The weather was cloudy—and Mai sensed that the next day would be absolutely perfect for a night in, cozied up by the fire with a book and a cup of warm tea. However, she had exhausted her own personal library many a time, and was sorely in need of something new. Something she had not read before! Mai’s collection of  books had a fair mixture of fiction and nonfiction, with plenty of psychology texts and journals thrown in.  Today, she was in the mood for something… Else. Something she had not read before.

WhizzHard books did not have the fiction selection that Maiko was looking for, and so she sashayed her way down to Flourish and Blotts. She had never left that shop with feelings of disappointment, just arms full of fresh, unread books (and occasionally new editions of books she already had.)

She meandered through the different aisles—each with shelves that went all the way up to the ceiling, and crammed full with books of all different shapes, sizes, and textures. Maiko hummed a little tune to herself as she went, wiggling her hips and doing a small half-dance until she saw a title that drew her attention.

One fictional book entitled “Arrière-Pensée” stood out as well—according to the back, it was about the life of an old wizard, who was more than he seemed. It seemed like an easy read, and she was pleasantly surprised to find a copy in it’s original French, rather than in English. She wandered into the poetry section—and grabbed a copy of Sonnets of a Sorcerer while she was at it. Still humming, she spun in a quick circle only to come face-to-face with… Someone with rather startling blue eyes.

“AAAAIIIEEEEE!” Alarmed, (and not really thinking) she threw her small book pile at this poor stranger.

Literature, it looked like, was all odds and sods in this era.

Peter paced the length of an overflowing bookshelf as he thumbed through a novel that was almost irrefutably written by a moony devil - it had nothing to do with nuns or kaleidoscopes, in spite of its title[1], and took exceedingly fantastic liberties about the wizard Merlin. He paused to roll up his tawny shirt sleeves as the book remained open and floating within line of sight.

Meaning that anything beyond the made-up words of a mad man was not discernible.

There was a humming shifting to and fro on the other side of the bookstore. He had come into Flourish & Blotts - unchanged since he visited in the 1930s - with the express purpose of spending a little money on a modern education. It didn't take long to realise that the publication of fiction had grown exponentially in these last sixty years; they were less selective nowadays, which explained the one or two copies of ill-written stories (but not the twenty volumes of nonsense written by Rascal Rosier).

The humming broke off abruptly into a scream and Peter relinquished his reading in surprise. “AAAAIIIEEEEE!” Several books nearly rammed right into his face just then. Ever mindful of the printed word, he jumped back like a jilted tomcat. The librarian blinked - once at the books as they fell and then at his assailant.

"Pardon?" his brow furrowed in concern over their collective, fallen literature. He dropped into a crouch to quickly recover them.  Flailing tomes and belligerent anthologies did not customarily have a frightened witch behind them. "Arrière-Pensée," Peter read the title and looked up with a curious light in his bright eyes. "Parlez-vous français?" he stood, handing her books back with a broad smile. "C'est un très bon livre. Vieux, comme moi."

1.	Kaleidoscopic Nunneries

It took a moment for her to realize what she had just done. Mai wished it was only the first time she had thrown books at a stranger in this very shop. She turned her head to see if anyone had witnessed it, and one of the shopkeepers looked directly at her and slowly shook his head. She quickly avoided eye contact with him and focused on the poor victim of her book flinging.

There was something quite familiar about him, though Maiko couldn’t place what it was. The wizarding world was small enough that she probably recognized him from somewhere in the area? No. That didn’t seem right. She was certain she didn’t know hi m from Hogwarts, either. He looked to be close to her age, but… Different. It would bother her until she knew.

She took the books back from him with a grateful smile. Him speaking French didn’t throw her off one bit, though she was admittedly more rusty than she would’ve liked from living in an area where English was the primary language. “Oui, I speak French.”[1] She replied, her smile changing from a polite thanks to one of pleased excitement. His accent was… Different. He wasn’t French.

“You, old? No, no. An old soul, maybe.” Mai shook her head and laughed softly.

1.	Italics=Speaking French for quick readability!

If Peter laughed louder and a little more uncomfortably than was normal, he didn't otherwise show it. Old soul - yebo.  That was right. He had forgotten where he was. The Ministry librarians were caught up on such inside jokes.

"My taste in books, it gives me away..." he trailed off with a helpless, capricious shrug. His particular dialect of French sailed straight from the now-obsolete French Protectorate of Morocco, with its jagged consonants and slippery hisses. "I don't think I recognise your accent. Are you from Paris? Or... Provence?"

Eish, if France had changed as much as England in his time away then that might make clear the strange inflection in which she spoke.

