An Australian in Hogsmeade

Chapter 6:

Enter the Dragon

It was not until a shadow fell across my work that I paused. Being alone and occupying myself beyond thought had worked its usual magic; there were no remnants of homesickness or self-pity left. Lunch time, I guessed, had long since passed, but thanks to the combination of the enormous breakfast I'd had and the relatively late time at which I'd eaten it I hadn't felt any hunger. In fact, I was only just beginning to feel the faint stirrings of feeling hungry - more along the lines of a vague idea that some fruit might be nice some time soon than anything definite. I would never have been able to handle a hobbit's daily meals given that I couldn't even handle lunch at a normal time after a large breakfast.

A glance at my watch confirmed my guess; it was half-past two, closer to afternoon tea than lunch. Perhaps I could get some fruit from Madam Rosmerta; although it was probably too late for peaches, I was sure there'd be something - after all, there'd been that wonderful selection at breakfast. Strawberries, perhaps, or maybe mangoesƒ no, that was probably too much to hope for.

"Who are you? And what are you doing here? Why aren't you in class?"

The arrogant voice interrupted my musings, recalling me to the reason I'd stopped sketching in the first place. I have never heard anyone, before or since, manage to put so much holier-than-thou attitude into an entire speech as was put into every word of that sentence.

I looked up idly at the owner of the shadow that had fallen across the page I'd been working on. It was a boy, dressed in the same black robes as the students on the platform at Hogsmeade had been, with a gleaming silver P pinned on them. His colouring was incredibly pale in nearly every respect. He had platinum blonde hair which I would have considered bleached, except that his skin was also incredibly pale. I looked like I spent every hour I could in the sun in comparison, when in truth I have fair skin with barely the faintest of tans. For an Aussie, anyway; here in England I am actually a little darker than quite a few people, something that quite surprised me. I mean, I knew England didn't get much sun, but I didn't realise quite how little it actually gets. As for his eyes, they were the only thing that weren't shockingly pale; they were a perfectly normal grey colour. At that moment they were looking down what was probably an aristocratic nose at me.

And yes, I do normally notice these things when I meet someone; blame it on my inner artist if you like. I am constantly - almost subconsciously - looking at colours and asking "Could I reproduce that? What colour is it closest to and what would I have to add to make it right? How does it change in the shadows?"

"Well?"

I was getting a little annoyed by his tone.

"I was quite happily sketching, as you could have worked out for yourself. And as for the first question, give me your name and I shall give you mine. Hasn't anyone ever taught you the rudiments of introductions?"

I didn't bother getting up. Height advantage only works if you let it, and I suspected that my lying quite comfortably on the grass rather annoyed him.

He glared at me. I sighed.

"This is the point where you state your name and then I state mine. Don't you know that visitors introduce themselves second?"

To be honest, I have no idea of the finer - or even just the fine - points of etiquette, but that seemed perfectly reasonable to me. Evidently the arrogant boy didn't quite agree with my impeccable logic, though.

"As the intruder on school grounds, I believe that you should start stating names and intentions first."

This was a school? This wonderful castle, with the lake behind me and the forest over somewhere and the towers in front of me, was a school? My reaction was along the lines of mild shock mixed with "why couldn't our school have grounds like this?"

"Intruder? How? I believe that intruder implies that one has entered an area where one is clearly not welcome. Since the gates were wide open and there were no signs telling me to do otherwise, I don't believe entering these grounds constitutes an intrusion."

My mother has a fascination with the origins and meanings of words. I have a mild interest, but rather than looking it up in a dictionary straight away, I prefer to look at a word, try and see what the roots are and figure out a logical meaning from that. Sometimes - as now - it comes in useful. Especially as it didn't really matter if what I said was the exact meaning according to the dictionary, but only that my interpretation made logical sense.

The boy glared a bit more intensely, but seemed to concede the point.

"Draco Malfoy, prefect from Slytherin house."

Ah. So that's what the silver P was all about. Although just prefect? Our school had had prefects, but the word simply meant those on the student executive - House Captains, Arts Captains and the like.

Then I noticed the boy's - Draco's - expression. It was as if he expected me to recognisee something from what he'd said and then proceed to... I would have said obey him, but that wasn't quite right. Fear him is closer. Or maybe instantly hate him. I couldn't quite figure out what it was, or why.

"Jenna Curlew, no longer a school student."

He raised an eyebrow. I wondered how long he'd practised in front of a mirror to perfect that little trick.

"Oh, expelled?"

That

really annoyed me. Not just the words, but the way he said it. As if it were the only possible explanation.

