When Winter Casanova had mentioned errands that needed running in Diagon Alley, Wilma had jumped at the chance to go with her. Sure, she had been around the Alley many times, but not when she could potentially run in to children who would be starting Hogwarts with her in the fall. Besides, there was so much to look at, always new things being put on display and new books to peruse. She was anxious to see if Skip T. Cal had authored any new books. He was one of her favorite authors now and his theories on Wizarding Conspiracy were so interesting.

They had exited the house together and made their way over to Diagon with little Winifred in tow, it was fortunate for Wilma that she had come along, for certainly otherwise she would be under her mother’s constant supervision. Winter was not particularly overprotective, but she was aware that there were dangers in the Wizarding World that her children were simply not ready to face. However, not long after they entered Diagon Alley, Wilma managed to get away from her mother.

She was happy to be free and peered curiously at everyone around her, stopping every now and again to press her little face against a store window as she looked at the different wares they sold. The most interesting object to her was the crystal ball that sat in the window of a small shop that seemed to sell all sorts of odds and ends, bobbles and bits. There was so much to look at, but the crystal ball was so... shiny. It intrigued her and she wondered what could be seen in it.

Before long she tore herself away, wandering this way and that, her own little wander-path being formed on the cobblestone street as she paid no mind to the people there, simply weaved around them. Coming to an intersection she paused for a moment and closed her eyes. She set to spinning in a circle, whatever way she ended up facing, that was where she would go, truly this was the best way to make decisions.

A few moments later she stopped abruptly, her brown hair framing her face haphazardly as she opened her eyes. She was going to turn. Alright, why not? She walked forward, making her way down onto the street she had just chosen, eyes wide as she looked around at everyone to be seen. They were so much more interesting than the people on the main street! She continued to stop occasionally to peer into this shop or that one when something caught her eye.

“Puppy!” She exclaimed softly at the sight of the large dog that was obviously no more a puppy than she was a baby. She began to move towards the large beast, and it continued to walk forward. She followed a few steps behind it, waiting for him to stop. It was not polite to interrupt, after all. Eventually he did stop and entered a shop. She looked around her quickly before following him in through the large rickety door.

Inside the place was grimy and dirty though none of this struck Wilma at all. She sensed no danger nor anything that might harm her, all she could think was, well, puppy. She looked around her surroundings, discerning that she was in a pub before shrugging her shoulders slightly and making her way towards the fireplace, where the dog now lay.

She knelt down slowly in front of him and offered her hand for him to sniff. After all, he had to know what she smelled like if she expected him to like her at all. She giggled a bit as he sniffed at her fingers, his cold nose brushing against her warm skin. Once he had approved of her she set to petting him, murmuring the while about what a pretty puppy he was and ignoring the presence of anyone else at the pub.

Fresh was not an adjective that one would use to describe the air at the foot of Knockturn Alley.  But, the stagnant spring air that hung where the buildings along the alley made a u-turn was an improvement over the warm stuffiness inside the darkened pub.  The large, peeling front french doors to the Black Chimaera were propped open by a pair of mis-matched and broken dragon statues.  Once upon a time, the statues had been designed to breath fire but apparently the things weren't made to withstand repeated collisions from drunk patrons and fleeing skeletons.  On very rare occasions, usually no more than twice a week, the statues would give a slight belch and a tendril of smoke would drift out of a nostril.  Or, on bad days, an ear.

Cinaed sat at the edge of stool, leaning against the customer side of the bar.  A tarnished spoon was standing upright in his cold, congealed bowl of cereal unsupported; the bowl had been shoved aside to make room for the morning's Daily Prophet. 

The soft, lazy flapping of large paws moved through the door behind him and across the room towards the fireplace.  Cinaed didn't bother looking up; the rhythmic grunts and snorts that accompanied the footsteps, undoubtedly, belonged the Seamus.  The fawn mastiff had started emitting strange noises whenever he moved by the age of five months and had never stopped.  The dog's actions could be identified by sound alone.  The long, low groan announced the dog had collapsed in his spot by the fireplace.  The ruffled breaths meant he was, likely, sniffing for crumbs left from the previous night's guests.  The giggle meant ...

Wait.  Cinaed scowled as he looked up from the paper.  Giggles were not in the dog's usual repertoire of sounds.  Cinaed cast a curious, though slightly alarmed glance over his shoulder towards the fire.  It was just a child petting the dog.  Cináed turned back and took a bite of cereal before turning back to the paper.  It wasn't until he'd swallowed his mouthful that he did a doubletake. 

