Birthday Shopping

It was finally beginning to feel like Spring, and the chill that had kept Amelia bundled up in scarves and jackets and a host of other winter gear had finally receded. It was the perfect weather to stroll around Hogsmeade, which was fortunate because Amelia had cause to be shopping this weekend.

Raoul’s birthday was coming up, which put her parents on edge. They had done their best in the last few years to try to forget the fact that they had a son, though her mother did so much more convincingly. Her father was more sentimental, and Amelia had caught him a few times with a photo album, looking at pictures of Raoul flying around on a broom when he was only four or five, followed by pages of Raoul starring in the Gryffindor quidditch matches. The boy had been born to fly.

The impending holiday left Amelia with the feeling that she ought to be getting her older brother some sort of gift, though he had told her in his last letter that she oughtn’t get him anything at all. He didn’t have any room to carry it, he said, as he traveled from country to country, out enjoying his freedom. But Amelia wasn’t so easily dissuaded; there were very few people in her life she could consider herself close enough with to justify giving gifts, and besides, it was part of a social contract. Just because her parents refused to acknowledge Raoul’s impending birthdate didn’t mean Amelia would.

Decided on a gift, however, was more difficult. Raoul wasn’t just being stubborn when he said he didn’t have room to carry gifts; it was likely some version of the truth. He never stayed in any place for too long, Amelia knew, even though he never told her where exactly it was he was staying. She would have to get him something small enough to carry with him, and something good enough to be worth carrying around in the first place.

Strolling past the windows, Amelia passed easily by clothing shops and bookstores. Raoul had never been one for fashion, and he was even less invested in reading unless it was a sports magazine or the book that contained all the rules of quidditch, which seemed surprisingly long to Amelia for a game that involved people flying around on oversized twigs, alternately trying to hurt others or accidentally hurting themselves.

After a series of more stores that couldn’t possibly hold any potentially Raoul-worthy gifts, Amelia stepped in front of a store she had never really noticed before. It had a broom in the window, one with a shiny varnish and metal extensions that might have been meant for aerodynamics or for standing on, Amelia couldn’t be sure. Amelia hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, knowing this would be outside her comfort zone, but after a few seconds she forced herself inside. Obviously a broom would be too large for Raoul to carry – besides, he had taken his with him when he left – but perhaps there was something else worth having.

Inside, Amelia could smell varnish and leather, but it was the visual input that really shocked her. Who knew there were so many different pieces of equipment that went along with flying sports? There were gloves, goggles, brooms, kits for your brooms, extra attachments for brooms, saddle bags for your broom.

And here I was thinking a dustpan was a natural accompaniment to a broom… Amelia thought, her eyes wide as she looked from shelf to shelf.

Moving toward the closest display, Amelia picked up a pair of goggles and put them on. In the process of doing so, she touched a button on the side of the goggles, which immediately brought up an image that she supposed was meant to make the wearer see what one would see when they were flying. If this wasn’t enough to freak Amelia out, a moment later, a dark black spherical object was flying right toward her field of vision, and she immediately ripped the goggles off of her head, staggering slightly backward as if to avoid the projectile.

Note to self: look, but do not touch. Amelia thought as she quickly dropped the goggles back on the shelf.

If you were going to live somewhere and continue to live there then you were going to need a job. Renny had prompted Marcus’ quick decision to stay in Hogsmeade. It wasn’t at all for his benefit, more hers. He wasn’t brave enough to go up to the school. He’d run into the Deputy Headmaster and had lied to the man without missing a beat. Marcus wasn’t getting wolfsbane. Actually, he hadn’t even come in contact with the stuff since the ‘change’. He’d brewed it in class – so he knew how to make it – he just didn’t have the resources or even the money to buy it.

The pressing need for money and the village’s need for extra hands was what put him in the Quidditch shop. He was there to do manual labour. So basically he had to take crates back and forth. They also had him deal with orders and trim the broom tails. In the last couple of days though, Marc had been allowed into the shop. He liked dealing with people. After having to deal with the dead for the last few months, it was good to finally be able to talk to human beings. He liked helping people. He felt that somehow, that made up for what he'd done.

That morning had been much of the same. He'd woken up later than he should have done, had a shower and quickly went down into the bar area of the Three Broomstick's to help clean up from the night before. He pulled a few pints for the elderly gentlemen that were stopping before going up to their allotments and pocketed the tips before having a couple of pieces of toast, grabbing a coat and setting off.

Marcus had gone to the Post Office first. He needed to post a few letters to a number of different people. The most important letter going out was the one to his brother. His mother had no doubt seen the newspapers. He hadn't written to her at all but he'd written to Matthew. Marcus knew a spell that would change his own handwriting into Braille and he'd used that since he'd figured it out in his third year. His brother was growing up. Marcus was sure he'd want to start having what their mother called 'boy-talk' without her having to read the letters to him.

Marcus had then gone up to the green grocers and to the butchers and such to get various items for the inn. After dropping that back and having a light lunch, he wandered up to the Quidditch Shop and that is where he has been since.

The owner had greeted him at the door and had promptly sent him in the direction of a few confused looking customers. After dealing with them and managing to convince them to buy a few good broom models, Marc went back to labour. The werewolf was soon called and he lumbered over to another group, this time a small family looking for a broom and some accessories for their sons.

