Iza really should not have ventured out so soon after regaining her freedom.  The moment she stepped through into the cheerful streets of Diagon Alley, the sights and sounds of bustling shoppers smote her.  She reeled, her senses assaulted, her head spinning from feelings of “fight-or-flight.”  It did not help that passersby stared curiously at her pale and sweating face, wild eyes and shaking hands.  It helped even less, when solicitous Samaritans stopped her, peering into her eyes, drawing close—too close!—with bodies pressing all about her, speaking in soothing murmurs which echoed painfully in her ears, advising her to sit, to drink, telling her she did not look well, crowding about her with their concern and their rank breath in her nostrils, cloyingly sweet from the many creamy, sugary treats to be purchased from shops and carts…

Without thinking, she threw them from her with a muttered hex, staggering, fleeing the press of bodies and shouts that followed behind her, agitated.  She ran, sweating and frightened, toward the dim streets and labyrinthine shops of Knockturn Alley—an alley! There!—sweet darkness as she skidded around a noisome corner, finding blessed silence, seeking protection within its shadowy recesses.  The voices receded… if they followed, the well-meaners had lost her trail.  Since it had been a small hex—really nothing more than a lash to cause them to draw away from her—she hoped they would let her be.  She drew a shuddering breath, panting, trying to calm herself but the damage was done: she was incapable of immediately creeping from this alley’s womb-like embrace, despite evidence that she was safe from the overbearing press of bodies.

Still shaking, she dragged a wooden crate into a shadowy corner and sat down, hunched slightly, her head twitching this way and that occasionally as she attempted to identify the small sounds from the street at the other end of the alley, impinging on her awareness as she took stock of her surroundings.

It wasn’t precisely clean.  Her nose wrinkled at the smell, though she was already growing used to it.  A single rubbish bin overflowed onto the ground, gathering flies.  Empty crates and boxes lined the walls, stacked six-high and three-deep, some scattered pell-mell from where they’d toppled.  A tiny stream of muddy water trickled down the very center of the alleyway, where the cobblestones dipped slightly from constant wear and erosion.  The runnel whiffed slightly of urine—probably ammonia, instead.  It added to the initial distasteful wrinkle of her nose, and the humidity and odor of mold and rot that assailed it.  Though the runnel wouldn’t have been difficult to avoid if she’d tiptoed delicately into the alley, her headlong dash had sent her skidding directly through it: as she began to relax, she wrinkled her nose again at the noisome sludge soaking her slippers toes and skirt hems.  She sighed and dismissed it from her mind.  New slippers were easily had, if she ever managed to leave this alleyway.

She was effectively hidden by the evening shadows growing along the high, brick walls of the shops which sheltered her little haven.  Her many layers of beige-and-cream skirts matched her hair almost exactly, blending with the colors of the crate she sat on and others nearby.  If a stray shaft of dying light touched her and she remained completely still, the eye would be fooled into thinking her just another bit of rubbish in the alley.

She shivered a little from the damp chill and shifted her weight somewhat, turning her knees in and her heels out, like a child waiting to speak to the Headmaster.  Her heart beat heavily in her ears and she remained as motionless as possible for as long as she was capable of it, making herself small as if her meekness would assist her in passing unnoticed.  Also like that child, though, her boredom grew the longer she sat and she found herself fidgeting restlessly despite her resolution to remain quiet and still.

The shadows grew longer and her tense nervousness abated, but still she waited with the hope that full dark would bring more calm and order for her in the disorienting streets—and that anyone searching for her would give up and move on to other things.  

She leaned a cheek on her fist, resting the weight of her head on her elbow, which dug into her knees.  She wobbled her elbow back and forth repeatedly, moving the fabric of the multi-layered linen skirts back and forth, like a twitchy school-girl.  The skin on her cheek wrinkled under her fist and her lips changed shape with the movement, puckering and stretching, heightening the suggestion of youth and boredom.

Though she’d begun with her aunt’s wand held menacingly in front of her, ready for further assaults, it slowly drooped as no assault materialized and her posture relaxed.  Now, she held it loosely in her free hand, dangling, drawing sloppy Runes in the dust of the cobbled alley floor.  She really shouldn’t abuse a wand thus, but it wasn’t hers: it was a temporary replacement until she could retrieve her own.  As she doodled, tiny little sparks rose from the tip of the wand, along with faint sounds like the grating of fingernails on a chalkboard—they made her smile just the tiniest bit, the corners of her mouth twitching upward, her eyes softening.  It had been a long time since she’d touched a wand…

Her fist slid up on her face, creeping toward her temple as she relaxed and peered more closely at her work, distracted by the combination of lights and noises each stroke of the wand in the dust made.  If I use the very tip and push it forward, it’s like misused chalk.  If I move it gently along, using the side of the tip, it’s more like a cello… OO!  That was pretty! she thought as a tiny flash of neon pink fluttered up the shaft of the wand toward her fingers.

Her hair dangled over her fist, trailing down her arm as she sat doodling and waiting for full dark, when the shadows would soften the noise and harsh glare of the bustling streets.  

So engrossed was she with making “music” with her aunt’s wand that she didn’t immediately register another presence in the alley.  When a small sound alerted her, she flew to her feet, wand-hand outstretched and shaking, her breath coming in tiny, whimpering pants with remembered fear.  Her head spun just the tiniest bit from rising too quickly, adding to her sense of panic.  ”Lumos!”

The form of a human being stood outlined in the wan light of her wand.  Until her eyes adjusted from the gloom, Iza could not tell if it was a man or a woman.  She cursed herself for giving away her presence in her fright: they might never have known she was there, if she hadn't.  She stayed her hand, not attacking immediately, though ethics played little part in her hesitation: she needed to know who it was, before obliterating their memory of sighting her... and they might be more useful with memory intact.

Frank had been a busy little wizard. Still, his step had a little bounce to it as he made his way through the alley. Once he’d been sure Akiva was doing all right, he was able to concentrate more fully on his work. Sleep was still a stranger… or like a distant cousin. Only to visit when he really didn’t need it to, but always a welcome distraction to real life. Once, it happened while he was standing in the museum, holding his clipboard and going over some of the renovations. His head had bobbed slower and slower until his chin was almost touching his chest.

