A Reflective Perspective

Reflective Perspective

A Harry Potter Universe Fanfic

by Snoozepossum

(but it's all April's fault)

Monday Morning

"Hermione, aren't you ready yet? Professor Waldon's talk starts in fifteen minutes." Carlie Whitworth peeked around the edge of the bathroom door. She sniffed at the image before her. "Honestly! There won't be any seats left. Do you want me to do it?"

Hermione Granger bit back a tart retort. "No. Go on down - I'll be along in a minute." Or a half hour . . . or a few days . . . As the other girl ducked out of the room, she looked at herself in the mirror again, and sighed gustily. "Foolproof styling charm my pearly white . . . Finite Incantatum." The haphazard knot of hair that was meant to be a sleek french chignon but was instead merely clinging drunkenly to the side of her head unwound itself and hung around her shoulders in a tangled mess. And she'd been so excited at the idea of having the permission to use small magics outside of school that was granted to imminent seventh years. Maybe I should just chop it all off . . . Mum would have a fit. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and reached for something to tie it up with.

"What was that for? I didn't say a word!" A low female voice protested from the large, oak framed looking-glass.

Just what I need - a wizard mirror. She disliked the talking glasses the wizarding world seemed to favor over the more mundane muggle kind. They usually reminded her of her Hogwarts roomates Lavender and Pavarti, reduced to lavatory décor. Flapping, nosy magpies that were always after her to "put on a little makeup" and "dress up a bit" and "for goodness' sake, do something with that hair, dear". The disgruntled Gryffindor sighed again and closed her eyes. "Sorry, I wasn't doing it at you. I was doing it at myself." She opened her eyes again, and pointed her wand at it. "And be quiet, or I'll put a silencing charm on you. I asked for a room with regular mirrors."

A chuckle issued from the mirror. "That in't the hotel's fault, honey. I'm not one a' theirs. I'm a custom job. Don't think they even know I'm here, for the most part."

Hermione cocked her head, registering how odd it was to hear an American accent, with a decidedly southern drawl, coming from a mirror in a mid-grade hotel room in the heart of wizarding London. "What are you doing here, then?"

"Want me to talk now, huh? Oh, don't get your panties in a knot," the mirror said when she bristled, "I'm just pickin'. Hey, didn't your friend say somethin' about a thing startin' in a few minutes?"

