Pages To You

Basilio Bermudez stepped out into the fresh sunshine as he fixed the remaining buttons of his shirt. One had to be oblivious to not see the excitement written all over his face. The man was, however, running on adrenaline. The city was exciting. It was not his first time in London, but it was certainly the first time attempting a long stay, longer than the typical family vacations he had the pleasure of taking. Leaving Barcelona for London was hardly an easy task. His mother had worried herself sick, what with all the arrangements she attempted to set up for her favourite son ever since the news of acceptance from the Ministry in England. Still, she let him go. After all, it was a common rumour that being an Auror for the English Ministry of Magic promised far more job excitement. The experience was supposed to be worth it, and it was unheard of that someone would turn down an offer after being accepted for the job. Of course, despite the relationship that Laura Larocha shared with her son, she was convincingly unaware of Basilio's genuine motives.

Undoubtedly with the support of the family money that Laura had procured, Bas found himself living in the affluent part of London town. The entire day had been spent cleaning and unpacking. Having insisted on not being accompanied by one of the Bermudez House Elves, Bas was left to his own devices, but also his own chores. Still, he lapped it up, enjoying the independence of the first day of his new life. He knew that he was going to miss his mother, and of course the other siblings, increasingly. Now, though, he was ready to immerse himself into his new life.

The weather brought a friendly invitation to him. Bas smiled at it as he reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarette he had procured the evening before. While he never considered himself to be chained to the habit of smoking, the man did enjoy the occasional cigarette whenever he felt like it. Bas placed one of it between his lips before lighting it up. And then, he turned, soaking in the sight of his Notting Hill apartment from the outside. The man smiled appreciatively before turning back to the street. There was a market on the other side of the wide street. His mother had made sure of that, as if the absence of such would deprive her son of sufficient food. Bas watched as the Muggles went about their business, watching them curiously as he took his time with the cigarette. Satisfied, the man stubbed it out at a bin near him before heading back into the apartment.

***

Finally, he found himself in Diagon Alley. The last time that he was here, his father had brought him, along with the brother and sisters, to have a walk-around. And then, Bas regretted that thought. The pain burnt, igniting the hurt and the revenge that seemed to have sealed the character of his heart ever since that horrible memory of a day. Quickly enough, he was assure by the thought that he had, after all, made the life-changing move, simply to avenge his father's death. Something was finally going to be done; justice was finally going to be made. Resolved, Bas picked up his dampened spirits as he turned his attention back to Diagon Alley. It was the weekend, and work didn't start until Monday. That would be the big day. Now, though, he was free to explore, albeit alone. Being in the company of wizards and witches, however, made it easier. While Bas had never been brought up with antagonisms against all things Muggle, unlike the rest of the Bermudez clan, there was a seemingly natural discomfort that made him feel like an alien in a crowd of Muggles.

The streets of Diagon Alley hardly showed any change. Perhaps they aged, but Bas could not spot any difference. Shrugging, he opted for a place to rest. Perhaps, then, he could continue with that book. It was in his hand, the book. The man was hardly seen without some random book in his hand, whether he should decide to read it or not. Often, the contents of it involved Muggle History of strange and exotic places. This time, though, it was a random personal account from a retired Auror who spent a total of forty years serving the English Ministry of Magic. Bas strolled along the street until he stopped before an inviting-looking cafe. Reading the name of the place, he found it vaguely familiar. And so, he walked in.

The light that illuminated the day was unlike anything Londoners had experienced since the start of the year. The golden glow had burst through the clouds, tossing the heavy cloud cover away in a flourish so as the light even the darkest of nooks within the city. The residents welcomed the sunshine and Muggles and Wizards alike shed their thick winter clothes in favour for t-shirts and shorts just as Wizards delved into their wardrobes for thin, cotton robes. The late nights some were experiencing had finally caught up and so while others traipsed around the city, some were snoring to their hearts content, their minds a million miles away from London - in dreamland.

