All the Remembrance Day festivities were fascinating and illuminating.  In the past few days, a multitude of facts, bits of information and stories about this new world were thrust at her in an almost continuous stream.  She'd heard more new (and frequently strange) names in the last few days than she'd come across most of her life.  She'd quickly discovered the basics of all that had happened in this strange world a decade ago and, even more quickly, she'd become aware of the significance of those events to many of the people here.  It was fascinating, but a bit unnerving.

Frequently, it was also overwhelming.  At times it felt like she'd walked into a movie late and, in order to help catch her up, there were four screens scattered around the room, each playing important scenes all at the same time.  She'd turn her head to take in one bit of information and loose touch with all that followed afterwards.  And, it was clear it was an uneasy topic for most; it didn't always feel perfectly comfortable asking random strangers the plethora of questions that swam through her head. 

When it felt like she'd drown from the questions, Mairead would break away from the groups and those supervising her and explore the grounds and castle.  Both were expansive, fantastic and blissfully easy to get lost in.  Mentally as well as physically.  Normally, Mairead had a fairly decent sense of direction but, normally, she wasn't fully distracted by intricate tapestries and conversational paintings. 

She'd come across one particularly annoying knight on one of the upper floors who seemed to have decided she was some young 'damsel in distress' that needed protection.  Her attempts to loose him had resulted in her getting turned around and lost in the dungeons.  Unfortunately, her getting lost hadn't succeeded in getting rid of the lunatic knight.  Instead, it only seemed to confirm his suspicions that she was in distress.

"Alas!  Fair, young damsel!  Scoundrels and beggars prevail in these dark corridors!  Thy safety is -"

"I told ye to bugger off!" Mairead growled at the painted knight.  The pony that had, unfortunately, initially drawn her attention to the knight's painting in the first place had clearly given up and was no longer following the knight.  "I doubt the school has 'scoundrels and beggars' just wandering around," Mairead added.  For what reason, she didn't know.  The knight hadn't listened to anything she'd said so far. 

"Aye, fair maiden.  Beggars and scoundrels by the hordes!  They'll make quick work of a young thing like you.  You must allow noble -"

"What?!" Mairead snapped, her voice full of sarcasm.  Why she was giving the painting the benefit of a response, she didn't know.  But, she had lost her patience and ability to reason somewhere on the third floor.  With continued sarcasm, she repeated again: "what?  They got camps of beggars hiding out down here in the corridors?  I'd probably fit in well with them, anyway." 

"Nonsense, young lass.  Allow me to escort you to safety."

"Then help me find the stairs," Mairead groaned as she picked a random corridor and started down it, rolling her eyes as she heard the clanking of metal that indicated the knight was continuing to stalk her.

Miles strolled out of the Hufflepuff common room, hands in pockets and eyes roaming the too-familiar walls with a general air of sleepy curiosity. It didn't matter how many days and nights he spent in the castle, there was always something new springing from corners or stumbling into his path, ready to be examined and discussed with his ever-imaginative best friend, or whoever happened to be in his company. (Though, when it was Lola, they could spend hours exploring every facet of one thing, seeming to go off topic without really doing so.)

When the badger's ears became attracted to an echoing clank that sounded suspiciously similar to his mother suffering a panic attack among the family stock of pots and pans, he paused in the middle of a stone corridor and backtracked, his lanky legs moving opposite of what was natural. He backed up far enough to peer into another long hallway, one his eyes had perused because they had been distracted open potions laboratories on the opposite wall.

At first, the sight of the tiny girl confused him. First years got smaller every September, to be sure, but this one was practically pocket-sized. Miles furrowed his brow as he watched her argue with a painting. A series of paintings, in fact... featuring the very same character in each. The sixth year immediately recognized the harassing knight who had the habit of hijacking every canvas in the castle but his own. Finally, he remembered that the holiday had brought in a string of visitors. She had to be one; there were few other explanations. Unless, unbeknown to Miles, Hogwarts was opening a primary branch.

The Hufflepuff's lips formed a very slight smile and he shook his head, rubbing the side of his face with one drowsy hand. He had only been roused from a couch nap ten minutes earlier, after a magnificent game of Exploding Snap in which his entire person had been showered with cards.

"Afraid the stairs are the other way," he called out genially, now drifting down the corridor toward the odd couple. He tilted his head to the side and back, gesturing behind him even as he approached the girl. Bending a little, for he was a mountain compared to she, the boy looked her directly in the eyes and raised his brows, so that his gaze, which sometimes held an absurdly uncharacteristic wintry air in its shape and color, softened. "Now, if I heard right... We have an Irish woman with us," he mused aloud, and rather wittingly. His own accent was audible, though it was obviously not quite identical to hers. "The best." (Excepting a few English citizens, who needn't be mentioned.) Miles winked at the girl.

Straightening up again, he looked to the knight, whose horse, pony, or whatever it was, was up on its hind legs, protesting the sudden jerk of its reigns. The man looked absolutely scandalized under his mass of clanking metal and coats of arms.

"He deceives you, young maiden!" The two-dimensional hero roared.

"I don't," swore Miles calmly, placing a hand over his heart and throwing a disgraced look at the knight. As disgraced a look as the Hufflepuff could manage, short of one of his dear friends being bullied. His eyes swept back to the little girl and he heaved his shoulders. "The stairs are back that way, a bit after the kitchens. You can even smell the apple tart being baked for tonight's dessert once you round that corner."

Mairead's pace quickened as she started down the long hallway, though it was quickly becoming clear that speed alone wouldn't help her loose her stalking would-be hero.  Her legs weren't exactly the longest and he was, after all, mounted.  She had no idea how it worked but, somehow, the knight managed to slip out of the edge of one painting and immediately pass through the edge of the next one.  The expanse of wall in between the paintings didn't appear to exist in whatever realm the canvass and paint represented.  Which meant, not only could the knight move faster, but he also didn't have as far to go. 

"I'd be happy to run into these beggars," Mairead had started to snap.  Really, over the years, her family had been called beggars and thieves enough that the terms had lost their edge.  Right about now, she'd be perfectly happy to run into a camp of beggars - or anyone other than this knight.  "They'd probably be help-wha?" 

A strange voice cut through her rant and she drew up in her tracks, quickly turning to face the source of the voice.  As much as she, logically, knew the knight's warnings were the self-boasting rantings of a lunatic, part of her was half expecting to see some frompily dressed tramp sauntering after her.  Perhaps, a small part of her even hoped for it.  But, rather than finding some disheveled, dirty deviant, there was a young man, obviously dressed for the part of a student.  The knight seemed to be oblivious to the fact that, since Mairead's close were still what she'd wear on the road, between her and the newcomer, she was the one better dressed for a hooligan.

"The stairs?"  Mairead blinked a few times, scowling as she watched him, momentarily mentally disoriented as well as spatially.  But, with what Mairead was sure was supposed to be a valiant battle cry from the insane knight, she quickly started towards the fellow.  She was relieved to have been found but was even more hopeful that this young man might be able to save her from her miniscule stalker. 

"Bloody thank ye," she said as she approached.  "I was just looking at his horse," she started, even though an explanation hadn't been requested.  "Ye know - paintings don't normally talk but, well, he obviously does."  The last bit she said through clenched teeth, glaring at the knight who was brandishing his sword clumsily at the young man.  "Horses don't normally talk, either, but I figured maybe in paintings ... nevermind."  Color flushed across Mairead's face.  She could hear how crazy it sounded just as the words left her mouth.  Really, this fellow didn't need to know that it had been her attempts to talk to the horse that had led the knight to believe she needed help.  "Now, he won't leave me alone."

 Normally, after an outburst that was as embarrassing as that, Mairead would have turned and made a hasty retreat.  But, the young man had leaned over slightly and had engaged her in a pointed enough manner that simple leaving would have felt even more awkward.  His gaze kept her there long enough for him to speak again. 

Her eyebrows lifted and the uncertainty slipped from her expression, leaving her more like her usual self.  Though his dialect had been slightly different than her own, it had sounded normal to her; it was a sound she was used to and it hadn't stood out in her mind as an accent.  But, as the young man commented on her being from Ireland, realization dawned on her.  A grin tugging up the corners of her mouth.  "Yer from Dublin?" she asked, excitedly.

