It was a dry and cold, rather grey day in London, and Dazmond Wiedman was sat on the front stoop of the Shodding Arms Hotel in Knockturn Alley, throwing little stones at the unwieldy pigeons below.  They tended to fly up and then immediately back to their previous position, hooing and insistently claiming the garbage heaps as their own.  Dazmond drew more entertainment from her failure to deter them than from her attempt to do the same.  It was a ... bonding experience.  And a waste of time.

Dazmond didn't do clockwork, but it felt like little Mairead was late.  She'd been sitting on the stoop for two minutes and was completely convinced that half the afternoon had eclipsed.  It really didn't occur to her that asking a twelve year old, muggleborn Tinker Witch to meet her at the far end of Knockturn may have presented a problem.  Business deals such as this could not have seen them together in Diagon.  That was out of the question.  But considering how early on in life Daz had started up this tree, considerations of age and circumstance didn't entirely compute.  Already Mairead had proven herself beyond such categories.  She rightly belonged to the backstreets of Knockturn.  Right?

She leaned forward, issuing forth a loud caw to brighten and scare the bold birds away.  One flew off and rounded its pattern to threaten her head of black and crimson curls.  She swatted at it, half laughing, half shrieking.  An old bum on the corner threw her a dirty look.  Obviously he was needing quiet for his bout of dramatic corner loitering.  Devils damn her for her giddy happy moment's bliss.  The pigeons, just as desperate as the average hominid Alley dweller. 

"Godric's nads," said Dazmond, throwing a sneer in the scrap of a Wizard's direction.  "Find a bleedin' hobby mate."

---

*The title of this thread is from a Tom Waits Song of the same name.

If the spunky first year Gryffindor were keeping count (which, by the way, she was), this would be the third time her worn, government-issued loafers had weaved their way amongst the stagnant pools along the Knockturn's gutter.  Her first visit had been back during the summer on one of the many occasions she'd given her mum the slip.  She'd window-shopped her way down the alley, passed the displays of skulls and hands and other things which she had no idea what they were until she'd found that fantastic pet shop that had had all those spiders and scorpions and other creepy crawlies.  That strange-haired woman had come in and Mairead pretended to be her sick daughter in exchange for some money and lunch.  It had been during her second visit Mairead had found the formerly-three-headed, now two-headed serpent companion.

So, this time, Mairead had some sense of where she was going and that subtle sense of familiarity with Knockturn made her feel big.  She pointedly ignored the curious glances and occasional jeering laugh in her direction as she passed by the various locals.  On one occasion, when a scraggly old witch approached her, Mairead simply gave her a pointed look and a curt "I got an appointment with Ms. Wiedman" before continuing on her way.  Whether it was the destination or determination with which Mairead spoke that did it, it was hard to say, but with an amused laugh the hag fell back and watched the girl as she continued on her way. 

Mairead spotted Dazmond sitting on those front steps and started over, looking as bright and chipper as the day's excursion demanded.  She wasn't oblivious to the old man's eyes following her as she approached Dazmond but she did, pointedly, ignore it.  "Maidin mhaith" Mairead offered with a bright smile as she stopped in front of the front stoop. 

"I got 'er," she assured Dazmond, patting her coat before the woman could even question.  It was probably an unnecessary reassurance.  The serpent had grown considerably in the last six weeks and settled, heavily, in the bottom of Mairead's pocket.  She considered mentioning Mairead and Macha's encounter with the Auror last week in Hogsmeade.  She wasn't sure if the woman was more apt to be disappointed that Mairead had let Macha get discovered or impressed that she'd given the Auror (and Maggie) the slip with the Runespoor still in her pocket. 

"How's the wand?"

She'd been folded over on herself at the front stoop, paranoia surfacing over the man in the corner with fidgety feet and shifty, darting eyes, but when bright little Mairead came confidently over with a bulging pocket and fiery vibes, Dazmond visibly perked.  Paranoia vanished, just like that, along with most of her sense of caution.  A grin spread over her spirit entirely and she popped up to her feet, hopping down the steps to greet her co-conspirator. 

"Alright?" 

