Margo very briefly considered bashing her head against the counter. 

Honestly? 

Was this really happening in this moment? 

The goblin sneered down at her from his perch.  She was almost as tall at the pint sized thing, even sitting behind the bars, but that didn’t stop it from looking down it’s crooked and hooked nose down at her.  “This is not the wand of the Marguerite Amherst,” he sneered, holding it out in his grey-ish white hands.  The wood in his hands was scarred from flames and hard use. 

She always hated how discolored they looked.  Raising her eyes to the goblin she sighed in frustration.  “One, the name is Margo,” she hated her full name, “and two, it is most assuredly my wand,” she insisted, “believe me I would know.” 

The goblin did not appear to be amused.  “Madame,” its oily voice leaked from its mouth, and Margo shuddered, “until you return with the appropriate identification, there is nothing we can do.”    Not even a bloody I’m sorry, and still with her wand hanging in his hands in front of her, like she was just supposed to take it away without even the smallest bit of a fight. 

“Why don’t you bloody check again?” she practically growled between clenched teeth. 

The goblin did not immediately move to do so, and Margo curled her lip with a sharp motion in her shoulders, urging it to go – or she would light it on fire.  She hoped that was conveyed in her expression, which was probably something akin to crazy eyes.  It seemed, at the very least, to get the bloody thing to go back (even just to pretend to check), and Margo crossed her arms angrily over her chest. 

She couldn’t believe this.  Bloody disaster, after leaving the office, and with people in line… not that she cared too much about them.  “Bloody disgrace,” she muttered to herself, “can’t even get a wand right.”  Glancing at the fellow behind her, she rolled her eyes as she motioned to the window, “can you believe it?”

Visiting London was always a mixed feeling. It had hustle to it that was familiar to Paris, but the people were... less free. More stiff, in certain ways. Then again, Thomas tended to keep to himself anyhow. He could be a hypocrite if he wanted to.

After leaving Juliette’s flat to run some errands, he hadn’t realized how close to empty his pockets were. And how late it was getting, for a stop in at Gringotts. That was how he ended up in the longer-than-necessary line, frowning slightly at no one in particular. Thomas disliked waiting around, twiddling his thumbs. Or in this case, running his fingers over his wand. The hornbeam wood was smooth and recently waxed.

If a wandmaker’s wand was not in pristine condition, how were his customers to trust his craft? It was similar to a tailor; if they wore shabby clothes or ratty robes, then they weren’t very successful. As for robes, Thomas had his favorite dark green robe on over a black long sleeved shirt and black trousers. It was a bit chillier in London than he had been expecting.

Every moment he was stuck in the line was a moment longer than he thought was necessary. His irritation started to settle on his features, eyebrows drawing closer as he stared at the woman in front of him. If he was imagining different spells he could use to cut off her hair, or tie it in an untie-able knot, or set her wand on fire-no, he wouldn’t think such things of a defenseless wand.

Thomas inhaled slowly through his nose, holding the breath for a few seconds before finally letting it back out slowly. A glass of wine after this ridiculousness sounded much needed. Perhaps Juliette had a nice bottle in her kitchen... His wand was absentmindedly rolling between his fingers, twirling slowly as he thought about what he could pair with it for dinner.

“-can you believe it?”

He blinked as he saw her face. Thomas nearly dropped his wand. “You’re done?” His french accent clipped the words; he wasn't used to English quite as much as he used to be. Eyes moved from her face to the goblin behind her, the smug look obvious on the creature's face. Stepping forward, he offered his wand for security.

 Blinking, Margo had not expected that.  She’d just been trying to be nice, engaging in an awkward conversation with the person behind her because the goblin was taking forever to verify that it was indeed her wand that he was looking at. 

How was she supposed to pay her rent or buy… anything… without money in her pockets.  Honestly, the family vault had never been harder to get to in her entire life, and the use of her real first name… Could this excursion get any worse? 

Being as brazen as she was, Margo walked forward and tapped the man on the shoulder, “Excuse me, I was not done,” she insisted, one hand resting on her hip.  Her fingers dug into the supple leather of her pants, and Margo looked up at the window. 

“I was talking about how ludicrous the service is here,” she sneered at the Goblin who raised his chin and looked through his tiny, rounded glasses at her.  She couldn’t believe the disgusting little mutant was treating her like that.  Her family had a considerable vault for this place. 