Now, he was dealing with a young witch that looked as if she didn't know her Quaffle from her Bludger. Marcus was the one that had to give her a crash course.

"Okay, you've got the ball in your hands. That one is a Quaffle. Now, the Chasers handle the Quaffle. They pass it between them and have to get it through one of the three rings, past the Keeper, to score. Now, how many points do-"

A crash from somewhere over by his right caught Marcus' attention. He looked over and spotted a blonde looking rather terrified. It was then that he noticed the goggles that she promptly hurled back onto the shelf. Marcus smirked. He quickly excused himself, handing the Beater's Bat in his hand to the girl, and walked over to the blonde.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Marcus moved to stand beside her. "I take it you don't like flying," he observed coolly, still having not looked at her. "Most people that wear those wreck the joint because they actually think they're playing. What are you looking-" It was at this point that Marcus looked over at the girl. Recognition flashed across his features and he smiled. "Hello Amelia...after something for Raoul are you?"

Amelia was bright red as she stepped away from the shelf, trying to smooth down her curls where they had gotten stuck up from the violent removal of the goggles. A pair of boys in the back of the shop that couldn’t have been more than 14 or 15 were whispering and pointing at her, clearly having just seen her oh-so-graceful display of quidditch ignorance. One of them did an imitation of Amelia’s minor freak-out, and she Ravenclaw girl blushed even more deeply, turning away from them. It had become apparent all too quickly that this had been a bad idea.

Now it would have to come down to a decision between Amelia’s pride and her determination to find something for Raoul. Most of the shops in Hogsmeade didn’t sell anything that would be remotely appropriate, and if she left now she knew she wouldn’t come back. Amelia was in the midst of contemplating this when a figure appeared beside her, his voice carrying a question that must have been rhetorical. The fact that he was asking it meant he had seen what just came to pass, and him seeing meant he already knew the answer to the question. Simple logic: one plus one equals two.

Amelia turned to face the new voice, her blush creeping onto her collarbone as she did so. She kept her face slightly inclined toward the floor, in the hopes of hiding most of her embarrassment. From the look she shot him from under her eyelids, Amelia could tell that the boy wasn’t facing her, which put her slightly more at ease. He also continued talking, filling the silence that had been left after his initial question. He seemed to be some sort of employee, or at least he spent a great deal of time in the store to know how people usually reacted to the goggles. This made Amelia slightly more comfortable, because his familiarity with the store would mean she could ask him for help finding something, and thereby get out that much quicker.

As he posed the beginning of a question that would help her find what she needed, Amelia tilted her chin upward and found that the young man standing next to her had turned to face her as well. With her face in full view now, the dark-haired boy had a moment of hesitation followed by an expression of realization. He smiled in the way Amelia did when she found the piece of information in her mind that she was looking for, and Amelia didn’t understand this reaction until he said her name, followed almost immediately by Raoul’s.

He knows Raoul? Amelia thought, the name sounding foreign coming from anyone else. She frequently thought about her older brother, but she nearly never heard anyone talking about him. When he had first left school, his name had been on everyone’s lips. Stories had been invented that he was on the run from the law, or that he had eloped with a girl from Beauxbatons. Some even speculated that he had become a vampire or joined the Death Eaters. None of it was true, of course, but in a community as small as Hogwarts, everyone loved a good story. But after a few weeks, Raoul was no longer the most interesting thing to gossip about. No one seemed to have a concrete knowledge of just where he had gone or what he was doing, so eventually, people forgot about him. Even her parents didn’t mention him anymore.

It was because she had been starved of talking about him that hearing the boy next to her say Raoul’s name had put Amelia into a momentary state of shock. For a few seconds, she merely stared at the young man standing in front of her, her eyes searching the planes of his face and his dark hair. Eventually, the rolodex in her mind stopped spinning when it came to a profile that fit the person in front of her, and it was Amelia’s turn to experience recognition.

“Marcus?” Amelia asked, though she was almost certain she had it right. The boy was much taller now than he had been when she used to see him around the castle with Raoul and the rest of the quidditch team. That group had been nearly inseparable, eating together, lounging around by the lake, and, at least where Raoul and a few others were concerned, getting in trouble together. She had never known Raoul’s friends personally, but she saw them enough to recognize them by name and face, and even though Marcus had cut his hair and lost his baby fat, he was still a part of Amelia’s memory.

“I- I haven’t seen you in so long…” Amelia stuttered, still getting past the fact that she was talking with someone who had known Raoul and hadn’t forgotten him, even after two years, “Yes, I am here to get something for Raoul, though as you can probably tell, I’m having a little trouble.”

It had been a long time since Marcus had seen Amelia. That was evident by the look on his face. Of course, what was running through his head was far less innocent. His thoughts had strayed to the blush which was quickly overthrowing the pale skin tone in favour of its tomato tint. But as Marcus watched the blush disappear underneath her shirt, he began to wonder just how far it went.