A child?  A girl at that?  In his pub.  Several thoughts went through his mind at once.  Do I recognize her?  Where'd she come from?  Why is she here?  But, he didn't recognize her.  A few of his patrons had offspring and, if their wives - or girlfriends or whatever - required the men to supervise them, they'd bring the kid with.  But, for the life of him, he couldn't recognize the girl.  Which means, she must be a stray.

The thought launched Cinaed into action and he pushed himself off his stool with a grumbled "Oh, bloody hell."  Oh no no no.  This wouldn't do.  The last thing he needed was some Ministry troll walking through those doors and finding some stray girl here. 

"Hey hey, now.  You've got to get," he said, crossing the floor, waving his hands in a chicken-shooing motion.  "What do you think you're doing.  This is a pub.  No shrimp allowed." 

In complete conspiracy, Seamus rolled over on his back, giving the child ample access to rub his belly.  Cináed scowled at the dog.  "You're not helping; get in the back, you," he said, pointing towards the back door of the pub.  Continuing his bout of mutiny, Seamus wagged his tail twice, lazily, as Cináed approached. 

Wilma was enthralled in the art of petting the large dog before her. His size was not terrifying to her at all and she knew that deep down he was probably as docile as a kitten. She had no fear of anything in the pub, and it was not that she was brazen, she was simply too involved in her own world. Well, now it was her world and the dog’s. She was more than willing to share with him. He would not make fun of her for being odd. He would probably just lick her face and share her carrot sticks with her.

She frowned slightly, reaching with her free hand to pat her pockets and her little bag. She wondered if she might have anything to offer the gentle beast before her. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she realized that she in fact did not. She would come back though, certainly. Then she would bring him some carrot sticks or pieces of apple or something like that. It was beyond her to know what dogs actually liked, they were not allowed to have any at the apartment they lived in.

She looked up as a man walked over, assuming that the man must be the dog’s owner. He was waving his arms at her and trying to get her to leave. She simply cocked her head at him, noting that he did not seem to like her presence. What had she done? All she was doing was petting his dog, and it did not seem like many children came in here to do that. They were probably terrified of him, but not Wilma, she knew the truth. Dogs reflect their owners. That meant that the large man before her was probably really docile and cuddly.

She looked up at him slowly, beginning at his feet and ending as far as she could see to his face. He did not seem very scary at all. What did it matter if it was a pub anyhow. “The Leaky Cauldron is a pub.” She spoke airily and quietly. Though the point was a good one. She could be there, why not here? Besides, she wasn’t drinking anything or causing trouble, why did he mind that she was there? Maybe he could tell just from looking at her that she was strange and he did not like it. Would it be like that, even in the Wizarding World?

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a shrimp.” She nodded at him surely before returning to pet the dog. He had flipped over and Wilma was petting him with both hands now. Praise flowed freely from her mouth as he sat and let her pet him. Then the man tried to send him away and she turned up to look at him. Was he really going to send the dog away just because she was petting him? That was silly, dogs liked petting, that much she knew. Fortunately the dog did not seem to want to listen.

The man approached and she continued petting the dog with one hand, straightening herself in his direction so she could see him better. Maybe it was simply that he did not know who she was. “I’m Wilma, by the way. What’s your name?” She looked up at him expectantly, hoping not to be kept waiting, it was very rude not to answer someone when they asked you such a question.

"The ... what?"  Cinaed stood at the dog's nose, staring incredulously down at the small person sitting casually on his hearth.  What in the world was she saying?  How did that have anything to do with this?  "This ... this isn't the Leaky Cauldron."  His hands lifted in declaration of this fact.  Of course, that would seem obvious to normal people.  The lack of light and pathetic mudbloods would have been a big clue to the average person.  Normal person, at least.  Had the person making the analogy been taller than a house elf, he might have been offended at the comparison.  As it was, the child probably wasn't smart enough yet to recognize the important differences. 

"We are not the Leaky Cauldron which means you aren't permitted here."  Why was this such a difficult concept?  How much more clear could he make it. But, that led to an important question. 

What was he supposed to do with her?  He couldn't throw her out.  Chances were, he'd get in as much trouble with any inspecting Ministry officials if the saw him throwing the young girl from the building bodily.  She seemed dense enough to not, yet, realize she was somewhere she wasn't supposed to be.  Maybe he could offer her a drink and when the burn of the chimaera blood hit her tongue should would go screaming out.  Was that really any better than throwing her out by the collar?  Chances were, the Ministry would frown on that, too. 

