Rising Star, Constant Light

Ron Weasley was not amused at all. When one was not used to waiting on line for more than half an hour, nor used to Muggle contraptions such as airplanes, especially when one is prone to motion sickness, one was not in a decent mood. Unfortunately for him, he suffered both ‘not used to’s, and motion sickness. (Of course, he ignored the little voice in the back of his mind, that sounded remarkably like Ginny, reminding him that he could always cast the Anti-Motion-Sickness Charm, and why was he prone to motion-sickness when he played Quidditch so well?)

He had been in the bloody waiting area in bloody America for more than eight bloody hours. All because the bloody American weather decided to play games, and thunder, and crackle and pour bloody buckets of rain for hours on end in July. Ron Weasley was miserable. Because if he didn't get home for his best friend's birthday, he was NOT going to be a happy wizard, or an easy one to deal with. And he missed Hermione.

Apparating would have been the usual (and his much preferred) way to travel but the war had completely entangled the International Apparition Routes. Wizards all over the globe were repairing them, but progress was slow. Flooing was out of the question, as the International Floo Network was completely obliterated. It would take a long time to restore the Network, which had originally taken decades to make, from scratch. Damn Voldemort and his lackeys.

As he asked in a silent prayer to whoever was listening out there to please give him more patience, the redhead noticed a woman staring at him, half in shock, half in puzzlement. She was probably in her early to mid-thirties, from the looks of it, and she had a beauty that was quiet, rather than astounding. And for some unknown reason, she looked familiar. Maybe it was her hair, maybe it was her eyes, but SOMETHING about her struck a familiar chord. Her companion, taking a nap with her head on her friend's shoulder, was oblivious to the object of her friend’s gaze. Ron was sure he didn't know either of them, but still, there was a strange, albeit not unpleasant, feeling about the dark-haired woman. For some reason, she had lights occasionally sparkling around her, weird peach colored lights. He must be seeing things.

They were most likely waiting for the same flight he was, Ron thought. He tried to ignore her. 'Probably never seen anyone with my hair,' he joked to himself. 'Or she's just a loony.' Though she sure didn't look it. 'Strange Muggles.'

"Virgin Airlines Flight 346, to London, is now boarding at Gate 15C. Virgin Airlines Flight 346, to London, is now boarding at Gate 15C. Would passengers please ready their belongings to board the plane."

‘Hell, finally.’ The staring woman was forgotten as he gathered up the few items he had taken out to keep himself occupied.

* * * *

"Sandri. Sandri, wake up!" Someone, or something, was incessantly poking her arm.

She blinked sleepily. "Ugh... whaa...?" Her friend's face came into view. Where were they? Slightly disoriented and feeling stiff, she rubbed her eyes and remembered that they were still stuck in damn John F. Kennedy Airport. 'Idiot weather.' She inwardly raised a fist to Mother Nature.

"We're boarding now." Andrey's bright blue eyes crinkled at the edges.

It took a second to realize, but then Sandri narrowed her eyes. "Why are you laughing at me?" Andrey didn't say anything, just kept on smiling as she turned away. "What!"

Andrey picked up her bag and stood up. "Come on, we're boarding."

Gray eyes glared. "Tell me!"

A slim hand pointed. "Check out your hair."

Her hand flew up to touch it. There was a big tangle and lump on the right side of Sandri's head. "Oh." Her reply was a smirk that didn't quite reach her friend's eyes. Then again, few emotions did.

* * * *

A few hours later, in London-

It was a good thing Ron had gone through this with Hermione before or else he would have been thoroughly lost as to what to do. Muggle Studies wasn’t too helpful in the case of passing through Customs. Now he understood why there were so many bad Muggle jokes about it. If he had thought Customs in the wizarding world was bad, it was truly nothing compared to this. And apparently, this was considered to be 'pretty darn fast', according to an American behind him, who was talking to his friend. 'This' referring to the abysmally long line that rivaled the one at the check-in counter at the airport in New York. This whole thing almost made him want to face Voldemort and Company again. Almost. (He found that joking about the War helped.)

The things he went through for the good of the wizarding society.