Her eyes grew in brightness as they fixed upon the lump of hidden serpent and then traveled up to the girl's face.  She smiled a bit, now thinking on the wand and the words of advise given her, the last month and the long journey toward finding an alliance with her new, independently-thinking wand.  After a moment's reflection she started nodding.  "Yeah, it's alright -- you know, I think I've learned to lay off and connect a bit.  I'm getting along with her more by the day.  Long road and all that.  How're you, love?  You ready?  Haven't ever side-along apparated have you?"

Dazmond was aware still of the dark Wizard within earshot.  They obviously had something of value and a quick glance over the shoulder confirmed he was all ears.

"We better jet now.  Hold on tight?"  Dazmond held her arm out for the taking.  "To both of us," she clarified.  Wouldn't want to lose the snake in transit, would they.  Dazmond winked.  Though it wasn't all that long a journey to the Melanthe's mother's place in London, one could never be all too sure how side-along apparating a runespoor would go.

Mairead nodded definitively.  Everything was, definitely, alright.  More than alright - it was exciting!  A real adventure!  "I told Deaglan I'd be off studying with a friend.  As long as I'm back before supper, I should be good."  Her parents had already crossed back over to Ireland.  Mairead had had the option of going with them for the remainder of the holiday or staying with Deaglan.  Knowing this excursion would be much easier to organize here with Deaglan, she'd stayed. 

Oh, yeah.  This grown witch was doing better with her wand and it was because of Mairead's advice.  Mairead beamed at the woman though the approving nod she gave had a distinct, confident air to it.  "It'll get easier.  Me own wand's a pistol.  But, I love 'er." 

"I'm good.  I left Ailill with Deaglan for the day, though.  The puffskein seemed a little stressed just bein' about one o' these things.  Don't worry - Deaglan don't know about Macha-"  She gave her now zippered pocket a slight prod with her fingers to demonstrate the ingenious tactic used to keep the serpent from embarking upon unauthorized excursions that would lead to her getting discovered.  "I just told him me mate's got a cat that likes t'eat puffskeins." 

Apparition.  Mairead grinned excitedly as she shook her head.  "No.  But I heard about it."  She hadn't, yet, embarked upon this method of wizarding travel but she'd overheard sixth years muttering (or moaning) about their examinations.  She followed Daz's glance over towards the Wizard loitering behind them and offered as charming a grin and a wiggling of her fingers in farewell as she could manage.  She placed one hand on Daz's offered arm and used her other hand to gently cradle - or cocoon - the runespoor-heavy pocket.  With a sudden lurch forward into crushing darkness, Knockturn Alley vanished.  Or, they vanished from it.

As well as she knew that Runespoor venom was only explosive after it had been cured, some small part of Dazmond expected to never rematerialize after disapparating with Macha.  Chock it up to leftover fear from her husband's rendez-vous with death, perhaps.

After a brief, extremely fast moment of being ripped through trans-dimensional space-time, Dazmond and Mairead popped into existence holding hands on the grounds of a great house.  "Here we are," said Dazmond, mentally bracing herself.  After glancing up at the grand face of the home, she grabbed Mairead's shoulder to provide some grounding assistance.  "You alright then?" she asked, checking her once over for delirium or nausea.

"This is it, this is where we'll floo from."  She hadn't really thought this through, though, had she.  Bringing Mairead into the lion's den, was she?  A Pavee in a Purist's sanctuary of homeliness?  Hopefully Annie would be none the wiser as to her status and the act of youthful corruption in this affair....  Still.  Precautions were perhaps a little necessary.  They needed a bit of a cushion, and Daz had to improvise one -- nowish.

"Leave most of the talking to me once we're inside, okay?  Just, try to look cute and innocent or something.  These are just the doors we're going through to get to safety; the people on the way -- they don't have to know why we're going through.  You're my husband's half-blood niece, alright?  His name is Nate."

Dazmond took a deep breath, and went up to knock the knocker on the door.

"Tá tú glan as do mheabhair!" Mairead gasped when her feet finally made contact with solid ground.  Her body had stopped moving and stopped ... compressing ... but you'd be hard pressed to convince her mind of that.  "Feel like I just got off one o' those whirly gigs at the fair," she muttered as she checked her hands and feet and pockets.  All fingers and toes seemed to be accounted for.  A quick peak in her pocket verified both heads and all four feet of the serpent had arrived intact. 