Hermione jumped, knocking her canvas toiletry bag off the counter, spilling everything out on the tiled floor. "The Arithmancy lecture!" she stepped over the scattered contents and bolted for the door, grabbing up her notebook and satchel as she went.

~~~~~~~~~

"Well, how was it?"

Hermione dragged into the bathroom late that afternoon and stooped to pick up the things she'd left in the floor in her hurry. She dumped the remains of two broken flasks in the trash and set about charming away the mess. "Awful. There weren't any seats left, so I had to stand up in the back and hold my notes on the wall to write. Professor Waldon may very well be one of the foremost theorists in the field, but he stutters and I think at one point he was arguing with his glass of water. And the Practical Applications workshop wasn't much better. The witch running it was twenty minutes late. She kept apparating out after things she'd left in her room, and the fourth time she splinched herself."

"Ow, that's nasty. Saw a fella do that one time. One of Etta's . . . gentleman friends had to leave in kind of a hurry and pop! there he was. Or wasn't. Godawful mess."

Etta? Hermione thought about this being a hotel and decided not to ask the obvious question. "It was pretty much in keeping with the whole day so far. The lunch they served us was the only redeeming feature, but I didn't get to eat much of mine because the waiter tried to lengthen the table to seat more people and made it vanish instead. I spent the rest of the day with chicken alfredo squishing around in my shoes." She winced as she pulled her hair out of the lopsided, wadded excuse for a bun sprouting from the top of her head. "And I have a headache."

The mirror made tsking noises. "Course you do. You got too much of a mare's tail on that head to put it up like that."

She glared. "If you're going to be insulting-"

"That ain't an insult, shug." the mirror clucked. "Where I come from, that just means you got thick hair. Some girls'd sell their grandmas for what's on your noggin."

"Good - tell them they can come and get it, then." She muttered with asperity, briefly envisioning herself shaved bald and doing a brisk wig business out of her parents' living room. She dug a bottle of Muggle aspirin back out of her bag - thank Merlin for plastic! - and downed three tablets with a quick swallow of water. "Where did you come from, anyway?"

"I started out 'cross the pond, honey, in America." Hermione distinctly heard the "beginnings of a story" tone, and perched on the edge of the tub to listen. "By the way, my former owner named me Rosalyn. I'll answer to just Roz, too. Anyway, Miss Marietta Fontaine was a singer and a tap dancer and a couple other things, if you get my meanin'. She made good money - she was real popular - and when she got to the age where anti-wrinkle charms just didn't cut it anymore, she and her nephew bought the little club in New Orleans she worked in. She handed her nephew the reins and used the money from the bar to do a little travelin'. She took me and this little beaded table lamp her mama left her everywhere she went. It wasn't magic, though, just pretty. I don't imagine it's still out there." The mirror's voice faded wistfully.

There was a sharp knock, and Carlie's voice came through the bathroom door. "Hermione? Is that you in there?"

Hermione hopped up and opened the door. Carlie and Anneke Jorginson, the other girl assigned to their room were standing there, Carlie looking annoyed and Anneke looking concerned and biting her lip. "Are you okay?" she asked, twining a strawberry blonde curl around her forefinger.

"Yes, I'm sorry I - "

"Who are you talking to in there?" Carlie cut her off, frowning.

Hermione flashed her a look of irritation. "Did you need the bathroom, Anneke?" she turned to the fidgeting girl.

Anneke glanced at Carlie before answering. "Not really, we just . . .I thought you might be sick or something . . . " she trailed off uncertainly.

Rosalyn made a throat-clearing noise. " 'lo, girls. How's business?"

Anneke looked confused, and Carlie rolled her eyes at the ceiling in contempt. "Bloody hell, Granger! You've been in here all this time talking to the mirror?" She turned on her heel and headed for the outside door. "Come on, Anne, let's go. That tall guy with the Cannons jacket and his friend are meeting us for dinner." She tromped out into the corridor, muttering under her breath. Hermione caught the words "brain-fried" and "geek", but the rest was drowned out by Anneke, trailing after her.

"Don't be that way, Carlie! Really smart people are just odd sometimes; they can't help it!"

Rosalyn snorted. "Nice friends you got."

Hermione leaned back against the wall and rubbed her eyes. "They're not friends, just some of the other students from my school. We're here for the Summer Seminar for Advanced Qualification. According to my Head of House, this week and really good scores on my N.E.W.T.S next year practically guarantee I'll get into almost any advanced study program I want."

"So, you're gettin' the SSAQ. And they feed you? What're you goin' for, if you don't mind me askin'?"

Hermione grimaced at the bad pun. "I haven't decided exactly. It's between Arithmancy, Transfiguration, or Potions."

"Got a brain in there and not scared your poor little head'll explode if you use it. Good girl." Rosalyn said approvingly.

Hermione's eyebrows went up. "Thanks. People usually act as if there's something wrong with stretching oneself a bit. My mother seems to think I should worry more about being attractive."

The mirror snorted again. "Well, nothin' wrong with takin' a little pride in your appearance, but there's a lotta beautiful idiots out there - don't think you need to be concerned about a world shortage or anything."

"My mother is forever asking me if I've 'met anyone special'." Hermione stated flatly. "She was rather popular when she was my age. The only boy that's really shown any interest in me didn't turn out very well."

"Oh, good Lord - how old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Girl, you ain't even got started yet. Give it awhile. You got plenty of time. Besides, most - not all, now, but most - boys your age have . . . what would you call it . . . limited appreciation."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "You mean, they only go after the pretty, giggly types."

"Well, I'd say it was more that they only notice a particular kinda pretty." Rosalyn said thoughtfully. "Let 'em get a little older, and they'll get where they see better. And they'll get tired of that business of actin' all airheaded. The smart ones will, anyway. Most of Etta's fellas wanted somebody they could laugh and cut up with, but they wanted someone with some sense to talk to, too."

Hermione stood up and stretched. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I should just give up and become a nun or a lesbian."

"And make God or some poor girl feel like a second stringer? Come on now, you can do better'n that."

The young witch paused in mid-stretch and stared at the mirror for a moment. Then she laughed, letting her arms fall and flap loosely at her sides. "Good point. Besides, I don't think I could take Cloistered life. My two best friends are boys, and I'm fairly certain magic would be out of the question." Then a low rumbling announced her stomach's entering the conversation with a complaint. "Blast it - I barely had lunch, and now I've probably missed dinner!" Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.

Roz tsked. "My fault for keepin' you here yappin'. And this place does not do room service anymore . . . hang on, lemme check on somethin'." Hermione noticed the surface of the glass go the tiniest bit dull, then brighten again. "Lady Fortune's smilin' down on you, sugar; a friend's workin' tonight. You just trot right down to the kitchen, and ask for a gray-headed old coot named Monty. Tell him I sent you, and he'll put you some munchies together. Oh, and go through the door in the side hallway, not the main one in the lobby."

Hermione digested this with grateful suprise. "Thanks, Rosalyn - Roz. I've never seen a mirror that did anything but comment on what they reflected."

"Told you, honey, I'm a custom job." Roz said slyly.