Then he was chided and woken up with a start. A coffee run had been in order. That had been a couple days previous, and since then he’d been able to sleep in duly appointed sleep areas. His couch was probably more worn in for his body than his bed these past few months. It was just easier to get to, less of a mess when he woke up, and had the ease of a coffee table nearby for the work he took home to keep up on.

When work kept him busy, he tended to forget about anything else. His parents had to bother him continually to try and get a dinner out of him, his sister stopped over now and again to bother him and make sure he was eating, and he hadn’t even thought to get in touch with Maggie. Frowning momentarily at that thought, he stopped suddenly in front of a shop. Shaking his head, he glanced up at the sign; it was his luck that it was just the place he needed to go. Grinning suddenly, he stepped up to the place of business and pushed the door open to the point the bell made a soft little ring.

Aside from the museum and all that needed to be done for it, he was busy researching for Fiona a new book they were hunting for. It wasn’t very hard in comparison to some of the jobs they had had before, just tedious. There was also a deadline with it, so it hastened everything else. Like what he was doing now. This was the sixth second hand book store he’d passed along, and if he didn’t find what he was looking for… he might have to stop at the Ministry Library for a quick reference.

A good hour later and he was back in the street, somewhat discouraged but at the same time a little excited. He’d not found exactly what he’d been searching for; but he’d found another piece of literature they hadn’t been able to locate in some time. On occasion he got lucky like that. Tucking the wrapped book under his arm, Frank whistled softly to himself as he walked down the street. The sun was starting to set and he realized with a rumble to his stomach that he hadn’t eaten in a few hours.

Glancing around where he was, he frowned in thought. He’d just as soon head home and have an apple and toast than stop in and catch a meal. Maybe he’d find something more appetizing closer to Diagon Alley. He knew of a few good restaurants in the vicinity though; he did live in Knockturn once upon a time. Smiling to himself, he did a little hop over a rain puddle. That had also been in his favor; he hadn’t needed to pull his umbrella out at all today. It was shrunk and tucked in his back pocket as a ‘just in case’ precaution.

After lighting a cigarette, Frank felt a bit more relaxed. He could wait to eat now, for a short bit. Rounding the corner, almost running into a tall stack of crates, Frank did a double take and stumbled backwards. He bumped against the stone wall before pushing off of it, somehow able to hold on to the cigarette held a bit tightly between his lips. He took too much of a breath with the smoke and felt a small choking spasm coming on.

Then he was blinded by light and he let out his shock in the form of a lot of loud coughing and hacking. His cigarette was now clenched tightly between his fingers of the arm without a book under it, his mouth and nose pressed against the fabric of his dark red collar shirt, a bit more wrinkled than it had started out for the day. After catching his breath and expelling most of the smoke from his lungs, he shook his head and finally recalled the light. Come to think of it… he’d heard a voice with it.

His black boots splashed into a rain puddle he hadn’t expected to be there and he grimaced, shielding his eyes a bit. “Good…” He glanced momentarily to the sky before his attention focused towards the bright light. “Evening. I’m sorry for…” Laughing lightly, he made a thumbs up sign over his head before moving his hand back to shielding his eyes, the cigarette held lightly between his middle and pointer finger. “You know… stumbling upon you. Just passing through.” If he could even see his way past the light.

Iza’s brow drew together in confusion and her eyes narrowed at his genial voice and light laugh.  As he spoke, confusion clouded her eyes and her wand dropped a fraction until it was pointed less in his face and more toward his chest.  She could see his face more clearly, now, and her nostrils flared as the smell of cigarette smoke reached her.

She wavered again, breathing deeply, her wand lowering another fraction until it was aimed at his midsection and she cocked her head, eyes heavily-lidded as if she would drop off to sleep at any moment.  She took in another deep breath, pleasure lighting her face as she realized what she’d missed and what the slender white streak clenched between his teeth that wavered when he coughed or spoke must be.  Her eyes followed it hungrily as he removed it and held it between finger and thumb.

She shoved aside a thick mass of unruly golden hair to peer at him from wild eyes.  She’d been on the move for three days, now, revisiting each and every memory from her childhood, finding dismay and disorientation when she discovered them missing—or changed.  She’d forgotten to brush her hair this morning: that was unusual enough for her, and testament to her distress.  Her sweaty flight from the seething hordes of shoppers had further degraded her appearance, causing the usually sleek, blonde curls to tangle and clump.

When she pushed her hair aside with her wand lowered somewhat, she revealed a surprisingly sweet face, with long, almost white lashes which she normally darkened with cosmetics out of vanity.  Now, without that affectation, she looked deceptively young and vulnerable.  A small scar—barely visible on her right chin—was the only testament to her rebellious past.  A tiny piece of wall that fell during the Final Battle when she was nearly eighteen had whizzed past her, neatly slicing her but otherwise leaving her unscathed.  Another scar at the center of her forehead, hidden in her hairline, had claimed her consciousness, possibly blessing her with the chance of survival to witness the Dark Lord’s fall.  She would probably have died in that battle, had she fought it from start to finish.

Her own death didn’t frighten Iza.  She might have been dismayed, had her life ended before she completed her work… But in a way, it would have been a welcome surcease to a troubled mind.  At the same time, she was possessed of a healthy sense of self-preservation.  She didn’t want to die.

When she realized she’d allowed the wand to slip until it was pointed at his knees, she raised it a fraction again, trying to regain her feelings of suspicion and defense, but the laugh echoed in her ears.

…just passing through…  ”Pass on, then,” she told him gruffly, against her better judgment.  She didn’t want more trouble: she wasn’t prepared.  She allowed a hint of a snarl to color her airy tone, purposefully dissuading him from pausing longer on her account… then another cloud of smoke found its way toward her as he exhaled and her nostrils widened again in involuntary pleasure at the scent.  ”No, wait…” she said quickly, her voice small and hesitant, her eyes widening again.  ”Is that… a cigarette?”

