"Really?"  Mairead said, her eyes brightening, grinning with only a touch of embarrassment.  She was pleased that he seemed interested in pursuing activities with her in the future.  He was, after all, older than she was and had only crossed paths with him because of a loss of personal direction.  It was even a bit reassuring that, in this sea of novelty, there was someone that was familiar and friendly.  "Would they really tell us if they did?"  Mairead dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in towards Miles.  Really, if they were willing, that would do wonders for Mairead's impression of the creatures.   Granted, she was already starting to think more highly of them - it didn't take much more than a little shepherd's pie to warm her up to most anyone. 

Mairead shrugged her shoulders, hesitating a moment.  She didn't want to discredit his excitement at all.  And, oranges could be quite good and candy canes could satisfy most people's sweet tooth.  But, the loot at Christmas was only, really, partially about what one got.  There was, no doubt, a certain competitive feel to it.  "New socks are always good," Mairead said, slowly, quite obviously not convinced.  "Until ye see the neighborhood kids riding around on their shiny, fancy new bikes.  There's always lots of kids that score a lot better than you."  Actually, Mairead was rather fond of the idea of giving the other kids a reshined bike.  She wouldn't object at all to watching them drool over her shiny new toys for a while.  Though, of course, she was overlooking one major detail.  "Really, the flying sleigh would be enough, ye know?  They can have the toys, I guess." 

Mairead looked from Miles to the elves and considered them curiously.  Her thoughts, though, were more on the leprechauns now.  Clearly, the tales muggles told about elves were so far off, she couldn't help wondering if they were, also, totally off base with the leprechauns.  "Leprechauns.  Are they actually, ye know, short and green?  Do they really wear funny hats?"  So far, the description of how they acted didn't seem that off base.  They had such a reputation for liking treasure, given the main story around them.  "Do they really find a way to, ye know, hide their loot in the ends of rainbows?  Are they able to find the ends?"  When the unfinished sentence faded off, Mairead looked over at Miles, curiously.  "Who-" she chirped up without thought before, almost immediately, catching herself.  Had she thought faster than she talked - which she rarely did - she would have recognized the signs before she'd said anything. 

But the arrival of biscuits and change of subject allowed her to find a source of distraction without getting herself in too much trouble.  "Well, we're making sure no one can make off with them.  We don't want anyone taking them." 

Mairead laughed, picturing a drunken cowboy taking a nose dive off the back of a horse.  She could just imagine the horse, lazily swinging its head around to stare at the rider staggering to its feet on the ground and laughed more heartily.  "I don't know.  I never seen them fall off in the movies.  Unless they've been shot.  Or, hit by a branch.  That happens a lot in the movies.  Maybe they don't get that drunk.  It'd be kind of embarrassing for them, I bet.  Just to slide off.  That's probably a day they avoid the saloon."  Of course, she really didn't know how she'd fair with whiskey and horses.  "We usually just pretended our juice was whiskey.  I tried some of me da's drink once but me mum got furious.  I never tried s'mores, though," she admitted.  "I heard they were good."

Lowering his voice to match her whisper, not unlike a covert child, Miles replied. "I don't see why not..." And then, in a more carrying tone and wandering eyes: "Dusty, have you got any rootbeer, by chance?" Though a glass-half-full personality by nature, Miles was fairly certain that they wouldn't find this mystery brew in the kitchens just yet. He hadn't heard of it before Mairead mentioned it, and Miles was in the habit of becoming very well acquainted with rooms full of food. Politely, of course. Sure enough, the elf looked at him with panic-stricken eyes before Miles shook his head and calmed him with a smile. "Ah, don't worry. If you ever have any shipped in, though..."