Rose Weasley had fallen asleep at her kitchen table the night before, her face pressed against a page of Most Potent Potions detailing Polyjuice Potion. She’d been making notes, hoping that perhaps she could find away to make the potion last longer but between coffees she’d at some point fallen asleep and so when the sun crept in through her windows and tickled her skin she jerked awake in a violent fashion, the motion of her doing so sending her over the back of the stool upon which she’d sat. Rose blew a piece of hair out of her eyes and folded her lids over the eyeballs, the sudden light making them ache slightly. Sighing heavily, Rose rolled over and made to get up, knowing it would be a long day yet.

An hour or so later the girl emerged out onto Diagon Alley having already put herself eighteen galleons down by buying half a dozen books from the bookshop she lived over. With the bag in hand, her feet unwilling to jump up the stairs back to her apartment, Rose made her way up the cobbled road towards work. It wasn’t a day when she had to work as much to her delight the hours she’d done in overtime had given her the rest of the week off. Still, she had to check in on them to see if they were okay - plus, she was starving.

Rose let herself in through the back and wished Lizzie a good morning, scaring the girl half to death. Laughing, Rose set her things down on the table in the kitchen and took the order that had just been finished, terrifying the waitress to see they’d been snatched away. Rose told the girl to fetch herself some coffee to brighten up a bit and the girl nodded, her cheeks flushing bright pink before darting into the kitchens to hyperventilate in Lizzie’s company instead of Rose’s.

Glancing down at the number on the saucer of the coffee cup, Rose strolled over to the table by the windows that looked out onto Diagon Alley, the perfect view if one wanted to people watch. Seated was a twenty-something man that did not look at all familiar to her. He was fluffy though; this Rose noticed immediately.

“Good Morning,” Rose murmured, appearing by his side. “Coffee, a full English and a glace of orange juice.” Rose set the order down for him. Taking the cutlery from the pocket of the apron she’d put on as soon as she’d come through the door. She decided it was better to wear the apron than to get food or coffee or something all down her clothes. “I’m Rose,” She introduced herself after setting the cutlery down, sticking her hand out for him to shake. “Welcome to Sparks.”

Despite having to strain against the fatigue in his body, Bas was famished. All the energy that he still possessed seemed to channel just to his stomach, as it provided him with persistent reminders of his hunger. It wasn't difficult, then, to make a decision from the menu. The man simply picked the largest set for breakfast, and managed to hold back from expressing his impatience as a petite blonde girl took her time with his order. Bas had to refrain from asking her if she was new, seeing the frustrated puzzlement on her face, but sensing her nerves through the uncertainty in her voice. He was accustomed to displeasure for bad service, but that didn't mean that he was ever rude in return. This, however, was hardly considered bad service. The man offered a reassuring smile to the girl as he fought the impatience of his hunger. And then, suddenly, someone interrupted. Bas, almost with a helpless and desperate look on his face, watched as his order got carried away.

He settled himself back to the view that his position offered him. The street just outside Sparks was far from crowded. Yet, there was a slow and steady flow of people that he found himself watching ever so curiously. Quickly, though, Bas had to take his eyes away from the child on the other side of the street, who was staring hungrily at something in the shop display. The hunger mirrored his, and Bas was glad for a moment's distraction before his tummy could kick up a fuss again. The man found himself staring into the face of the interruption that occurred before. Yet, he offered a smile. She was a friendly. And so was he. Bas listened patiently, this time, and watched her lay the cutlery down for him. He nodded.

"That will be correct." And then, the man stood up quickly and touched his cheek to hers in a fleeting moment of a friendly Spanish greeting. He grinned. Bas was obviously in a good mood. The big adventure that Britain promised was mere expectation, but he was still under the impression that reality would meet it, and so, he was eager to meet and see and try everything along his way. The keenness that possessed him undoubtedly led to the spontaneous friendly act. "Good Morning, Rose." Then he took the hand that she offered. "I'm Bas."

And then, almost as if he had forgotten that she had just read out his order, Bas gestured towards the chair near his. Not waiting for her response, he moved behind the chair and pulled it out, before flashing the girl yet another smile. "Please,' he asked, but really demanded, albeit in a warm fashion. The girl seemed sufficiently friendly, and Bas was suddenly convinced that he could make his first English friend right there and then.