"I'm fine," Mairead insisted boldly.  Her voice wavered slightly with dizziness but she wasn't about to admit that.  "We're here, in Siberia?" she tagged on, finally taking a good look around at her surroundings.  She hoped this wasn't their magical destination of choice; she couldn't see a single extravagant castle - all there was was some house.  Big?  Yes.  Expensive looking?  Yes.  An elegant, magical castle?  Definitely not. 

Given her initial expectations, the house was wholly underwhelming and she made no effort to hide that fact as she gazed up at Daz, one eyebrow lifted.  So, this was just where they would flew from.  Showing an unusual degree of tact, Mairead resisted the temptation to point out that even she knew that wasn't proper grammar (especially since she might be expected to explain why that wasn't proper and she would have been no more able to do that then to differentiate between a present and past participle).  Her tact fumbled, predictably, at the obvious flaw in the plan.  "Ye didn't tell me to bring me broom." 

"I'm not-"  Mairead started then stopped herself.  Dazmond hadn't actually called her cute and innocent; she'd asked Mairead to attempt to appear as such.  A distinction that made all the difference in the world.  "Got it; I can try.  I can play sick, too," she offered, throwing in a convincing, lung-hacking cough.  "-If ye want to tell em we're going to see a doctor or ... healer ... or whatever ye people see.  Yer married?"  Why the woman seemed such an unlikely candidate for holy matrimony, Mairead couldn't say but the notion of Dazmond being married surprised her nonetheless. 

She turned back towards the door and watched it, expectantly. 

The plan to bring Dazmond's little friend to Siberia had started the night of the Bombay holiday dinner and since that time, Melanthe had to decide which way was best to get her there. Initially, Melanthe had thought using her brother's flat to floo might be best for the trip, but since he worked for the ministry, she thought better of it. The Whitmans in Cardiff had also been out because generally they had too many holiday parties with hoards of people around. The other locations were too far away, in Paris and Moscow respectively.

So that left her mother's flat in London. Annie Grumman nee Ayre tended to keep to herself these days and thus her home seemed to be the perfect departure site. Melanthe had arrived at her mother's home in London earlier in the afternoon, hoping to spend some lengthy time there and keep the visit from looking like she was only using her mother for business.

Sadly though, she and Annie were not so close, and the reasons for that were numerous and sometimes shrouded in mystery. It was hard for the two women to relate to each other now or, find a comfort level that seemed natural for most mother-daughter combos. Still, Melanthe did love her mother dearly, and to some degree she understood the woman's desire to want to live in London after how much tragedy had happened in their family.

They were sharing the evening's tea session when the doorbell sounded and Melanthe practically jumped from the chair, reassuring her mother, "I'll answer it, mum." As the dark witch passed by her mother's chair, she bent down to give the woman a quick peck on the cheek.

Melanthe hurried to the door and threw it open to find Dazmond with her little cohort in tow. Melanthe smiled at her friend but clearly her gaze settled on the young girl who the potions mistress had spoken of with such fondness in their previous conversations. Melanthe was curious as well as eager to see the talents of one so young.

Melanthe's eyes drank in the features of her face and tried to put a finger on why the girl seemed so familiar to her, even though she was clearly a complete stranger. After a moment more of trying to figure it out, Melanthe dismissed such thoughts and stepped aside so as to let the two visitors inside.

"Come in," she offered. "My mother and I were just having tea." She raised a brow and looked towards Daz. "Perhaps you'd like to join us?

"Yep," said Dazmond as they waited at the door.  "Not in the usual way though," she had to add, a tad defensively.  Then, straightening back up, "He's different."

The door opened and Melanthe took her time scrutinizing Dazmond's recruit.  Then she invited them in for tea with her mother.  Dazmond leaned on her back heel.