Which, still left him with the question. What was he supposed to do?  Certainly, even the imbeciles at the Ministry must recognize he had some rights and protections against invasions by little kids.  Especially if he couldn't do anything to get rid of her. 

"It's figurative," he said, again speaking as if it should have been obvious.  Where were those patrons of his that had their own versions of this girl?  Surely, they'd know what to do.  Half hoping the thought would somehow beckon one of them to him, he looked over his shoulder towards the door.  The sunlight shone brightly beyond the door, but there were no bodies silhouetted in the door. 

He arched an eyebrow when the girl offered her name.  She expected his in return.  Like he was going to give this strange child his name - who knew who she knew.  "None of your business," he said, bluntly.  "Look.  I'll make you a deal.  Bugger off and I'll give you 10 sickles."  Surely, the Ministry couldn't object to dealing with the girl.

She laughed a little again, covering her mouth quickly, realizing her rudeness. “I know that we aren’t at the Leaky Cauldron silly! If we were, there would be more people here.” Her voice maintained it’s airy and dreamlike quality while she nodded quite matter-of-factly. Besides, there was no doggie at the Leaky Cauldron. She knew, she’d asked. She liked this place better, it had a doggie for her to bet and everything! Yes, she very much liked this place.

She pursed her lips for a moment and furrowed her brow once more. That was a funny name, but she was above making fun of people. “Pleasure to meet you Mr. Business. Is this your pub? And your dog? What’s his name?” Now that she knew his name, she felt more comfortable asking him questions. Besides, she was curious about the large animal lying there in front of the fireplace taking all the petting he could get. Where there no little Business’ around to pet him?

She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before breathing out the words “No thank you.” She did not want to go anywhere. After all, it was a bit dusty and dirty here, but the puppy was cute and the man wasn’t so bad. She was positive that all he needed was a good hug. That always made her feel better. Or maybe he hadn’t finished his breakfast. Her father was always in a bad mood before he finished eating. She leaned to look around him and saw the bowl on the counter, yep, he was probably hungry.

“You can finish eating. I promise not to touch anything other than the dog.” She wondered if he would accept the offer. She was being totally honest and perfectly serious. All she wanted to do was pet the puppy, and then give the man a hug. He deserved a hug if he let her keep petting the dog. After all, that would be nice of him and hugs were nice too. Yes, a very big hug.

Her laugh was met with a quiet, low, lip curling growl.  What was funny about this situation was lost on him completely.  Oddly, slapping her slimy little hand over her mouth did little to improve the situation.  "It's morning!" he said, slightly defensively.  "We aren't even open, yet.  They have more people because they bloody serve breakfast."  It was like talking to a wall.  Except, walls had the courtesy to not talk back. 

Was she really that dense?  Had she never heard of lying?  Yeah - it was official.  She couldn't belong to one of his mates - their offspring always seemed to have some ability to reason.  "Yes.  This is my pub," he answered, tersely.  To the average individual (again, he knew it didn't apply), it would be clear he was attempting to be patient.  "Yes.  That's my dog.  I call him Seamus," he answered.  Other than it coming across as an invitation to become better acquainted with the animal, he saw no reason not to be truthful about it.

Another growl escaped him.  Fine.  Fine.  If it'd take more - he'd do what was necessary.  Surely, having Kingstreet paying rent meant he could spend what was necessary to get rid of this louse.  He turned and crossed the floor, stepping behind the bar.  "Alright.  Here," he said, pulling open the till and taking out two galleons.  He returned to the girl and held them out.  "Two galleons.  That's got to be more than your - what do they call it?  Allowance?  All you've got to do is walk out those doors again." 

His brows knitted together and he stared down at the girl.  Was she giving him permission to eat in his own bar?  Did she have a screw loose.  "Look here.  Don't you know you should ask permission before ... before trespassing?  I mean where are ... don't you have parents or something?  I bet they'd get really mad if they found you in this place."  And, those lousy, worthless parents better know who to get mad at.  If they filed a complaint because of this, there'd be hell to pay.  And, probably, one very unhappy Wilma.  A slight grin slipped through the scowl at the thought.

“That’s okay.” She shrugged as she spoke. “I don’t really like breakfast anyways. Besides, I don’t like big crowds.” She shuddered slightly at the thought. She loved people, surely she did, but they simply did not seem to love her back. Even though she simply assumed that everyone just needed hugs. That would solve all the world’s problems.