There was something endearing about Diagon Alley if you weren’t unfortunate enough to be caught up in the hustle and bustle. Rose lifted her eyes to the window and watched with a small smile as mothers hurried their children down the road, anxious to get them out of the way and out from under the feet of passing wizards. She brushed her hands against her apron and dropped her gaze back to the man who had risen to her feet. A small gasp left her lips at the touch of his cheek against hers and her eyebrows shot to her hairline in innocent wonder, her eyes enlarging tenfold as her cheeks swirled scarlet. She stepped back a little and managed a smile despite her embarrassment. She could imagine her father’s response to such a simple greeting. He would have bulldozed into the cafe and throttled the man had he known. Ronald was still protective of his girl, stiflingly so. It was one of the main reasons why she thought up any excuse possible to get out of Sunday dinners. You know, never mind she was nearly twenty; in Ron’s eyes she was still four.

Clearing her throat, Rose managed to cover her shock with a welcoming smile and at his direction, hesitantly sat down in the chair opposite, her hands feeling for the ties of her apron. Rose took the apron off and set it on the windowsill before lifting her gaze to the man, Bas, who had piqued her interest as soon as he’d uttered the first few words. He wasn’t from around London, that much was clear. She sat forward a little, her feet curling around the legs of the chair to draw it with her as she moved, and tipped her head to the side, observing him coolly as the absent-minded smile kept her lips in an upwards fashion. He was pretty, she decided. Yes, most definitely pretty, but Merlin was he handsome. Rose felt her cheeks colour slightly as she berated herself for the thought and she brought her hand to her cheek, hoping to cover the scarlet but really only succeeded in drawing attention to it.

“You...” Rose bit her lip and shook her head, dropping her hand into her lap before rephrasing herself, “Pardon me, I mean not to offend but you’re not from around here, are you? It’s just...your accent. It’s, um, definitely not cockney, that’s for sure. I feel as if I should recognise it but I’m afraid I’ve only ever been to Romania in terms of travels. My uncle works there. Dragons...” Rose shrugged by way of explanation and smiled, “Are you new to town?”

Bas was, and looked, old enough to call himself, legitimately, a man. Blatant fact aside, he still possessed a rather boyish wonder to life. Sure, he had had to grow up a lot since the death of “the man of his life” – his father. Yet, apart from the shrewdness and cynicism of his conduct at work situations, he managed to involuntarily retain a kind of innocence and amazement at other parts of life. It was possibly in his genes, or perhaps in his upbringing. The ideals he was taught to cherish by a father who wanted his family to be different from the others in his was still there, even if they had been hurt by the grievous death.

And so, his enthusiasm was hardly feigned. Bas looked eagerly at the girl he had decided would be his friend. He was glad that there seemed to be no sign that she was reluctant to proceed with his attempts to make a friend out of her. Quickly, he sat back down on his seat and offered Rose a smile that was meant to assure her of his sanity.

Bas made as if to raise a hand, but stopped before he could do so. Instead, he watched the girl as she spoke. The man watched her lips in an odd habit that he had possessed ever since Merlin knows when. His mother would have nagged about the politeness of eye contact, but he had always preferred looking at the lips of the person who spoke. It was only when Rose was done that his eyes shot up to her eyes.

“Cockney … ?” He frowned in temporary confusion before letting the word slide. Then, with an eager nod that made the fluff on his head bounce along, Bas rested his elbows on the table and leaned towards his companion. “Barcelona! I’m from Espa- uh, Spain. It’s my first day alone in Diagon Alley, second day in London.” He beamed, as if the fact of that warranted it. “What about you?” And then, he turned slightly and raised the hand that was meant to be up a moment ago, signalling for the petite waitress that had been at his table before. The girl in question looked up, stared at Rose, before scrambling to the table.

“Eggs? Bacon? Potato? Coffee? Tea? Rose? Breakfast. My treat.” Bas flashed a grin and began to drum his fingers at the edge of the table as he waited. He certainly got his father’s generosity that was thankfully backed up by the remnants of the Bermudez wealth that was apportioned for their share of the family pie. Besides, Aurelio Bermudez was typically the man you sent to entertain the guests. People liked his hospitality. Fortunately, Bas was sufficiently distracted. Perhaps night would bring the frequent broodings over the loss of his father. The day, now, however, was treating him fairly well.