"I - yeah - well, sort of," Mairead confirmed.  "Yeah, I'm from Ireland.  I'm a Pavee.  Ye know, Traveller, gyspy."  Whether that explanation would mean anything to the young man, Mairead wasn't sure.  Pavees were usually not very welcome in settled muggle communities and outsiders were often rather critical of her family.  She had been oblivious to the wizarding world before the witch had come to their camp to explain Mairead's acceptance to school to her parents.  So far, from what Mairead had seen in England, the two worlds were completely separate.  She didn't know whether that was also the case in Ireland and, as far as she knew, Pavees were primarily from the muggle world.  It wouldn't surprise her at all if she were wrong, though.

The young man might have been able to respond to the knight calmly but he also hadn't been stalked by the knight.  "Will ye bugger off?  I'm safe now-" Mairead growled, turning towards the knight again.  The metal-clad figure straightened up and stuck out his chest as he pointed his sword at the young man.

"Nay, my dear!  Never trust the words of a roving beggar!  He means to lead you astray!  Just see the danger glinting in his eyes!  I could never abandon you in your time of need.  I fear I may stumble upon your mangled - "

"Shut it!"  Mairead snapped, her face turning scarlet.  Mairead's eyes widened and she took several long, deep breaths and turned towards the young man imploringly.  "Can I clap me hands or something?  Make him go away somehow?"

Miles held back any laughter that threatened to plague him. The girl seemed riled up enough by the verbally-assaulting horseman. Though it may not have been the way he would go about it, were he small and lost, Miles could definitely understand. He nodded sincerely as she thanked him. "Horses are an interesting lot," he said agreeably. Hypothetically, by the time Miles got done asking the knight about his horse and muggle riding practices, the man would have been accusing the Hufflepuff of stalking, and not the other way around (as seemed to be the case now). While not always the chattiest of people, the boy could talk an ear off when something interested him... especially something so inherently muggle. Like horseback riding.

"Most of the paintings I've seen can talk," he explained with a grin. Could she be muggleborn? It was seeming more and more likely. "Unless they're not of people. Then they just move around-- or neigh." He gestured to the animated horse. "And I didn't tell you this, but..." Miles made of point of looking to the knight with a careful eye before leaning closer to the girl. "The water-colored fruit in front of the galley is quick to surrender," he whispered. "It's very ticklish."

Straightening up again, this time the young man addressed the problem at hand... or started to, but thought better of it. Perhaps if he kept the girl engaged long enough, the knight would grow bored and gallop off to bother someone else.

"Born and bred," Miles admitted, holding up both hands in a proud guilty-as-charged manner. As much as he loved learning about foreign cities and cultures, Dublin tugged at the Hufflepuff's heart unlike any other place, even Hogwarts. "A couple of weeks and I'll be back there," he added with content. "My ma makes a better fry than anyone in the world, and that's saying something, because these elves know their food." As did Miles' tummy. "My friend Lola's da is a pretty brilliant baker, too," he added, to be fair, though it was completely off topic.

As the girl explained that she was a gypsy, Miles became more intrigued. He raised his brows, not rudely, but in a good-matured way. He himself had been raised in the same old apartment by the same doting, stay-at-home mother and workaholic father for the entirety of his seventeen years. He had seen artistic nomads, traveling dog-breeders, and migrant performers (his oldest sister called them tinkers) around the city, particularly during holidays, but had more or less been surrounded by neighboring wizarding families and their children while growing up. He now darkly recalled a few incidents during which the leader of the neighborhood children challenged several of Miles' peers to barbaric games of 'Jinx the Gypso' (and other derogatory names which Miles would never repeat) with wands nicked from parents. Thankfully, their magic skills at that age had been even poorer than their tact.

"A Pavee," Miles repeated, trying the word on for size. He had never really said it aloud, though he had undoubtedly heard it among summer crowds, and come across it in one or two of his muggle books. "Well, I bet you've seen and heard a lot more than I have, then. Fair play."

Unfortunately, before the Hufflepuff could ask after the girl's many wandering adventures, the knight was at it again, insisting that Miles was there to cause a shambles. It seemed that the boy's diplomatic decision to ignore the caricature simply would not do. "Clap away," he conceded. He put out an arm, his hand pointing vaguely toward the newest hijacked canvas: an ushering invitation for the girl to wreak havoc on the clanking troublemaker.

"Howya, Sir Cadogan," he addressed the man, as if they'd only just crossed paths. "I've heard there's a shrieking princess on the fourth floor. Something about a locked tower and rope of hair..."

Closing her eyes, Mairead tried to ignore the antics of the knight, though her mind did keep wandering to a very simple question.  Was assaulting a figure in a painting considered a crime in the way that attacking an actual person was?  It was the notion of having to march back home and explain that she'd been kicked out before school had even started for kicking a painting that stopped her from testing that theory.  Luckily, the older boy's  questions helped distract her and stay her temper. 

"I guess…" Mairead said slowly, grinning slightly, though the grin was somewhat strained from the continued presence of the knight.  'An interesting lot' seemed a strange way to describe horses but that was, largely, on par with most things here.   "Ye've never ridden one?"  She asked, obviously amused.  "They're a lot of fun; I miss me boy.  But, I guess they don't let ye bring horses with ye to school."  Mairead glanced sideways at the knight, watching as, with a loud clank, the knight slid sideways off his perfectly friendly and normal looking horse.  Somehow it didn't just seem fair.

So, there were wizarding types in Dublin.  Mairead had come to assume there were, though, theoretically, she now had proof of it.  "There's talking paintings in Ireland?" she asked, just to be sure.  "I haven't really seen a lot of paintings - But, I'm pretty sure they didn't do anything.  Are they all so … annoying?"   Mairead looked back towards him, her eyebrows lifted slightly.  A painting was ticklish?  The first question was obvious and didn't really need to be asked: who'd bother painting ticklish fruit.  The second question seemed far more pertinent in her mind.  "How do ye know?" she asked, slowly.  "Did ye just go around …"  Her voice trailed off as she considered him more closely.  He didn't seem to be the type that'd just walk around tickling paintings indiscriminately but, somehow he found out. 

"A real Dubliner?" Mairead replied, grinning.  "I was born in Dublin but I … don't think I was … bred there?"  Her brow furrowed as the sentence trailed off awkwardly.  With a shake of her head, she continued.  "Me mum was born near Dingle.  Me da's folks died when he was young, so he doesn't know where he was born.  He thinks he was born on the road."  A look of increased interest settled on Mairead's face as she watched the boy.  "Are there lots of wizards and such in Dublin?  Where are they?  Is there a place like that Diagon Alley in Dublin?"  The idea that there were other wizarding people in Ireland and that they'd been there, largely, under her nose thrilled her to no end.  Would she now, magically, be able to see them?  Did she now have some sort of magical pass to go there? 

Dublin had been one of their frequent stops.  Whether by choice or necessity, the city had been more tolerant of their caravans setting up camp in the lower-class neighborhoods than many of the smaller cities.  Mairead's group usually found themselves in Dublin for Christmas, taking advantage of the festive feel of the city along with many other groups, often lingering for several weeks.  An annual reunion of sorts.  It was definitely a highlight of the year and it had been a great time to panhandle or play flute for change on the vast cold streets or rail lines of Dublin - the holidays made people especially generous.   There had been frequent run ins with the neighborhood kids while in towns, though - usually it was limited to name calling, though Tito wouldn't hesitate to pick a fight if they pushed him too far.  With a slight grin, Mairead couldn't help wondering if she'd, by chance, played near one of these wizarding areas without having known it. 

"Yeah," she confirmed with a slight shrug and grin.  "They call us lots of things, I guess."  Mairead grinned broadly, nodding her head.  "I have.  I've been all over Ireland.  This is me first time outside of Ireland, though.  It's all kind of strange."  That was, really, an understatement.  It had as much to do with being in a new country as it did being in this new magical world.  Mairead slowly turned towards the knight as if he was a fine illustration of the strangeness. 