~~~~~~~~

Friday Morning

"Seven a.m.! Seven a.m.!" The tinny screech of the alarm jarred the girls out of slumber.

"Oh, shut up." Hermione yawned and opened bleary eyes, trying to stir herself awake for the fifth day of lectures. She'd stayed up into the wee hours of the morning for the third night in a row talking to Rosalyn. Or, more often, listening to Rosalyn. The mirror had a treasure trove of tales about the illustrious Miss Marietta and the places they'd been, and it's . . . her . . . mellow drawl lent itself to her knack for storytelling. The mirror's former owner had rarely relegated her to bathroom walls ("Honey, you try starin' at some godawful cheesy red and black flocked wallpaper all day!"). She'd usually hung Roz up near a window or balcony if she could, and Hermione drifted off to sleep with watercolor vignettes of places she'd never been floating through her head. Basking in the balmy evening air outside a café in New Orleans' French Quarter with a steaming cup of café au lait, listening to a gaggle of withered old men duel with wailing harmonicas, breathy clarinets, and a fiddle spoiling for a dance. Strolling in a park in Kyoto, throwing thin rice crackers to the gaping mouths of calico spotted koi, cherry blossoms drifting on the breeze like snow. Perched on a terrace covered in climbing roses and grape ivy in Florence, watching dawn light inch it's way up the proud spires of the Basilica of St. Mark and turn the medieval stained glass into molten testaments of dedication.

And the people she talked about! The young witch's parents would have been appalled at the idea of their daughter, perched on a toilet lid, wide-eyed and laughing till she couldn't breathe at the doings of a delta jazz nightclub that had begun as an illegal speakeasy during American Prohibition. The wizarding community in New Orleans had been (and still was) a rule unto itself, and they'd served Muggles and Wizards alike, the only joint in town that could simply make the booze disappear when the police came knocking, and never had trouble getting more. She mentally cataloged some of them to tell to Harry and Ron; there were several she kw they'd howl over.

" . . . and by the time the reporters n' the cops got the door broke down, Etta'd dumped a vase full of water over her head and thrown a towel 'round herself like she just stepped out of the shower, and the Deputy Minister was hangin' butt-nekkid on the window ledge of the apartment next door, tryin' to bust the glass with one of Etta's potted plants so he could shinny inside! He'd've probably got away scott free if that pot hadn't been full of tiger petunias - that man had bites in places you don't even wanna think about!"

Hermione stumbled into the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face.

"Girl, you look like the fourth day of a three-day drunk. I've been keepin' you up way too late! You better come in this evenin' and hit the sack early." Roz said sympathetically.

"Oh, how I wish! I can't, though. Today's the last day - they're having some sort of reception tonight after supper where we're supposed to mingle and get the instructors in our focus subject to sign our Advanced Levels Certificates. I'm dreading it. I don't know anyone here, really, except the other Hogwarts students, and I'm not friends with any of them. Carlie seems to loathe me, actually. And I didn't bring anything to wear." She loaded her toothbrush with more minty freshness than she honestly wanted to deal with right now, and began her morning homage to her parents.

"I might be able to help you out there - you pretty good at transfigurin' things?" Roz asked.

"I'm top of my class."

Roz chuckled. "That'll do. Etta's claim to fame was charms, but she was a dab hand at sprucin' up her clothes. I remember a few of the ones she used to use. I think I can describe 'em enough so you could do 'em."

Hermione spat into the sink and wiped her mouth. "When to do it though, that's the problem . . . what if I sneak some sandwiches up here again, while everybody else is at dinner? Then Carlie can't grouse about me hogging the bathroom. Can you get your friend to make up another 'picnic basket'?"

