Quinn snapped her Honeyduke's bubblegum, an enchanted ball of pink expanding from two red lips. A tacky enchantment made the confectionary glitter and shine before being sucked back in, only to be chewed, masticated and blown up once more. It'd been a while since she'd trodden these streets yet it felt like yesterday since the last visit; for a city so wide, so sprawling, that part of London rarely changed. Cobbles and pavements were still dulled and grey as rickety buildings towered on each side, occasionally flanked by some ugly overpriced new build. Muggles loved anything new and shiny and made of glass - it was much too clean for Quinn, too clinical.

Despite her criticism of modern Muggle architecture, she couldn't keep a grin off that roguish face. The past year had been kind to Quinn - girlish freckles had almost disappeared, she'd grown a couple of inches and shed that lovable but lumpy baby fat. Matted locks of unconquerable wild hair had become more St. James than Stig of the Dump and for the first time in her life, Quinn had lightened up on the handfuls of glitter strewn across her face (she was still very much partial, however). Maybe it was part of growing up. She had taken on a few tidbits of demure knowledge but the party girl was still very much present - she just remembered not to smudge her lipstick was all.

Quinn tipped the oversized black fedora on her head, keen to shield her face somewhat. She'd predictably become cannon fodder. Going on tour with several bands meant a string of flings and a couple of jealous boyfriends - most in the celebrity sphere, of course. Under the guise of 'PR', Quinn had... accompanied these suitors in their hedonistic magical tours around the world. The dress sense might've matured but the loose cannon image had simply expanded. Quinn knew, however, that there was one person who wouldn't care in the slightest.

She approached that familiar door. So many nights of staggering out and staggering in, roars of laughter that attracted the angry cries of neighbours, tossed cigarettes thrown down the stairwell. Quinn smiled, keen to relive the glory days. They were only going to get gorier.

Quinn tapped her knuckles lightly against the door, glancing around before spluttering a little. Must stop smoking doxy grass... A suitcase in each hand, this had been the first place she'd thought of when travelling back to London. Mum and dad would wait (they'd be angry, but, who cared?) but this was an essential stop that had the potential to last anything from four hours to four months. Her heart pounded a little faster, toes tapping on the floor in excitement. It was all so wonderfully unbearable.

The noise of stumbling behind the door made her anticipation that much greater and the door slowly opened.

Quinn looked up from under the brim of her fat and beamed. Emily Louise Carter.

"Where you been all my life, girl?" Cue screeches and embracing and all things ridiculous - a grand reunion had occurred.

Lou had definitely expected to see Miranda again when she heard the random knock on her door. Unless this time it really was a neighbor popping in to borrow something from her tiny kitchen… or maybe a hot bull rider popping in to… pop in. She hadn’t even given him her address yet, but a witch could dream.

As she headed for the door, she raked a hand through her hair and glanced quickly to a little mirror hanging over the dining area opposite the small kitchen. She was too bothered: her pajamas were inoffensive and her hair was messy-in-a-cute-way. Lou didn’t know anyone who would mind. And who cared what strangers knocking on her door thought, right?

It could always be her cousin, coming to apologize for that howler.

As she swung the door open, her mouth promptly opened as well. A slightly more demure, less colorful get-up, fresher face, and tamer hair couldn’t hide Quinn McAvoy. “I think I should be the one asking that,” she said, sounding only mildly outraged as she threw the door open further. Lou’s surprised expression became a little smile as she jumped, arms tangling around her long lost best mate. “Where,” she continued, still hugging and rocking. “Have you been?” She pulled back raising her brows, and gestured her behind her to the tiny flat’s interior. “Besides what the magazine say…” Lou didn’t buy them, but she flicked through an abandoned one or two, or week’s old copies in random offices here and there. She’d seen Quinn more than once, and the occasional letter wasn’t enough to give her all of the details.

As she closed the door behind them, she looked over her shoulder and veered into the kitchen. “You disappear and come back looking like that. Obviously you’ve been up to something awesome.” She opened the fridge and pulled out a pair of drinks, handing one to her friend.

Quinn screeched hysterically, jumping from one foot to the next. Ordered blonde locks whipped the air in a nostalgic nod to her Gryffindor days - more kempt yes, but more controlled? Never. "It's so good to see you, kid," she laughed as hands wrapped around Emmylou in a girlish embrace. Nothing was more sacred to Quinn than an old friend; her relationships with others had remained but lost their gleam, yet this was not the case with the Carters. A true friendship lasted the test of time and every single letter, every single word from Emmy bought a wave of excitement. Travelling the world was fun, but nothing compared to surprising your best mate in the middle of the night.