She glanced dubiously at the older boy, unsure if he was just humoring her.  Clapping her hands seemed far too easy.  And, everything she seemed to investigate in this place seemed to go haywire or come crashing down.  "He's not going to come falling out of the painting, right?" she asked, clearly horrified by the notion.  But, desperate times called for desperate measures, didn't they.  With the determination of one bent on freeing themselves from a painted parasite, Mairead clapped her hands several times, feeling wholly foolish the entire time.  She glanced sideways at the boy, wondering if this was the type of thing witches and wizards found amusing. 

"Good day, kind sir," Sir Cadogan replied to the boy next to Mairead, his attention drawn towards them once more by the clapping.  His sword was lowered and his demeanor suddenly as casual as if they'd merely passed on a pleasant afternoon walk. 

Mairead looked from the knight to the older boy with an obviously dubious scowl and shook her head.  "Yer bloody kidding me," she muttered torn between feeling furious and embarrassed.  Was the knight really that … simple?  But, Mairead wasn't going to complain too loudly.  If it got rid of the knight, she'd dance in treacle.  The casual demeanor of the knight shifted suddenly to alarm though, as far as Mairead could tell, the knight no longer gave her a second thought.

"A maiden in distress, you say?"  Sir Cadogan asked, straightening up.  "I must say, it has been a true privilege to share the company of you both but, duty calls.  I must be off."   Sir Cadogan staggered over to the pony, seemingly oblivious to the muffled clank of teeth against metal as the pony took a bite at him.   

"I haven't. It doesn't offend them, riding them? They're very majestic," Miles mused aloud slowly. "Sort of like unicorns." Without the horns. Even Miles would know better than to ever fleetingly dream of slinging a leg over a unicorn's back. That would have been the end of his life. He had encountered horses on several occasions, and had once even been in a horse-drawn carriage while visiting family elsewhere over the winter holidays... But it was a combination of circumstance and hesitation that had kept the boy from ever trying to legitimately ride one. They were not only living creatures, but they could be faster than illegal red carpets in a thunder storm. Also, had Miles been more proactive about it, it was highly likely that he would have confused whoever tried to give him lessons, by asking questions more appropriate for broom riders. "It must be different from hippogriffs or thestrals, though, since you stay on the ground."

She had a horse of her own? Impressive! While it was obvious by now that he was no expert on the creatures, one thing he knew all about was having a close bond with an animal. He had still not gotten over the death of his dog. Every time he believed it was the right moment to look for a new owl friend, or a cat, or a toad, he backed out. And it was rare for Miles not to try something new.

"Sometimes it's good to miss people. Er, animals..." As far as he was concerned, pets were people. He recalled a conversation with Fauna and Lola about their own pets, who each had human names. It made him grin crookedly a little, in quiet hindsight. "It makes it that much better when you reunite," he offered.

The boy had to chuckle at her seeming surprise over the fact that talking paintings existed outside of the castle. "I have one in my house of a pigeon who always wants bread. Shame that we can't reach in and hand it to him. I might give it a try with my wand now that I can perform magic outside of school." Surely there had to be some way around it. "Some of them are very helpful. Especially portraits of old professors. But I would avoid the banshee on the second floor." She was a sensitive painting, as Miles had found out the hard way. And it was not as if he were even the most trouble-making of students. He generally tried to be very cordial with anything living, whether it was actually alive or not, and whether it could even talk back.

"I know about the kitchens because word gets around this place fast. If you tickle the fruit, you can get inside. The elves don't mind you visiting. They're very nice. Sometimes I sit down and have cereal with them, although they're odd about it. They won't eat in your presence," he laughed. "One day, though!" While perhaps not passionate to the same degree as the legendary Hermione Granger, the Hufflepuff was determined to let the school's elves know that they were appreciated in their own right. He enjoyed reminding people of it almost as much he enjoyed studying muggle culture and wizard-muggle relations.

Miles closed his eyes and laughed silently for a moment. She was curious child, exactly the sort of person he appreciated conversing with. He tended to notice people's approach to life before anything else. For someone who could not have been even a first year, she was very good at dissecting everything. He immediately dismissed the importance of being bred in a certain place, though he still undoubtedly sure Dublin was where he had first been... er, conceived. "You probably knew a dozen cities even before you were born..." Miles was sort of jealous, in a very passive way. "There are loads of wizards in Dublin, yeah, but not nearly as many as in London." The figure 'loads' being a relative term, of course. "But Diagon Alley is definitely the biggest congregation outside of Hogsmeade. It's the best place in the British Isles to get a wand. There are a few small places... wizarding pubs, an apothecary, a bookshop... on Grafton and Henry, and off O'Connell, of course, if you look hard," he added, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. "And many old families living in Kilbarrack, too." His own family lived on the top floor of a very old Georgian building, not far from the city center, very close to St. Stephen's Green. It was a slightly more residential block, and he had lived their his entire life, his parents' magical renovations making the place a touch roomier than it appeared from the outside.

The boy admired the way she seemed to take things in stride. She had thick skin, it appeared.

While it was true that there wasn't a lot out in this mountainous part of Scotland, it was very natural and peaceful. Miles loved the juxtaposition of the town with the surrounding forests, wide lakes, and rocky terrain. He always relished spending an entire day on the Hogwarts Express. It was like being carried to another world; even someone raised a wizard could appreciate it.

"You are a muggleborn, then?" It was more of a confirmation than a question. "I think you'll like it here. Do you start in the fall?" He could only imagine the Sorting Hat nearly swallowing her.

"He won't fall out," Miles promised. "He's confined to paintings only. He can't even cross into photographs, I'm afraid." Which was actually probably a relief. But still, Miles always wondered what would happen if a painted character were able to sneak into a very realistic snapshot of a once-occurring scene. It was something he had discussed countless times while lounging around with Lola. The idea never got old.

When the girl started clapping, and looked to him for a reaction, Miles decided to join in. He wasn't sure it would do much good, but it was always worth a try. Sometimes the simplest, non-magical solutions worked best. Their hands echoed through the windowless corridor, reverberating off walls and making it sound as if they were in a small venue drowning in applause. They would probably inflate Sir Cadogan's head.

When the knight finally disappeared, offered a lazy wave to his retreating figure and leaned against a wall, looking down at his fellow Dubliner. "I don't think you've shared your name. I'm Miles." He held out the same hand he'd just used to wave off the knight.

For a few breaths, Mairead considered the young man before slowly shaking her head.  "Offend them?"  She repeated, slowly.  "Offend the horses?  I … I don't think so?"  The notion had never occurred to her and as she considered the question, she wasn't even sure she knew how to recognize whether a horse would be offended.  "No?"  She answered, clearly uncertain about her own answer.  "I mean, they don't seem to be.  They seem to like running and racing and it's not like they could run free in Ireland, anyway.  Right?"  Confusion flickered across Mairead's face and she shrugged her shoulders and shook her head.  "I … I don't know.  I don't know what hippogaffs and … whatever … are."

An appreciative grin flickered across Mairead's face and she nodded at the older boy.  There'd been so much that was new and surprising about this world and her mind hadn't had much time to slow down and really reflect on everything.  A certain degree of pride prevented her from admitting it or letting it show, but she did miss the animals and people back home.  It had only been a day since her mother had left to return to Ireland, leaving her in the care of one of the professors, but part of her already looked back with a healthy dose of nostalgia.  But, other than another nod, Mairead didn't respond.  She didn't exactly feel homesick; the nostalgia was only just strong enough that she didn't want to linger on the topic of missing anyone. 

And, she did appreciate when the topic changed to something more frivolous.  Bread-demanding painted pigeons, apparently.  "There are real pigeons in Dublin, ye know," Mairead said with an amused grin.  "And, they like eating bread, too."  Mairead arched an eyebrow as she considered the predicament, glancing sideways at the canvas that hanged near them on the wall.  The knight, Sir Cadogan was apparently his name, was gone and the pack of greyhounds had returned to their canvas in his wake.  "What happens if ye draw on them?"  Mairead asked, reaching out towards the canvas as if to stroke one of the dogs.  "If ye … ye know … draw or paint bread in the picture, can they eat it then?" 