Roz dimmed for a few minutes, then came back positively glowing. "No problem. So, it's a plan?"

Hermione shut the water off and grinned. "It's a plan."

~~~~~~~~

Friday Night

"Lemme see that red thing again." Roz asked speculatively.

Her Project held up an oversized t-shirt with a dubious look. "I brought this to sleep in, Roz!"

"Won't matter when we get through with it. Now, shug, are those the only shoes you brought?"

Hermione looked down at her scuffed brown loafers. "I was thinking comfortable, not dressy, when I was packing."

Roz was quiet for a moment, and the Gryffindor heard vague muttering, as if the mirror were talking to herself. "Hmmm. Tricky, but I think we can do it." Roz was speaking to her again. "What about a skirt?"

Hermione shook her head. "All I have is a few pairs of muggle jeans."

"Nah, that's no good . . . waitaminnit . . . yeah . . . yeah, I got it!" The glass fairly vibrated. "Yank the cover off that little knickknack table there in the corner."

Hermione's eyebrows went up. "Roz, that'd be stealing!"

"You ain't gonna wear it home, honey; we can always change it back." Roz tutted.

Harry and Ron would be laughing like idiots just now. She thought dryly, but she fetched the requested item. It was pretty, she admitted. Gray silk brocade that was obviously old, but still held a hint of opulence, edged with at least three inches of fringe.

"Perfect. Oh, this is gonna be good! Okay, now, here's how the one for the top goes . . . you gotta picture it real clear . . ." and Roz launched into a tutorial on the spells that had been a showgirl's ace-in-the-hole.

Almost two hours and a few turkey croissants later, Hermione had a close-fitting, deep scarlet knit top with a scoop neck and three-quarter sleeves, paired with a charcoal gloss-on-matte patterned wrapskirt that draped meanderingly between mid-calf and mid-thigh. The shoes had stubbornly resisted their new identity, but her feet now sported a pair of simple sling flats that agreed well enough with the skirt.

"Okay, turn around, let's see . . . oh yeah, that'll turn a few heads!" Roz commented smugly. "Damn, I'm good!"

Hermione surveyed herself. "I like it, Roz! I really appreciate all the help." No idea where I'm going to put my wand . . .

The mirror chuckled. "Oh, it ain't nothin'! This is fun - almost like havin' Etta back again."

"You really do miss her, don't you?"

"Course I miss her! We were together for a long time, and I wouldn't be me if it weren't for her. Her daddy made me, you know - had a little shop in Natchez. Etta's mama died when she was real little, and her Aunt Rosa helped raise her. She adored her aunt to pieces. When Rosa passed on, he made me as sort of a memento. "

"So you have her name, in a way."

"Shug, I got more'n that. Look down in the bottom right corner."

Hermione leaned forward. She'd always found the things irritating enough that she'd never really thought much about how they were made, but now her normal curiousity was in gear. There, embedded in the flawless glass, almost hidden by the ornate frame, was a small cutting of black, curly hair, and a faded brown smudge. Blood. It's her hair, and a drop of her blood. She straightened up and stared at Roz. "You're Rosa? Etta's father bound you to this mirror?" She wasn't sure if she was fascinated or horrified, or both.

Roz laughed out loud. "Not exactly! I ain't Rosa herself; there ain't any ghosts floatin' around in here. I don't have her memories, and her spirit's long gone. I guess you could say I'm her attitude. Not sure exactly how it works, but Mr. Fontaine hooked me up with a good bit of Rosa's personality. He tried to explain it - somethin' about a doctored-up pensieve, phoenix ashes, and a whole case a' Nehi Grape soda."

"Grape what?"

"Brand of American soda pop. Muggles make it, but it's got a little bit a' jazz to it. They ain't figured out why, they just know it's good for magic."

Hermione filed that one away to look up later. "So, you think and act like Etta's aunt."

"Pretty much. Right down to feelin' like I was part of the family." Roz replied fondly.

"Roz, what happened to Etta?"

The mirror sighed. "Went to meet Rosa and her folks, honey. Passed away in her sleep one night, right out there in the room, all quiet like. Never even got to tell her bye. That don't bother you, does it? Sleepin' in a room where an old lady died?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "Not at all. Maybe if it was somebody I didn't know . . . but you've told me so much, I feel like I've met her. And I wish I really had."

"Well, I've done right by her, then. She was a wonderful girl, and she deserves to be remembered." She could have sworn she heard Roz sniffle. "You wanna see her? I got one a' her reflections stored away."

"Yes! I'd love to." Hermione's eyebrows went up. "Mirrors can do that? Or just you?"

"Not sure. I've heard of others doing it, but for all I know, they were custom work too." Under the thick glass, her reflection faded into a dull gray that rippled like water for a moment. An image resolved from the murky cloud of a young woman. Wide, dark eyes shone out of a smooth, black skinned, heart-shaped face, large features lit up with a generous smile. Hermione could almost hear her laughing. Then she noticed her hair.

It was a glossy jet black and long - past her shoulder blades - and arranged in numerous tiny braids, with the ones in front woven around each other and pulled back, the rest left to hang free.

Contained. Out of the way. But still pretty.

"This is from when she was still dancin' in New Orleans. She got old in her body, but she never got old in her head, so that's how I like to remember her." Roz murmured.

"She looks like a friendly person - very happy." Hermione's mental light bulb was blinking furiously. "Roz? Did Etta use charms to do her hair?"

"Sure - you got any idea how long it takes to do all that without 'em? She had several good ones. This one was about her favorite, though."

"I like it too. Do you recall the spell?"

Roz was silent a moment. "Yeah, I remember it . . . but it's kinda hard, and I don't know that it'll work on your head. It's meant for black hair. I ain't sure yours would stay put."

Hermione pushed her hands through her bushy mop. "Let me try it. I'm not going with it looking like this, and I broke my bottle of Sleekeazy's the first day I was here, remember? I hate using that stuff anyway. It takes forever to wash out, but my hair won't stay up any other way."

"I'm game if you are. Now, this one's got a little Creole in it. If the accent ain't right, you'll never get the knots out . . . "

