the other hand, spent as she went, and worried about her lack of money only when it became a problem.

"Well..." Chris rocked on her feet. "Twenty three Galleons, fifteen Sickles, and twenty six Knuts. That's exact. Then I stopped for lunch, which was another five Galleons because I had two glasses of Butterbeer -"

"Stop," Hermione said, cutting her off before she could detail everything. "I don't care - much - as long as you didn't spend on credit."

"Oh, no," Christina said. "That's a bad habit, that is. Besides, could you see me actually paying the debt off?" Her blue eyes were opened innocently.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Hermione muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Let's get this food ready, or we won't be eating until midnight."

They had a great time cooking, even though it did take them all afternooon. Somehow, Christina managed to drop a ten pound bag of flour at Hermione's feet while attempting to refill the flour jar, and Hermione retaliated by dropping peeled tomatoes in her hair.

Finally, covered in flour, sugar, tomato, and some strange, unidentifiable goop that had come from the smoked salmon, Hermione and Christina sat in front of the oven to watch their labour cook.

"How will we know when it's ready?" Chris asked of the pie.

"It just says, "leave in medium heat oven for at least half an hour," Hermione read. "How long has it been in there?"

"well, when did we put it in?" Chris asked.

"Umm..." Hermione began, but then noticed the kitchen. "Look at this!"

The kitchen floor was covered in at least an inch of flour, complete with dents where they'd been sitting in front of the oven. There were spatters of tomato over the bench and floor, and purèed pumpkin decorated the sink and the area around the blender.

"Maye we should clean up," Christina said musingly. "How the heck did this much flour get down here?"

"You dropped a ten pound bag," Hermione reminded her. "That was all our flour, by the way. It was supposed to last for a few months, at least." She got her wand out. "I love actually being old enough to use my wand in the Muggle world. It cuts my chore time in half."

"Yeah, and then some," Christina added, watching the flour sweep itself neatly into the bin. She mopped up the pumpkin with her own wand, and made the spilt tomato soar across the air and leaned neatly in the bin. She waved at the washing up, which started automatically.

"Anybody home?" Harry called from the hall. He'd had Quidditch practice straight after work, which explained why he got home late. He played for the local team, as their first Seeker. Usually he was home from his job in Dervish and Banges by about three. It was now four-thirty.

"No!" Christina called back. She and Hermione started giggling. Harry came in and stared their flour covered clothing, the pumpkin in Hermione's hair and the tomato in Christina's.

"Are you guys the food?" he asked finally.

"We had a bit of a - what's the word? - disagreement with everything," Hermione said.

"Oh," Harry said, still looking perplexed. Then his look changed. "Guess what! You'll never guess. I got spotted today. I'm the reserve Seeker for the National Team!"

Hermione screamed and flung herself at Harry, closely followed by Christina. "That's great!" Hermione shouted. "I can't believe it!"

Christina pounded his back. "That's excellent! Unbelievable!" she cried. "Now we have two reasons to celebrate!" She stepped back and grinned at Harry, who was now covered in flour and tomato and pumpkin. "Um - maybe we should all go shower and change." She turned to the door, and then looked back. "I call the bathroom first!"

She ran out of the room, followed by Hermione. Harry was standing there, wondering exactly how they could get so covered in flour when there was two faint popping sounds. He looked in the living room.

Ginny and Bill had arrived.