She frowned and tried to edge her way in front of him, maybe even to block the exchange, if she was lucky: “So if you could… let me go first, that’d be grand.”

The goblin took his wand, and as he was about to speak out his name, the woman started talking. What was it about females wanting attention? Glancing over his shoulder briefly, an eyebrow rose. Thomas looked down at the offending finger near his shoulder. A curl of his lip peeled back before he could tame his face.

“Excuse me, I was not done.”

Ludicrous service indeed. One was at the mercy of the English population when in London, though. “That seems a good way to get what you want.” Put down established businesses to their faces, and see how far they go to kiss your feet. As a business owner, albeit a small one, Thomas could sympathize on some scale with the smirking goblin behind the counter. Especially if these sorts came in throughout the business day. How it might just drag on...

When she attempted to get in front of him, his foot moved in front of her boots, the worn in dragon hide effortlessly moving with him. “You aren’t doing yourself any favors with your attitude.” The goblin still had his wand and seemed to be examining it closer. “You’ve already had an opportunity.” His irritation now evident as he frowned heavily at her, he turned back to the goblin. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I just need a small withdrawal from my account.”

In all honesty, he didn’t see the big to-do. Margo, as she wanted to be called, had held up the after work rush for long enough. At least in Thomas’s opinion. She had yet to address the ten customers behind Thomas, and she hadn’t the decency as of yet to apologize for her behavior. “It’s clearly a problem with you and your wand.” And then he got a glimpse of it, and his face twisted into horror. “What have you done to that wand?!”

The poor thing was probably scared and quivering under her touch! Even if Thomas had considered, very briefly, of setting her wand on fire, it was clear that one of them had not only considered it, but done it! Where were the counsels for wand abuse? Disgust and horror mixed on his face as he looked back up to her face. “You should be ashamed of yourself, treating a wand like that. Do you not know of flame retardant wax?!”

It might have sounded like an oxymoron, but no. Thomas was just staring at a moron.

 “You’re not the only wizard in all of London who needs a withdrawal.” Margo countered, irritated – and recognizing that he was not exactly English.  If he were, she might have forgiven him.  Most of the Englishmen she knew were notorious about these sorts of things: structure and lines and nonsense.  His accent, however, pointed to lineage that was far more concentrated on the continent.

The French were probably just as bad about these types of things, and Margo felt despondent.  She just needed enough to get by.  She didn’t want to have to owl one of her siblings because the bank was being ludicrous….

It appeared, however, she was not to be taken care of, and her wand was being brought back by a second goblin, who appeared to enjoy this as much as the other, with the man’s wand, smirking all the while.  “Apologies, Madame, but it does not match.”  He didn’t sound apologetic at all.

She was about to correct him – comment on the fact that the burn marks and things were recent – well some of them.  She had actually been allowed to do something in the field… some of the burns had been there for over a year.  Margo opened her mouth when the rude wizard did it for her. 

He seemed so incredulous at the state of her wand, asking her what she’d done to it.  Oh, not acceptable.  Grabbing it out of the goblin’s grubby fingers, Margo frowned at him.  “Excuse you,” she scoffed, “but my wand is perfectly fine.”

Protectively stroking it, Margo held it close to her chest.  “Not that it’s none of your business but wax doesn’t really hold up to dragon flames, does it?” she asked with a wrinkled nose she very well could have learned from one of her very snobbish cousins. 

"Why do you care anyway?" Margo added, eyeing him suspiciously.  Weird, judgy git. 

Neither was she the only witch who needed one. Honestly, some people. An eyebrow rose as he glanced behind her to the people who had been stuck behind him. They weren’t very pleased with either, but Thomas chose to believe it all centered on this woman. The goblins seemed to be enjoying the squabble, but some were obviously done with it shortly after it started.

Still, Thomas could not peel his eyes away from the state of her wand, no matter how she ‘protectively’ covered it. Coveted it, was more like it. If he was more of a political mind, it would be these sorts of travesties that he would lobby against. It was enough doing his current job, however, and there were only so many wands he could care for. He wasn’t a foster wandmaker, after all!

She looked more like a lion over prey than a woman defending a child. Which, in his opinion, a wand was like! Even Olllivander had spoken about sentience and wands. The ability for a wand to bond to the owner... it was so remarkable.

And this one had broken that bond beyond repair. Perfectly fine his French arse. “It is not. It doesn’t want to be paired with you. Obviously that is why the goblins cannot match you with it.” How was this woman so dense she didn’t see the obvious answer? She just needed to mend the relationship and she would repair the damage. Unless too much damage had been done all ready...