"Suuure," she said, ready to play along with whatever procedure Melanthe thought best.  As little as she wanted to hang around and chat, giving the dame time to suss things out, she could understand how rudely rushing through and using the fireplace would do more harm than good.  Before she stepped in though, Dazmond said, "Ope, hold on."  And quickly unbuttoning her long coat, she shrugged it off and offered it up to Mairead.  "Put this on," she said.  Given her own size, it wouldn't have been very awkwardly large on the little twelve year old, but it would hopefully do something to conceal the writhing serpent in her pocket.

"Kay," she said.  "Let's go."

They followed Melanthe in, stopping to take shoes off at the door, and soon found themselves in a sitting room with a very well-dressed older woman who Dazmond readily recognized as Melanthe's well-to-do mother.  They had previously met (her own mother having had her over for dinner at least once before), which did make this a little easier.  Dazmond put on a winning smile, still keeping close to Mairead and often touching a light hand to the girl's far shoulder in defense of her goods.

"Mrs. Grumman," she said, her voice full of fabricated fondness.  "So good to see you.  Please forgive us for this rude intrusion...."  She glanced at Melanthe and defaulted to another smile, not exactly sure if there was a story she was meant to be matching.  "This is my niece," she said.  "Zoe."

The door swung open and a tall, dark-haired woman peered down at them.  Or, more specifically, Mairead.  The woman was looking very ... intently at Mairead but, if the scrutiny bothered the eleven-year-old, she gave no indication of it.  The young Gryffindor gave her head a pointed shake, tossing most of her hair behind her shoulders before looking, unabashedly, back up at the woman. 

The woman invited them inside and Mairead finally pulled her gaze away from the woman and towards Dazmond.  "Is she gonna give us brooms?" she asked, perhaps a bit too eagerly.  If the house was anything to go by, these people were loaded.  And, rich people probably had nice brooms, just like rich people back in Ireland had fancy cars.  But, Dazmond was already draping a coat over Mairead shoulders and crossing the threshold into the house. 

For the briefest moment, the Gryffindor hesitated.  But, whatever the cause for hesitation might be, it was irrelevant.  A quick glance over her shoulder reminded her that she had no bloody idea where she was and even less of a notion of how to get anywhere she recognized.  So, she followed the married woman in to the house. 

Once inside, she followed Dazmond's lead and stepped on the heel of one government-issued mary janes with the other foot before freeing her other foot in the same fashion. She cast Dazmond's back an annoyed scowl as she followed the woman through the house; had she known she would be going shoeless, she would have picked a slightly cleaner pair of socks to don.  She quickly replaced the look of annoyance with one of ... well, idiotic pleasantness, really, as she glanced at the newest unknown entity. 

Zoe?  Oh well. "Allo," she said, in what she hoped was a convincingly shy voice. 

As Melanthe led them toward the sitting room, she looped her arm through her very good friend's and leaned close to whisper, "Don't worry, Daz. We won't be having tea for long. We'll be out of here in no time." The dark witch reached up to tug at the vial she wore around her neck. Most of the time, it remained empty--it was simply for decorative purposes. But on this day, it had held a simple potion, one to induce a premature desire to sleep in the person who drank it. In this case, it was her mother.

As it were, Melanthe had not created much of a story at all, except that she might be expecting some friends over for a visit. Melanthe's mother had met Daz before and it was hard to tell her full opinion of the woman. If Annie Grumman disapproved of some of Melanthe's associations, she didn't always say so outright. It usually manifested itself in a grim line made with the lips, or a glint in the eye (one that Melanthe herself was often prone to exercising at times of displeasure).

As they approached the room the room, Melanthe released Daz's arm and allowed her to proceed with the pleasantries of greeting her mother and introducing the youngster, who Melanthe had all but ignored since the initial greeting. Dealing with young children was not one of Melanthe Grumman's fortes. In fact, she figured that maternal instincts had been left out of her genetic makeup altogether. They were given to people like Dazmond in bunches. The other witch would make a wonderful mother someday. And Melanthe would be happy to pepper Dazmond's children with plenty of gifts, as the auntie that would shower them with any materialistic thing their little hearts desired.

After the introductions, Melanthe's mother motioned for them all to sit down. There were two tea cups already set out which had been sipped from by the mother and daughter.