Bikes. Now those things were definitely something Miles and Lola could babble on about for hours on end. Unlike brooms, they stayed on the earth, and unlike horses, they didn't have minds of their own. The way muggles used wheels-- from bicycles, to cars, to those loud bicycle and car lovechild yokes called motorcycles-- were most imaginative. The wizard and witches in Diagon Alley, for all of their magical prestige, generally stuck to plain old carts of wheelbarrows if there wasn't something they could carry with simple bags or charmwork. "Yeah, a bike would be nice," he agreed, almost hazily so, as if now imagining himself on a bike, too. "I bet they're as much as new brooms," he added with a chuckle. Some brooms were outrageously priced, and Miles felt very lucky to prefer spending his money on a bunch of small and seemingly useless trinkets. He was inclined to agree about the sleigh, too. Not only was it roomier and more accommodating than a broom, but it seemed slightly safer for people who weren't, say, tightrope walkers by nature. "It would be sort of like your wagon, but in the sky."

"Very short and very green! About this high." Squinting a bit, the boy compacted his hands so that they were a half-foot apart. "Some of them wear hats, but I don't think they really care about chasing rainbows," he laughed. It was sort of sad, actually. Miles always wanted to know if anyone had discovered the end of a rainbow. The idea that there was no end, and that things were only ever light projected in the sky, was not nearly as interesting. "Some of them work for the Irish National Team, Quidditch you know, and they're really good at organizing themselves into formations and things." It was ridiculously impressive. Miles wasn't sure he had such coordination. "I bet they'd have been a great addition to our play. But they're kind of flighty." He wasn't sure they would have been any more patient at the rehearsals than, say, certain small Slytherins. But it was something to ponder.

There was definitely a sort of physical comedy that drew the audience's attention, where films were concerned. And it was a tactic that greatly influenced Miles' opinion of real cowboys or muggle bank robbers. Funnily enough, he had also studied muggle perceptions of witches, wizards, and vampires enough to know that they were greatly skewed. But some things just seemed more logical than others when looking at the world through Miles' eyes. "I always wondered how there are so many trees in the desert," he laughed. "Whiskey is..." Well, it was good, but it burned a lot, too. Miles wouldn't recommend making a habit of it, not to a first year. But her parents had seemed to have covered that. "Well you're better off with juice. More sugar." Speaking of sugar, the boy polished off a biscuit. "S'mores are wicked. Great texture." Food texture was of utmost importance. "These things rival them, though," he added, gesturing to the tray of biscuits.

Feeling full, the boy smoothed the shirt over his stomach and leaned his elbows on the table behind him, so that in his stool, he was facing the opposite direction of their recently-consumed meal. "So are you here for the whole holiday?" He inquired, gesturing to the galley door in a way that signaled the whole castle and village at large. "Definitely don't miss out on those fireworks, if you're sticking around."

"I wish we had those things back home," Mairead mused with a new awe to her voice.  The more the subject came up, the more these house elves seemed quite useful.  Especially if they would be so generous with edible things.  She turned to watch the house elves, curious to see if they'd, indeed, manage to pull some rootbeer from nowhere.  "Is he alright?"  Mairead asked Miles quietly when the  elf seemed to be on the brinks of a full blown panic.  "Why's he so ... touchy?"  Clearly, one had to be careful around these things.  Remarkably, they were moodier than most toddlers she knew 

Mairead pushed herself back from the table, cradling the bottle of buttlebeer between her hands.  This excursion into the kitchens had been a rather enjoyable and satisfying side trip and, if for no other reason, making her aware of this mecca of food had endeared Miles to her.  "I don't know how much brooms are, but bikes can be expensive," Mairead commented, contently lazy.  "They can be tricky to ride, though.  Ye have to balance on the two tires, ye know.  I only got to ... borrow ... a bike a few times, but I haven't really figured it out, yet.  I prefer me horse, really."  Having her own bike was always beyond the question - even taking one wouldn't work since there was no way to take it with them.  Wagons didn't have bike racks.  Only on a few occasions had she been able to make off with someone's bikes for a few hours, it had only resulted in an ongoing series of falls.  "I don't think the horses would like it if the wagons were in the sky." 