When she brought up dragon flames, he stood up straighter. Her double negative nearly rocked him back on his heels. Eyes widened as he clasped his lips tightly together. That required a dense wood, coupled with a strong personality, to resist those flames. And eventually, they wouldn’t. Wax would, however, prolong the inevitable.

“Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t care about you. It’s your wand. It’s been through so much.” His heart broke for it, it really did. Shaking his head in despair, he crossed his arms over his chest and puffed it out a little. He was a little shorter than the woman, and he tried to make up for it by his stance. Head turned back to the goblin, nodding curtly to resume his inspection. Thomas was not thrilled with having the wand out of his reach.

Margo was not going to tolerate this nonsense from a French git.  Whatever he thought about her wand, he clearly didn’t know – and for him to be so uppity about it, that was just plain ridiculousness.  “I don’t even think you know what you’re talking about,” Margo commented with another over exaggerated roll of her eyes. 

Of course, it wasn’t enough for him, and he had to keep going, which was far too much for her. 

Talking about how much her wand had been through – who was this guy?  Ollivander himself?  He looked significantly younger, and more ginger, than she’d remembered the old coot who had handed over her wand (that had unceremoniously lit her father’s hair on fire… but not in a bad way – it didn’t hurt him!). 

But, that wasn’t the point. 

“If you could just mind your own business and let me handle mine -” she was going to continue when she was interrupted by the rather sharp clearing of a throat by something far below her.   

Margo looked down, seeing a goblin at about her waist height, hands clenched in front of it, she knew that it was not a good sign.  “Perhaps, Madame, you,” the goblin spared a glance to the man beside her, “and the gentleman , should take this dispute elsewhere.”  It didn’t sound as much like a suggestion, as the wording might allow one to think. 

She didn’t make a move, still clutching her wand, and the goblin cleared its throat.  “Immediately,” again, barely sparing a glance toward the man, but still, sending him the briefest of glances, just as potent, it seemed to her, as the one the little suited thing had given her.   

It was painfully obvious this woman didn’t know what she was talking about. His ears lit up, burning as his cheeks followed suit. Of course he knew what he knew. She was just ridiculous and a poor choice as a wand owner. He hoped she didn’t have children, or worse, pets. Still, she mentioned dragon flames... hopefully she didn’t treat them like she treated her own wand.

Finally, however, she started speaking sense. If she would just leave him be, he’d be back out and far away from her. He could even get back to Juliette’s flat in time to tell her about it before getting a glass of wine under his belt. Maybe even over a glass full... it wasn’t a bad idea.

At first, his indignation, evident in the redness of his cheeks, started to go away as a smug smirk slipped on to his face. She was being asked to leave. But then Thomas realized the goblin had also included him in his statement! The audacity! Mouth dropped open in slight shock; the goblin was turning away a pureblood! Obviously it was the woman’s instigation! Thomas was the victim here, as was her wand.

“Immediately.”

“Do you know who I am?!” His wand was handed back to him; the goblin who handed it back gave him the same self-satisfied smirk as he’d given Margo. Thomas pulled his wand back to him, tucking it gently in a pocket before standing up straight. A string of unfriendly French words slipped out as he strode past the insistent goblin, his cheeks once again lighting up. His anger turned towards Margo, and he scowled at her. “You owe me time I wasted, and a glass of wine for all this nonsense.”

Thomas was not suave, he was not very charming, and he wasn’t great with romance and flirting. He was, however, good at stating the obvious. Or at least his opinion of what seemed obvious. “I have half a mind to snap your wand out of its misery!” The thought made his chest flutter uncomfortably. It wasn’t the easiest subject for him to think about. Meeting the London February chill made him breathe in sharply, pulling robes tightly around him as he considered the quickest way away from the mad woman.

Margo’s jaw dropped when the Goblin just stood, looking at them, to the pleasure, it seemed, of some of the patrons behind them.  “Do you know who he is?” she gapped at the annoying man, “do you know who I am?” she didn’t play the blood card very often, but she could when she wanted to – and she certainly did want to. 

The Goblin did not look pleased, however, and did not appear to want to give up either.  The last word – Immediately was enough to know that he (she figured it was a he) was serious. 