"Actually, I graduated. It's not that unusual. And would you please move? You're blocking the light."

Surprisingly he did so, although not with any more pleasant an expression than earlier. The glare was still intact, for one thing. Still, I had to take what I could get.

"Thankyou," I said politely, then proceeded to ignore him as I put the final touches on my sketch - a bit of shadow here, a firmer line there, a slight adjustment of a curve as it swept around.

Finally I finished and packed up. Pencils put back in their case, sketchbook closed and returned to my bag. Then I stood up, picked up both my shoes and bag, and started walking along the edge of the lake, away from the gates.

"Where are you going?"

I was surprised that Draco was still there. I hadn't expected him to hang around; after all, he had expected that I should be in class, so by the same logic he should having a lesson.

"Wandering. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"No, I've got a free. And you know, it's not overly safe in some places here. There's the lake, for one thing. The rocks are quite slippery."

A condescending tone is not what to use to improve my mood.

"Of course the rocks are slippery; they'd be wet and probably have algae on them. I do know about things like that. And if I do fall, I'll just swim. You know, that thing you do in water to stay afloat and get somewhere?" My friends would have realised how irritated I was getting. I usually don't resort to sarcasm. "Now, if you don't mind, I shall proceed in my wandering."

His glare intensified some more; I wondered how many degress of glare he had developed.

"Suppose I do mind?"

"Allow me to rephrase that; I don't care whether or not you mind, I'm going to go walking around here. These grounds are beautiful, the castle is spectacular, the lake is perfect, and I'm not about to let some random kid prevent me exploring them."

I turned and walked away before I degenerated into yelling and swearing at the arrogant brat. I stepped quickly, along the edge of the lake. Most of the shore was muddy, which I didn't particularly mind, with the occasional little strip of sand like the one I'd flopped down near that morning. After a while I came to the rocks that Draco had mentioned. I set down my belongings, cleaned my feet on the grass nearby and put on my boots. Then I started clambering up and over the rocks. I left my bag on the grass - if I did slip, I didn't want my sketchbook getting wet.

I've always loved clambering over rocks, finding the best way up. When I was a little kid I used to climb things so I could be higher than my parents. Now I climbed for sheer enjoyment of it and to sit on top of the pile of rocks, high above the lake with a light breeze ruffling both the water and my hair. I wondered if I could swim in the lake at some point; swimming was one of the things I missed most from home and the day was quite warm.

Eventually I started down from my perch. It was time to head back to Hogsmeade and let reality - such as it was, given the floating candles and all - invade my life again. Starting with that bowl of fruit.

However, when I reached my bag, Draco Malfoy was near by. It was obvious that he'd been there nearly the entire time I'd been on the rocks.

"Doesn't England have a stalker law?" I asked. I was somewhat calmer than when I'd left - or thought I'd left - him, but I still wasn't feeling particularly generous.

"Probably. However, I am only here because school rules now state that no visitor may be left unattended while on the grounds."

He smirked as if he was quite aware how much his mere presence served as an irritant. There was simply no other word for his expression; he could have sold photos of it to publishers of picture dictionaries to use as part of the definition. I didn't tell him this though; he already seemed to have a large enough ego and I hardly wanted to compliment him - which was probably how he'd take it.

"What, scared I'll start pulling the castle down stone by stone with my bare hands?" I asked instead and rolled my eyes a little; childish, I know, but it seemed to suit the occasion.

"Which part of "school rules" did you not manage to grasp?"

"I haven't been to school for ten months now," I pointed out. "I've been working quite hard - and successfully - at forgetting I ever heard of the things."

He smiled at that - a genuine smile, albeit barely even a half-one - surprising me once more. Then he seemed to mentally pause.

"Ten months? How does that work? In case you hadn't noticed, the school year starts in September - and if it's been changed since yesterday, someone failed to inform the students."

For some reason, he was lightening up, being a little less insulting in tone although not so much in words - not that I was complaining. Any improvement is better than none.

"I'm not from here - can't you tell by the speech? I'm from Australia, and I finished last November."

"Aren't you meant to say "g'day" when you meet someone, then? And you don't have an Australian accent."

People had told me that before and I quite believed them, if for no other reason than I can hear a so-called Australian accent in other Australians, if they have one. What I thought to be closer to the truth, however, was that I didn't have a broad Australian accent. Popular theory is that it's mostly found in Queensland and for some reason has become "the" Australian accent. Personally, I'm not so sure; I know some Western Australians who have truly atrocious accents; I have to concentrate very hard on not wincing whenever I hear them speak.