Peter had a way of getting straight to the point of matters when he wasn't trying to be deferential (which he never is in any language besides English). He felt right at home as soon as the witch had gone oui and casually bowed his head at her. "Ah, merde, sorry. Peter." A warm expression entered his countenance and he leaned against the shelf on one shoulder, arms folded effeminately. "I see French, I lose all my manners."

An outdated jab at British distaste for the French.

Old soul? Was that really that funny? Mai hadn’t intended on being that humorous.  It was as if she had made a reference to some inside joke that she was not yet a part of. As odd as his accent was for her, hers was often odd for others who were accustomed to the typical, well-known, stereotypical French accent.

“I lived in France—Châteaurenard-- until I was eight years old,” She explained warmly, her body language open and inviting. There was not a single trace of standoffishness in her tone or posture. “But I grew up outside of Limerick—my father had a farming opportunity there. Besides, my grandparents retired there, they wanted me to know them—“

Mai’s eyes widened, “I’m sorry! You didn’t ask for my life story now, did you?” And he was apologizing as well—for a nicety that she too had ignored.  Instead of introducing herself, she had screamed and thrown books in his face like a complete madman. Madwoman. Whatever.

Peter didn’t seem particularly offended, but rather like he was at ease. Perhaps he was used to women who spoke French and attacked men with books.

“Nice to meet you, Peter.” She replied, holding out her hand. “Maiko. Or Mai, if you prefer.” Mai hoped that her rather… Foreign name wouldn’t confuse him further.

“It’s alright, I see strangers in bookshops, and I lose all my manners. It’s common.” Maiko smiled wryly. His accent, though... It threw her off. She couldn't place it. She knew that French was one of the most common languages spoken worldwide, he could've picked it up from anywhere!

"Where are you from, Peter? I'm afraid I don't recognize your accent either."

His ears enjoyed the queer quality of her accent - and as she began on what Peter thought might be a brilliant glimpse into the life of a complete stranger, he tried to conjure images into his mind, of the faces that joined to become the one in front of him. But to his disappointment she stopped short of a verbal memoir and launched into apologies.

"No, no. I love to listen to life stories. Why read when you can listen to what is right in front of you, eh guzzie?[1]" He gestured at her with his hands, rhetorically, and then allowed himself a moment of wonder at the proffered name. "Maiko... Maiko! Named for the geisha pupil, how marvelous."

He had come across a young man named Texas the other day and another named for a port town by Medan. Everything was pilfered from something else; he was termed after a Saint that his parents never venerated. And was not London itself purloined from Londinium?

Peter laughed with his newly made acquaintance, gratified by her openness but undecided on how to introduce oneself in full. It was painless to altogether leave out his stasis. Deductions could be made later.

"Oh, blast. I dare say I picked it up in Morocco," he rubbed the back of his neck and slipped briefly into english - mind's eye falling backwards through the port town near Marrakech. "Oui. In Essaouira, by the sea. It's been eons since I was there. We don't speak French in Istanbul, Turkish is a mixed bag under Atat--" Peter stopped himself[2]. "Look at me. I'll bore you with history."

1.	South African slang for "friend".
2.	The Turkish language, predominantly Arabic, was reinforced by French roots under Ataturk's reign in the 1940s.

She was absolutely tickled that this man loved to listen to people almost as much as she did! Personal stories were often just as interesting as anything one would find in a novel.  It was possible that he wouldn’t even grow bored when she went on her little tangents and rambled, or so she hoped. Mai was pleased to see that this fellow was easy to talk to, a trait of natural listeners. 

“Peter.. Pierre… Stone.” Mai grinned,  “I was named for a dancer, you were named for a stone.” The etymology of names was always so fascinating. “My name was slightly prophetic. It’s unlikely that my father knew I was going to be a dancer.” Unless he was a seer. Honestly, that would not have surprised her one bit. He had lived his life as a muggle, despite being a wizard. She had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the fact her mother was a muggle. Some wizarding families held on to strict pureblood traditions. It was not unheard of for parents to disown their children due to the blood purity of their partners.

Blood purity was such a ridiculous social construct. Mai shook her head at her thoughts.

 “My father was a Kazuo—meaning firstborn son. Ironic, because he was a second son.” She didn’t know too much about her father’s family, or his life growing up. But as he raised her, some bits and pieces would slip. Not enough to paint a complete picture, unfortunately.

Morocco.He was from Morocco, by the sea. Her eyebrows furrowed together. Why was that also familiar to her? Mai suddenly got the urge to touch his face, as if it would magically tell her why exactly she knew him. Who were the Peters she knew? There were so many, it was such a common name.  "History could never bore me." Mai slipped into English before going back to French, "It's the ongoing story that teaches us how we are the way we are, and why."