Ten years, she’d done without.  Auntie Nadine did not believe in vices: the only liquor in the house had been a dessert cordial that Iza despised and only two ounces would be served daily in tiny, cut-glass goblets that sparkled amber in the candlelight.  Tobacco products were forbidden, though one of Auntie’s gentlemen callers smoked a pipe when he came.  Cigarettes were the vice of the younger generations—and Nadine had disapproved of both cigarettes and the younger generations.

Breathing deeply, now, so close to it, the scent reminded Iza of somewhat happier times and she immediately craved one.  Her free hand clenched and unclenched involuntarily, the dainty nails digging into the palm of her hand as her body tensed with sudden longing.  Even in the wan light, but especially with her wand lowered so that her face was exposed to him, her eyes could be seen to soften even as her body tensed with instant yearning toward him… Though she took no steps to close the distance between them, she swayed a bit closer, as if drawn by a magnet.

“Pass on, then.”

Raising an eyebrow, he frowned just slightly. He was able to see her now. It was rather surprising, the stark contrast of it all. From the innocent appearance of the face to the untamed wild of her golden locks. Frank bit on his lower lip, unsure of what to do. Should he step past her, with her wand pointed at him as if he were so criminal in need of a lesson? Or should he back away and travel a different way out of Knockturn? Something about her seemed familiar, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know very many crazy women. Or at least ones that looked crazy on the outside.

“No, wait… Is that… a cigarette?”

He’d just moved his hand up in one of those ‘fine, I’ll go and leave you to whatever you were doing’ type of gestures, moving the cigarette back to his lips so he could get to his wand if he needed it. Then she said to wait and he let out a huff of smoke, frowning around it. What she asked made him frown a little deeper in slight confusion. Then his features slid into a small smirk and he nodded. “Well… yes.” It was the way she asked, that curiosity and uncertainty that made him loosen up once again.

He watched her a few moments longer, taking in another inhale of the intoxicating smoke. Finally he reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack, tapping it against his palm. “Would you like one?” Without hesitating, he stepped towards her, shaking one out, finally within a distance she could take it if she wanted. He held it out with one sticking its filter out into the night, an invitation and even a little white flag to let her know he meant no harm.

Not that he thought he would have to explain that, really. He was Frank after all. Easily voted the one of the most docile person around. He didn’t mind it; he let very few things get to him, tried to be as easy going as possible, and found it easy to roll with the good and bad. An optimistic person, to be sure, he didn’t worry about this woman. In fact, he felt a little bad for her; she looked a little down on her luck, in need of a nice shower and fresh change of clothes. And a brush, come to think of it.

Now that he was so close, he took a few extra moments to examine her face a little longer. Lifting his other hand up, careful of the wrapped book under his arm, Frank took the cigarette out and blew the smoke to the side, trying to be a little polite. Then it clicked. Hogwarts! More often than not, most of the people he tried to recall that looked familiar were often in connection to that place, it seemed. Now it was just waiting for the name to come back, if it would without a little help. Now… how to bring it up without sounded a little silly.

No doubt his face gave his internal thoughts away somewhat. At least the confusion, that slight frown, to the recognition and eyebrows up, thoughtful expression that slid slowly back into a thinking frown. Hogwarts had its share of ups and downs, and he preferred to not remember that dreadful school year with the big battle. Sometimes he wondered how he’d exactly managed it, to stick around with all the persecutions of the time of muggleborns, the isolation and constant hiding.

Somehow  things came out; Voldemort was defeated, and though some had been lost, it was for the greater good, right? “Did you… go to Hogwarts?” That seemed a silly question, considering most wizards and witches with an English accent went there. “I mean…” Another slightly embarrassed laugh left his mouth as he smiled at her. “You just… look familiar.” A pause and he realized his manners. After putting the cigarettes away, he quickly held that hand out. “Oh, right, I’m Frank.”

Iza had no idea that this man’s goal was at the other end of her alley.  To her, his expression of irritation and unsurity indicated his intent to pass through and caused her hackles to rise once more, her attention drawn from the cigarette which moved from his hand to his mouth and back again, drawing her eyes, enticing her.  The sudden thought occurred to her that the motion was intended to catch her off guard, a purposeful distraction.  Planting her feet firmly, shoulder-width apart in the dueler’s stance, she clutched at her wand, her breathing becoming more rapid, a timid mouse backed into a corner by a scruffy tomcat.  She wasn’t good at dueling: though her Dark Arts were quite advanced, using them while torn by adrenaline and fear was not her strong point.

He looked as if he were about to draw his own wand, and she gripped hers tightly, raising it another fraction, fingers working feverishly against the sweat in the palm of her hand, clenching and unclenching, wishing she could stop to wipe the sweat against her skirts but fearing to lower her wand…

Then the moment passed.  He seemed to come to some sort of decision.

When he reached into his pocket, she tensed, but he drew out a pack of cigarettes and not a wand, shaking one out and offering it to her.  When he stepped forward, her wand snapped up to cover him, then wavered, unsure.  The slender whiteness beaconed her and her eyes were drawn to it unwillingly.  Overcoming her fright at his advance, she finally registered his words: ”Would you like one?”

She lowered her wand reluctantly, but he hadn’t drawn his own.  She wavered a moment more, eyes on the cigarette.  Almost, she could smell the musky scent of un-fired tobacco, taste the paper on her lips, the first gentle tug as it was fired and drawn into her lungs…

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, just as it would before she slid the cigarette between them.  Her teeth showed, white and dainty on her lower lip for a split second, her grey eyes softening again toward blue as she stared at the proffered cigarette.  She didn’t recognize the brand, but it was filtered.  Possibly Muggle.

She decided she didn’t care.  As she reached for it eagerly, she realized consciously how sweaty her palms were, wiped her hand on her skirt, switched her wand to her left hand, scrubbed her right palm furiously against her thigh before reaching again to pluck the cigarette from the pack.

She didn’t place it to her lips immediately, instead raised it horizontally beneath her nose and breathed deeply, remembering how much she enjoyed the sweet, musky scent of tobacco above and beyond the pleasure of smoking it.  Like a wine connoisseur inspecting a cork, she inhaled, smiling vacantly.  There was no taint of Charm on it: it was pure tobacco.