"For your information, I have never said g'day as a standard greeting. And I certainly don't recall you saying anything that deserved a g'day in return when you interrupted my sketching. Do you always greet people so civilly, or was I a special case?"

"You? Special?"

I might have guessed. If you're going to be rude, make it a permanent habit.

I bent down to pick up my bag and started back towards the gates.

"What, leaving already?"

I looked sideways at him. If I didn't know better, I would have said there was a faint trace of regret beneath the mock-insulting tone. It was mock-insulting now; having heard the real thing, I was able to pick the difference, although it was very subtle.

"People to see, things to do - and food to eat." The last was added after a little nudge from my stomach. "I intend to come back though - maybe tomorrow. There's still a fair bit I haven't explored."

I glanced at my watch.

"Half past three; no wonder I'm ready for lunch."

Draco looked startled as I said the time.

"I've got to go, I've got an assignment due in at four, and I want to get it in before the rest of the class crowds the desk."

I nodded, not asking why it wasn't due in during class.

"See you then, maybe."

He nodded, the turned and walked to the castle. I headed off down the hill, thinking of afternoon tea.

***

As I entered the Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta looked up from behind the bar.

"Hello," I called. "Any news on the exchange rate?"

"Oh yes. Gringotts said it's currently 5.12 pounds to the galleon, so that's 179 pounds 20 for the week."

I pulled out my wallet and handed over part of the amount; I didn't keep that much money in there. The rest of my cash was in various hiding places in my bags and other than that, my money was in the bank. I asked her about the fruit and she nodded, going into the kitchen and bring out a small bowl of strawberries. I thanked her and headed up to my room.

As I sat eating the strawberries - which, incidentally, were delicious - I considered the money here. Five pounds to the galleon seem like a high amount, but then she'd mentioned that lunch was fifteen sickles. It seemed that, instead of the pound/galleon exchange rate being somewhat worse than the Aussie dollar/pound one - which would be decidedly hard to achieve - the galleon was simply a valuable monetary unit. I wondered how many sickles there were to the galleon, and knuts to the sickle. Perhaps if I looked around at prices I'd get an idea.

It occurred to me that I should get some of the local currency. Maybe twenty galleons? That should be plenty, given that a room for a week was thirty-five. And I could ask for the last galleon in sickles - then at least I'd find out how many sickles there were to the galleon.

I pulled some cash from its hiding place and went downstairs to pay Madam Rosmerta the rest of the amount I owed her and also to ask if she could change some money for me.

As I reached the bottom of the staircase, I could hear Madam Rosmerta talking to someone. Not wishing to interrupt, I waited for a little, listening to the conversation to see if was close to finishing or whether I should just head back to my room.

"..yes, she arrived yesterday, looks like she should still be in school. After what you said about letting you know if there were any strangers in town - "

"Yes, quite. She may be the same one who was in the school grounds today - light brown hair, longish? Kind of between medium and tall height, fairly slender?"

"Yes, that's her - why would she go up to the school? She was wearing a short sleeved shirt when she came in, she hasn't got a dark mark."

"From what I could tell, she was sketching until she was interrupted by Mr Malfoy. They seemed to get on reasonably well - or at least, no one started beating up the other and they continued talking for some time, which for Mr Malfoy is very well indeed. Or it is entirely possible that she is as capable of insulting people as he is."

Madam Rosmerta and whoever it was were talking about me? The description fit me, both of my hair and haight and of what I was wearing. And I had been sketching up at the school, until Draco turned up. I frowned; I didn't like being talked about and I definitely didn't like being spied upon. I could walk quietly away now - or I could enter the room and let these people know that I was entirely unimpressed by their conduct, and probably answer a whole string of questions as well. Well, if they were spying, they'd probably ask me questions sooner or later, so I may as well make it sooner. I shrugged to myself and entered the room.

"Madam Rosmerta, may I ask why you feel it necessary to report on my presence and activities?"

She had been kneeling in front of the fireplace, which I thought was strange, as was the fact that it was lit. That was nothing, however, to what I saw when she turned around. There was a head in the fireplace - and it wasn't being burnt.

"Well, Jenna Curlew, is it?" the head asked.

I controlled my expression and simply nodded. The head had silvery hair and beard and was quite wrinkled. The blue eyes were twinkling slightly behind half-moon spectacles.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. I'd offer to shake hands but in my current situation..."

"Well, at least you offered. More than I can say for Draco."

"Oh, I take it he was his usual charming self?"