And then it hit her. “Peter… Thackeray?” She inquired slowly, her stomach twisting up in an empathetic little knot. She recalled reading about him approximately a year ago. It struck her as sad, really. To be frozen in time, only to wake up to have your friends and family, gone or nearly gone. With everything you thought you knew about the world, changed. That was the sort of thing that could destroy a person, though Mai held onto the belief that humans were resilient creatures. The man standing before her was evidence of that.

A stone. Yebo, he felt like a stone with no say in where it was taken - or in what form.

But the cat was out of the bag now and he could no longer dash about for ways to avoid bringing up his sixty years in stasis; a sensational anecdote for parties but frankly cumbersome outside of those circumstances. The article he had allowed to be published in the Daily Prophet was to give his distant-relatives a chance to get in touch. They likely did not know about the Thackeray who disappeared to Istanbul and never came back.

Being recognised by other readers was an... engaging side-effect.

"Ah, yes." English again; language of the Daily Prophet. "You've found me out, I haven't been placed in months." Peter could already descry the look in her eyes, more sympathetic than inquisitive, which was the better reaction of the two. His hands went into his pockets - this was nervous body language if you knew him - and he smiled politely. "If I may, once more? Peter Thackeray. Ministry Librarian."

He could sense the shopkeeper glancing over curiously. "Time traveller extraordinaire, on a technicality."

He didn’t have to reintroduce himself to confirm her suspicions, but it certainly helped. Maiko wasn’t going to pry—his history was such a personal thing—a  personal thing that so many knew, regardless of whether he wanted them to or not.  The man deserved whatever privacy he could maintain, and so she didn’t press further. His name was all she needed.

Peter reintroduced himself, so it was only natural for her to do the same, a slightly ironic lilt to her tone. “Maiko Biladeau-Yukawa. Hogwarts’ school counselor.” That position was fairly new, approximately a year old. “London’s resident book-flinger, on a technicality.”  She added, holding the books close to her chest.

“I see you work surrounded by books, only to surround yourself with more in your spare time. A man after my own heart!” She teased, winking. “Well then, Peter Thackery: Ministry Librarian, do you happen to have any dinner plans?” She tilted her head to the side inquisitively, “ I’ve got some leftover turkey that I’d like to make into…” She realized how inappropriately fitting this was, but it was too late to stop.

“Turkey…pot…pies…” She cringed apologetically, though the devious part of her was rather tickled by it. "Je suis désolée."

He was surprised to hear that the first question put to him was about dinner plans.

"No," Peter laughed and kept his eyes on hers - they were fascinating eyes, genuine eyes. Windows to the soul[1].  "I am quite at leisure. Can't say I've ever tried... turkey.... pot pies..." he waved away her apology. "Ça va." While to him life in Istanbul lay only a few months in the past, to most it was nearly a century ago.

Turkey was not the country it used to be. Magical still, but you can't reclaim the past. It was never his to claim in the first place.

He let that thought echo in the chamber of his mind, thinking more presently on the mention of Hogwarts. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. A mysterious place. "I didn't know the school employed counselors," Peter added thoughtfully. "My parents taught there before they had me. Charms and Astronomy. They spoke highly of it."

Unbeknownst to him: an understatement.

1.	Arabic saying.

It seemed that this time-traveler extraordinaire was not one who was easily offended.

“The counseling position is fairly new. It’s only my first year at it.” Mai admitted, “My first year counseling witches and wizards that is. My previous experience was with muggles.” She bit her lip, “I’m the second person who’s had that position.” And she hoped that she would be there for a long while. Hogwarts' staff had such a high turnover rate, the students needed some semblance of stability somewhere. Knowing a staff member for less than a year, trusting them, and then having them leave? That wasn’t exactly an ideal learning environment.

“I don’t know why Hogwarts decided to add a counselor to their staff, but I’m glad they did.” It gave her a job, after all. “Hogwarts is really, a wonderful place to work. It’s different now, then when I was a student. Not in a bad way, of course!” The vibe was different, Mai couldn’t describe it. But she attributed it to the fact that the community was healing it’s old wounds.

Her eyes widened as Mai realized, she hadn’t directly invited Peter over!

“Oh! “ She exclaimed, “Would you like to come over for dinner?” She supposed, it must’ve been lonely being in the Libarian’s shoes and trying to catch up to everything that had happened in the last few decades. Something as simple as eating a home cooked meal could give a some semblance of normalcy. Besides, she was open to getting to know all sorts of people—and Peter himself seemed fascinating.