"There are kitchens behind the fruit?"  Mairead asked, clearly quite excited by the news.  "And ye can just go by and eat?  Whenever ye want?"  Excess food wasn't exactly a commodity for her family and the prospects of free food was always a source for excitement.  She wasn't exactly picky; a free bowl of cereal was always a welcome thought, though she wasn't sure about these elves.  "Are these elves like ... ye know ... fairy elves?  Or ... are they more like .... munchkins?"  Mairead asked, remembering the comment that Margaret woman had made in Diagon Alley.  The stories she'd grown up hearing (from muggles, mind you) described elves as being human-like, except for the ears, and Margaret had mistaken her for a Munchkin so, presumably, they were similar, too.  And, hopefully, making the connection would make her sound like she wasn't entirely oblivious.

Mairead shrugged her shoulders; she'd never really thought about her childhood that way.  "I guess a dozen or so.  I don't ... really know."  That should be obvious though; she hadn't been born.  Nor had it really occurred to her to ask; she always assumed they'd just been on the move.  As she listened to him describe wizarding Dublin, her grin broadened.  Surely, the next time she was back in that city, she'd be exploring it with quite a renewed interest.  "On Grafton?"  Mairead repeated, her eyes widening.  "I play there a lot at Christmas; I don't remember seeing anything funny - er - different, though.  I don't think ... except ... I remember - I remember that woman - she gave me that funny looking coin.  It was useless, so I threw it in one of the wishing wells..." 

Mairead's eyes narrowed as she tried to remember that scene - of course, she'd barely remembered much about the person who'd tossed her the coin.  Like most days, most of her attention was on getting her fingers to move fast enough to keep warm so they'd cover the flute holes properly.  It hadn't been until much later that she'd noticed the strange coin.  "We usually stay near Ballymun," Mairead admitted, some of the enthusiasm ebbing from her voice.  "But, we'd take the train all over - or until they'd kick us off."

Mairead was quite relieved to see the deranged knight part ways and was grateful to the young man for clapping along.  It helped alleviate any feelings of foolishness.  And, especially in the absence of Sir Cardogan, the conversation had relaxed Mairead considerably, putting her almost completely at ease.  Though the magical side of home was completely new and this young man was a stranger, it was, at least, a conversation she could relate to on some level.  She could recognize the things and places he was talking about, a feeling that had become rather scarce the last few days. 

But, of course, strange words and phrases were still bound to pop up.  Mairead's eyes narrowed as her mind churned through the question.  She had heard the phrase muggleborn, but it took a little effort for her to dredge up the translation of it.  It only took a few moments, though, and shortly, Mairead nodded as recognition dawned.  "Yeah, me parents can't do none of this," she answered, hopeful she'd understood correctly.  "I - We don't know about me da's family, really, but I haven't heard any stories.  I suspect if they'd been strange, there would have been stories." 

Again, she nodded, though the apprehension was, likely, evident to anyone that was looking for her reaction.  "I am.  I'm staying with one of the teachers over the summer, though.  It'll be ... new."  It was really the best way she could describe it without admitting to the array of emotions she felt when she thought about school, all of which she assumed would bore a stranger.  She was, no doubt, excited and the last few days here had only strengthened that excitement.  But, she was nervous, uncertain and couldn't help wondering at times whether she'd gotten herself in over her head. 

"Oh, yeah, name."  Mairead said, realizing only then that she, indeed, didn't know his name.  As she shook his hand, she offered a slight grin and shrug.  "M'name's Mairead," she offered in return.

Miles felt a little guilty for asking, but he was sure that animals had feelings too. He didn't know whether he would fancy being ridden around all the time, but if he were a horse, he supposed to would make a lot more sense. They seemed to like humans just fine, didn't they? Especially ones with oats and carrots! Smiling apologetically, he rubbed a hand through the back of his moppy hair. "I wouldn't worry. I don't know anything about horses, to be honest. But hippogriffs," he added, his grin now spreading to reveal teeth. It was amazing, that someone had never seen a hippogriff, and yet it was a thrill to be able to explain one. It was like the opposite of learning about cars or electricity. "They're sort of like horses with birds' heads and wings. You can ride them-- they fly brilliantly-- but you have to earn their trust first. I think you'd do just fine, since you seem to know quite a bit about riding," he concluded encouragingly. "You should sign up for Care of Magical Creatures in your third year. It's loads of fun. Sometimes if you go down around the pumpkin patches, you can see a hippogriff or two tethered there."

Real pigeons in Dublin was an understatement. Miles could recall summer afternoons when the park felt more like a scene from an old muggle film he watched at one of those 'cinemas'. It was all about violent birds taking over the world, like swarms of miniature, sharp-beaked Dementors. Granted, the pigeons in Dublin were a lot more fun and less dangerous than those fictitious ones. They would multiply exponentially wherever the bread was being thrown, but they'd never tried to harm Miles. Sometimes he felt as if he were flying on the ground.

"Yeah, I think I've seen one or two around," he said finally, laughing a little. He considered her question about painting in food for the animated bird on the entry nook wall of his family's flat, his lips parting in concentration. Why had he never thought of that? "Now that's an idea," he replied, the admiration clear in his tone. It was so simple! But brilliant. If he couldn't Banish bread into a frame, surely he could borrow one of his sisters' discarded makeup brushes and a bit of paint from the endless rubbish cabinet in the corner of the kitchen, and give it a go. He would have to practice drawing bread, first. Maybe ask Adelia to give him tips. After all these years, the poor pigeon deserved a gorgeous, proper loaf. "Dunno if it would work, but I don't see why not. The pigeon had to have been drawn in at some point..." He would also have to browse a few books on painting charms.

Miles' mouth tightened. He felt a little guilty (again) for having led the girl to believe that the kitchens were a free-for-all. Technically, it was an off-limits area to students. Wandering in and out at all hours was frowned upon; the Great Hall, designated meal times, and curfews existed for a reason. But usually one could sneak in and have a chat with the elves, who were always overjoyed to provide snacks and other imaginable service. Miles had got quite chummy with them and always thanked them profusely, figuring it was the least he could do for making them work overtime and help him break rules. They never failed to fuel his perpetual passion for breakfast foods.

"Well... we have three meals a day in the Great Hall. You know, the place where the ceremony started the other night," he explained, his eyes and brows shooting upward, to indicate the floor overhead. "And you can always take food from there to your Common Room with you. It's very portable around here." Again, he had nothing but praise for whoever fed his teenage tummy. "Your parents are allowed to send you sweets and things, too, which is useful before you're old enough to go to Honeydukes. But if you ever really need a snack..." Miles put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, smiling. "I don't think they mind the extra company once in a while. They're nice lads. And ladies."

Fairy elves? Munchkins? Now Miles was confused. He had not forgotten, however, that she was a Muggleborn. He shook his head lightly. "Nah, they're like..." He bent his knees and put his hand at about the level of the girl's elbow. "With big ears and eyes, and their own special sort of magic." Though he didn't properly understand everything about muggle folklore, he could give it a shot. "Er, that St. Nick whatsit bloke who flies around with that bag that probably has an Expanding Charm? His elves are sort of like ours, I think. In muggle stories. But ours usually don't wear nice hats. If you give them clothes, you set them free." Miles suddenly had a desire to read more about the man whose round, red, bearded face decorated store fronts during the winter.

"A woman with a funny coin..." Miles repeated meditatively. He suddenly wiggled the fingers in his pockets and pulled several knuts, two sickles, and one large galleon. He held out his palms. "Did it look like any of these?"

The Hufflepuff enjoyed the girl's spirited tales, but it saddened him slightly that she said things like 'kick us off' with such casualness. Granted, the drop in her tone was obvious, too. To him, it seemed there were as many injustices among the muggle population as there were in the magical community-- and not just between the two. He was suddenly glad to have stumbled upon her. Surely she could teach him as much as he could teach her.