Her tongue darted out again to moisten the center of her lips before wrapping them gently around the filtered end, wondering if she should offer to pay him for it.  Though she had been unable to reach Gringott’s before being overcome by agoraphobia-- or claustrophobia-- a little bag of Galleons rested snug against her hip, hidden in the folds of her skirts, suspended from a pretty silver chain which encircled her waist and was spelled against theft.  She'd had enough wits about her before leaving the security of her aunt's home to grab what gold she could find.  She had no idea that her frenetic activities over the last few days had left her looking like a charity case.  She’d been unaware of her appearance, lost in a fog of misery.  If this man had known of her flight from Diagon Alley, it probably would have come as no surprise to him that the shoppers had immediately seen her disorientation and reacted to her air of unkempt neediness.

Though it did occur to her to pay him for the cigarette, it did not occur to her to say, Thank-you.  It was offered to her and she took it, so obviously she wanted it and was grateful.

“Did you… go to Hogwarts?”

Her attention snapped back to the man instantly, the cigarette forgotten as it dangled from her lips.  “Why?” she demanded, her eyes hardening with suspicion, edging back toward cold grey, peering up at him through the lank hair that had fallen back in her face with the sudden motion of her head, but she didn't whip her wand up again to cover him.

For the first time, she actually took a good look at him.  He was taller than she, but then most people were, not just men.  He needed a shave.  His short, brown hair was ruffled slightly, as if he were prone to running his hands over it nervously.  A flash of a skinny boy, doing just that as he nervously prepared for a class assignment flashed through her head.  This man was stockier than the boy she thought she remembered.  She ran a nervous hand through her own hair, pulling it from her eyes again and only just then realizing how lank it was and how her fingers caught in the tangles.  She frowned.  Had she brushed her hair today?  How long had it been since she’d washed it?  Drawing her hand down again, she rubbed her fingertips together, a small expression of disgust curling her lips downward.  Too long.

Wiping her fingers on her bodice, she pulled the cigarette from her lips, eying him speculatively.

“You just… look familiar…”  The pack of cigarettes disappeared into his pocket and he held out his hand to her. “Oh, right, I’m Frank.”

“Frank.”  She eyed the hand as if it would suddenly turn into a serpent and sink its venomous fangs into her tender flesh.  She wracked her foggy memory for just a clue.  The lanky boy returned to haunt her, and a flash of memory: another occasion when he might have been at the wrong end of a wand held so stiffly in her hand as he had been only a few moments before.  She sighed sadly and raised her eyes from the proffered hand to look into his face carefully.  “Frank.  Were you Muggleborn?” she asked.

Perhaps her voice was a bit too rough: she didn’t intend it to be so.  Though she had never mingled with those outside her House, Iza had not been the sort to dismiss a Wizard for his parentage, which had marked her as odd within the ranks of Death Eaters.  Of course, she’d been young and they’d dismissed it as a failing which she would eventually outgrow.  She was possessed of the usual healthy disdain against non-magical folk, considering them little more than cattle, so the tiny quirk of considering anyone with a wand as her equal was overlooked…  Blood Purity meant little to Iza, who had enjoyed that birthright during her stay in Slytherin House.  It was the proscription against the Dark Arts that had swayed her into Voldemort’s camp and kept her loyal to his aims.  The promise of fathoming the secret of creating Inferi, of the opportunity to continue her experiments with the hope of discovering a true Resurrection spell…

By refusing her this knowledge, the Dark Lord had unwittingly done the Muggle population a favor: had she been allowed to experiment, she surely would not have done so on Wizards, and surely she would have created an army of Muggle Inferi at his disposal with her failures…

Her sad sigh was the result of a slight tinge of regret: there were things that Death Eaters were expected to do… If this man had been at the wrong end of her wand, her hint of vague memory suggested she’d lowered it then, too, despite knowing she would be punished for it if her weakness was discovered.  The wand does not make the Wizard… an old saying, that Iza disagreed with.  If the wand was just a tool, then any Muggle could use one…

Suddenly, her pupils dilated and her eyes turned a crisp blue around the grey as she relaxed.  She touched his fingertips with her own gently, though she did not actually shake his hand.  A wizard she knew, no matter how vague an acquaintance, came as such a relief that she again forgot the niggling little discomforts of her unwashed hair and sweaty palms.  At least she’d wiped her hands before touching his: he wouldn’t have to be disgusted.

To be completely honest with himself would have left Frank open for the little sliver of fear to explode, what with wands being pointed around all willy nilly in his general direction. He tried to remind himself that it was just as dangerous if someone were attempting to shoot a spell at him from any number of distance away. Then again, he also was arguing back that aim, much like a muggle’s weapon, would get worse the farther away the victim was.

When the wand was right in your face, the tip mere milli]- no, at least a few centimeters. He was being a bit too dramatic now. Only an idiot advanced on someone who looked as crazy as she did with her hair all in a tussle and her wand clearly up in a defensive position with the destructive edge facing his way. At this distance, he couldn’t even hope for a trip and wide missed shot; even he wouldn’t be that clumsy, surely.

Not that he had to worry about his two left feet, considering this woman had yet to show any weakness except for a desire to stay far from a hair brush and conditioner. Somehow, though, Frank was able to keep his voice level and question her as nonchalantly as possible. When the wand went down slowly, he felt as if he could took a little deeper breath. When she took the cigarette, he let his hand linger there a moment in the open air before finally pulling it back and resting it deep into his trouser pocket.

“Why?”

Perhaps he hadn’t spoken. Should have left her in her rapture of the cigarette. Though, to be honest, she made that cigarette look tastier than any he’d had recently, the way her lips moved around it. Blinking in surprise, he frowned a little and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. Why would one ask that? There were only so many possibilities... but she acted as if he was trying to find out where her mother lived and which drawer the knives were kept in.

“Frank.”

His hand stayed out between them, a sign that he didn’t mean her harm or… worry, or whatever it was that was hidden in her eyes behind her fringe.

“Frank. Were you muggleborn?”