Snorting with disgust, Margo rolled her eyes as she started to walk away, all stiff and awkward – standing for too long (and the admittedly frigid and wet weather) had cricked her back and hips… ugh.  When she thought about it that way, she felt like such an old person – and old person she was not! 

Of course, the most surprising thing – other than the realization that she was feeling old, was when the very annoying, very judgmental man in line demanded that she give him back his time – and a glass of wine?  What was that?  Raising her eyebrows at him, a bark of laughter jumped from her throat.  “Well sorry, I left my time turner at home,” she shrugged, “and besides, only girls drink wine.” 

She rolled her eyes and continued walking, hoping that she could leave some of this nonsense behind, and was happy to tug the door of the bank open to walk outside.  Even the frosty February weather was preferable to the icy treatment she was receiving from the git who had gotten them kicked out of the bank. 

“I have half a mind to snap you out of your misery,” she made a rather juvenile face, involving wrinkled nose and curled lip, maybe even a little bit of a sassy hair flip and shoulder jerk. You know, an adult reaction to things like this. 

That the woman couldn’t come up with her own line, and instead sounded like a parrot copying his words, further irritated Thomas. Why had he bothered coming to England? At least the Gringotts in France was friendlier to him. And there they at least knew the family name, even if his personal account was not very large.

“-and besides, only girls drink wine.”

Thomas made a face of disbelief. She had obviously never had her taste buds tickled by a tart, deep bodied merlot. Paired with a rare steak, and it was the furthest thing a girl would be able to handle. “You don’t know a thing about wine then.” She was continually ruffling up his feathers.

If she knew anything about wine, she would have realized that the traditional ‘lady’ wines were sweet, sparkling, or rose. It took a certain desire to enjoy the drier wines, and even further enjoyment to distinguish between nutty and oak tastes. Thomas was not as well versed in proper distinguishing of different flavors in wine, but he knew how to properly enjoy a glass. And he definitely wasn’t a girl.

“I have half a mind to snap you out of your misery.”

There she went again, acting like a seven year old and using his exact sentence to flip it back at him. Thomas was not about to get into an argument of 'I'm rubber and you're glue.' That was childish. And though he wanted to act that way to her, he held back the desire to stick his tongue out of his mouth. He was a grown up who had just been nearly thrown out of Gringotts. The disbelief was still hanging over his head, waiting to drop and hit him like cold water in the middle of winter.

Shaking his head as if waking up from a dream, he let out a soft laugh and raised an eyebrow at her. “From wand to human violence. You are a rare femme.” He continued to shake his head as he turned to the right, attempting to walk away from her. If she wanted to have a ruined relationship with her wand, that was her own problem. Thomas needed to stay out of other people’s abuse of their wands.

His expression was priceless.  Margo couldn’t help but laugh.. just a little bit… and then a lot at him.  There was a piece of Margo that really enjoyed acting like a twelve year old and purposefully making people crazy.  It was evident that this man was an easy target for her more basic instincts. 

Obviously, some people had moved beyond the age of taunting refrains and juvenile tongue sticking and things… but Margo was not one of them.  For some reason, she had a strange inkling that the person in front of her wasn’t either – or he’d have gone a long time ago. 

The necessity to always have the last word, however, was coming off strong from him, and Margo smirked. 

“Good thing I don’t need to know,” she shrugged, moving from overly obnoxious attitude to cool irreverence in a hot second.  (It had been thought that Margo had never truly matured beyond fifteen years old). 

Ah well, she tugged her dragon leather jacket tighter around her mid-section, she wondered what the hell he was on about.  “Femme better be something good,” Margo added, walking in the same direction he was going.  It wasn’t her fault that her building was in that direction. 

“Happy” coincidence, maybe?

“Good thing I don’t need to know.”

Instead of getting upset, he merely gave her a smile, slightly tight lipped as it were, but a smile nonetheless. “Sophistication has gone right over your head. Perhaps no one has educated you properly on the different types of wine.” Not that he was one to do it, but someone should attempt, at the very least. Maybe she was barred from places that allowed civilized adults in for proper dinner and long wine lists.

After seeing her behavior in Gringotts, he was almost completely sure of it. As his eyes glanced over her outfit, he scratched the almost. But then, maybe she cleaned up well. Sometimes it was hard to not judge a book by its cover.

When she responded to his sarcastic response, and kept walking with him, he looked at her incredulously. “Why are you following me?” He wasn’t about to explain that obviously it meant woman. Looking forward again, he started to speed up a little. Thomas was not about to start running down the street, but he definitely was willing to speed walk with an occasional jump in his step.