"A teacher?" Miles couldn't decide whether it would make him happy or nervous to spend an entire summer living under a professor's watchful eye. Now that he could do magic legally, however, it was slightly less daunting a thought. At the very least, the girl would have many questions answered and a good idea of what to expect before she actually started school. "Do you have a wand yet, then, Mairead?"

After they'd properly introduced themselves, Miles gestured toward the corridor whence he'd just come, and began to walk slowly, inviting the girl to keep chatting. He'd been heading toward the stairs, too, anyway, so there was no harm in making sure she found them.

Mairead shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, with no sign of worry in her expression or demeanor.  It really wouldn't matter if she worried, anyway, it wouldn't change the situation.  Even if the horses were offended by being ridden, her family was still dependent on them.  "We need them," she explained with a slight grin and another shrug.  "We'd be stuck, ye know.  They pull our homes.  And, selling them brings in most of our money."  There were many that had made the transition to gas-powered campers and such but, petrol was far more expensive then the grass on the side of the road.  Most Pavees that had made the transition invariably ended up parking in some 'traveller approved' lot or 'neighborhood'.  Mairead had seen it happen to many but, even so, she couldn't picture her da giving it up. 

Mairead's eyes widened as she listened to this description of hippogriffs.  They sounded fantastic.  "They fly? she asked.  "And, ye can ride them?  While they fly?"  Quite readily, pumpkin patches had, quickly, elevated near the top of her things-to-find-while-wandering list.  "Do ye have to do something special to earn their trust?" she asked, eagerly.   Mairead nodded her head, initially, but then scowled as she turned to walk with Miles towards, presumably, the stairs.  "I have to wait until me third year?"  That news was rather disappointing.  Three years would, most likely, take years!  "But, I've been around animals me whole life!  Horses and dogs and such and ... I even have one of the magical ones!"  She gently tugged the stolen puffskein from her jacket pocket that had been officially designated his - or hers, whatever the puffskein's sex may be.  A few shreds of the fabric that made up the creature's bedding clung, draped over her fingers as she stared down at the creature.   

Mairead laughed and nodded her head.  Some of the bigger cities were prone to large collections of pigeons.  "Our dogs always love to chase them," she mused aloud.  "They'd catch them every once in a while, too."  A touch of color splashed across her face and she kept her attention on the puffskein in her hand when Miles seemed pleased at the random recommendation.  There was, really, no telling what ideas would be foolishly ludicrous or worth their beans in this place.  But, as she gave the idea more thought, she scowled in confusion and looked up at Miles.  "So ... would the bird actually eat the bread?  Ye know ... would the bread disappear and then ..."  Her nose wrinkled in a disgusted sneer as she envisioned a painting filled with crusty piles of bird droppings.  "Would ye have to ... clean the painting?"

"So, yer parents are - wizards?  And magical?"  She glanced up and down the hallway they were following, but there really wasn't anything there that helped her put words to the question that was trying to simmer in her head.  She wanted to ask about school; her head was teeming with uncertainty and confusion but what, specifically, confused her shifted with each thought.  She was, no doubt, excited about the prospects of school.  But, terrified at the same time.  "So - ye know…ye knew a lot - ye knew this stuff before ye got here?  Ye knew what all this was?" 

Though the topic was something as simple as meal times, Mairead couldn't stop her eyes from widening as she glanced at Miles.  "Three meals?" she repeated back, obviously impressed by the notion.  And, indeed, she definitely had room to eat.  Though her muggle clothes were baggy enough to help hide it, she was certainly still undernourished enough to spark the sympathies of even the coldest house elf.  "Every day?  And ye can go find snacks?"   Unfortunately, Miles explanation had skirted around the fact that kids were discouraged from going to the kitchens.  Even if he had explained, chances were, it wouldn't have made much of a difference; tickling fruit had joined finding pumpkin patches in Mairead's mental to-do list.  Mairead was used to using less than acceptable means to find foods - especially 'frivolous' things such as sweets and snacks.  Sneaking into kitchens, especially when those in the kitchens sounded welcoming hardly registered with her as inappropriate.  "I don't think me mum and da would be sending me sweets.  But, I did go to that candy shop!"  Mairead announced, proudly.  In fact, she'd helped herself to sampling quite a few of the offerings there until the cricket candy's singing had given her away.

Somewhere between St. Nicholas and the big ears, description of these elves only heightened Mairead's resolve to find the kitchens.  And, as they continued to walk, her eyes began to scan the walls for this painting of fruit.  "Really?" Was all she said.  Chances were becoming slimmer by the step that, if she did notice the painting, she'd simply walk past it. 

Her eyebrows arched as she regarded the coins and picked one of the two silver coins up.  She rotated it between her fingers before glancing up at Miles in surprise.  "Yeah!"  She admitted.  "I think so.  It looks like it."  She stopped, suddenly, and turned towards Miles, her shoulders drooped in disbelief.  "Ye mean, it's real?"  She asked.  "How much's it worth?"  In other words, how much had she thrown away?  Blinking a few times, she asked, "do ye think she knew I was ... ye know.  Like that?"

Mairead nodded, still staring at the coin.  "Yeah.  She's apparently a new professor, though.  The school wanted me to come over here early but me mum couldn't stay.  So, they set it up for me to stay with her.  We can't afford for mum to miss all the fairs over the summer."  Mairead finally reached out and handed the coin back.  Of course, there was no way for her to have known the money was legitimate then, nor would she probably have been able to use it but it still made her feel rather foolish for having thrown money away. 

Mairead shook her head, again, blushing and turned to start walking.   It had become clear by now that Miles came from a family that was well off.  At least, well off enough to have a house with paintings of pigeons.  Mairead wasn't and wouldn't be embarrassed about her family being poor - they made do with what they had.  But, she'd had enough experiences with the well-to-do kids from their private schools in Dublin and Limerick to know it wasn't always a topic that ended pleasantly.  So far, Miles seemed nice enough but Mairead was still wary.  "Not yet.  I'm on scholarship.  The school's helping with supplies, too.  We're supposed to go for stuff sometime soon."  She offered with a dismissing shrug.

Miles nodded understandingly, though, to be quite honest, he didn't fully understand. Despite his compassion for all living creatures, it was certainly greater for humans than horses. "A home that moves would be brilliant," he noted, and quite sincerely. Things like houseboats had always made him feel slightly ill at ease, mostly because Miles' greatest fear was large bodies of water, but the idea of a horse-drawn home was intriguing. It reminded him of stories in his history book, about the Beauxbatons lot flying into Scotland on stead-drawn carriages for the most infamous Triwizard Tournament ever recorded. "Go to sleep one place, wake up another..."

Speaking of flying horses...

"They fly," he confirmed, again picturing the hippogriffs in his mind's eyes. "Although I'd think you'd be safer on a broom. Brooms don't require you to bow." Even so, she seemed to anticipate needing to earn their trust, which led Miles to believe that this girl, if anyone, would be a natural at riding hippogriffs. "I doubt you'd have any problems, but some people... well, they don't seem to have a knack for earning their trust," he laughed lightly. "They can sense when someone is slagging around, or if they're just a... er... not a very trustworthy person, I think." It really wasn't anything to laugh at, even if that's what he was doing at the moment. He'd seen more than one person nearly get scarred via hoof to the face. Nervous, stuck up, or overly confident, the hippogriffs seemed to feel it all. Miles himself was calm and gentle enough to usually earn their trust, but, despite an affinity for adventure, he was not the sort of person who fancied a regular fly around campus. It was alright now and then, certainly better than floating across the lake, but the Hufflepuff seemed to like the ground quite a lot.

Glancing down with interest at the suddenly-appearing puffskein, whose hidden presence had gone entirely unnoticed until now, Miles did not recoil or blanch, but only grinned wider. "Now that is something there. Does he... er, she?... Have a name?" He was always interested in names. He carefully held out two fingers, attempting to give it a friendly scratch. "Anyway, you get flying lessons in your first year, with brooms, you know. So the wait will feel a bit less lengthy."