She looked at him before saying the name herself. “Seamus. I like it!” She turned back to the dog and spoke to him in turn. “Are you a good boy Seamus? Do you like being pet? I bet you do!” She giggled again as she pet the large beast, using both hands once more so that she could pet a larger part of his body. She was called back to paying attention to Nunof - which she assumed must be how his name was spelled - when he spoke to her again.

She watched amused as he pulled more money out. “No thank you.” She smiled at him broadly before returning to pet the dog. “I could never accept money from you, Mr. Business.” She nodded her head and turned back to petting the dog. She really did not want money. Perhaps another child would have, but Wilma simply wanted him to let her pet the puppy. That was all.

Did she really need to ask permission to enter stores now? She pondered for a moment before slowly forming the words that she was thinking. “Well, it’s not really trespassing.” Her quiet voice was airy as she spoke. “The door was open and the owner was inside and it is a business.” She nodded at her logic. “Besides, Seamus invited me inside!” She looked at the dog lovingly, continuing to pet him with her small hands. Yes, he had invited her in, by being so irresistibly cute!

“Parents?” She said it questioningly before shaking her head. “My mum is in the Alley somewhere, but she won’t really care. She makes it a point not to judge anyone or any place until she knows it.” She nodded matter-of-factly. She had been taught this same principle of non-judgement. Perhaps that is why she was sitting on the grimy floor of a pub owned by an ex-Azkaban inmate and playing with his dog. She was simply oblivious that there was anything wrong about the situation or anything dangerous.

Cináed stared at the girl a moment, slowly shaking his head.  When he gave it some thought, it was a shame his Ministry Sup wasn't there.  Surely, this display of his ought to count for something.  Sure, he was being unpleasant but he was trying to be reasonable.  And, he was being surprisingly patient.  As long as this brat told the truth - that she'd come in here on her own precious accord, they could hardly blame him. 

And, this girl hardly seemed incapable of lying.

He really was trying to be reasonable with the girl.  But, perhaps, there in lay the problem.  This Wilma seemed incapable of reason.  But, if one couldn't use reason and one couldn't use brute force, what was left?

With a sigh of resignation, Cinaed grabbed the closest chair and dragged it towards him, turning it around so he could sit in it backwards.  "Alright," he said.  "Five minutes, then bugger off."  He slipped the two galleons back in his pocket. 

"We are closed," Cinaed pointed out.  Despite his acceptance of the inevitable, Cinaed wasn't about to let her off the hook.  That really should explain it.  Not that logic had worked so far.  "The door was open but the signs says we're closed.  Which means, you're trespassing.  For future knowledge."  There was something intriguing about the girl.  He had to assume it was her stubborn denseness.  Not unlike the Seamus, in fact. 

Cináed regarded her a moment.  "Well, sometimes judging is a wise thing to do.  Keeps you safe from questionable sorts."  She was so young.  So impressionable.  "So, your parents," he asked, hesitantly.  This was the type of question that, when posed to strange adults, could result in trouble.  "Can they do magic?" he asked. 

“Oh thank you!” She exclaimed and her face beamed with the wide smile she was giving him. In quick movements she was off the floor and throwing her little arms around the man now sitting in a chair front of her. They didn’t reach all the way around him, what with the chair and all, but she would try to give him the best hug ever. He was so nice!

She pulled away after a moment and plopped back down on the floor listening to his explanation of the pub being closed. She nodded at him as he spoke. She had not seen the sign, she was truly too busy following the puppy. “I will remember that for next time. I do hope to come back again and see more of Seamus. He is such a good puppy.” She leaned in closer to the dog to nuzzle against him. She just loved animals.

She shook her head as he spoke about judging. “I don’t like to judge people.” She spoke softly and almost avoidantly about the issue. “People judge me all the time. And they are always mean.” What an odd question she thought to herself about the magic thing before nodding. “Yes sir. They are both wizards. So is my older brother. And I’m set to start Hogwarts in the fall!” She was so excited. She pet Seamus absentmindedly as she continued speaking. “Did you go to Hogwarts? What house were you in?”

Cinaed straightened, startled by the child's sudden movement.  Sitting upright, his eyes widened as she watched the girl rush across the floor to him and throw her arms around him.  It would be just his luck that his wench of a Ministry supervisor would choose just that moment to step into his pub for a surprise inspection.  Just when some random, unknown girl had thrown her arms around him. 