Shaking such thoughts from his mind, Marcus hooked his fingers into his hair. He ran them through the troublesome gathering of his dark tresses at the front and dropped his hand soon after. He smiled awkwardly at Amelia and cleared his throat, deciding to busy himself with fixing the goggle display she'd disrupted when she'd thrown the goggles back onto the shelf.

It had been a long time since Quidditch. Well, for Marcus anyway. Enough had happened already this year. In comparison to the rest, they all seemed rather boring. Marcus wanted to go home, really. He missed Matthew and his mother. As far as they were concerned, he was still 'missing'. As far as he was concerned he was missing as well. Marcus had no idea who he was anymore, or what he was doing. The smarting wounds on his back were enough to reinforce that.

After having to clear his throat again, Marcus decided that after talking to Amelia he'd go and get himself a drink. He was due a break soon anyway so perhaps going back to the Three Broomsticks for a bite to eat wouldn't be a bad idea either. Then again, if it was filled with Hogwarts students then perhaps that wasn't the best of ideas. Maybe that little cafe across the road from Madam Puddifoot's would be a better idea.

Marcus remembered Amelia well enough. She'd always been the gawkier of the two siblings. She'd been the studious one. He could remember Raoul mentioning her in passing one time but he couldn't recall exactly what he'd said. If Marcus remembered rightly then it was something to do with his personal opinion of his friend's sister. At the time, Marcus hadn't really had one.

Not that he had one now, mind you.

She'd grown up, he noticed that much. That said, she probably thought the same of him. She was quite attractive in her own right with her strawberry-blonde hair and attentive, learned gaze. Again, that wasn't something he should have been thinking about his friend's sister. So, like the last bout of traitorous thoughts, Marcus shook these thoughts from his mind.

Marcus tapped his fingers against a box of broom chalk and swallowed, unsure of how to speak to Amelia. She was Raoul's sister, yes, but that didn't mean a goddamn thing. They were too different. Amelia too quiet for Marcus' tastes. He knew she had a sharp wit but that was about it. He didn't see her being as outwardly opinionated as he was.

She voiced what he was thinking and Marcus allowed her a smile for her troubles.

"Time flies when you're having fun," He responded lithely, although his tone betrayed some of resentment he felt for his own situation. He'd go back to school soon, he promised himself. He'd go and speak to Elldir. Maybe the man could help him.

"What did you have in mind?" Marcus asked. "You don't want these," he gestured to the goggles. "Why trip out on Quidditch when you can have more creative hallucinations?" He smirked. "What about Dragon Hide? Does he have any of that still?"

A minute later, Amelia was just getting over the experience of hearing Raoul’s name spoken aloud and was just now taking the time to really look at Marcus instead of blush awkwardly at the floor. Yes, it was still embarrassing that she had made a fool of herself in front of someone who actually knew her, but because Marcus had known Raoul, he had likely heard about Amelia’s aversion to quidditch and flying in general. Her magnificent display of gawkiness probably came as little surprise to him, but based on the way he was acting – hands in his hair and not making eye contact – perhaps she had made him feel more uncomfortable than she thought.

He shot her a quick smile that she returned halfheartedly, and it fell completely from her face when he went to fixing the goggle display she had destroyed. Feeling guilty, Amelia picked up a few pairs of goggles from the floor, and when she went to place them back on the display, her proximity to Marcus meant she caught a whiff of his scent. She was surprised to find he smelled like the damp, earthy smell of the woods, and slightly like warm male body – you know, the scent young men get when they haven’t been doing anything all that strenuous, but they haven’t been idle either. Because her thoughts had wandered to Marcus’ aroma, Amelia lingered for a moment too long before stepping away from him, subconsciously rubbing a hand on the back of her neck and pushing her long curls away from her face, both nervous habits.

If Raoul could hear what you are thinking, he’d fly back here right this instant, Amelia’s subconscious scolded her, causing Amelia’s blush to creep anew.

She wasn’t sure what to say, her words had fallen a little flat, and Amelia realized she had made one of her characteristic social missteps: she had answered a question without providing another one, which meant the conversation had ground to a halt. Marcus was drumming his fingers on a black box of some sort, seemingly thinking something over, and Amelia thanked Merlin when he finally spoke up, relieving her of the duty of having to think of something to prolong their small talk.

When he did speak, Amelia wanted to offer him a smile to encourage him to keep talking, but she found the expression didn’t quite make it to her lips. It was the tone in which he said the word. The oft-quoted phrase had a tone of resentment, and that didn’t seem to stem from the fact that the words were so cliché. There was something else beneath what he was saying, but Amelia didn’t know enough about Raoul to make any sort of connection, so instead, she ended up peering at him quizzically until he cut off her mental line of inquiry by turning the conversation back to Raoul’s gift.

Amelia smirked at Marcus’s reason for not wanting the goggles; it seemed that there was a reason he and her brother had gotten on so well. Raoul had never been in the “druggie” crowd at Hogwarts – he was too athletic and popular to hang out with the real dregs – but he had dappled. He had even once or twice tried to get Amelia to come with him out by the greenhouses, told her it would chill her out a bit, but of course, Amelia had declined.

“I’m looking for something practical,” Amelia answered, glancing around at the shelves again to avoid staring at Marcus for too long – Why was that such a legitimate thing to have to think about avoiding? – and returning herself to the conversation when Marcus made a suggestion.