With rapt interest, Mairead listened to the explanation about the leprechauns.  She was grateful that the description of the real leprechauns was much closer to her own assumptions than the elves had been.  The size of them took her by surprise and she shuffled closer to Miles to take a careful look at the length indicated by his hands.  "That's small?"  Mairead arched an eyebrow disbelievingly before quickly ramming her hand into her pocket.  When she drew her hand back out, she was holding the silver sickle Miles had given her.  The coin was, by no means, particularly large, but when she held the coin up next to the size Miles was indicating, she shook her head.  "That's impossible!"  Mairead shook her head as she made her declaration.  "They'd have to have a bloody backpack for a single coin!  How do they ... with the cauldrons filled with gold? Or is that just on cereal boxes?" 

"Your play?"  Mairead repeated, appearing confused a moment before her eyes widening.  "Ye mean the reenactment or ..."  Mairead hesitated a moment before looking down at the bottle in her hands.  "...ye know.  That thing yesterday that - went badly."  She took a good, long drink of butterbeer.  She hadn't let her thoughts linger on the incident the day before, preferring to relinquish it to the hopefully soon forgotten.

"It's sweet.  But, not a good candy sweet,"  Mairead finished.  At least that had been the impression the whiskey had left her when she'd stolen the sip from her father's.  "And, it made me sick.  I don't know why people like it.  I'd much rather try the s'mores.  It always looked fun to let the marshmallows catch fire, too.  Much more fun then when the bacon catches."

Mairead nodded her head.  "I'm staying here in the castle.  The teacher I'm staying with got held up so they're letting me stay here.  Me mum's coming back after this thing so we can meet her.  It's very fancy, ye know.  I'm not used to being inside so much.  But, it's fun."

Miles' mother often wished they could have an elf, too. But at the end of the day, Miles was sort of glad his family managed without one. He loved the company of the curious creatures here at school, and very much appreciated everything they did for the students and staff, but it was still nice to act like his mother's son and enjoy her breakfast fry-ups during the summers. Some things never changed. It was more cozy, too. And Miles likely would have driven any elf in such close and constant proximity into retirement, or else convinced the thing to tag along to school with him. "They're a useful lot," he acknowledged pleasantly, though he really needn't, because it seemed that much had now become clear to the girl. "They're just, er, very dedicated to satisfying people," he explained under his breath. Raising his voice, he continued to pacify the antsy elf. "No, really, Dusty, the butterbeer was more than enough."

"I guess some things come naturally or they don't, and others just need a little practice," he interjected thoughtfully. He could see why bikes might be in the latter category, where as brooms seemed to be slightly more a combination of inborn skill and practice. Some people had that inexplicable flair for flying, and others didn't. "Ahh, you need a rack for them? We'd just use a Shrinking charm," he laughed. "Maybe you could build one, though," he offered. "If you found the right sort of material." Or would that upset the balance of the mobile life? "The horses don't need to fly with it if the right magic is used, but there are flying steads. Massive ones. There's pictures in the library, if you ever read up on Triwizard Tournament history-- er, when you start on books, you know. The old headmistress at Beauxbatons was quite fond."

Miles smile, amused at Mairead's expression. He supposed it was true, the idea that someone no taller than six inches could produce handsome gold coins... even if they had the habit of disappearing after a few hours. "I don't think they really... I don't, I never really thought about it actually... how they... Cereal boxes?" He stumbled over his words for a moment, lost in thought that was laced with tempting bowls of milky, crunchy sugar. "I suppose they don't carry around the gold, but if they do, they have their own magic anyway, just like elves and everyone else." It was a mistake that even Miles, in his attempts to be understanding and inclusive, still made: underestimating what something else in the magical world could do, especially in a magical capacity. It could be downright frightening in some contexts. Overall, wizards seemed to be the best at the frightening angle, though. As had been made apparent at the Memorial Ceremony.