A soft breath escaped his lips with a slight chuckle added on the end. “Still am, last I checked.” He used to accept the way people said it with a slightly superior air to their voice, as if looking at him down their nose was too hard to do. It got easier, and he didn’t really notice it. He had a great life, enjoyed himself immensely, and loved what he did.

He almost pulled his hand back in a defeated manner, but then she reached out and ever so slightly touched his hand. Reaching his hand forward just slightly, he gripped her hand gently back and shook it softly before pulling his hand back, watching her face with a slight puzzled look to his own. Then it rolled back and he recalled her. His face showed joy as he grinned, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Iza?” He made to move forward, but then recalled how she’d reacted to the hand shake and thought a hug might really send her into using the wand.

So instead, he rocked back on his heels and stood where he was. With the finished cigarette down to the filter, he quickly dropped it and scrubbed it out with his toe, dusting his hands off on his trousers before looking up at her. “How have you been?” She looked a bit worse for wear right then, if Frank was going to be completely honest.

Aside from that, he also realized they were in an alley… and not a very pleasant one at that. “Would you like to… get some coffee?”

Asking if he was Muggleborn hadn't been intended as a slight from Iza.  If there was a sneer in her voice, it had been unintentional.  But she had to know if this was the same boy, the same Frank...

When he gripped her hand rather than letting her slip hers away with little contact, Iza felt a rush of gratitude.  Odd-- she hadn't been particularly friendly with Frank as a boy, but the recognition gave her a rock to cling to, in the stormy sea of change that raged around her.  She existed before this moment.  It was insane, to think otherwise, but the more Iza wandered, the less she recognized, and the more she felt as if all her memories were just dreams, that nothing existed before this moment-- or that, if it had existed, she was the dream, and had created herself in a world that had never known her...

She didn't flinch away when he started toward her as if he would hug her.  Not only was a hug not something Iza would expect from any person she met-- even if she had any family left-- but because she was out of the habit of being hugged.  Perhaps the last hug she had experienced was the one after her argument with her aunt in seventh year, when Iza had promised to think of her before committing herself to anything illegal.  That one had been awkward, returned by her aunt only reluctantly.  Those sorts of hugs had been a rare occurrence in her life...

Happy, unashamed hugs had been non-existent.  Slytherins weren't particularly demonstrative and Iza had been somewhat aloof from her friends in school...

She blinked at Frank, confused rather than wary, now.  She'd identified him as someone she knew: someone who probably wouldn't harm her, someone whose life she may have spared at one point and who would not be particularly keen to take hers in revenge.  When he started toward her, she was unafraid of an attack, but she had no idea what he intended.  When he shied off, she was even more confused, but she clung to the thought: he called her by name, he knew her, she wasn't imagining herself...

Nadine's wand!  Where's my wand? she thought suddenly, her eyes widening in brief panic-- completely detached from the conversation and distracted.  She mustn't lose it!  Glancing down, she saw it still hanging limply in her left hand.  She sighed with relief, polished it on her skirts-- eliciting angry sparks-- and shoved it into the waistline of her dress.

He was asking her how she'd been.  Her brows knit.  Now, how can I answer that? she wondered.  How have I been?  She realized with surprise that she couldn't answer such a simple question, so she shrugged and looked away awkwardly.  The motion drew her attention back to the cigarette, nearly burnt down to her fingers, now.  How she'd managed to polish her wand without burning herself was a mystery.  She took a final drag, flicked the cherry off the tip with thumb and forefinger, rolled the filter into a little ball and made it disappear: a trick her friends used to enjoy watching.

She exhaled a cloud of smoke, having held it in her lungs while she dealt with the butt, and glanced at Frank again.  Her stomach rumbled.  "I think I should buy you dinner, instead," she said.

Perhaps she was only having a lucid moment in the midst of paranoia.  Of perhaps the paranoia was waning.  But the moment Frank said her name, she suddenly felt human again.  "Someplace... quiet," she qualified, aware now that she had her wits about her for a time that another crowd might set her off.  What's wrong with me? she wondered.  Did Auntie Nadine do it?

She shook her head, keeping the smile plastered to her face though the thought of her aunt caused her severe anxiety.  She licked her lips, tasted the nicotine residue there, wiped her lower lip delicately with her forefinger and hoped he bloody well knew someplace to go... because it had become increasingly evident during her lucid moments that she was completely lost in the world.

Frank noticed a sudden apprehension to her features, followed by a quick realization of the wand still in her hand. He took in a slow breath, holding it until she put it away. It went out in a rush and was followed closely with a half grin. She wouldn’t attack him… right? Right now anyway. With it away, he could not worry as much.

Then his next question seemed to stump her. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little foolish for the off handed question that would normally pull a ‘fine’ or ‘good’ from the normal population. Obviously she wasn’t doing amazing; here she was, a bit worse for wear. If he had an inkling of the correct spell, and was sure she wouldn’t hex him before he could pull it out of his pocket, he might have assisted with at least detangling her hair. But… he normally didn’t have the problem with his hair.

Now, being a little ‘all over place’ with his appearance was normal, and something he didn’t worry about. He assumed it was a controlled look of chaos, that hair that did what it wanted more often than not, slightly wrinkled clothes in easy colors. Some level of cool that he assumed came with it. Maybe… or perhaps he was just a little too hopeful. Not that he minded being a dork; he’d come to accept that back in Hogwarts.

When she shrugged, he bit his lower lip. Well… that wasn’t a fantastic indication. Letting his hand drop to his side, he felt as if it should have something to do; something to keep his hands busy instead of just hanging there, useless. What did you respond with to a slight shrug when asked how they’d been? It wasn’t quite as easy as one might think; especially when it was just the two of them in a deserted alley. He felt as if he should say something, but then couldn’t think of the right things to say.

“I think I should buy you dinner, instead.”

Her hands had distracted him slightly, and he blinked and glanced back up to her face, blushing slightly. Thank goodness for shadows. “Oh, no, I-” He really felt his blush set in. A woman offering to buy dinner? He couldn’t let her do that. Akiva was different… if now and again they went dutch on a meal, there was nothing wrong with that; they’d been friends for years! She was practically family. But… his pride and upbringing brought him back to the conversation. “It would be my pleasure, Iza, to take you to dinner.”