And focused. Mai found it... Not unnerving, but different that someone actually seemed to be taking in everything she said. It was definitely not something she was accustomed to. He was an old soul indeed. Mai wondered if that little comment she had made to him earlier was indicative of her seer abilities, or if it was just her ability to read people shining through.

There was a familiar tenor to any speech about Hogwarts - Peter saw it in his parents, and now in Maiko. They described it with an expression he reserved for the Blue Mosque or Table Mountain. Something about the castle could not (would not) leave them.

"Ah, şahane." he observed with subdued inflection. "You're fond of your work." Rare even before the outbreak advent of 'capitalism' or what a fellow in his neighbour's television labelled as cubicle culture.

Peter placed his hands behind his back, something he used to do to mock Miltonians[1], and bit the inside of his cheeks thoughtfully as she reiterated an official invite; her mind followed her lips wherever they wandered in their lilting, foreign cadence. His heart was nomadic by nature and had no scruples about accepting the kindnesses of strangers.

"Yebo! That sounds simply smashing," Peter beamed graciously at the witch, interest writ plainly on the curve of his lips. More than books or conversation, homes spoke volumes about the nature of their inhabitants. What would he find in this home? Books, yes, he knew that. Stories in the cipher of finery and furnishing. "I would love to, Maiko."

1.	Archaic, policemen

She let out a positively elated squeal and gave the wizard a rather firm, tight hug, the corner of the books probably jabbing him in the process. Mai was the sort who was quick to smile, and quick to show affection. It took an enormous amount of self-restraint for her to keep from hugging every student that walked into her office, or every coworker that greeted her with a smile. At work, she asked first—out of respect. It was a different story when her professional hat wasn’t on.

"Vachemont chouette!"[1] The witch exclaimed, "You'll have a lovely time."

Mai released him almost as quickly as the hug came, oblivious to the book-jabbing. Her eyebrows furrowed inquisitively.

“Do you have any dietary restrictions? Allergies? Intolerances?" Once a student had eaten chocolate-covered blueberries in her office and suffered an allergic reaction. She was much more cautious after that. Besides, Mai was more than happy to accommodate all different types of diets--pescatarian, vegetarian, vegan, gluten-free. Some were quite challenging, but Mai was glad to do it.

"Or.. Anything you don't like the taste of?" For example, she wasn't fond of bleu cheese, devilled eggs, or hummus. To her, they were poor bastardizations of things that could've tasted good. Hummus was a great insult to the glory of chickpeas.

1.	More recent slang meaning "totally awesome' or 'freakin' sweet' Literally translates to cowly owly.

He laughed, caught unawares by the embrace, but welcoming of it.

Peter clapped her back lightly and ignored the sharp aches of poking book corners - familiar sensations to any librarian - until liberated from the show of affection. He had a very high threshold for touching and people popping into his personal space; it was simply the sort of thing that people resorted to under the effects of hashish Mu‘assel, late at night beneath a moon that was undeviatingly full in all recollection of the Turkish firmament.

What Maiko meant by cowly owly was beyond him. It reeked of new patois.

His features drew together into a frown however, at that phrase. Dietary restrictions. More recent terminology to accommodate an international society so eager to resent it. Sometimes he could still feel the reverberations of his era reaching into this future, dirtying it with the knowledge of injustices that had made his own extraordinary life possible.
 
"I don't partake in swine," Peter said on top of these thoughts, struggling to keep them down. The barriers between eras thinned in conversation. "Or alcohol, if it isn't any trouble. My palate is otherwise..." he smiled kindly, perhaps mischievously. "Untroubled."

Something troubled him,  though Mai  didn’t know what. Was it something she had said? For a moment, her eyebrows drew together and curled her lips in concern—but it faded almost instantly. If he had wanted to speak of it, he would have. There was no use in worrying now, in the middle of a shop. Still, the witch was curious, even if she didn’t express it.

No swine. That wasn’t uncommon, and she wasn’t surprised. No alcohol, either. It wasn’t common for folks to abstain from alchol, but not unheard of. There were multiple reasons why a person would choose a teetotaler’s life style: religious or cultural reasons, recovering alcoholism, and simply not enjoying it to name a few. She herself, didn’t abstain from alcohol—but Mai knew that sometimes her reasons for drinking weren’t entirely healthy ones.

“I think I can manage.” She grinned impishly, “Does six-o-clock work for you?” That would give her enough time to prepare the meal, de-clutter the house a bit and convince her brother to clean his little messes.

That's right-- her brother. Mai hoped that Kohaku would take kindly to Peter. When it came to new people, he was truly hit and miss. He was rather mercurial, and she was never completely sure what mood to expect.