Half an hour later, he finally got through smoothly, silently thanking Hermione once more for her foresight. With his passport proper and ready, and carrying only a book bag, there was nothing to hinder him. He passed the crowd gathered around the baggage claim (the advantage of having wizard bags), quickening his steps. He was going to see Hermione! And Harry of course, and Ginny, and the twins, but really, they were (Ron sheepishly admitted to himself) secondary to Hermione.

Hermione... Ron smiled at the thought of her face. Her intelligent eyes always glinted brightly under any light. Unfortunately, he was quite sure she, Harry, and Ginny wouldn't be waiting for him. They were usually at St. Mungo's, caring for the children, helping the MediWizards, or doing anything else the staff needed done. Ron's thoughts stopped. He didn't really want to think about that for now. He shook his head silently to get rid of the new (and much less wanted) image that had sprung into his mind.

Then, Ron noticed he wasn't the only one who didn't need to go to baggage claim, as the two woman he noticed in the waiting area in New York were also walking towards the exit, passing in front of him when he bent down to tie his shoelaces. Not dwelling on them, he rose up again and Disapparated when he rounded a corner in a deserted corridor. He really needed to get back to his flat and have a nice, long sleep.

* * * *

Sandri was slightly confused (for the bajillionth time in the past two days). Andrey was looking at a young man with bright red hair strangely. "An, you're staring, at a stranger. I hope you know that."

Andrey blinked, looking a little startled and shook her head. "Oh. I was, wasn't I?" She smiled, a little embarrassed. "Ah, let's get going." They passed by the young man (who, Sandri noticed, was pretty damn good looking, if a bit young for her) as he bent down to tie his laces. They exited the airport into the dimming afternoon light. It was almost evening. Andrey turned to her friend and smiled a bit. "Do you want to stay in a regular hotel or go to someplace that I'd stay at?"

The choice didn't seem too difficult. "Considering I know nothing about London and you do, no matter how many years you've been away, I think I'll follow you."

Face breaking into a small, but rare, smile, Andrey pulled Sandri along to the street side and waved for a cab. Getting into one, Sandri thought she saw the redhead from before look at the cab with a puzzled expression but she didn't pay attention to it as Andrey gave directions to the driver, who looked just as perplexed as Sandri about where they were going.

"Miss, that street's on the other side of London, and traffic's been dreadful today. Are you SURE you're willing? It'll take at least two hours to get there, and that area's been a mess as of late, you see." [missing conjugations b/c bad grammar, accent, etc.]

Andrey was firm in her answer. "Yes, please. Do you by chance take travel checks? Or would your prefer that we stop at a bank along the way? The airports are quite horrid in the money exchanges. I'll pay for the time you wait, either way."

The man laughed, a jolly sound that gave Sandri a nice warm feeling. "Decent of you, Miss. Tell you what, I'll stop by a bank along the way, a fairly decent bank by the accounts of my regular customers, and it's not too out of the way. How's that?"

"Thank you." She gave him a happy smile and sat back.

Raising an eyebrow, Sandri asked, "Are Brits all this nice? Cause I can say I have never met any cab driver as nice as you."

Both the driver and Andrey laughed. "Sandri, our good old Manhattan drivers are quite different from London ones, but we do have our bad attitudes here too. This one here is one of the few extremely polite ones."

The driver gave Andrey a look in the mirror. "Londoner are you? It was hard to tell by your rather interesting accent. Like a mix of accents, I'd say."

Andrey smiled. "Family's Cornish, actually, but I'd lived in London mostly as I grew up and went to a boarding school in Scotland. Beautiful place."

"Musta been in the States for a long time if you're taking on their accent, huh?"

Sandri patted Andrey on the back. "Yes, we New Yorkers have corrupted good Andrey for about 17 years. Unfortunately, she insisted coming back so our corruption has not been complete." Her friend, in response, gave her a dirty look.

"17 years, eh? That's a long time."

A reminiscing smile slowly spread on Andrey's face and a wistful expression appeared as well. "Yes, it is. I've really missed this country quite a bit. As lovely as the States are, I’ve miss the countryside."