The girl's words sunk in nostalgically. Miles' own dog had loved to chase pigeons before he'd passed on. The boy laughed at her over-analysis of the painting, and shrugged, as if it were a great and very unlimited possibility. "Dunno. I imagine once it's in there, he could have his fill, but whatever is painted would probably never disappear... not entirely, unless I painted over it. I'm pretty sure he couldn't add his own pile of thanks, but I won't rule it out. You never know!"

Far from off-putting, the girl's barrage of questions kept Miles thinking. "Yeah, my parents are wizards. Well, my ma's a witch," he corrected. "Like you. Our family goes way back in the magical community, so I was raised knowing, more or less, that I would end up here... but some don't. Sometimes there are squibs, the opposite of muggleborns. And it really doesn't make a difference where you come from, once you're in school. You learn about the Wizarding World very fast. I'm actually sort of jealous that you'll be an expert on both sides of Platform 9 and 3/4 by this time next year," he joked with an easy grin.

Miles blinked, trying to imagine himself being shocked at the idea of having regularly prepared meals. His stomach was a vacuum for the elves' dishes, and his school trunk was half comprised of cereal boxes, snack bars, toffee tins, and six-packs of butterbeer which he didn't mind swigging at room temperature or sharing his dorm mates. There was always sure to be more sent his way, courtesy of his mother or sisters. "I wouldn't go everyday," he chuckled. "But... yeah. If there's something you can't find in the Great Hall, there's no harm. Just keep an eye on the teachers. And the curfew." His expression became knowing when she mentioned having already visited Honeydukes. It was Miles' favorite place in Hogsmeade, aside from the dusty, off-High-Street junk shops.

While explaining elves in muggle terms had its hurtles, discussing coins was much easier, especially when he had a few with which to demonstrate. "A Sickle is worth 29 of these..." He pointed to the smallest coin. "They're knuts. And there are 17 sickles to a galleon, this big yoke." His eyes moved to the gold coin, and then back to one of the silver ones. "Er, you could get eight pints of milk for about 10 sickles." It really wasn't that much, when he put it in those terms. Twenty-nine knuts sounded much more impressive. But he tried to look on the bright side. "You can keep it, to replace the one the lady gave you," he added, his eyes going soft. He held it out to her almost as quickly as it touched his palm again. "I'm sure she had an inkling about you."

It was odd, how wizards had a way of recognizing their own kind. Sometimes it was just an aura of magic; Miles usually didn't notice, because he spent the majority of his time in wizarding company. But among large muggle crowds, it was a bit more apparent. Other times, it was being able to see things-- places, landmarks-- that only other magic folk could see. He would catch their eyes and just know.

"A new professor?" Of what? "Do you know what she teaches? Er, or what she'll be teaching," he corrected himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he pondered who might be retiring, taking a leave of absence, or getting sacked.

Miles remembered the moment his wand had found him. It was the seventh one he'd tried. His fingers had gone tingly, but not in the annoying way they did when he slept on his arms at a weird angle or spent an afternoon copying lines for his mother (before he'd started school). "I think everything will become clearer when you get your wand," he said wisely, but somewhat vaguely. He continued to walk toward stairs.

Mairead cast a brief, curious sideways glance at Miles before looking down at the puffskein in her hand.  "Ye do?" she asked, burying the tip of a finger in the creatures fur to scratch at its side.  In her mind, she tried to put her family's small wagon next to the splendor of the school.  Even looking up from the puffskein to look at the cold, dark corridor of the dungeon, she found it hard to imagine her humble little room would be 'brilliant' in comparison.  "It's really small.  And, it's not - fancy."  She looked back down at the creature in her hand and nodded, shrugging.  "Sometimes it gets really cold."

But, a small grin fluttered the dimples at the corner of her mouth and she nodded slightly.  "Well, the wagon can't drive itself, ye know," Mairead pointed out, oblivious to the fact that there were, indeed, wagons that had auto pilot in this world.  "Someone needs to tell the horses where to go.  Unless we get kicked out of somewhere, we usually don't travel at night.  But, when me da drives, sometimes I'll  fall asleep."  When she grew quiet again, the grin had fully settled on her face. 

Whenever Miles started talking about details of the wizarding world, Mairead had to listen very closely.  She understood the individual words he said without any problem.  Brooms.  Bowing.  The words made sense.  But, Mairead had to run the sentences through her head a few times to understand what he was, really, saying.  Brooms were safer than flying hippogriffs or bowing to brooms were both statements that took a little more effort to comprehend.  Once she finally wrapped her head around his message, she shook her head slightly.  Not knowing anything about it, she wasn't sure she agreed.  Having never been near either, she couldn't imagine how a broom was safer than the broad (and familiar) back of an animal.  "But, a broom seems so narrow.  So ... roll-y."  She said.  "Have ye ever tried sliding down a rail?  Half the time, ye slide off before ye get to the bottom.  How do ye keep from just, ye know, falling off?"

Mairead held the puffskein towards Miles slightly as he stroked the furry back.  "Ailill," she answered, fondly.  The small bundle of fur was remarkably affectionate and Mairead had grown more attached to it then she would have guessed.  "I actually don't know if its a boy or a girl," she admitted.  "I don't know how you can tell.  How do people usually know                                                if these things are boys?" 

"Did both yer parents go here?"  Mairead asked.  It still intrigued her to think that there were some whose parents had, indeed, gone to this place.  All this still seemed so new to her that it seemed logical it should be new to everyone else.  She knew, logically, that wasn't the case, but it still seemed strange.  "Ye see them doing magic and stuff?   And, they were in - in one of the houses?  Wait - What house are you in?"

Mairead nodded, grinning.  "Alright," she answered, taking his advice.  She was used to having to sneak her way to free food; somehow getting to these kitchens hardly seemed difficult.  It was, definitely, on her list of priorities.  She drew the silver coin back to herself and brushed a finger over the surface of it.  The metal shone brightly.  "Thanks," Mairead responded turning the coin over in her hand a few times before slipping it in her pocket.  It didn't sound like it, alone, would get her much but it felt empowering beyond its financial value.  She had a real, earnest stake in this world.

"Yeah," Mairead said.  "She teaches - they called it deveining.  No.  Dination.  Or whatever.  Something like that.  Like - telling the future?"  Mairead glanced at Miles hopefully.  Surely, he'd know what she was talking about - the long fancy word they used for it had gone over her head the few times she'd heard it.  "Which is strange.  I didn't think they'd teach that stuff here.  It doesn't really seem like magic.  My aunt used to say she could tell someone's fortune but she couldn't make rats fly.  Course, my mum thought she was a nutter." 

Mairead nodded her head, though it was mostly out of hope than confidence.  "I hope so," she admitted, quietly.  "I can't wait to get me wand."

"The best things in life aren't fancy," he pointed out after a moment of considering her words. Miles would much rather travel around in wagon, see and experience things first hand than find himself the owner of a huge, empty palace in the middle of nowhere, without a friend or lazy, unkempt garden in sight. Fancy things got old fast. Mostly because you were never allowed to question them, let alone lay a finger on them. The weather, however, was a problem. Unfortunately (or fortunately), Miles had never spent more than a few hours out in the cold. He couldn't really imagine sleeping in it, and felt nothing but compassion for anyone who braved it-- or simply had to. "The cool thing..." He didn't take note of the unintentional pun. "Is that once you're seventeen, you can use magic to warm things."

Miles laughed at the girl's point, about wagons not being able to drive themselves. Her naivete about the wizarding world was amusing, but refreshing. And Miles' own questions about the muggle way of life on grew exponentially. Muggle culture would probably never stop fascinating him, and if it did, it would only take one uttered thought from Lola's boundless imagination to get him interested again. He would keep the thestral-drawn carriages to himself for now; there was some things about Hogwarts that were a million times better when you discovered them on your own.

"Flying brooms aren't like the cleaning sort," he clarified, still grinning. Privately, he could see the logic in her argument. He had never gone out for the Quidditch team. But he had nothing against the people who mastered flying, and he felt an abundance of pride and confidence in the Hufflepuff team. "They have a sort of... er... magical grip. They're very carefully structured. Most of them, anyway," he laughed. "You... your intuition... commands the broom, not the other way. If you're a natural flier, you'll understand as soon as you have your first lesson. That's what I've always been told by the people who have a knack for it." His expression became sheepish, indicating that he was not exactly the school champion where broom-flying was concerned.