“Dragon Hide?” She repeated, not because she hadn’t heard him, but just because she wasn’t exactly sure what it was used for as far as brooms and sporting goods went. She knew how to use it in potions, and that it had protective properties, but she would have to admit more ignorance to find out what good it might do Raoul.

“I can’t really say if he still has any…” Amelia answered slowly, trying to avoid having to admit that she hadn’t seen Raoul in over two years. It was a difficult thing to explain, that you had no idea where your older brother was. Her peers and even professors had asked when Raoul first ran off, but when she always came back with the same lack of answers, they either presumed her too stubborn to give them the information they wanted or acknowledged that she really didn’t know. But now, with Marcus asking questions, she didn’t really want to have to explain that Amelia didn’t even know where her brother was, much less how much dragon hide he had with him.

“What is it?” Amelia asked, immediately regretting the way she had formulated her question. “I mean, I know what it is, I meant- I meant what is it good for? What would Raoul do with it?”

Smooth, Amelia. Real smooth. You’re doing a real number in this whole ‘impress the only other person that still acknowledges Raoul’s existence’ thing. Bravo.

There was something ultimately very surreal about standing in a Quidditch shop with someone who probably didn't even know a Chaser's broom from a Keeper's. What was more surreal was the fact that that person was Amelia Lyons: the bookish, quiet girl that didn't run with the Quidditch crowd -- or any popularity associated group for that matter. Personally, Marcus liked her better knowing she didn't run with that crowd. She was bound to be more agreeable.

Those crowds...the instilled something in you that was impossible to shake off. It was whatever they put into Marcus that was what kept him alive. Maybe it was the raw determination or desperate desire to just live. Marcus was confident that it was the mixture of both. He didn't exactly know what he had to live for just yet. His brother was a start. And Renny, she wanted him to be alive.

Here he was, standing more or less upright on both feet. He was intact minus the chunk that had been taken out of his shoulder. He didn't know such a small little woman could pack that much power into a swing but it had scared the dog off. During one of its midnight rampages, he'd stumbled across a woman with anger management issues. Marcus was just coming to in the back of the dog's mind and he not only saw but felt the result of the wolf's harassment. If she'd been any weaker, he would have had her and Marcus thanked Merlin she hadn't been. That didn't of course mean he appreciated the smarting wound on his shoulder but it was proof that the wolf wasn't completely unstoppable.

Marcus knew one thing though, he needed to get his hands on some Wolfsbane. He didn't know how but he was working on it. It was yet another reason why he should go back to school and talk to the deputy Headmaster.

Amelia's answer was exactly what Marcus had been expecting. Something practical. Well, she was practical all over, to a point where he could barely stand her sometimes. She didn't need to get practical with her gifts, she was practical enough for the whole world.

Marcus knew in his heart of hearts that it was probably a good thing someone was sensible. He knew he should have been but he truly cared very little about his own welfare.

"Practical..." Marcus repeated, smirking slightly. He drummed his fingers once more against the chalk box and hummed thoughtfully. He chuckled and shook his head, not quite believing how typical she really was.

Her query distracted Marcus from his mental berating of her predictability. He smiled and motioned with his index finger for her to follow him. Then, without warning, he shot off to the east, heading for the store cupboard where they kept all of the dragon hide items. They were expensive, sure, but Marcus was confident that Amelia could afford it.

Marcus unhooked the set of keys he'd been given from his belt and he fiddled with them as he searched for the one he wanted. Finally, Marcus found the key he needed and shoved it roughly into the lock. With a sharp turn to the left, the door came free. Marcus gave the door a bit of a battering but it was the only way to open it. You were either rough with it or you had to stand there for hours. It was funny when the girls tangoed with it. They'd kick the door and it still wouldn't open. One of the angrier ones had taken a Beater's Bat to it, hence the dent in the front.

Taking his wand from his pocket, Marcus reached up and tapped the lanterns. The candles in the room ignited and Marcus stepped inside, ushering Amelia in with him. He crossed the decent sized room to the shelves of Dragon Hide items and he pulled a pair of gloves off of the top. Tossing them in Amelia's direction, he told her,

"That is Dragon Hide, Amelia. It's useful for all sorts of things. Good in Quidditch, especially gloves. Though, only wimps use the gloves. Most prefer good old broom chalk. It's good for your hands. Anyway...what do you think he'd need? Boots? They're pretty decent. They don't wear much and they're really good if you're hiking." Marcus turned around and perused the shelf. "How is he? Raoul I mean. I haven't spoken to him in a while. Well, not since he left I don't think. You're bound to have though right? Being his sister and all."

Amelia was still berating herself for not properly filtering her words before they made it out of her mouth. She had been so good at that a few years ago, always weighing everything she said to make sure nothing came out the wrong way. Then she had somehow gotten herself involved with other human beings, and even occasionally let her emotions outweigh her mind. Although she had redirected that particular mistake a few months ago, some of the habits that had come with regular human interaction had yet to subside, which is how Amelia had found herself blushing over minced words yet again.