He looked, immediately, to the door but the pub remained otherwise empty.  His large hand patted awkwardly against the girl's back before, not so gently, pushing her back towards Seamus.  "Pet the dog," he said, nodding towards the immobile pile of dog fur on the floor.  He pursed his lips for a moment before shaking his head.  She was planning on coming back?  During business hours?  "Um ... on second thought," Cinaed said, quietly, "perhaps, coming when we are closed isn't a bad idea.  We serve a rather questionable clientele.  Seamus is usually asleep by then."  He added.  It was clear, the dog's presence was the driving force in all these decisions.

Cinaed nodded his head, pretending to give the girl's comments due consideration.  "Oh, but you judge people.  We all do," he said.  Chances were, a drunk hippogriff could sound wise to this girl; he was bound to manage it.  "Clearly Seamus judged you.  If he hadn't, he wouldn't have invited you in."  He nodded; so, at worst, she was a strong half-blood.  Depending on her parents blood status.  Good.  "Hogwarts must be exciting.  It's a shame you don't judge, though.  It'd help you decide who are the friendly people and who are - the meanies."  Cinaed grinned at the girl.  "I was a Slytherin.  All my friends were nice."

She followed his instructions precisely and continued to pet the large animal on the floor. He seemed to enjoy it very much and Wilma was pleased to make him happy. Nodding as he spoke, thinking that she was probably asleep during their normal business hours anyways. “I like Seamus. I’m not allowed to have a dog. Our apartment building doesn’t allow them. I don’t really know why. Silly grown up things I guess.”

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at Cin. “You’re lucky you have your own pub and can have a dog if you want.” She would have loved to have a dog, but it simply wasn’t possible. Not to mention the costs when there were already three children to feed and clothe on her father’s Ministry salary and whatever meager amount of money her mother might make in the month selling her artworks.

She laughed a little at the idea that Seamus had judged her. “Judging people isn’t nice though Seamus you naughty boy.” She wagged her finger at the dog and shrugged. “I just think everyone is nice, and if they aren’t nice it’s nothing that cannot be fixed with a hug. I like hugs. Do you like hugs?” She looked at him, wondering if he would say that he didn’t. She would feel terribly awkward if that was the case. She had just hugged him, after all.

“I’m sure everyone at Hogwarts is nice.” She nodded resolutely, positive that she would find nice people there. This was odd behavior for Wilma, though perhaps it was the quiet environment that made the usually mute girl so talkative. There were no crowds and it was just her, the puppy and this one man. That wasn’t so bad! She didn’t feel like anyone was going to be attacking her for what she said anytime soon. “Everyone I’ve met who graduated from there has been nice. My brother is a Gryffindor.”

The chair creaked under his weight as Cinaed pushed himself back on to his feet.  With the fingers of both hands, he racked the long strands of his hair behind his shoulders as he traced his path back behind the bar.  The hot cereal had long sense congealed in his bowl.  He would have to be famished for it to assume any state resembling being appetizing.  From under the bar, he pulled a tall glass and filled it with some ale off the tap.  After grabbing a cigarette from a box on the bar, he returned to sit backwards, once more, in the chair in front of the girl and dog. 

Beer and a cigarette.  The true breakfast of champions. 

Cináed took a long draft off the beer before lighting the cigarette, the whole time, his attention remaining on the girl and the dog.  She'd grown on him in the last few minutes.  Not for any sentimental or emotional reason.  No.  In the last few minutes, the girl had become interesting.  A source of potential use.  Of entertainment.  This girl was so helpless - more than either she or, apparently, her parents realized.  If they did, they would be more reluctant to let the girl wander.  They'd be worried about her running into the likes of him.

"Some grown ups just aren't as smart as you and I."  Cinaed said, exhaling a lungful of smoke back over his shoulder.  "They don't understand that dogs can live just as nicely in an apartment.  Sure that bloke takes up more than his share of space, but once he's  down, he's down."  The dog was, by now, sound asleep.  It'd probably be hours before he moved again.  The girl was so trusting it was almost sickening.  But, at the same time, it would prove so easy to get her to trust him further.  And, to use her.  "Seamus likes you," Cinaed said with a large grin.  "I can tell."

"But, not everyone is nice to you, though.  I'm sure you've come across some who are really mean.  It's sad.  But, you know, they are just jealous."  He took a gulp of his beer.  "So, your parents.  What do they do?" he asked, curiously as if striking casual conversation.  Cinaed lifted his glass of beer and took another long drink  as much to quench his thirst as to buy him time before giving a gut no to the question about whether he liked hugs.  "Not from everyone," he said with a wink to the girl.