"Pleased, Ailill." Miles addressed the thing like he would any new and friendly stranger, and tilted his head a little in concentration as he continued to brush its fur with his fingers. "Not quite sure, actually, but if you can find the student art booth down in Hogsmeade, there's a girl called Fauna who might be able to help..." He was only guessing, of course, given the Blake girl's natural inclination toward rats. He didn't know how similar their anatomy was to puffskeins-- certainly their outter makeup was considerably different, but the size and personality seemed about on par with what Miles knew about rats. Maybe they would get lucky. He hoped that his housemate would mind too terribly if he pointed the girl in her direction.

"Parents, grandparents, great-great-great uncle thrice removed..." It was almost unbelievable even to him that virtually everyone he knew, loved, or was somehow related to had attended Hogwarts at some point in their lives. One of the highlights of his second year had been finding an aunt's name carved into the wood of library shelf. She was a favorite of Miles, one who would tell the most amazing stories after just a quarter pint of mead. "Yeah, they've done magic all my life. I can't remember a day when ma didn't use a charm to draw my currents and have my sheets attack me until I rolled out of bed," he laughed. "The real trouble was when my sisters turned legal..." He trailed off, remembering events both fond and fondly tragic. "They were both in Hufflepuff, like me... but there are a fair number of Gryffindors in my family, too. And a few Ravenclaws."

Pocketing his hands again, the boy only smiled calmly at her thanks. A sickle wasn't a lot, and he felt she would probably come up with a better way to spend it than he. And it was sort of satisfying... it felt good to let someone in on this secret, even if the secret was something as impersonal as money-- a concept which, given Miles' eccentric array of social interests, might have been a slightly sore point. But everyone needed money and economics often went over his head. It was just how their world operated. It was how Miles got his favorite toffee and copy of the Daily Prophet, and even those eclectic materials to make the much more meaningful gifts he'd given in his life. And so he didn't hold any moody vendettas against the coins in his pocket, but tried to be a better person where possible.

"Divination. Prophecies, omen reading, diving the future, yeah." Miles again ran a hand through the back of his hair, indicating that it was not his prime area of expertise. But, while he no longer took the class, he had always enjoyed it and had achieved an A on the O.W.L. If he thought he could take more lessons without drowning under the workload, he would have stayed on with some of his friends. Particularly if they were getting a new professor soon. "It's a trickier branch of magic, definitely. It's less wand-based." Even while he'd stuffed the coins back into his pockets, he pulled out his wand and gave it a little teeter with his fingers. "And real Seers are very rare, but... I think they're definitely out there. Some people just have that sixth sense about them. They know things. You can sort of feel it." It was always an eerie but intriguing thing when he came into contact with someone whom he felt was scanning him from the inside out. They definitely existed, in Miles' admittedly dreamy opinion. "And the Ministry has heaps and heaps of Prophecies hidden somewhere, too. One of the most important ones in Wizarding history is tied into this holiday."

Miles had to stop himself from performing a simple spell to show off; it wouldn't have been very nice, and there was nothing quite like experiencing it on one's own that first time in the wand shop, as he'd already recalled. But how often was it that he met someone completely unaware of their world? "So, where else have you been in town so far?"

"Ye'd love our lot, then," Mairead said, brightly and good-humoredly.  If he really liked the notion of moving around and didn't feel the need to keep to the fancy things in life, then he'd probably enjoy it.  "Sometime when yer back in Ireland, ye should come check us out.  We're usually in Dublin for the holidays.  Me mum always wants to be there for Christmas mass at St. Mary's."  Wants was probably putting it lightly - they weren't always in a town for regular Sunday masses but it made for a touchy few weeks with her mother if they didn't make it to Dublin in time.  Mass was, as always, boring but spending the festive season in Dublin was well worth the boredom. 

Mairead's brows furrowed in thought as she considered the news.  "Ye mean, I can make the wagon warm without a fire?"  It was, admittedly, an exciting thought, more so for that fact that it would be her doing it than the warmth.  "How do ye explain it, though?  I mean, someone steps in yer wagon and it's toasty warm and there's no fire.  Won't they wonder?  And, why only when I'm seventeen?"  Mairead asked.

Mairead snorted a sardonic laugh and shook her head.  "No joke.  I saw some of them brooms in town," she said, immediately, shaking her head.  "They'd be bloody useless at sweeping.  They're so pointy at the cleaning end - only a little of it would touch the ground."  Ana had told her a little bit about the brooms and it was a relief to know that the brooms somehow helped you stay on.  "Falling off those things would be worse than falling off of a horse.  And, that hurts," she mused aloud, the relief evident in her voice.  "Ye'r not one of them that's good at it?" Mairead asked, noting the change in his tone. 

An amused grin flickered at the side of Mairead's mouth as he watched the older fellow greet the creature but her eyes lit up with recognition when she heard the name offered.  "Fauna?  I ... I think I met her.  She helped me get out from under the armor that jumped me.  It was really heavy, but they asked me to help with that big painting she was doing in the front of the building."  It had never occurred to her at the time to ask any of them if they knew how to tell the creatures apart and Ailill had simply snoozed through the entire thing while nestled deep in her pocket. 

"Wow," Mairead said, simply, as Miles listed off the family members that had attended the school.  It was mind-boggling, though for several reasons.  Not only did was the notion of this school having existed before she knew about it still seem strange but, "I think I'm the first in me family to go to school."  Mairead scowled in thought slightly and looked down at the puffskein before tucking it back in her pocket.  "I think there was maybe an aunt or something that went to school for a while but they say she settled in Galway.  Yer mum made yer bed attack you?!"  Mairead glanced sideways at Miles.  Having, so far, been at the receiving end of an attacking suit of armor and a rampaging stack of puffskein crates in this world, she could only imagine what a bed would do.  "So, yer a Hufflepuff?  Did ye know what you'd be before?  What about me?  Is there anyway to tell?"  The whole prospects of the houses at the school intrigued Mairead and it was one of the parts of school she was most eager to get started with.

"Divination," Mairead repeated hoping to, finally, remember what the word was.  "Me aunt used to say she could read cards.  But, a lot of settled people believed her and paid her to read cards for them, so it didn't really matter.  It didn't seem to tricky to me.  She played with cards and made up stories.  Yer husband's going to get trampled by a sheep.  Yer gonna have a baby girl."  Mairead was, clearly, giving a bad interpretation of an older woman. 

Once at the top of the stairs, Mairead couldn't resist scanning the walls for signs of a ticklish pear.  "Do ye think it'd work for me?"  Mairead asked, casually, glancing at Miles.  "Even though I'm not really old enough to be a witch, yet?"  She was, of course, intrigued by the prospects of a bounty of food but she was also curious about these house elves.  Not to mention tickling fruit and making it do something.  "Well, we passed by the broom shop and a bookstore, which was really boring.  We were only in town for a little bit before me mum had to drop me off here at the school.  She had to get back home so she couldn't stay that long."

"I'll plan on it," Miles accepted sincerely. How exciting would it be, to spend a day in someone's shoes? Especially someone like this. And the boy certainly had plenty of extra time on his hands during the holidays, the first week of which was always spent lounging around and enjoying his mother's holiday treats. Homework, though Miles was a good enough student, was usually held off until the latter part of the winter vacation. A few late nights scribing essays, and some reading on the easily-interrupted train ride home was a longstanding tradition, and one to which he had grown very fond. "I've never been to this-- mass, did you call it?" He knew of St. Mary's, however. He'd stepped foot into a few churches out of pure curiosity. They were wonderfully constructed, almost like Hogwarts, and if Miles hadn't known better, he would have sworn some magic had gone into it. Muggles were far more amazing than most of his Pureblood peers realized.

He took his time considering her next swirl of questions. Again, she made many good points, and Miles couldn't help but think that as young and tiny as she was, she was also bright beyond her years. While travelers received more than enough persecution, and were presumably not educated in the same way as most muggle children, Miles supposed there were a lot of things people like Mairead learned very early in life... much earlier than her peers.