"The Reenactment, yeah. I was Neville Longbottom," he explained, not without a hint of pride. He'd been glad to chose the role of the heroic underdog. Even people who weren't always as blatantly brave as Harry Potter himself, or as dramatic as Lord Voldemort, had made a big difference in the battle. Frowning slightly as Mairead brought up the ceremony, during which Theodora Kingstreet's interruption had been the least disturbing of the unexpected event, the Hufflepuff shook his head with vague melancholy. "You saw that? It was awful. That poor man from the Ministry, bless. And now they can't find Gibson anywhere." It was very unsettling, the entire situation. Miles might not have liked involving himself in the highly violent area of politics, but he wholeheartedly believed in fairness and justice. Kyle, when discovered, would have a lot to answer.

Standing up and stretching a little, the boy let his face return to its natural, tranquil state, his friendly hint of a smile balancing the seeming chill of his eyes. "I think whiskey is just one of those adult mysteries. It tastes better when you're older." Who knew why? Miles had heard people's taste buds died off, the older they got, and foods that were overpowering in youth seemed to be mellower on the tongue in adulthood. Maybe it was why so many of his peers eventually stopped refusing broccoli and found it easier to refuse dessert. Miles, for one, while he appreciated veggies like his mother's proper son, would definitely always welcome a nice slice of cake. Especially from Lola's family's bakery. "I bet marshmallows and bacon would be interesting together." He couldn't help the thought.

"That sounds like a good deal. You won't be tricked into believing you have to fight trolls or swim across the lake to get into the castle," he laughed. There were many traditional ways to frighten incoming first years before they reached Hogwarts. The upperclassman delighted in making the Sorting Process sound like Judgment Day. "Ready to finally tackle those stairs, then?" He gestured to the floor above them.

Mairead nodded.  She didn't understand and she really couldn't relate to the elves obsessive need to do things perfectly but she saw what Miles was saying.  When Dusty visibly relaxed at Miles' reassurance, there was no reason to question it.  Think it was crazy - yes, that was still possible.  She suspected, though, now that she knew how to get in the kitchens, she'd get to know these creatures pretty well.  Which, as she finished off the bottle of butterbeer, brought up an important question.  "Ye said that we should keep an eye out for teachers when we come here.  What do they do if they catch us?"  She set the empty bottle on the table.

So far, bike riding hadn't been that successful; Mairead could only hope that she was somewhat more talented in the area of broom riding.  Knowing she'd likely make a fool out of herself in most of her other classes, Mairead was hoping that this might be one area where she could redeem herself.  It couldn't be that different then riding a horse, right?  Other than the flying part.  "But, what good would a bike be after you've shrunk it?"  Mairead asked.  "If it's so small that it fits in the wagon, yer feet'd touch the ground.  Which kind of makes it pointless."  She grinned at the idea of flying steeds, remembering him talking about the half-bird, half-horse things earlier.  She was, definitely, looking forward to learning about such things.   "Uh - yeah," she answered, awkwardly, color touching her cheeks.  "I'll be sure to look them up.  When I get there." 

Mairead grinned, admittedly amused by Miles' stumbling over his words.  It seemed strange that a simple comment about cereal could derail his train of thought but, it was also amusing.  How many times, over the last hour or so had she been grappling to make sense of a thought or comment.  "Yea - a cereal.  Actually, its got marshmallows, too.  But they are too small to toast.  And, the ones I had were dry.  So, I think they'd just melt.  But, the box has a leprechaun on it."  Mairead couldn't help laughing at the explanation of how the small green men handled the money.  It seemed the universal explanation for everything around here.  "Ye know, in the normal world, when we don't know how to explain how something happens - or don't want to say how - we say it was magic.  How did me shoes get up in that tree - must have been magic.  It's like a joke."

The name meant little to Mairead and she nodded her head.  She'd figured out some things about the whole battle but names and real specifics were still hazy.  "Oh," she said, blankly.  "He was ... He ... which one was he?"  She asked.  Awkwardly, she stuck a finger in the mouth of the bottle, shivering slightly as the vision of the man falling to the floor flashed through her mind.  "Yea - I saw it."  She hadn't talked about it; that was one of the disadvantage of being in the large school filled with strangers.  But, she wasn't sure if she'd really talk to her parents about it.  She knew it would freak them out and she knew she probably couldn't really explain it.  She didn't understand it herself.  "Why'd he do it?" She asked.