"I wouldn't really know, since I don't know what he's like normally. Mr Dumbledore, can we please stop beating about the bush? I'm guessing since you saw fit to spy on me that you've got some questions you'd like to ask."

Not the nicest wording, I knew, but then setting up a spy system wasn't exactly polite, either.

"Yes, my apologies for that."

I simply looked at him. If he was sorry for the spying, he wouldn't have had it done in the first place. More likely he was sorry that I'd found out, and rather quickly too.

"Anyway... Jenna, may I see the inside of your left forearm?"

I turned my arm so he could see it, wondering why he would make such a strange request.

"Hmm, yes... Jenna, why were you up at the school today?"

"I felt like sketching. I was expecting a ruin, or for the castle to be abandoned, but when I found it to be in perfect repair..." I shrugged. "I like to sketch, and that castle was something I decided to sketch, so I did."

He looked at me a little more intensely.

"You wouldn't have been in the Leaky Cauldron the day before the Hogwarts Express left, would you? Tom mentioned a girl who sketched and you fit the description."

I was a little surprised that the reports had started so early.

"Actually, I was - how long have you been receiving information on me anyway? Does every shopkeeper have my description or something?"

He chuckled at the annoyance in my tone.

"No, just me - we need to keep note of strangers in these times, is all. From what Tom said your sketching is quite good. Next time you're at the school, would I be able to see your work?"

"Of course, if you really want to."

"Yes, I think I do. Just ask someone to take you to Dumbledore's office. And now, Rosmerta, Jenna, I really should take my leave. There's a pot of tea waiting and I don't want it to get too strong."

We said goodbye and the head vanished. I mentally shrugged; if a head didn't burn in the fire when there was plenty of oxygen available, why shouldn't it disappear? Then I turned to Madam Rosmerta, who looked a little uncomfortable.

"I actually came down here to pay the rest of the bill and also to find out if you could change some pounds for galleons for me?"

She looked relieved that I wasn't going to drag out the spying issue. It was obvious to me that Mr Dumbledore had asked her to report on strangers and she, for whatever reason, had obliged him.

"Certainly; how much would you like?"

"Well, I'd like twenty galleons, but can one be in sickles please?"

She made her way over to the counter.

"Yes, of course... Would you like one of the sickles in knuts as well?"

I nodded and she pulled out some coins from behind the counter. Putting them in a little bag, she handed them to me.

I thanked her, gave her the appropriate amount of pounds, took the bag and returned to my room.

Once up there, I emptied the bag onto my bed. There were three types of coin. Nineteen were large and gold; they had to be the galleons. My guess was confirmed by the ornate G on one side of each coin. I turned to the other coins. Sixteen of those were silver- these were sickles, judging by the S stamped on them - and were a little smaller than the galleons. Remaining were twenty-nine little bronze coins. These had a "K" stamped on them, which confused me for a bit, until I realised that "knut" must be spelt with a silent k.

So there were twenty-nine knuts to the sickle and seventeen sickles to the galleon.

What on earth had happened to numbers that fitted nicely with a counting system based on ten? And why were they only coins? After carrying that little bag upstairs, I had a newly developed appreciation of paper money.

I decided to leave it for the day and work some more on my sketch for Tom.

***

That evening I ate dinner in my room again. Madam Rosmerta brought it up, apologising for the events of the afternoon.

"That's alright; I realise you didn't have much choice and that there's probably some justification for Mr Dumbledore's decision. Anyway, let's leave that; what towns are near here and what are the best ways to get to them?"

Madam Rosmerta thought for a minute.

"It depends. There are one or two quite close but they're not that big. Newcastle upon Tyne is the closest one of any size, I think - and it's more like a city. If you floo - I take it you can't apparate yet?"

I shook my head, foregoing asking what apparating was, and she continued.

"Well, there's a floo outlet in the city - comes out in a cafe, serves the same purpose as the Leaky Cauldron, only without Diagon Alley of course. Use floo and distance won't be a problem."

I thanked her and she left. After her departure I checked my map; Newcastle upon Tyne was there, up in the north of England. I'd checked before for Hogsmeade, but it hadn't appeared anywhere. Since this other town was on the map, I decided that it was probably a normal town - or at least, a town that used electricity for lights.

I decided to go swimming in the lake tomorrow morning, early - it would be cold, but that's never bothered me before and I was longing for a good swim. Near the rocks the water had looked quite deep, and the bottom had been sandy for quite a way out from them. After that I would return to Hogsmeade, have my breakfast and go to Newcastle upon Tyne. The problem of what floo was I would deal with when it came up.