"You could tell them you've got one of those portable heat machines," he suggested. The word was on the tip of his tongue. "They're called something like radios, maybe, but they don't make music..." Or maybe he was confusing his electric appliances. Wizarding radios were wireless for a reason. "But, yeah, you'd have to wait a bit. Students can't use magic outside of Hogwarts until they turn seventeen-- which means you're a legal adult. I just turned seventeen in February," he explained, feeling somewhat chuffed. He'd almost lost a limb trying to earn his Apparation license, but it had been well worth it. The impending summer's adventures would be that much greater.

The only broom Miles had ever used for cleaning purposes was a tiny dust broom he'd found in one of his mother's cabinets at home. When Mrs. Faraday caught him trying to sweep bits of dried glue, orange feathers, and stale cereal from the floor of his bedroom, she'd charmed the thing to chase after the boy. From then on he'd been a touch more careful with his random projects-- but only a touch. "Aerodynamic," he said at last, employing the word more easily applied to bottle rockets and muggle jets. "I'm not much of a flier, no. My feet like the ground." He gave his shoes a shuffle. "But it can be fun. And at least if you fall off, the nurse can regrow almost anything that breaks. They're wicked good at that here, fixing people's limbs and bones and things. Unless you die." His face seemed more humored than anything else, as he pondered death via broom. If he were actually in that sort of situation, he would probably have looked a bit more somber.

"The mural!" Miles nodded understandingly. He still needed to pop by and contribute. He had a lot of ideas, swimming around in that sleepy head of his. "That would definitely be Fauna. And it sounds like you've already got yourself into more adventures than most sixth years. Was the armor as bad as Sir Cadagon?" Despite his physical restraints, there were few people as artfully harassing as the painted knight. "If you see Fauna again and get a chance to ask, you can tell her I told you to. And say hello to Bernadette." He laughed lightly, referencing his housemate's pet rat (who, chances were, Mairead hadn't met)."

Miles wondered how exciting it would be, to be the only person in the many generations of Faradays to have attended to school. Probably a touch scary, too. Although Mairead seemed to be fairing well. The girl had no shortage of boldness, that much was certain. "I bet you won't be the last, though. In fifty years, who knows? Maybe your kids' kids will be here." Come to think of it, it was a wonder how Miles and sisters hadn't been offed by demonized bed sheets before their own runs at Hogwarts. Merlin bless their dear ma. "It wasn't all bad. I was never afraid of what might be under my bed," he pointed out.

Had he known he would end up a badger? Though he had never taken loads of time to consider it, the child version of Miles had decidedly entertained the idea of being in any other house but that of his parents. And now that he was here, it was abundantly clear he belonged to the banner of yellow and black. "Mmm, Hufflepuff and I fit really well. Like toast and tea." Which sounded very appealing at the moment. He paused for a long moment, as if deeply pondering something. In truth, if sorting were based it on initial encounters, it was abundantly clear from the beginning, even to someone as oft abstractly open-minded and placid as Miles. "I could give it a good guess where'd you end up... But the Sorting Hat has the final say."

If he were more cynical, he would have confessed that a lot of people in the Wizarding world too 'played with cards and made up stories', but Miles was in the business of trusting others. While he knew Seer talent was rare, he did have faith that many people knew what they were doing... or at least sincerely intended to help the people for whom they were reading portents and omens. "Well, there was always a half chance they would have girls, right?"

As they approached the kitchens, Miles was caught off guard but amused by the girl's question. "If you can see it, I think it'll work. Sir Cadogan certainly took a shining to you, and the pear is a bit nicer." Understatement of the century. When the fruit painting finally came into sight, he came to an easy halt beside it, bowing slightly to invite Mairead to give it a try. There was no harm in an afternoon snack when most people were enjoying festival food in Hogsmeade.

"Bookstores aren't so bad," he laughed, waiting for the kitchen door to open and reveal its wonderland. To Mairead's credit, she certainly seemed to know what she liked and didn't. Miles wasn't sure whether he would have been so outspoken about brooms and bookstores when he was ten. "You should grab a butterbeer from the Three Broomsticks before you leave, but I bet the elves have a stash here."

Mairead grinned warmly at her companion and nodded her head.  She'd only known the older boy walking next to her for a few moments but she hoped his agreement to come to visit them in Dublin was sincere.  It would be nice, though somewhat strange, to have someone from this new world visit her at home and, so far, Miles seemed like someone Mairead could trust.  So far, he'd been patient and willing with her myriad of questions and had even made her feel comfortable in asking about them.  All in all, she was glad he'd stopped and helped her escape the overly-chivalrous knight.  "Yeah, mass.  It's ... ye know ... mass?  Church service?  Where an old guy in long white robes drones on about ... bugger.  Most of the time, it's so boring ye don't really remember what he said.  Luckily, no one really quizzes ye on the stuff."

Mairead's eyebrows knitted together slightly and she cast a sideways glance at Miles as she walked.  Unlike he, she had little understanding of what was considered obviously from one world or practically foreign or unheard of in the other.  It baffled her that anyone would think a simple radiator would be a viable solution to the predicament.  To her, the problem with the recommendation seemed obvious and her understanding of the differences in the two worlds hadn't developed far enough for her to recognize how he might not understand.  "We live in wagons," she said with obvious amusement at how obvious it was to her.  "We don't have electricity.  Radiators need it to run.  But ... could ye make blankets warmer?  Or - could ye make a fake fire that's hot?   That'd be cool, too." 

She glanced at Miles with a nod.  Mairead had to admit, despite her reservations the idea was rather intriguing.  She was far more interested in riding the hippogriffs but she found herself becoming progressively more excited about these flying classes.  She didn't know if she'd be any good at it, she didn't know how similar a broom was to a living creature, but she was eager to try.  "I can't wait," she said.

"Yeah, the mural," Mairead confirmed.  She didn't really know how much help she'd been - she hadn't done much painting before.  But, she'd tried.  She shrugged off the comment of finding an abundance of adventure; the group of kids she'd grown up with were notorious at home for seeking out and finding mischief.  "It hurt more," Mairead answered, referring to the attacking armor.  "It was holding a flashing sign and - you know, ye never know what might talk around her or not.  It didn't say anything back to me, just jumped on me.  At least that Sir Cardog-whatsit didn't clobber me."  She scowled in thought a moment before shaking her head.  "I don't think anyone there was named Bernadette."

 "Maybe.  It's all kind of ..."  She hesitated for a few steps.  She was, indeed, independent and had learned to adapt to change relatively easily.  The prospects of school excited her; she hadn't even considered that any following her would also come to this place.  But, part of her wasn't so sure what to expect and was uneasy.  She hadn't wanted to admit before now but Miles was proving to be easy to talk to.  "I'm not really that scared," she felt obligated to try to convince him of.  "But, it's all kind of new.  And, I usually didn't get along with school kids back home - they usually thought we were ... ye know ..."  At times, it was almost a never ending battle between her group and the wealthy school kids they'd encounter in Dublin or Belfast or Galway. 

An eager curiosity settled on Mairead's face and she paused just outside the painting of the fruit.  "What's yer guess?"  Mairead asked Miles.  "I doubt I'll be in that Raven one.  They're the smart ones, right?"  The moment Mairead had heard the Ravenclaw house as being a gathering of bookworms, she'd immediately discredited the notion.  "Bookstores are boring if ye can't read the bloody books," Mairead admitted quietly with a shrug before turning towards the fruit portrait.  She could vividly remember the last reaction she'd received when she'd told someone from the magical world and was relieved to have the portrait as a distraction.

Mairead reached a hand out and brushed her fingers against the pear.  She glanced sideways at Miles, feeling slightly foolish before giving the pear another scratch.  To her amazement, the fruit gave a distinctive wiggle and the portrait swung open revealing a vast kitchen filled with small, big-eared creatures.  She hesitated in the opening and looked questioningly at Miles.  "Ye sure they don't ... ye know ... stampede or anything?"  Slowly, hesitantly, she stepped into the room, watching the creatures warily.