~~~~~~~~~

Hermione crept back into the room a little after three a.m., slipping her shoes off in the dark in case Carlie and Anneke were back and asleep. She tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door. "Lumos." The lamps on either side of Roz flared brightly.

"Hey, shug! How'd it go?"

A tired but smiling Gryffindor plopped down on the toilet lid. "Marvelous! Much better than I thought it would. Three of the instructors signed my certificate, and Dr. Broome told me to owl her for a recommendation after she gets back from her vacation."

"Nice! That means you're sittin' pretty, right?" Roz asked.

Hermione nodded. "Unless I really muddle my N.E.W.T.S."

Roz tsked. "Well, you ain't gonna do that, so you're good to go! How was the rest? Any quality minglin' goin' on?"

Hermione leaned back against the wall and propped her feet up on the edge of the sink. "I spent most of the evening with a few people that were in the Arithmancy lecture, and a rather nice boy named Robert from the Transfiguration class, all because of Carlie."

"You mean Miss I-Need-to-Be-Jack-Slapped . . . how'd that come about?"

"Robert was asking after my school's Professor Sprout - she taught a class for the Department of Questionable Greenery last summer on raising Hatacumbe trees, and how to defend yourself until they reach maturity. Carlie came by, and commented rather loudly that my hair looked like a patch of Devil's Snare. He told her she was quite rude, and that he thought it looked very nice. Then she said something about his glasses or his brain needing to be checked. A few of his friends had walked up by that time, and one of the girls told her she should go somewhere else, that there was a funny smell in the room since she got there."

Roz chortled. "Think I would've paid to see that! That little mess ain't done anythin' but gripe since she got here . . had the gall to tell me my frame's a cheap knock-off! It's hand carved, for the love a . . . sorry, go on."

Hermione grinned. "That's not the half of it. Carlie called her a stupid, bloated cow, and that quidditch fellow she fancies and his friend stuck their noses in it, and there was a bit of shouting, and the girl drew her wand and hit Carlie with a Winking Warts hex. It appears that she's Rob's cousin April, and she and Carlie had a row earlier over seating at lunch."

"Oh, I know I'd've paid to see that! What happened then?"

"The Concierge came running with a security guard, and the guard petrified them both. They told us we had to leave the reception, so we went down the street to this little pub Rob knew about, and had drinks, and they taught me how to play Trap Door Snooker and Blind Darts."

"That explains why those two came back so early. Sounds like somebody had herself a good time, though. That boy seem worth the trouble of an owl or two?" Roz asked casually.