This was an odd place to be for Rose Weasley, in a bistro in Diagon Alley. Being the daughter of Hermione Granger, so much was expected of her. She’d proved to be as studious as her mother but had never really excelled like Hermione had as she’d inherited her father’s laziness in terms of school work; though she did share her mother’s distaste of Divination. Still, she had passed her N.E.W.T’s with flying colours and it was a feat many aspired to. From there, though, she did not really accomplish much.

In a fit of rage that had been mostly directed to her father rather than her mother, she’d left and had joined her Uncle Charlie in Romania who had been pleased to see her but had certainly not been expecting such a visit. He’d welcomed her company, actually, and Rose had been sad to go. That was her only accomplishment, really -- working with dragons. Other than that she’d been a disappointment. She wasn’t in the Ministry like many had expected, she wasn’t a Master Healer like most had wanted -- she was a manager in a bistro. It was hardly glamorous. She wasn’t as impressive as either of her parents. No, she was just plodding along, still waiting for her big break.

And here was an oddity before her, sitting in the cafe that her mother did not approve of her working in. Hermione liked how down to earth Rose was but made no secret of her distaste, even if it was owned by the daughter of the Minister for Magic. That made no difference what so ever; to be the Minister for Magic, that was what Rose was supposed to aspire to - not work for his daughter. Still, Rose couldn’t claim there was no excitement in Sparks. Just last week a hotshot filmmaker, the son of Muggles of the same profession, came into the shop after the successful release of a film that was supposed to create an industry in the Wizarding World. Now a foreigner. It was exciting! Honest.

“Cockney...” Rose repeated, looking about herself as if her surroundings would provide her with a useful elaboration. “North Londoners, if I remember correctly, have cockney accents. They tend to rhyme a lot. Um. Rosie-Lee for tea and stuff. My grandmother used to call me that. Though, I’m not tea. Err...obviously. Oh Merlin...” Rose ducked her head with embarrassment and smiled a little before looking up again as he spoke. “Barcelona? Oh! Wow! That’s...so...wow. I’m not usually this eloquent, I swear.” Rose laughed a little. “How do you like the weather?” Rose joked, glancing out into the alley to see light drizzle falling already.

Rose raised an eyebrow and tried to think about where she was technically from. Her mother resided in Oxford for much of her youth, her father in Ottery St. Catchpole. Rose, well, she’d been all over the place. Her father never liked to be that far away from his mother and so they went through an interim period bouncing between London and there, the former where Rose supposed she’d been born. Finally though they bought a patch of land in Catchpole and build a cottage, making it, at Hermione’s insistence, sensibly instead of ramshackle like the home of the Weasleys. This was where Rosie grew up, in the orchards with her cousins in the bright orange glow of Ottery St. Catchpole. Still, she found she liked the capital a bit more. Well, she liked Diagon Alley at least.

“Ottery St. Catchpole,” Rose answered after a moment. “It’s south of here. Um. Quite a bit south, actually. It has a very pretty market place. Nothing like the alley, much more open. Um. What’s Barcelona like? I’ve never really been anywhere. Well, apart from Romania but there’s nothing exactly there either so I suppose it doesn’t count...” Rose trailed off, realising she was babbling. “Oh! Tea please.” Rose’s cheeks coloured further. “Um. Well, you don’t have to. I mean, I ate,” Liar “So.. I’m not-” Rose was cut off by the gurgle of her stomach and she glanced down at the offending area of her torso. “...hungry.” She finished lamely.

He hardly knew London. There were the holiday trips, the conversations, and the superficial impressions that he still held on to. There was, therefore, so much to love. The Cockney that Rose was talking about intrigued him. Bas cocked his head to a side and smiled as he thought about what she was saying. He was still rather clueless about it. Yet, he nodded in polite understanding. Bas did, however, understand the words that Rose found herself embarrassed about. He found himself chuckling before he shook his head. “It’s okay,” he muttered, then looked out into the alley as he emulated the look that the girl was sending in said direction. Yet, he was delight.