Mairead pushed herself to her feet as well and moved towards the portrait hole.  "Yeah.  That crazy guy should be gone.  Ye don't think he'll do that again, do ye?  He doesn't seem that bright."  She hesitated at the end of the kitchens and glanced around curiously before reaching out and trying to tickle a loaf of bread that sat at the far end of one of the tables.

"You might have points taken," he admitted. "Sometimes a detention. But you'll get in loads more trouble if it's past curfew. It really depends on the professor, to be honest." He smiled, as if he'd indeed just been caught breaking the rules, only he'd been discovered by an eleven-year-old and not someone who shelled out the homework assignments. "I don't think anyone will chuck you out for wanting a biscuit, though. If the professors walk in on you, they probably want one too, right?"

Laughing, the Hufflepuff shook his head. She was too quick with the comebacks. Nothing seemed to get past her without a new question arising, which he liked. Children who weren't curious always made him feel wary, or else sympathetic in a sad, resigned way. "Well, you'd unshrink it-- enlarge it-- when you wanted to use it, wouldn't you?" He tilted his head a little, looking at strangely, but clearly also amused. "You could make it fit in your palm, if you wanted. And then when you want to ride..." Miles patted the side of his jeans and found his own wand again. He pointed it at his empty butterbeer bottle and gave it a swish, muttering something. The glass grew to twice its size, though it remained quite empty.

A cereal with marshmallows and leprechauns sounded like something Miles would sketch on the back of one his (hopefully completed) test papers while waiting for a class to end. He would definitely need to track this down. Maybe Adelia or Fauna could point him the right direction. There was bound to be some sort of muggle market that sold such mystical delights. "That's odd. It's the opposite for us. Things that aren't magic are... er, what you would call magic, I suppose. Like cereal in a box with marshmallows and a leprechaun mascot? That's muggle magic in my book."

"Ah, it's a long story," he chuckled. "Neville was a Gryffindor who came into his own right at the end." That seemed a decent summary. In Miles' head. On second thought... "He slashed the snake open. I think it was a bit more fun for us, though." Undoubtedly. The real Neville hadn't been faced with a bouncing fake snake in a can, a slip-and-slide Luna Lovegood, and a bald, female Voldemort who seemed more likely to give you her spare quill than kill you.

The Hufflepuff drew a deep breath and seemed to appraise Mairead in a new way, as if wondering how much he should say. He didn't even know what to say, really. Everyone was still confused, and there was a general air of chaos and sadness still looming over the castle. But, despite her young age, Miles respected the girl, and he felt he owed her whatever bit of truth and perspective he could offer. Death was a heavy subject, but it was also a reality. "I don't know why he did it, but I do know that there are people here... wizards and witches... who are just like people in the muggle world, the ones who you think are harmless, but then one day they snap and do something crazy. It's just part of being human, I guess. And... there are also some people in Britain who are unhappy with the government-- like that woman, Theodora Kingstreet, who interrupted the ceremony. I won't pretend that the Ministry is the most flawless establishment on the planet, but there are right ways and wrong ways to get your message across, yeah? What she did was entirely inappropriate, and as for Kyle Gibson killing those men, I..." Miles shook his head. It was still a shell-shocking truth, that something like that could happen right here, at Hogwarts, so close to their hearts. "It's just such a mystery. They're looking for him everywhere right now."

Moving toward the door and pocketing his wand after throwing a retreating wave at the elves, Miles smiled and shook his head. "Sir Cadagon's long gone. I bet he's found a few watercolor Mermaids to chase by now."

"Detention."  Mairead repeated the word, testing it in her mouth.  It was a strange concept to her.  She'd seen movies where kids got detention and figured it was something the students she got in trouble with in Dublin experienced it but she never thought she'd face the prospect herself.  And, chances were, it'd be a miracle if she avoided getting in trouble at school.  So far, her track record hasn't been great.  "I'd hope so.  The biscuits are good."  As was the pie.  Mairead suspected she'd be back for more in not too long. 