Melanthe set about pouring some tea for their guests, but a glance towards her mother's face told her that they would not be sipping long before Annie Grumman was out like a light and they could head off to Tyen.

After nudging the tea towards Daz and the little girl and sitting down, Melanthe innocently asked, "Soo......Zoe....how's school?"

---

OOC: Whoever posts next, feel free to say her mother has dozed off.

Dazmond held the warm smile up like a candy-coloured shield, eyes faltering a moment as Mrs. Grumman briefly sunk and sat back to attention tiredly.  Oh, Melanthe!  She could have married her.  Mood brightened temporarily, Dazmond lead her co-conspirator over to the couch opposite and lowered herself down onto the edge of her seat, posture straight and decent to complete the picture of innocence. 

"I do love a cup of tea," she said, reaching forward for the two cups.  She handed one to Mairead.  "Zoe?"  She smiled at the girl with a short spark of mischief in her gaze.  It was exciting to have her along actually.  Although Dazmond did, surprisingly, do very well with children and teenagers with what was very well a maternal instinct (and an instinct very well practiced as her own mother made sure would be the case in her development), Daz could relate so well to the little people probably more because of her own child-like qualities than because of her ability to take care of them.  For instance, at the moment, Daz was living a bit vicariously through Mairead, who was embarking on a journey of premature criminality in much the same fashion that she had herself at that age.  It made her the littlest bit proud.

And did I mention she was a Pavee?

"I should have thought to bring along some biscuits," she said with the hint of a laugh.  "I guess my hospitality is a little depleted after all of those Christmas dinners...."

Annie's eyes were half closed as she slunk deeper into the couch.  A sort of half-snore escaped her and she sighed, smacking her lips slightly as she started to doze.  Dazmond looked side-ways at Melanthe.  She was trying not to laugh.

"We're all so full of surprises, though, aren't we?"

The Gryffindor continued to trail behind the two arm-in-arm chums, her own arms crossed over her chest as she surveyed the rather ... fancy house.  Everything around her looked expensive and she was certain they'd disintegrate if she as much as touched them.  And, she'd get blamed.  Best to keep her hands well contained. 

Just outside the sitting room, Mairead paused to stare at some big fancy looking breakable thing.  The two adults were already settling into their tea, making that small talk adults seemed to make around tea on those boring BBC dramas.  The only comment of worth in the whole exchange was Melanthe's assurance that tea wasn't going to last long.  The Gryffindor followed the two women over to the couches, hesitating briefly at the sight of the fancy, expensive looking couch before lowering herself gingerly on it.  Hopefully, no one would notice the stray horse hair or two.  To say Mairead felt out of place in the midst of the ... frilly ... sitting room would have been a bit of an understatement.  It made her feel far more nervous than following a stranger to a strange place had. 

Mairead took a large gulp of the tea before glancing at Dazmond.  Was this school small talk was part of the routine before going to the magic castle?  Answering without speaking much, as Dazmond had recommended, would have been a feat for even the most talented of kids.  Shrugging her shoulders, Mairead looked back to Melanthe.  "Aye.  It's alright.  Classes are boring and homework's bollocks and some of the other first years are bloody nutters.  But, the food's good and I got top grades in Flying.  I hope-"  Flying and food had, so far, been the highlights of the school year.  But, before she could embark upon her aspirations to be on the Quidditch team her second year, their hostess interrupted with a snore. 

"Me great aunt always does that.  Usually when she gets langered, though."  Mairead looked from the older woman to the two younger woman before gulping down the rest of her tea.  "I still don't have a broom," she repeated. 

Melanthe was certainly pleased with herself. Her mother's slumber happened just as she had planned. It wasn't that she normally used her mother as an access point to her home and that was it. She often sat with her mother when in town and to have cordial chats with the woman. But part of Melanthe felt that it was hard to relate to her mother and maybe Annie Grumman felt that way about her daughter as well. The exact nature of their estrangement was unknown because neither knew how to approach the other honestly. The past got in their way. There were more secrets than either really knew about and they held each other captive in silence most of the time.

Melanthe took a brief moment to size up the pip squeak that Daz had brought with her. She clearly was not pureblood. And didn't have much in the way of refined graces. Melanthe sincerely hoped that this was not a foreshadowing of what she had to look forward to for the rest of their acquaintance. She did not have time for mediocrity and underachievement.