Hermione smiled smugly. "I'm thinking about it. If nothing else, I want his cousin to teach me that hex!" She yawned widely. "I'm completely knackered. See you in the morning, Roz, and thanks again, ever so much." She stood and ambled out, collapsing into bed with her clothes on after she recalled she was already wearing her nightshirt.

" 'Night shug. Sleep tight."

~~~~~~~~

Saturday Morning

Only a few minutes left before the checkout deadline. Hermione surveyed the room, hoping she hadn't forgotten anything. Other than her two bags, the room was bare of any personal effects. Carlie and Anneke had packed and gone before she woke up. She wasn't unhappy about that at all - Carlie's magical warts had still been blinking green and red light steadily when Hermione had nodded off, and she could just imagine the kind of snit the girl was probably in.

Robert's cousin was going to teach her that hex, period.

That was it, then. Her week of academic climbing was over and done. Only one thing left, and I really don't want to do it. She ran her hand over her hair, braids sleek against her head. Even sleeping hadn't disturbed it much; she'd barely needed to refresh the charm.

She charmed her suitcases down to the size of paperback books, slipped them into her windbreaker pockets, and walked into the bathroom. "Rosalyn?"

"Hey shug. It's about that time, ain't it?" The mirror sounded resolutely cheerful.

Hermione nodded. "I have to leave in a few minutes to catch my train. It's been so nice meeting you - you've been so much help, and I've enjoyed having you to talk to." Ick - I sound like Mum, talking to a patient. "I'm really going to miss you, Roz."

"Aw, honey, I'm gonna miss you too. Most people that stay here don't wanna talk to a chunk a' glass - this is the most fun I've had in years. If you ever get back this way, drop in and say 'hey', will you?"

Hermione bit her lip and smiled. Wonder if I ever will? "I promise." Annoyed that it wasn't really possible to hug a mirror, she reached up and brushed her fingers against the carved flowers that bloomed on the frame. "I've got to go . . . take care of yourself." She was going to be out the door before she started sniffling.

Roz beat her to it. "Bye, honey. You take care too." She snuffled.

The young witch waved from the doorway, and scooted out, beating a path for the stairs and the Reception Desk waiting at the bottom.

There was no one in the room to hear the heavy sigh that drifted out of the bathroom.

~~~~~~~~~

A quarter hour dragged slowly past, and Rosalyn heard the door open. That was odd - the maids didn't usually get this far down the hallway until after lunch.

"Roz?" Hermione came running into the bathroom, out of breath. "I was thinking, while I was checking out. You're technically Etta's, or her heir's, property, right? You don't belong to the hotel?"

"Well, yeah . . . I guess her nephew would've inherited everything, if he's still around . . . what on earth are you doin' ? You're gonna miss your train, girl!" Roz exclaimed.

"That's why we have to hurry. Now - Etta's nephew hasn't ever come to collect you, has he?" Hermione breathed out between pants. "So, since you don't belong to the hotel, if someone took you, it wouldn't really be stealing, would it?"

"I don't guess so, but I've been here so long . . . shug, are you thinkin' what I think you're thinkin'?"

"I think so. Roz, you're wasted on this place. Do you want to get out of here? I think I can Reduce you enough to hide you under my shirt if I put my robe on." I'm going to get caught. There'll be an alarm siren and flashing lights when I walk out the door, and they're going to lock me up for a thief . . .

"Are you kiddin'? If you can lift me, get me down from here!"

A hurried reduction spell, a cushioning charm, and several judicious tugs at clothing later, the Senior Doorman saw a young witch in a flowing, scholarly black robe walk through the lobby of the Enchanted Holiday Hotel, obviously deep in ponderous thought. She strode across the carpet with purpose, looking neither right nor left, a frown of intense seriousness on her face, arms crossed tensely over her chest as if to keep whatever occupied her mind so heavily from escaping her. One of those students here for that highbrow bookworm convention, or whatever it was, he thought amusedly. He shook his head. His boy was the same way about anything to do with getting his marks. He hadn't cared two sticks about school, himself, but he supposed it wasn't a bad thing - the kids as kept their noses buried in their books did seem to stay out of trouble. Quiet, that's what they were. Never strayed off the path. He glanced up at the clock over the Reception Desk. Time for another coffee.

If he hadn't turned to tell the desk clerk he was going to take a little break, he would have been puzzled to see the girl step out into the crowded street, throw back her head and laugh, and take off running like mad, some sort of old picture clutched tightly in her arms.

~ Finite ~