Mairead grinned back as the older boy laughed, blushing slightly.  In retrospect that did make sense.  If the magic could shrink the bike, it seemed logical that they could make it full-sized again.  It would also make it easier to borrow someone's bike.  Imagine being able to stuff it in your pocket and walk away.  Her eyes widened as Miles drew his wand and she watched eagerly as he demonstrated its use.  She'd seen wands used a few times already but the novelty still wasn't lost on her.  "Wow!" she breathed.  "That's amazing."  She reached out and touched the bottle gently on the side. 

Okay.  Calling a box of cereal magic was a little on the crazy side and that was evident in her expression when she glanced sideways at Miles with an amused grin.   Not that she could have explained how the cereal was made or the peculiarities of stale marshmallows.  Perhaps, a day would come when she'd understand that concept more.  But, for a young witch on her own in the wizarding world for the first time, it seemed a crazy idea. 

"Oh ... him!"  The explanation of who Neville was helped Mairead place the name with the character from the reenactment.  "He seemed really brave."  At least from what she'd known through the play and what little Miles had said, that had been the impression she'd gotten.  "And, he was a Gryffindor?" 

Mairead listened to the explanation Miles offered about the incident.  The explanation did help, but it all still made little sense.  Perhaps it was one of those things that, like her father had told her once, wasn't supposed to make sense.  Like death in general.  "I don't think I'm going to tell me mum about that."  Though Mairead would regularly keep the details of any minor wrongdoing she'd done, she wasn't accustom to the feel of keeping anything of significance from her family.  They lived in such close proximity that secrets were hard to keep.  But, it seemed, Mairead was finding herself at a distance from her family in more ways than just distance. 

She hesitated a moment, blinking as her thoughts simmered a moment.  But, she soon followed Miles out the door and into the corridor outside of it.  "Thanks," she said, looking up at Miles with a half grin.  "For helping me and all.  You've been really nice."

Miles was fairly confident that whether Mairead became a frequent detentionee or not, she would take it in stride. Of course, she seemed rather clever enough to avoid at least some punishment for whatever adventures her curiosity and apparent boldness provoked. Hogwarts was definitely the place to be for an eleven-year-old who loved food, fun, and exploration. Really, the professors couldn't blame them for being tempted, could they? Everyone had been a child at some point, and it was more or less a standard childhood dream, to live in such a place where the kitchens produced any food imaginable at any time desirable, and the paintings on the walls could spend hours holding your attention with their cries of chivalry and clanking armor. Or at least, it had been Miles' dream, and the school had not disappointed.

Nodding in confirmation, the Hufflepuff reassured the girl that Neville Longbottom had indeed been a Gryffindor. If he wasn't entirely certain twenty minutes ago, he was fairly sure now that his fellow Dubliner would be joining Longbottom's ranks as a tiny lion. But then there was always a chance she might surprise him and end up somewhere else. Hufflepuff, even.

He couldn't blame her for wanting to keep the ceremony incident to herself; certainly it had frightened his own mother, and she was a witch. A muggle mother was bound to be thrice as wary about sending her child away to a school full of wizards in the Middle of Nowhere, Scotland. But he hoped that Mairead would not (and also believed she wouldn't) write off a magical life so soon; she still seemed rather enthusiastic, from what he could gather. Also quite independent and determined for her age, which was a good sign for someone who was moving on to new things.

"Nah, no need to thank me," he promised, grinning as he strolled out of the kitchens. He'd had a good time; definitely a lot more fun than he would have had if he hadn't bumped into her and the stalker knight. "I got pie and biscuits and butterbeer, and now I really want to see some of those cowboy films." He would definitely have to revisit some old western novels, at the very least. "It was nice meeting you, Mairead. I hope I'll see you around next semester, yeah?"