“Someplace…quiet”

He frowned in concentration, considering possible locations. He ran his fingers against his lips lightly, looking off into space for a few brief moments as he ticked off places in his head. Too noisy… too crowded… too small… Finally something clicked and he grinned, his hand dropping as his eyes looked up at her. “Quiet? I can handle that.” Stepping forward without thinking, he put a hand gently on her upper back, turning her towards Diagon Alley. “I know this excellent little place, great environment, soft music… Great steak and chicken.” Glancing to her, he gave her a grin. “Interested?”

Iza did not stiffen, when he touched her back to guide her.  She wondered, fleetingly, if she had liked him in school.  It felt like an odd question to ask herself, but she questioned so many things, these days.  A glimpse of herself as a girl, secreted away beneath a tree, avoiding her peers made her frown.  She had not liked much of anyone in school...

Now, though, with the weight of his hand and his genial grin, she wished it had been otherwise, that she had not been so wrapped up in her own little world...  In her mind, the lonely girl under the tree was approached by a boy who looked an awful lot like Frank.  He offered her his hand and she smiled up at him rather than frowning.  She took the hand, but pulled him down to sit with her in the shade, reading to him now and again from the book in her lap...

It isn't real, she told herself, shaking her head slightly, then she realized he might think she was answering negatively-- that she was not interested in the restaurant he suggested.  She fought down the false memory and smiled as calmly as she could.  "Steak and chicken," she murmured encouragingly, shaking out the hem of her skirts.  She spotted the mud, frowned and paused.  She ran a hand nervously through her hair, catching in a tangle and remembering her earlier dismay at her appearance.

She let him guide her, but she slipped her wand out once more.  "Tergeo."  The mud disappeared from her hem and slippers, returning them to their original, crisp off-white.  She had no remedy for her hair: a hairbrush would be most useful, but she had none and she had no useful spell.  Instead, she removed a ribbon from her bodice-- there were three, the loss of one would not cause immodesty, though it did reveal a bit more cleavage than she typically showed.  She reached back as she walked and gathered her long, blond tresses into a tail, which she doubled over and tied neatly into a a bath bun.  It was not high fashion, but it sufficed to hide her dishevelment, much of which had been caused by her recent scrape with the crowd of Good Samaritans, though it was true she had not given her appearance much thought these last few days.

When she was finished, the smile she turned on Frank was a bit unsure.  She wanted to ask if she looked better, but if he really had not noticed that would embarrass them both.  Iza really was rather caught up in her own little world and had not seen the glances he'd cast at her appearance.  She opened her mouth, about to ask where he was taking her when she realized they were heading back toward Diagon Alley.  She stopped suddenly.

"I can't go there," she whispered, licking her lips nervously and reaching for his hand unconsciously for reassurance.  She indicated Diagon Alley with a jerk of her head in that direction.  "They may still be looking--"  She broke off.  Though her eyes did not roll with insanity, the whites showed her fear and her breathing quickened.  "I'm not sure, I may have broken someone's hand..."

She didn't think twice about speaking frankly with Frank.  Perhaps she should have.

She did not notice that the hand that wasn't questing for Frank's had once again clenched into a death grip on Nadine's wand...

“Steak and chicken.”

Just saying it made his mouth water. Now that he had it in mind, it sounded as if it would be perfect. He could taste it right now. Well, almost. It was amazing what you could make yourself taste when you got hungry enough. And he didn’t remember being this hungry… It just came on suddenly. She sounded somewhat convinced, at least. And if she was somewhat, Frank could work on it… He could work some magic.

Or maybe not. But he could try!

He blinked when she muttered a spell under her breath, stealing a glance her way. The wand was out! He tensed just slightly but kept himself otherwise as relaxed as possible. Well… she cleaned up well. A small grin came out, though his eyebrow rose as she pulled a ribbon from her top. Was he… supposed to not… stare? Glancing away awkwardly, he bit his lip and rubbed his neck. Don’t think about it… Just don’t.

But he couldn’t help himself, so he turned his attention back to her, admiring her little hairdo. Grinning, he subconsciously squeezed her shoulder in a slight hug before moving towards the opening of the Alley. When she stopped, he grunted when he couldn’t move forward without a small jerk back. That was the problem with keeping an arm around someone.

“I can’t go there.”

Frowning a little, he looked from the alley back to her, allowing her to take his hand, gently squeezing it. When she jerked her head in its direction, his eyes once again glanced towards the alley. Perhaps he had a problem with distractions on occasion…

“They may still be looking—I’m not sure, I may have broken someone’s hand…”

Licking his lips, his eyes turned back to her. He gave her a small smile after a moment of thinking. “Iza…” He ran his thumb against the top of her hand in a reassuring manner. “It’s okay. I mean… if you didn’t mean to, then they can’t very well do anything to you. Accidents happen, right?” He stepped back towards her, gently reaching out and running his hand down from her elbow to her hand, trying to relax its grip on the wand. “We’ll go out there together, all right? It’s just around the corner, this place. Delicious food. You look like you could use a pint of ale as well.”

He gave her a goofy grin; with her hair pulled back, he got a look at the woman she’d grown into. Well… on the outside, anyway. He had no idea what was going on in the inside, and it was probably better that way. “Or a warm butterbeer at least. I could give you a piggy back ride there if that would help…?” He was being a bit silly, sure, but something like that would make people think twice about confronting her, rather than if they walked out of the alley all sullenly…

Today was not Maggie’s day. She’d gone out to buy a book for her little sister Lexie, because the girl had forgotten to check and make sure she had everything on the supply list before boarding the Hogwarts Express. That was first-years, for you. While Maggie had been walking and minding her own business, suddenly a cyclone of crazy had burst upon the crowd, but this time it wasn’t a three-headed snake. No, it was worse. Some slip of a woman panicked and started throwing curses at any who dared to approach her, at anyone in the way, really. Unfortunately, Maggie had been in the way. She’d tried to move, but the hex had hit her purse and slashed it right down the middle, causing her things to spill out onto the street.