"We're actually not going to be traveling by broom," she informed the girl. "Where we are going...it's too long of a journey for that. And what is more, it's too cold. Wind in your face on a broom is one thing. Feeling like you are being continuously slapped in the face by ice is entirely another."

The dark witch stood up to her full height and leaned down over her mother's sleeping figure to ensure the woman was in a deep slumber before stepping over to the fireplace. She beckoned Daz and Mairead to follow.

"No. We're to floo to Tyen," she announced. "That's where we'll finish our business."

"Floo," said Dazmond, nudging her little co-conspirator before setting down the tea and standing up.  "F-L-O-O, by fireplace with the floo powder?  Lesson of the day, kid.  C'mon.  Accio shoes."  Dazmond caught her boots and Mairead's modest footware and passed the little girl hers before slipping her own on, magicking the straps to fasten of their own, all twenty-three of them.  "See this display of remarkable self-control?" she asked Mai as the boot straps slithered busily into position, twirling her bocote wand as a playful aside.  A couple of weeks ago and she'd have set her feet on fire.  But she was, luckily, making great progress in adjusting to the Pavee built Witching Stick.  Gaining a certain level of respect and familiarity, finally.

Dazmond's gaze lingered on Melanthe for a moment, then she grew a tad more somber in her speech:  "Tyen is the castle in Siberia, remember.  It's a long ways away, physically, but by floo, it'll just take a minute to get there.  This is where we'll find a home for Macha," she explained.  "But only if you like it."  Again she looked to Melanthe, feeling a bit of a smile coming on.  This kid was going to freak OUT when she saw this castle, let alone like it, all those Runespoors in those spacious cellar catacombs?  If she had the sense of adventure Dazmond fancied, she'd want to make it her home.  At least to be able to stay and explore the dangerous, dark nooks and crannies. 

"So what's going to happen," she said, "is each of us is going to step inside a special fireplace after throwing floo powder in, kay?  Then we go one by one, and you'll need to say loudly and clearly, 'Tyen Mannor'.  You got that?  Lemme hear you say it.  You get a letter wrong and you could end up in the castle of the man with the hairy heart.  Oh --" Wizarding childhood folklore references.  Probably a little lost on this one.  "Never you mind, just think bad places.  Wrong places.  And that's what I mean.  Maybe you should go in between us."  Looking on from every angle as her mind jumped back and forth between dangers and her desire to fulfill the role of "guide", Dazmond half-frowned and looked to Melanthe, after another quick glance back at her dozing mother.  Was she forgetting something?

The Gryffindor's eyes rolled as she crossed her arms over her chest.  This conversation had gotten insufferably circular.  She opened her mouth, about to demand to know how they were going to flew to this place without brooms when Dazmond nudged her. 

The spelling out really didn't help that much but the definition did.  "Oh."  Mairead blinked, glancing from Dazmond to the other woman and back.  Her brow wrinkled in the middle as she leaned towards Dazmond.  "Like Saint Nicholas?"  She took her blocky, worn mary janes and slipped them on, tugging the velcro into place (well, tucking the tongue of one strap inside the shoe since the velcro had pretty much given up the ghost) while Dazmond showed off her wand skills.  "So, it's workin' better then?"  She grinned as gave two small claps of applause.  "What did it?  I love me wand." 

Yes - the castle in the magical land of Siberia.  Mairead remembered it plenty well.  She followed the two adults over to the fireplace and looked at the flickering embers on the hearth.  "And, the powder's gonna make me not turn into burnt bacon?"  She pointed at the flames.  "Tyen Manor," Mairead repeated, finding it a bit difficult to believe a missed letter was the biggest of their concerns right now.  She didn't recognize the story but, despite that, she grinned at the two women.  "Me and Jarlath - me friend - we gave this rich girl in Dublin a hairy heart once from a sheep we'd sto- nevermind," she faded off, decided they probably didn't want to hear that story last minute. 

"Alright.  Let's go," she agreed.  "I think Macha's getting hungry and I didn't bring any mice."