Without answering her question, Marcus smiled and did a come hither motion with his index finger that caused Amelia to raise her eyebrows skeptically. Perhaps her perception of this action had to do with the moment earlier when she had had to shoo away her own thoughts, in which case she ought to just shake whatever it was that she was feeling about that motion away too. After consciously lowering her eyebrows and blinking a few times to wipe away the incredulity, Amelia followed Marcus across the store, making sure not to look around too much at the shelves they passed lest she demonstrate to the other patrons just how lost she was in the store.

All the way on the opposite side of the store, Marcus stopped abruptly and took a set of keys from his belt loop, presumably to get a key to the door they had stopped in front of. Some jingled later, he found the one he needed and proceeded to manhandle the lock. Amelia took a step away from this and crossed her arms as she waited for him to jostle the doorknob in just the right way, and was about to make a snide remark about men always thinking that being rough was the way to get things open – innuendo intended – but before she could say anything, the door swung open on its hinges.

And just in time, too… Amelia’s subconscious chimed in, disapproving of the remarks that had floated to the forefront of Amelia’s mind and might have fallen free of her lips if Marcus hadn’t gotten the door open when he did, Sometimes I think it’s a wonder everyone thinks you’re so bright. Some things you really never learn…

Shaking her subconscious’s voice away – the last thing she needed right now was to be having two conversations at once – Amelia followed Marcus into the room, lagging behind until he had lit enough lanterns to allow her a greater range of vision. The candles in the room cast a flickering glow that was much more subdued than the harsh light in the general part of the store, and it threw Marcus’s features into relief. His jawline seemed even sharper, and for a moment, her mind tricked her into thinking there was a dangerous look to him. But Amelia quickly attributed this to the lighting her nervousness about saying and doing the right thing.

Surprisingly, Amelia caught the gloves Marcus threw to her with only a slight fumble. Amelia ran her lithe fingers over the smooth material as Marcus gave her the run down on what quidditch players might use dragon hide for. She laughed unexpectedly when Marcus made a comment that only wimps used gloves, and though her laughter was quickly stifled by her own surprise at having made the sound aloud. The remark had merely struck Amelia as funny: how could anyone that chose to ride around on an overgrown twig 80 meters off the ground at 80 kilometers per hour be described as a wimp?

Marcus, however, wasn’t laughing, and Amelia blushed discreetly and was thankful that he continued talking to save her from having to explain the thought process that had led to her uncharacteristic laughter in the first place. Instead, he posed the option of getting dragon hide boots, which would be much more appropriate, Amelia thought. Raoul often mentioned mountainous terrain in his letters, so anything that would make hiking easier would likely be a good fit.

“I think Raoul would physically cringe at the idea of being labeled a wimp,” Amelia said, turning the offending article of clothing over in her hands, “And then probably pulverize whomever had made the unfortunate mistake of calling him one,” she added with a smirk.

“But the boots sound like a good idea. I think he could get some use out of those,” she said, turning her eyes back to Marcus just in time to hear him pose the question she knew he must have been thinking of since he first saw her. When Raoul had still been in school, most people only recognized Amelia because she was associated with him. Now that he was gone, the association went the other way, but only for those who still remembered Raoul existed.

Amelia took a deep breath and did her best impression of non-chalance, though with her social skills being what they were, she didn’t do an excellent job. Really, she was just stalling for time to come up with a response that would be both true – she was a terrible liar – and vague. She didn’t really feel like having to explain to what pretty much amounted to a relative stranger that she hadn’t seen her brother in more than two years now, and didn’t know if she ever would again.

“He’s doing… well,” Amelia said, choosing her words carefully, “You know Raoul, he always had a knack for finding his way in the world. He’s been very… busy, traveling and marching to the beat of his own drum, but he’s definitely happy,” Amelia added. None of this was a lie. True, she hadn’t been all that specific, but she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Raoul always sounded ecstatic in his letters, describing his adventures and the freedom and the elation he got from not having to answer to anyone but himself. A lot of the time, his letters made his choice of lifestyle sound so appealing that Amelia was almost tempted to do what he was always telling her: get out now, while you still can.

But every time she considered it, she always came to the same conclusion. She simply wasn’t enough like Raoul to have the confidence to blow off everything she had ever been taught, everything she had ever known, and everything she had worked for just for the freedom to do as she pleased. And to tell the truth, Amelia had spent so much of her life living for everyone else that she wasn’t all that sure that she even knew what it was that she would want to do if the choice was purely hers.

There was something quite wonderful about the smell of Dragonhide. Marcus wasn’t sure what was but it just had a calming smell. It didn’t make him light headed like new leather did. He supposed it was all of the oils they put on the hides to make sure the properties of the magical creature weren’t retained. Well, of course some properties were but only the ones that the hides would actually need to function as clothing items. It was interesting really – the theory behind it all. Marcus wondered idly, as he stood there, whether he could get the owner to pay for a course so he could see how the pads and the boots and the gloves were actually made among other things. Marcus made a mental note to ask and see what the man said. He hoped that he would get a yes. If he could find out some of the techniques then surely he’d be able to get the stock in cheaper with knowledge about it or, if he was really lucky, be able to make it himself so they’d only have to buy the hides.

