14 January 2012 @ 9am
#4C Burgoyne Burbidges Lofts
Barking, London

Sun was just starting to stream in from the tall arched window, oversized for the small dusty space. A large long-legged cat - a serval to be exact - trotted nimbly around the space sniffing everything. She hopped onto the window sill and off again, then up onto the fireplace mantle. She disappeared into one small bedroom, then the other. She zipped across the kitchen counter and in her cheery excitement pranced around the ankles of Gabriella Dagon before melting up into the form of Waverly Roh-Ballentyne.

She emerged beaming and bouncing. “Deadly wicked!”

The two bright witches had chosen it together. It was the perfect mix of affordable and smokestack chic. There were holes in the floor boards, bare brick walls, and a janky kitchen nook. The place smelled like fish for some reason, the windows were grimy, the loo looked like the first loo that had ever been invented but it was all theirs.

Waverly took another turn around the room her arms stretched high over her head, not even getting close to touching the high ceilings with their exposed pipework. She felt smug and free and vindicated. And maybe even at peace. She’d found her own place just as her mothers had demanded[1]. Sure, it wasn’t quite in the manner they’d expected but who cared? It felt good. It felt damn good.

She took Gabriella by both cheeks and planted a kiss on her forehead. They didn’t have any food or furniture. (Waverly had thought ahead enough to bring a toilet roll and shower curtain, at least.) They just had themselves and their lives and their youth.

“We need to have a party, like, immediately,” she said in a light mimic of a California party girl. Drinking and dancing was her first reaction to any strong emotion good or bad.

Affordable as it was, the best-friends wouldn’t have had enough gold between them to pool for rent and deposit without Waverley’s new job. Not the entry-level position at Witch Weekly (as cool as that was). No, the much more lucrative moonlighting gig doling out gillyweed, Muse, and stronger stuff. It was risky, exciting, and she was good at it.[2]

1.	1 Jan 2012 - When the Sun Goes Down
2.	15 Jan 2012 - It Makes You Lighter

The flat was a stark contrast to where Gabby Dagon had grown up. When not at Hogwarts, Gabby had been in the French Alps, living with her father on his dragon ranch. The chalet had been open and bright, enormous windows and plenty of natural light. It had been homely and clean, and it had felt safe. This was small and grotty and bare. No furniture, no homeliness. Most people would have turned their noses up at this grubby flat. Gabby and Wav had excitedly put down a deposit and moved themselves in. Not that there had been much to move in. They’d have to scrimp and save to get any furniture, but they’d get there.

Gabby was looking out of the large windows as her feline friend pranced around, inspecting their new home from a more unique angle.
“Ferociously on point.” Gabs responded with a grin.

Wav span around excitedly, and Gabby dropped herself down, taking to lying on the dusty floorboards. She put her hands behind her head, looking up at the super cool urban pipework. “We need booze for a party. Crap party with no booze.” She laughed, amused. “Or seats. And gillyweed. And a bed to pass out on. 2 beds. I starfish.” A long list of things they needed. To gabby, having  a bed definitely needed to be top of the list!

Waverly laid down and put her head on Gabby's tummy. Every breath or laugh Gabby made gave Waverly's a little bounce which made her laugh in turn. Gabby and her starfishing - that was enough to start her laughing on her own though.

"And I've got cold feet." Waverly got kicked out of beds when the Slytherin girls snuggled up sometimes.

"Nyah, I'm cleaned out," she said with a whine. No money for booze and furniture until she got more gillyweed from Tam Handrow. "Getting more gilly-gilly tomorrow, at least, then we can get this place looking less like an cleaned crime scene."

She said it with appreciation. It felt real, authentic, and defiant to leave the comfort of home (even though it wasn't her choice) and try and make it alone. Even more so for Gabby who's parents' place was, ahem, next level.

"I'm going to go get my bed and stuff sometime this week so at least I'll have one. Maybe you ... can transfigure that old box of books over there into a futon."

A previous tenant had left a little crate of books over by the fireplace. That and some empty bottles and a Daily Prophet from the 80s.

“You’re funny.” Gabby said with a half laugh, half roll of her eyes. “I asked Dad for the furniture from my room. His response? ‘You’ll need to it here when you come crawling back.’” she put on her best grumpy man voice. “Cheeky bugger.” Her entire life, Gabby had basically been at war with her Dad. She knew, now she was older, that he’d pulled the short straw. Her mum had died and left him to do it all alone, and they just really didn’t get along. Felix wasn’t made to be a single dad, or a dad at all, Gabby considered. Now Waverly, with two mums, also had millions of complaints. Maybe they were just better off with friends. Friends didn’t order you about.

Now, about the books for a bed…
“Not fair, really. Clearly your mums think this is going to work. Not even a bed. He’d setting me up to fail at the first hurdle.” Her fingers her in Waverly’s curly hair as the other girl rested her head on her stomach. “A sodding bed. What book shall I make my bed? ‘Running with magic chickens’, or…” she squinted, trying to make out the titles visible at the top of the box from their angle. “100 fascinating facts about flobberworm fornication’? Eeesh.”

They’d be fine. It was a tight first month. But Wav’s ‘business’ would soon be lifting off (excuse the pun), and they’d be soaring. Just a few weeks of slumming it.
“You can have the flobberworm fornication one. I don’t want dreams of that.”

"What?" Waverly lifted her head, entirely counfounded as to what Gabby could be talking about. She saw the book and let her head back down and pulled her knees to her chest.

"No...!" she groaned. "Merlin, you're bloody gross."

She rolled to her knees and took up her wand. "I'm burning it. I'll not be haunted by someone's fetish-y worm loving library."

There was a smallish fireplace. It could be connected to the Floo Network if either of them could be arsed. Waverly shoved the cardboard box of books inside with her booted foot, kicking up ash.  She stepped back waving her hand in front of her face.

"With this sacred cleansing fire, I banish this manky rubbish from our lovely flat. Incendio!"

Waverly flipped her wand and set the box of books on fire. 

“Excuse me!” Gabby also sat up, hands in the air but grinning broadly. “I was not the author of ‘Flobberworm Fornication’.” Waverly was up on her feet, disposing of the books in dramatic Roh fashion. Burn them! Burn them all!

“Well that’s our creepy beds gone.” Gabs threw her hands up in faux concern. They’d sort something. And if they drank enough before sleep time, it would hardly matter, anyway.

“You know, I could, however, write a whole encyclopaedia on dragon coitus.” She pointed out, staring at the flames now heating the previously cold room. “Oh, my god, you should hear the noise they make when it’s bonking time.” Crossing her legs and sitting with her back straight, Gabriella drew a deep breath before letting out one hell of a groan/scream/roar. It was loud and hilarious sounding, but when she was finished, she looked rather proud of herself. “That’s dragon sexy, that.” She winked. “I just gave you my dragon mating call.”

Waverly was absolutely cackling by the time Gabriella was finished with her vivid, visceral, well-practiced dragon 'bonking' serenade. "No...!" She laughed and then her laughter turned to a series of uncontrollable snorts.

"Stop- ghnk!" Gasp, laugh, snort. Not pretty, but no one could make her laugh like Gabby. Waverly waved her hands towards her face and cleared her throat and tried to regain her composure, but it was hard to keep a serious face and she had to choke back another breathy giggle.

"You can't do that, I'll die. I hate you."

She turned away to the heavy sliding door that lead out to the balcony and hauled it open. A gust of cold wet air rushed in. The balcony was about the size of a postage stamp. There was a metal pail filled with sand and cigarette butts. She picked it up with two fingers and showed it to Gabby.

"What the hell are we doing?" she asked with wide eyes.