“I like it!” He turned his attention back to Rose. “Rain. I love rain.” He nodded, as if to reinforce his preference. “When we were young … when it rained … my father would bring my brother and I to play in the rain.” Bas grinned at the memory. It was an expression that was soon replaced by a look of nostalgia, only to slip into a hint of sadness. And then, snapping out of it, the man looked up again at Rose. “Do you like rain? Rain is good. It is always a good sign.” He smiled.

“You must bring me to this Catchpole! I would like to see the pretty market place. We have markets in Barcelona too. They were always bustling!” A beam. Bas was obviously impressed that he had used that adjective. “But, Ottery … like the animal … ?” The wonder on the man’s face never really left. He already liked where Rose said she was from. It was named after an animal! “You must take me there, today!” In his excitement, he had forgotten to ask.

“Ah, Romania. I have many friends from Romania. Well, not … schoolmates, actually. I knew them in Durmstrang.”

Bas shook his head animatedly. Once again, his hair followed the motion of his action. The man looked as if he was going to make a violent protest, which he did. Well, not as violent as it was misled to be. “You are hungry.” He turned to the blonde, who was waiting for an answer. “She is hungry.” He nodded, and turned back to Rose. “You are hungry,” he repeated himself. “Get the biggest breakfast on the menu!” He grinned and looked at her in anticipation.

Rain, admittedly, had never been something Rose favoured but that was because she was spoiled with it. However, this sort of rain, the rain that hailed down upon the rabid shoppers outside, the kind of rain that got you soaked despite it being far from heavy or the droplets being tiny by comparison to other kinds of rain. This rain she loved. She loved it in the dying days of summer, when the ground was hot and dusty and once the rain came, reduced it to mud that she adored frolicking in with the local boys, turning her hair from red to brown within minutes, the rain making it explode into a frizzy mass and the mud leaving much to be desired in terms of appearance. Many an afternoon during the rainy season was spent in the back garden shivering, waiting for her father to fetch her a towel because she’d been stripped bare of her clothes so as to be washed with a jet of water. She hated that bit, but loved the process.

“Yes, rain...it’s lovely.” Rose smiled wistfully, remembering those stifling summers of her childhood, and returned her eyes to Bas as he expressed some of his own memories. “Neither of my parents were particularly fond of me playing in the rain. It’s too dusty in Catchpole when the right kind of rain hits. It makes everything muddy the moment it appears. We loved it but the grownups hated having to drag us home, knowing we’d get mud on everything whether we touched it or not, much less the carpet!” Rose smiled brightly. “I suppose rain isn’t really common in Spain, right? Unless of course...do you get a rainy season? Britain has a perpetual rainy season I’m afraid. There’s nothing we can do about it. Then again, no one’s ever really content unless it’s drizzling - whether they’d admit to it or not.”

The rain beyond the safety of the glass was beginning to grow heavier and from the tips of their wands, wizards and witches conjured umbrellas to shield themselves and their children. Rose could remember her mother doing the same when they were caught out in a torrent of water. She remembered the way her father would gather her up in his arms when she was very tiny, before her brother had been born. But that had been so long ago now.

“Today?” Rose spluttered in disbelief. “Sure...I suppose. I mean, there isn’t much there really. It’s just...well...families, I suppose. It’s a great place to walk and there’s a beautiful orchard!” Rose smiled despite herself before finally nodding, accepting his decision. “We’ll go today.”

At the mention of Durmstrang, Rose perked up a little more, knowing that it was the school that competed with Hogwarts, along with Beauxbatons, for the Tri-Wizard Cup. “You went there?” She inquired gently. “What was it like?” Her interest had overtaken her need to eat and so when he stated the obvious, her stomach grumbled in kind, reminding her of the fact that, as Bas had stated, she was hungry. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am.” She admitted, her cheeks colouring pink again. “The biggest?!” Rose spluttered out her words again. “No, no, no, no, no, no! It’s fine! I...it’s expensive! I...I’ll eat later! Honestly! I had something last night... a, um...” Apple, her mind provided mutinously. “an omelette! I’ll be fine!”