He buttoned his robes as he went, wishing to keep the cold out of his bones as long as he could. Thoughts prickled up inside of him as he continued his stride. Where was he going, anyway? Spinning around suddenly, he frowned slightly at her. “Why-” Surprise was evident when he saw he wasn’t half a block ahead as he’d imagined, and he stumbled slightly in his attempt to keep moving. He nearly fell down in the muddy street.

Huffing a little, he stopped and stood up again, dusting himself off from the air he had collided with. “You should really take better care of your wand. You’ve probably broken some bond.”

This guy really reminded her of her cousins: stuffy, self-absorbed, pretentious – all the stuff that she had rejected.  Of course, the comparison did nothing for her wanting to leave him alone. It almost felt like getting back at them for the years of torture they put her through (not that they would argue she didn’t return the favor, but that wasn’t the point). 

“I skipped over etiquette class, sorry,” she snorted – sophistication!  He definitely sounded like her cousins.  Liadan, she assumed, would like that sort of thing, someone who could order the right wine, whatever that was.  She bet the right ones didn’t even taste good.  What was the point of even drinking anything if not for the hedonistic value? 

Whatever.   More fun – and better tasting drinks – for her. 

The thought of a good drink, of course, brought a little bit of warmth to the pit of her stomach, and she quickened her pace to get to her flat just a little bit faster.  There was a bottle of firewhiskey on the mantle with her name on it, and she didn’t intend on letting it sit there lonely.  That’d just be – well alcohol abuse!

She became consumed with the idea of consuming that when the man started spinning around, asking questions, her eyes went wide – his grace was clearly equivalent to her own.  “Not that it’s any of your business,” she stopped walking in order to avoid colliding into him, “but I live over there,” she motioned to a general place in the distance to the right, where the building was going to be when she got closer. 

Of course, he was talking about the wand again and Margo pursed her lips.  “Do you have some kind of like… preoccupation with wands?” she raised her eyebrows.  “I’m not judging or anything – I don’t blame you – but, I think my wand should be the least of your problems.” 

Well, it was clear she hadn’t gone to any etiquette class. Even simple manners seemed to fly by her. Not that Thomas was being his best right then, but when two wrongs don’t make a right, just go with it. Plus he had been a bit stressed at work; the winter was always a little slow for business, and he’d been trying to find the best woods to extract proper wood for practice wands.

It was nearly as overwhelming as trying to find perfect cores.

He had thought visiting his sister might help to take his mind off of work. And while this little outing had done that, it wasn’t the sort of stress free environment he’d wanted.

When he had twirled around and found her closer to him than expected, he’d nearly made first contact with the cobblestone walkway. Luckily she stopped herself; if she had kept going and ran into him, he would have surely ruined his robes. At least until he got back to scrub them clean. Her excuse seemed plausible enough. “Oh.” But then why was she walking with him? Rolling his shoulders, Thomas glanced past her. Perhaps he should just go back and try his luck again. Or why not just apparate back-

“Do you have some kind of like... preoccupation with wands?”

Blinking back to her face, he raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know him, but Thomas felt it was pretty obvious. “My occupation is with wands. I’m a wandmaker.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a cloud of breath escaping as he grunted. “Your wand is the least of my worries, but you’ve gone and nearly ruined it. It felt the gentlemanly thing to do.” Even if he hadn’t been the most gentlemanly person around.

Ah.

That seemed to explain all of his tripping out over her wand.

Looking at him, she considered.  He wasn’t exactly old like she imagined most wand makers were – Ollivander seemed older than dirt, and she hadn’t gone anywhere else for any of her wands.  She supposed that at some point he might have been young, but it had been lost on her. 

She frowned, looking down at her wand still in her hand, and then back at him.  “I didn’t ruin it,” she countered, having never been terribly fond of magic involving wands, she thought it had been messed up from the moment she’d gotten it.  Or, that she was just bad.  That was the more likely scenario. 

“And what, pray tell,” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other in an effort to move and continue to generate heat, “was gentlemanly about telling me I’ve destroyed my own wand and wanting to snap it in two?” 

She waited a beat, “Really, because I must have missed that day of classes and I’d just love for someone who clearly passed with flying colors to tell me.”  She raised her free hand to her face and put her fist under her chin, pursing her lips and giving him a scrutinizing look.