---

An hour and a half later, the cab stopped on a corner of a dim street that Sandri thought needed more lights. The houses were old-fashioned and seemed to be rather droopy, almost wistfully dark and sad. Andrey paid the driver, who had, after a long silence, entertained them for most of the long drive (through the God-awful traffic) with stories of some of the more insane customers he'd had over the years.

Hoping that things would be explained when they settled down into a hotel or something, Sandri got out of the car, thankful that the ride was over. Her butt was numb, she was tired, and she was dreading jet lag. Then, she noticed something. Nowhere in the area was there a building that looked remotely like a hotel, a motel, or even a Bed and Breakfast (though Sandri couldn't think of a reason as to why there WOULD be a Bed and Breakfast in the middle of London). She could only wait for Andrey to explain, which she doubted would happen any time soon.

There had been a whole slew of things that had occurred in the past few days, and it seemed that Andrey knew EXACTLY what was going on. Unfortunately, she didn't seem too inclined to explain anything to Sandri anytime soon. The excuse? "I want to tell you everything at one time." Right, the same thing she'd been told since that morning when Sandri had found her friend as close to weirded out as she'd ever seen. From the looks of it, Sandri was going to have a headache very soon from unexplained happenings being explained.

Andrey paid and thanked the driver then closed the cab door. As he drove off, a warm wind blew from somewhere and played with her dark hair. Blue eyes dark, she motioned for Sandri to follow along and headed for a shadowy looking door that Sandri was SURE wasn’t there before. Maybe she just hadn’t been paying attention. The sign above the door read “The Leaky Cauldron.” ‘What a bizarre name,’ Sandri thought.

Andrey pushed the door open, and Sandri followed her in. It was rather dark. Unfortunately, Andrey seemed to have stopped suddenly, and Sandri didn't notice as she was staring at the few patrons of what looked to be a pub, all of whom had stopped to look at the two of them. A few had crooked, pointed...hats on their heads. Sandri bumped into her friend hard.

"Oof! Oh, sorry, An." She stopped. A elderly looking man was pointing a...stick, it looked like, at Andrey, with a rather determined expression on his face. Andrey just looked peaceful, not worried at all.

"Well? Who are you? Never seen you around and why you dressed in Muggle clothing? Can't be one yourself ‘else you wouldn't be here." His voice was raspy and had a hard edge to it. Sandri didn't know what was happening but felt just a tad bit ridiculous. And maybe a bit scared.

Andrey did not look ruffled at all. She only had the well-known slight, sad smile on her face. "Tom." Sandri started. Her voice was low and mellow, and contained an affection that was very rarely there. The old man look startled too. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I see the old pub's doing well."

Tom lowered his stick slowly, a dumbfounded expression overcame the half-frightened, half-determined look that was there before, and seemed to be changing yet again. "Do I ... know you...?"

Andrey smiled a little wider. "Oh, Tom. I thought you never forgot a customer's face. If you please, I'd like a butterbeer warmed, in a mug with a dollop of cream on top." Only absolute joy was on the old man's face now, and suddenly, he had his arms around Andrey as they both laughed.

"Miss Andri! Oh Miss Andri you're back! Dear Merlin! This is wonderful!" There were looks of recognition on some of the customers' faces, and conversations started up again.

Sandri looked on in bewilderment at this apparent reunion. She spoke up tentatively. "Um...Sir, her name's AnDREY. Not AnDRI. And someone PLEASE tell me what is going on. This is all a little upsetting."

It seemed that the old man noticed her for the first time. "Miss Andri, who is...?"

Andrey put a hand on Sandri's shoulder. "Tom, this is my best friend. Sandra Tamine. Sandri for short. No, don't look at me that way; I know it's very similar to mine. She's been a wonderful friend for the past 16 years, and I don't give a damn that she's a Muggle."

Tom gave Sandri an appraising eye. "You must be quite good, Miss, since Miss Andri's compliments are hard to come by."

Sandri blushed. "Oh, um. No, really, I'm not that special." She stopped. "All right. Can I know what's going on NOW? Andrey, what's this 'Andri' business? And what's a Mug- uh, whatever you said? Where are we, and why do those," she tilted her head towards the patrons, "people dressed like that?"