After a hasty scramble to save her wallet and much cursing and complaining, Maggie had looked up in time to see a frizzy head disappear from the crowd. As angry as she was, Maggie had decided to push cautiousness aside and follow her. It had taken her a few minutes to escape Diagon, and a few more minutes to locate Iza.
 
Imagine her surprise when she stumbled on a very familiar voice. Warm, friendly, kind. Frank. A brief smile lit up her face, yet her steps slowed subconsciously. A part of her wanted to shrug off the woman’s hex and greet Frank happily, but another part of her, the stronger and suspicious part, caused her to lean against the dirty alley wall and listen. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted out into the air and she wrinkled her nose.

As she listened in on the conversation, her mood continued to darken and her mouth drooped lower and lower into a scowl. There was recognition- they knew each other from school. Then Frank suggested coffee. Coffee with the crazy woman. That hurt. Of course, to add insult to injury, she then asked him out for dinner. Many names ran through Maggie’s head, none of them complimentary of the woman’s innocence or virtue.

Frank, the sweet guy- her sweet guy, Maggie thought- couldn’t just walk away or politely reject her. He seemed to latch onto the invitation, even turning the tables and offering up a place they could go. Many insulting names ran through her head for Frank, too, but then she felt a little guilty. She and Frank were not dating. They’d only been on one date early in the summer and hadn’t even seen each other much after that. It was as much her fault that neither of them had pursued the other. She was relationship-challenged, what could she say. Maggie pretended it was her new job taking up all her time, or that Frank had been preoccupied with Akiva, the poor woman, but those were just excuses. Her eyes blazed and her mouth compressed into a thin line. She was jealous.

Maggie was especially jealous because the woman seemed a little off. She was not a shining example of sweetness and light- far from it!- but she didn’t sling hexes at people either, no matter how much she wanted to. Judging by the sound of the woman’s voice, which was frightened, hesitant, bold, and soft, all in the same conversation, Maggie concluded that she had some issues. Yet Frank seemed all too happy to ask her out. ‘Accidents happen’, her arse.

A piggy back ride?! Really? She let out a strangled sound. Maggie couldn’t stand it. She had to say something.

Margaret stepped out into the alley and stood there with her arms crossed and her head tilted to one side. She waited a moment before announcing her presence, staring at Iza with a mixture of disgust and envy. Her hair was a rat’s nest and didn’t look very clean. Yet even then, she was small, pretty and sweet looking. Maggie couldn’t have been less like her.

“Hi there,” she said, in a fake cheerful sort of voice that contrasted with the angry look in her eyes. Though Frank was not in her good book at the moment, she stood next to him, staking her claim in a way.

“I see you’ve met Miss Hex Happy here,” she glanced at him. “What a marvelous idea, slinging random curses in the middle of a crowded street. Brilliant, right? Nearly blasted my hand off,” she said darkly, eyes narrowing. Forgive her if she didn’t want to end up like Niobe Nine-Fingers. Maggie liked all her digits, thank you, and she did not appreciate her purse being split open. She’d hastily repaired the bag earlier, but it hung on her shoulder limply, looking rather worse for wear.

Though Iza had been completely oblivious to the effect that removing one ribbon from her bodice had on Frank, she was not oblivious to his hands on her... She didn't remember clutching at his since it was unconscious but his thumb stroking the top of her hand, his gentle, featherlike touch on her arm... She became confused again.  Her main dysfunction seemed to be sensory overload and she reacted immediately-- and perhaps inappropriately-- to every slight sensation, as was evident from her experience in Diagon Alley.

The effect his well-meaning caress had on her was apparent: her lips parted, her eyes lost their look of frenzy-- and their focus-- her tongue darted out and retreated quickly.  She swallowed hard against the urge to press herself against him, but could not control her breathing.  All thoughts of dinner and venturing back into Diagon Alley fled as the world receded around her.  His mouth was suddenly very interesting to her, and she watched as he licked his own lips and smiled.

His charming and sympathetic manner elicited the intended response: her grip loosened on Nadine's wand.  She smiled back, strained toward him slightly, a strand of hair escaped her makeshift hairdo and fell across her cheek... With her eyes on his lips, she watched the goofy grin reappear.  Ale sounds good, she thought.  He also suggested butterbeer.  So does something warm...  She shivered.  Though three layers of skirts kept her legs warm enough, her dress was sleeveless and the night air was chill enough in September to warrant at least a wrap.  Goosebumps rose up under his hand on her arm as her grasp loosened even more on Nadine's wand.

She couldn't help smiling back at his goofy grin, though Iza herself had possibly never grinned in her life.  Though she was highly susceptible to physical sensations right now, his touch wasn't intrusive like that of the Good Samaritan who tried to force her into a shop to sit down.  She was able to hear and comprehend Frank's words, though it took a moment for her to realize what he was suggesting.  A piggy-back ride?  Somehow, it didn't sound as absurd as it should, and he was winning her over, convincing her that she should indeed move onward.  Her stomach rumbled and she laughed lightly, nervously...

He thought it might be an accident, what she'd done.  Everyone always assumed that when Iza hurt people, it was an accident.  Did they ever take note that she was particularly... accident prone?  If they did, they dismissed it.  It reassured Iza somewhat, when others reacted protectively of her-- though of late, her need for protection was not her usual sham.  Feelings of gratitude surged up in her, and she clutched at Frank's hand again, lifting it to press against her cheek.  "Thank-you," she whispered, her eyes seeking his hungrily--

A woman's voice startled her, grating on every nerve in its unexpectedness-- and Iza's nerves were strung as tightly as a dumlcimer's at that moment.  She whirled, dropping Frank's hand, raising Nadine's wand instinctively again... If anyone notice that she stepped in front of Frank to confront the threat, perhaps they would find it ironic but it was true: though her eyes were wild and fearful, her stance was protective rather than defensive.  Her shoulders brushed his chest and she backed against him, feet apart in a proper dueling stance, shielding him with her petite frame.