Cinaed nodded his head.  "Sometimes.  But, not everyone is nice.  Some can be very mean.  Bitter.  And, you know, judging isn't really bad.  You can judge people without acting on that judgment.  It just lets you protect yourself more - makes it easier to find out who your friends are.  And your enemies."

“I’m glad he likes me. I like him.” She leaned over and nuzzled in to his fur, burying her face in his warm coat and remaining there momenteraliy, hugging the big lump of dog before pulling back again and just returning to petting him. He really seemed to like that. She was pleased that she could appease him what little she could.

There was something in her that told her to doubt the assertion that these people who made fun of her were just jealous. There really was nothing to be jealous of! She was a witch, sure, but they didn’t know that. No one knew that really except for the people in this world. The people on the muggle side of her world were unaware that anything strange went on at all. She had already been told that she was not allowed to let muggles know that she could do magic.

“My mother paints and does all of the things that mums usually do.” She assumed that the man knew what a normal mum did. Cooking, cleaning and all of that sort of stuff. “My father works for the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries. I’m not quite sure what he really does though.” She shrugged her shoulders and continued to pet Seamus. She had never really asked, nor did she care.

She couldn’t help but laugh a little at what she was being told. “I don’t like to have enemies. I think everyone just needs a hug, though I have yet to try hugging everyone in the world.” Wilma was, after all, only eleven years old. She was hardly old enough to be kept abreast of world affairs, nor did she try to. Her parents raised her in a bubble a little bit, she was just so innocent and naive. “I don’t have enemies, either. They may be mean sometimes, but I don’t see them as enemies.”

"I can't blame him," Cinaed said, plastering a warm, friendly grin on his face as he looked down at the girl.  The girl was burrowing into the dog's belly and, in his own lazy way, Seamus seemed to be enjoying every moment of it.  His tail gave a few, laxidasical wags against the floor before coming to a rest again. 

"You're an easy person to like.  I bet most people like you.  I'd imagine if anyone could be liked by everyone, it'd be you."  It was remarkable what thestral manure some kids would buy.  Couldn't see it, couldn't prove it's there but they could be convinced it'd fertilize their flowers better than anything else.

How boring.  Her mother painted.  That was what people did who couldn't - or wouldn't do anything else.  Those crazy people who sat at home, avoiding others.  Playing the artist because it made them feel better.  But, the girl's father.  Now that was interesting.  "Really?" Cinaed asked, his eyebrow lifting as he took a long drag on his cigarette.  But, he kept any further responses to himself.  While it was unlikely the girl would give it much thought, Cinaed knew it wasn't the time to come across as greedy.  The last thing he needed was this girl going home and telling her father about some guy she met down some alley who kept asking about her Ministry father.

"No one likes to have enemies.  I know, I wish I didn't have any.  I try to be nice to all, but sometimes it's unavoidable."  He grinned again.  "You know.  I think Seamus there really likes the hugs.  He'd be happy for you to come by anytime to hug him."  He grinned sheepishly. 

Wilma laughed and shook her head slightly at him when he claimed that he bet everyone liked her. That was certainly far from true. Most people thought she was absolutely insane. Though she really wasn’t about to set to believing them. They simply needed to get to know her better. After that she was positive that she would be friends with them. After all, she was a nice person she thought and there was no reason for her to go about disliking anyone. If they were mean to her then there must have been a reason, but that did not make them bad people. No, they were still likely nice people, she had seen them be nice to others.

“Yes,” she said softly about her parents. What an odd reaction to what they did. After all, it was not like she was going to lie to him about them. That would be silly. She had already told him enough about herself that was true to lie about something like her parents. They were simple people and that was the end of it. There was nothing that spectacular about the Casanova’s. A family like any other in the Wizarding World she supposed. Every other family she knew was similar to them, all of her parents’ friends and their children who would come to the parties that her parents occasionally indulged in.

“Perhaps I will just have to come by the next time I can to give him more. He seems like he needs hugs.” In Wilma’s mind, though, everyone and everything needed hugs. Sometimes she would hug the trees outside her house just so they knew she was grateful for them. The same went for her walls and her bed and her door. She was just a walking hug machine and anything that came her way when she was in a hugging mood, well, it was going to get a hug and there was no way around it.