People liked brands though – no one really had a monopoly on Dragonhide. They’d be expected to stock all of the big Dragonhide-selling brands.

He was brought back out of his thoughts when he heard the slap of skin against hide and he looked over at Amelia as she caught the gloves and her bearings. She’d only had a slight fumble and Marcus was quite proud of her for that. He had expected them to fall but he was pleasantly surprised to see they had been caught; and caught fairly well.

What surprised him next was the laugh that slipped past her lips. He’d never heard her laugh. Marcus stifled a short gasp of disbelief and plastered a more than willing smile onto his face. Amelia Lyons – Ice Queen or Snow Queen or whatever they called her that had something to do with winter; personally, he didn’t care – was laughing. Or rather, had laughed. Either way it was a sound that had bubbled up and filled the room for a few fleeting seconds before disappearing all together. Without it, Marcus felt somewhat cold – as if believing the notion that laughter and smiles warmed the heart.

Marcus shook his head and peeked over at Amelia to see her face flushed with colour. It was that moment that a guffaw of his own wound up in his chest and was released via his vocal chords. He grinned and shook his head once more before running his fingers through the front of his hair and turning his attention back to the shelves. She was sort of...sweet when she blushed; sweet looking that was - not that she wasn’t sweet. She just looked sweet when she blushed. Again, those treacherous thoughts had returned but they seemed much more innocent than the one from before so Marcus let them linger for a while as he contemplated once again how far down that blush went.

Then of course, his teenaged brain had to ruin the innocence with a gutter-based thought. So, once again, his mind was wiped clear of anything that wasn’t platonic when directed to Amelia. Instead, he focused back on what she wanted.

When she spoke, Marcus swivelled around. He smirked and reached up to scratch his temple. “You didn’t hear that from me then,” He told her, “if you ever feel a need to mention it. Really though, gloves are for wimps so I suggest,” Marcus crossed the room and held his hands out so he could take the gloves from her, “You don’t buy them for Raoul. There are many words I could use to describe Raoul and I’m afraid wimp isn’t one of them.” Marcus grinned at her. “Is that enough to save myself from pulverisation?”

The boots were practical, just like Amelia was. Marcus had a feeling she’d go for them over everything else. They definitely survived wear and tear better than anything else. So, Marcus turned and strode back over to the shelves, gesturing for her to follow. There were designs colours, shapes, sizes and designs littering the shelves and Marcus knew she’d be spoilt for choice. He had a feeling she’d pick something nice but plain and. He knew he would. The last thing you needed was something – let alone boots – to give away your location. Marcus had learned that the hard way. He’d go for the bog-standard brown ones...or the ones that changed colour depending on terrain. Those would be quite good too. He didn’t mention this though, he’d let her decide. She seemed to have a good head on her shoulders even if it wasn’t filled with Quidditch expertise. Alright, so many she would need his help.

Her reply to his question about Raoul was slow and vague but it was enough to go on perhaps. Raoul was seeing the world and living the life he’d wanted to live. Marcus envied him. Still, Marcus had no room to complain. He was alive, he was well – somewhat – and he had a roof over his head as well as a place to work. Everything was ticking over nicely but he could feel it. He could feel the rustling of the beast as the moon changed. He could feel its bold desire to wreak havoc – to have its fun. Marcus knew he’d have the basement of the Three Broomsticks to contend with the next Full Moon. He just didn’t want to destroy anything that he didn’t have the money to replace. He didn’t want to be alone either. That was one thing the dog was – it was social as strange as it seemed.

“I’m glad he’s alright,” Marcus replied wistfully, running his fingers across his jaw. “Lucky old him eh? Living the dream out there in the bush. Has he sent postcards?”

Amelia wasn’t altogether surprised that Marcus response to her laughter was one of shock. She heard the sounds of disbelief coming from him even though she had averted her eyes, and she really couldn’t blame him. Smiling and laughter were not exactly her characteristic states; she was far better known for her reserved, contemplative nature that allowed her to blend well with the wallpaper.

What was surprising, however, was what came next. For a few seconds, the silence of the room was penetrating, no longer filled with the sound of Amelia entertainment, but then that silence was interrupted by a guffaw from Marcus that Amelia hadn’t seen coming. Her eyes darted up from the patch of floor they had been focusing on in time to see him all-out grinning, though still shaking his head in disbelief. Then there was another run-fingers-through hair gesture that Amelia noticed seemed to be a habit of his, though it reminded her more of something a male model would do than a gesture she would associate with one of her brother’s gangly friends.

He’s not so gangly anymore, though… some part of Amelia’s brain prompted, sliding the sly comment in between other rational thoughts, causing Amelia to drop her eyes once more and causing her blush to perservate on her cheeks and collarbone, though this newest embarrassment could likely ride on the coattails of the last and go undetected.

A few seconds later, Marcus’s comment about the gloves had managed to pull them both out of a slightly tense silence, though Amelia didn’t know where the tension had come from. She was used to tension in her social interactions, but only to a certain point. This felt more sticky, like there was something in the air of the room, but Amelia couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was the quidditch fumes. Her body couldn’t have been accustomed to those, no matter how much of his sport-related junk Raoul had left around the house when he still lived at home.