Without formal invitation (as if it was necessary), Quinn brought in her suitcases and dumped them nonchalantly by the door. A flick of the wand caused the fedora on her head to soar across the room and land neatly on a coat peg, Quinn striding through and snatching a drink with gusto. "Cheers mate." Clink. Glug. So refreshing.

The two girls dumped themselves onto a sofa. Quinn crossed her long limbs and quickly forgot her (semi) ladylike persona seen in the magazine: she was in private in the company of a Carter. There were no airs or graces here.

"I've been all over the place," she sighed, taking another generous sip. "I got that job with that PR firm and it just kicked off from there. Chaperoning bands, I did a bit of Quidditch work for the old man, been scoping out hot new talent." She gave an intermittent wink. "I kid you not Emmylou Carter, I drank firewhiskey with Bristol Collins out of a trophy - in his locker room." Quinn threw her head back, theatrical nirvana covering her entire face. "Nothing happened but Merlin, I would've let it."

She gave Emmy a playful poke in the ribs before tying her hair back scruffily. "What's been the deal with you? Are you living here alone?" Looking about, it was pretty impressive that the two silly Gryffindor girls had finally got their gears in check. Waker Nolan, they were not and despite encouraging comments, they weren't the 'likeliest to succeed' in their class - far from it. "It's a nice pile of bricks man. I'm sticking about in London for the foreseeable future soooooo, I'll be around a lot more often. I promise."

Quinn smiled warmly, giving an exhale of relief. It was like nothing had ever changed.

“I almost want to hex to make sure you’re one-hundred-precent flesh-and-bone Quinn.” Emmylou looked her over again, a wistful glimmer in her eyes and a smile that still held on to a bit of mystery, the equivalent of a disbelieving head shake.

Her landlord would murder her if any hexing got messy, and that was enough for Lou to limit the mess to tangled sheets, strewn jeans, and mismatched furniture.

She flopped onto the sofa with her friend and that satisfying brush of glass on glass, and tucked her legs beneath her, hugging a little pillow. “You could be the Polyjuice version of you… her,” she carried on, pointing the drink accusingly, but in good spirits. A grin danced across her lips.

The changes in Quinn were the sort of things which, unraveled over time, might be subtle… but given that it had been ages since Emmylou had seen her face, the differences were bright and full of tell-me-everything. Minus the way the other witch sat on the sofa. That was all Quinn. Emmylou knew no impostor would be able to pass the test.

Her limbs loosened, shoulder pressing easily into a sofa that was made home by company like the present. Lou sat plenty close enough for the best friend routine of spilling one’s guts, bottle never far from her lips.

“We’re not even a year out of school and you’ve had every dream job that wasn’t in the career sessions they gave us.” The amused admiration in her voice was nothing compared to what the name Bristol Collins did. Emmylou might have played it cool and easy sometimes, but a quidditch bum she was. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there. Bristol Collins? As in the man on the front of the magazine under that—” Lou gestured vaguely, a flap of an arm in the direction of a pile of stuff. “Quinn, I’m an amazing person for not chucking you out of my flat for not telling me this sooner. Or—” More importantly— “Inviting me.” Lou raised her brows.

But the smile wasn’t far off. It was hard not to smile. And she was delighted at the story, really. It was delightful jealousy. George had become mates with the man, too, and had never bothered to introduce his sweet cousin, despite her stellar resumé at nannying. Or her request that George help her build it, starting with Mr. Collins himself.  “Is he demanding behind the scenes, or just… like his face?” (In a word, brilliant.)

"Well, I feel like a O+ failure. I’ve apparently only upped you in slacker status.” Lou gave her a salute, perhaps something she’d learned from, or for, her new military-trained friend.

Emmylou shivered— laughing— at the poke, kept a smart hold on her bottle, and sat up a bit. (And then promptly back down, as her sofa just invited the sin of sloth).

“All alone in this massive estate,” she confirmed, looking around at the tiny flat. It was brilliant, even if it left a little to be desired. Emmylou made up for that by being herself, obviously. “You can crash for a bit if you need to,” she assured her. Her smile seemed to melt as Quinn explained that she would be in London. “But,” she continued, face going seriously suddenly. “There might be a sock on the door soon.” And then her smile became wicked.