Before Andrey ('Or is it Andri?' Sandri mentally asked herself) could answer, the door behind them opened again, and someone crashed into Sandri.

"Oh, bloody hell. Would you please not stand in the door, Miss?"

"Sorry." Sandri moved away and saw...red hair. Bright red hair that looked a bit familiar. And freckles, lots of freckles.

"Ron, language. Lucky Hermione's not here or else she'd give you her best glare," another voice teased. This one came from a worn-looking young man who had messy black hair that looked like it had streaks of white, making him look older than his years. Bright green eyes, behind round wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, twinkled, marking the only visible sign of cheerfulness on his face. "Sorry Miss,” the redheaded man said sheepishly, as he turned to the person behind him. “Come on, we'll be late to the meeting. Hello Tom." He nodded to the man.

Tom beamed. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Stop by later for a drink, eh?"

The redhead grinned back. "Sure thing. Anytime for a butterbeer." The two left went through a back door chatting, while the patrons turned their stares toward them. There had been a slight commotion when Tom mentioned the two young men’s names, but Sandri didn't think much about it until she saw Andrey's face. It was very pale. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

"An? An, you okay?" Sandri shook her shoulder slightly.

"Merlin's beard," Andrey whispered. "Is that...?"

Tom sighed. "Mr. Potter, yes. The boy-well, young man now, eh?-with him is Arthur Weasley's youngest son. Been best mates since first year at Hogwarts, I hear." Tom turned toward the bar. "Miss Andri, a lot has happened in the past few years, with You-Know-Who and what not. It's not my place to tell you what happened, nor is it the place of anyone else who is here." He gave a pointed gaze to a few people in the weird hats who looked as if they were about to speak up. "You should talk with the old crowd."

Andrey had a startled look. "Oh, y-yes, of course. Do you mind if we used the fireplace, Tom? I haven't gotten my wand yet, and I agree I'll be needing a talk with Remus..."

Tom waved. "Use it, use it. Mr. Lupin should be at St. Mungo's or the Ministry until around ten tonight. He'll be home after that; usual schedule. Shall I tell him you're back?" There was a (mischievous?) gleam in Tom's eyes, Sandri noticed. She was still in a bit of shock over what the two in front of her were saying.

Andrey gave a small smile. "No, I'll break the fine news to him myself. I’d like to have the honor of seeing the expression on his face. But first, Constellation Manor needs to wake up."

At this name, conversations around them stopped, for the third time. Andrey ignored them. Tom smiled jovially. "Miss Andri, I'd say, go back and clean up. There's much to be done in these times, and I have a feeling you're our good luck charm once again."

Walking towards a fireplace, Andrey just grinned and waved for Sandri to come over. "Sandri, we're going to my ancestral home, through the Floo Network."

Sandri's stomach dropped a few inches. "Floo...?"

Her friend nodded sagely. "You're in a magical community right now."

"Magi- what?" It came out more like "wha-aaaa."

"Yes, magic exists. Wait a few minutes and I'll explain when we get to my house. Now," she took a pinch of powder from a jar above the mantle. "This is Floo Powder. When you throw it in, yell, 'Constellation Manor.' Make sure it's very clear and don't choke on the ashes. Step into the green fire, it won't hurt you. Tuck in and don't get out early. When you come to a complete stop, you'll feel a bit, hmm, woozy or dizzy I guess, but step out. You'll be in a room that's somewhat dark but should have shelves of books on both sides. There'll be a door directly facing the fireplace where you get out of. Okay?" Sandri could have SWORN Andrey was laughing at her internally.

"Riiiiight. Do me a favor, you go first." Sandri narrowed her eyes.

Now Andrey did laugh. "Oh now, you have to go first, or else I won’t be able to rescue you if you DO happen to get lost."

"Lost? Oh, FINE," snapped a rather irritated Sandri. She took a pinch of the powder, threw it into the fireplace and as the green fire roared, she yelled clearly, "Constellation Manor." Stepping into the fire, Sandri was startled that the fire really DIDN'T burn. Then, the world around her started to spin.