Marcus’s smirk was deep when he replied to her comment about Raoul’s potential reaction to anyone that questioned his masculinity, and it made the corners of Amelia’s lips turn up just slightly as she looked back up at him again, more confident that she could maintain eye contact if she focused on the task at hand rather than how much Marcus had changed since the last time she had seen him.

“I think I’ll keep it to myself, just in case Raoul decides to shoot the messenger. So that ought to keep you safe, at least for a while,” Amelia replied smoothly as she handed the gloves over to Marcus, surprised at her ability to think up such a well-thought-out response on the spot. Usually it would have taken her several drafts and at least 10 minutes to come up with something even half as coherent. It wasn’t that Amelia didn’t think in witty terms; her mind was an exceptional conversationalist, especially with itself. It was just a matter of getting those words to come out of her mouth in full sentences that seemed to be the problem, in addition to the fact that much of what Amelia thought inside her head would not fall within her mother’s acceptable range of social interaction.

With the gloves in his hand, Marcus once again gestured for her to follow him and Amelia did so obediently. On the other side of the relatively small room was an entire wall of dragon hide boots in what seemed like every colour, shape, and size imaginable. Immediately, Amelia began creating a photographic mental list of each pair of boots, flagging them with her initial reaction and filing them into different mental folders based on those reactions. There was a black pair with spun gold laces and real dragon scales adorning the toes, a pair that stuck out to Amelia only because she knew they were exactly what Antoinette would pick if she were the one doing the shopping. Amelia and Raoul’s mother had a tendency to pick the most gaudy and obtrusive items of clothing, as evidenced by much of what Amelia had been forced to wear to the Hogwarts balls over the years, but Amelia had a much more practical taste. Raoul was hiking around, travelling frequently, and attempting to avoid notice. He took work where he could get it. His taste had always been simple, even when he had been at home and had the option of having the very best.

While Amelia looked, Marcus continued an earlier part of their conversation, one Amelia both wished he would drop and desperately wanted him to hold on to. Talking about Raoul was such a surreal experience. It was difficult to do without revealing too much or admitting just how much she herself missed him. It seemed like confessing vulnerability to say just how strongly Amelia wished Raoul would come home, or at least visit her. But there was also the strong desire to talk about Raoul with Marcus, if only because this might be the only opportunity she would get.

“Yes… lucky,” Amelia replied, her mind only half in the room with Marcus. The other half was lost in thought, contemplating where Raoul was and what he was doing right now. She found herself having these thoughts frequently, though it was painful to do so. The longer he spent away, the more convinced Amelia became that she had seen her brother for the last time, and no matter how she begged him, the only way she would see him again is if she followed the path he had blazed.

“He writes,” Amelia replied to the second question, less absent-mindedly this time, “The letters aren’t all that frequent, but he writes as often as he can. When you’re out exploring the world and chasing the next adventure, it can be hard to find the time, you see,” Amelia added with a half-smile that was more than a little forced.

To distract both Marcus and herself from the direction of this latest train of thought, Amelia turned back to the boot shelves. After taking mental Polaroids of each pair and weighing her options, Amelia’s mental list of requirements of the boots Raoul would like most left her with only one suitable pair. Making her decision without looking back, Amelia reached out to a pair that was on one of the upper shelves, currently mahogany to match the shelf on which they had been sitting, but as soon as Amelia took them down and held them against the background of the stone floor, they changed to a matte gray color. They were heavy and smelled the same as the gloves had.

“I think these will be suitable for Raoul’s purposes, don’t you think?” Amelia said, interested in the magical properties of the boots. Although Amelia would never own a pair of quidditch boots – for obvious reasons – she had to admire the ingenuity someone had had to imbed in them the magical ability to adjust to match their surroundings. Raoul would definitely find use for these, though Amelia forced herself not to think about certain uses he might find for them, and she nodded to herself as she reaffirmed the choice of gift Marcus had suggested.

“To be honest,” Amelia said abruptly, her mind having wandered away without her being fully conscious of it. As her brain caught up to the words her lips had formed, Amelia realized this was an abrupt change of subject that Marcus may not have followed, but she was already invested now…

“To be honest, I sort of wondered if you hadn’t decided to follow him,” Amelia said, darting her eyes between the boots in her hands and Marcus’s strong facial features, “I haven’t seen you around school lately, and no one really knew where you had gotten to. Considering my personal attachment to a similar story, I couldn’t help but wondered if you’d ‘pulled a Raoul’,” Amelia explained, using special emphasis on the last three words to indicate that she meant this metaphorically. She knew that this line of questioning was the type of prying that she specifically despised when other people did it to her, but she couldn’t help but be curious. They were in the same year, Marcus and her, and it would have been impossible not to notice his absence at school, and with the way Marcus had always admired Raoul, it wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibilities for Marcus to have attempted to join her older brother in his around-the-world quest.

Hogsmeade was a world away from Hogwarts. In the little village, although isolated to a degree, Marcus was swathed in adult life. He truly understood now how everything revolved around money; especially how much you had and how much you didn’t have. For Marcus, it was often the latter. He’d never been frivolous and he certainly wasn’t now but his money was getting sucked up by living quarters and food. After that he only had thruppence to spare for some entertainment and that certainly wasn’t enough.

The lack of money had definitely put Marcus in a bad situation. He knew he should have gone home and asked for help but he was too proud. His parents could barely deal with the fact that their youngest son was blind. Marcus didn’t know how they’d cope with him being a werewolf – poorly no doubt. They couldn’t stand Matthew’s disability. They didn’t loathe him but they loathed the lack of sight. They were exasperated by the fact that all of their hopes and dreams for their youngest son were dashed because he couldn’t see anything but darkness. They weren’t unkind to him but they just...didn’t know how to deal with it. They couldn’t deal with it – not in a healthy way. That was why Marcus was so close to his brother, because he was the one that accepted him.

At the thought of Matthew, Marcus’ heart clenched painfully in his chest. He needed to go home. He needed to face them. He needed to get off of his high horse and admit that he needed help. He needed to but Marcus knew that he wouldn’t. There was a lot he needed to do in life but he wouldn’t do it out of principle or out of fear. He was too proud to get help. One day, hopefully soon, he’d rise up above this pettiness and go back home or to Hogwarts; it was unlikely though. Marcus didn’t even know where his wand was anymore. It was probably long gone by now.

Amelia’s voice broke through Marcus’ thoughts and his eyes darted over to her as his mind comprehended her words. He nodded, managing a smile, and took the gloves into his hands. He slapped them together, the leather making an odd clunky sound, and tossed them onto the shelves, not really caring where or how they landed. He folded his arms over his chest and watched Amelia as she observed the shelves of boots, no doubt mentally weighing the pros and cons of each pair in her mind. Marcus wondered whether she’d ever been spontaneous – ever done something just because she wanted to and not because her parents did.

She was a rather beautiful girl in her own right. She’d grown into her looks and could have easily been the most sought after girl at Hogwarts. But with the Slytherin whores running around and the sobbing Hufflepuffs that didn’t know boobs from balls, Amelia was probably the better option out of everyone. There was one problem though: she carried an air about her, one that screamed that she was unattainable. So, because of this deterrent, many of the lads didn’t try and so they continued educating the Hufflepuffs and letting the Slytherins do all the work – only some of them were dumb enough to go after the Gryffindor girls who were more likely to eat them alive than the Slytherins were.

Amelia was the great perhaps. She was a risk that no one had been brave enough to take. Perhaps they knew that she’d be hard work parent-wise and in herself. Marcus couldn’t help but size her up as he stood there. She was there just about but there was a wall of glass – or was that ice? – that trapped her. She could come into her own so easily but no one seemed willing to cast Incendio to let her out. It was such a shame. She was there, just waiting to be let out of her mother’s grasp. She just needed a helping hand – or a kick up the rear. Marcus didn’t consider himself the one to do that but he’d quite happily bring her out of her shell and show her that the real world was something that existed outside of books and boring Pureblood parties. He was sure that that had been what Raoul had done. He’d flipped everyone off and gone to live his life. Now if only Amelia would do the same...well, the entire Hogwarts populous would be floored.

“Dragons....buried treasure...women in every port...that kind of life, eh?” Marcus grinned at her. “I wouldn’t mind the freedom myself but I prefer something a little more...normal and grounded. I’d have to make my own way – create my own life.” Marcus shrugged and dropped his arms to his sides. “What about you? Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to just run away and live the way you want to? It must be exhilarating. I do envy your brother. I think I probably always have.” Marcus smirked and shook his head. “But who didn’t? Charismatic little sod. We all looked up to him. And look at you, you’re the last link anyone has to Raoul and he barely has time to write. I wonder if he’s lonely?”

Marcus hummed thoughtfully and looked around the room. He heard the shelf squeak and his whirled back around to see Amelia handling a rather clunky and no doubt heavy pair of boots. Marcus stepped forward and put his hand underneath the shoes. He supported them and used his spare hand to grip the tops. The last thing he wanted her to do was drop them. He was barely half a meter away from her now, if that, and the scent of her shampoo, perhaps mixed with a perfume, was under his nose. It left him feeling fairly light-headed but not because it was a strong smell, but instead because it was a wonderful smell. He couldn’t describe it properly but he was sure it had something to do with how well groomed she was; how well groomed she always was.

“Perfect,” Marcus murmured; although he wasn’t entirely sure whether he was talking about the boots or something else.

Her abruptness pulled him out of his stupor once more and Marcus frowned a little, wondering how he could phrase his words without telling her that he’d been out inadvertently killing villagers across the country for the last Merlin knows how many months. He’d fallen off of the edge of the island until a couple of weeks ago. Renny had convinced him, without saying a word that he should stay so he did. He knew he’d have to figure out some sort of cover for his absence but he didn’t think he’d have to do it yet. Well, he had to hand it to Amelia for being frustratingly inquisitive.

“I...” Marcus trailed off uselessly and bit his tongue. He frowned for a few moments before adding, “I had some personal issues to take care with. Slowly but surely...it’s getting better. I’ll be back to school soon.” Marcus gave Amelia a smile and he cleared his throat, hoping to derail her from this part of their conversation. “You sure about these then? Let’s go and ring ‘em up.”