"Morsio!"  An angry, red jot of light stabbed at the intruder.  Though the Stinging Hex was  fairly low-powered and never caused damage, Nadine's wand was particularly accomplished at it, and Iza had learned to mimic her aunt's style.  Even in her startlement, her aim was precise and the spell jetted from the wand's tip as she stabbed it forward, as if eager to seek its intended victim.  The newcomer would be hard-set to avoid it.

Still pointing the wand, the girl's words and fake cheerfulness registered on Iza. She knows Frank.  Are they lovers?  Iza's eyes narrowed at the thought and at the girl's sarcasm, bristling and instinctively reaching behind her to seek Frank's hand without knowing if he was still behind her-- now every fiber of her being was focused on this nuisance.  She sneered, her lip curling daintily.  "Maybe everyone needed a lesson on keeping their hands where they belong," she snarled.  Frank is mine... flashed clearly in her eyes.  Until that moment, it had not occurred to her that she wanted him, or to be possessive-- but like a bitch, her hackles rose when another female stepped foot in her territory and threatened to woo away a male...

Her posture stiffened from protective of Frank to possessive-- the reflexive hex and following words occurring nearly simultaneously as her mind and senses raced toward a confrontation-- her lip remained curled, her teeth bared in a feral smile and her eyes flashed menacingly.  Were she a wolf, she would have growled low in her throat.

In fact, with the words Miss Hex Happy echoing in her head, she did growl without any awareness of doing so.  The back of her neck felt odd, gooseflesh rising there as if she did, indeed, have hackles rising...

The first day of September always seemed to bring more people than usual to Knockturn Alley.  While Zavier spent most of his time in Diagon, he frequented a couple of the establishments there.  First stop of the day was The Wizard’s Rest, a small, classy bar located in the heart of Knockturn.  There, he bought himself two cups of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey.  From Obscurus, he brought with him a copy of The Dark Side of the Wand, which he had managed to finish before he left the Rest.  After his second cup, he paid his due and started for Diagon Alley. 

His robe, black as a moon-less midnight swept along the ground as he walked, collecting dust and other oddments on the hem.  Frowning, he brandished his wand.  With a gentle flick of his wrist, he cleansed his robe and hitched his cloak up a little higher to avoid dragging it along the cobblestone.  Lord only knew what filth ridded the very path he walked.  He wasn’t a ‘germaphobe’, per say, but the last thing he wanted was to collect somebody’s spit or half-eaten chocolate frog on his clothes.

He let out a sigh.  Today, his only day off this week was shaping up to be quite uneventful.  He debated taking over for Tobias, the shop’s actual proprietor, but decided against it.  If anything, he would simply apparate back to Hogsmeade and-

”Moriso!”

He had mounted three full steps before the hex even left the young woman’s wand.  His own was out and at the ready, and for a brief moment, he wondered if whoever had cast the hex had their wand trained on him. 

Apparently, that wasn’t the case.  A young woman with long blond hair - and quite attractive, in his opinion - was aiming her wand at another woman.  Beside her stood somebody else - a man - whom he didn’t recognize.  No matter. 

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded as he approached.  Wand clenched in his right hand, he didn’t aim it at any particular person.  Instead, he stood there, eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer.

“Thank-you.”

His eyebrows rose slightly when she lifted his hand to her cheek. His grin widened and he shook his head, stumbling over his words. “Why? I mean it’s not… that big of a deal-”

“Hi there.”

Frank jumped slightly, glancing over his shoulder, clearly surprised to hear (and then see) Maggie standing there. He felt his cheeks go red; talk about being caught red handed. But what had he really been caught doing? Having a flirty conversation with a slightly mad young woman, yes, but… Maggie hadn’t been fighting to spend extra time with him. Then again… he supposed it was his fault as well. He could have tried harder to talk her into spending some time with him.

“I see you’ve met Miss Hex Happy here… What a marvelous idea, slinging random curses in the middle of a crowded street. Brilliant, right? Nearly blasted my hand off.”

His hand was dropped and he quickly put it behind his back, as if concealing a stolen toy or hiding something he was ashamed of. Where had she even come from? Then Iza was slightly in his way, and he made a face as the wand came up. “Oh-” His hand came up slowly, way too slow, why were things moving slow?!

“Morsio!”

“-No!” His hand stopped halfway out as he saw the spell connect, concern obvious in his grimace. He stepped forward and bumped against Iza. What to do… there was a crazy woman between himself and Maggie. Then his hand was taken and he looked down at it in shock. His eyes shot back to Maggie, and he grimaced. “Are you ok?”

“Maybe everyone needed a lesson on keeping their hands where they belong.”

“Uh…” What? Blinking, he finally looked back up, clearly unsure of what was going on right now. It had been so simple before Maggie showed up. Then things got busy quick, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Where did his hand belong? And did Iza have hers where it was supposed to go? Who decided where someone’s hand should go?

Then he heard the growl and he put his free hand up, resting it against Iza’s back, gently rubbing it as soothing as he could without appearing too touchy feely. “Maybe we should-” Frank hadn’t been able to say all that was on his mind for a short time, and it didn’t seem to be changing.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Frank startled slightly, his hand lifting from Iza and then falling back lightly. He noticed the wand, and wondered if he should get his out as well, just in case this was a threat. Slight confusion came over him, but then he realized he wasn’t an auror. That was good… he thought… “Well…” How did he explain that a bit of misunderstanding seemed to have occurred? Finally he made a face at the man, pursing his lips and frowning in irritation.

Then he reacted. He stepped forward, between the man and Iza, and closer to Maggie. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” Then Frank held out a hand to help Maggie up, turning his attention towards the two women. “Iza... This is Maggie, a-” Then his face showed how he wasn’t sure how to introduce her. So he let out a noisy breath and frowned. “Friend.” He glanced to Iza, frowning slightly. “Don’t have to attack everything that shows up unexpected, you know.” A small smile came to his face, still quite a bit uncertain.


[[hope that works! sorry it has taken a while]]

Maggie should have expected it. After traveling on her own for a few years, she’d learned to be wary of dark alleyways and the strangers who lurked in them. However, the woman’s ludicrous show of shielding Frank, as if Maggie was the threat, surprised and annoyed her so much that she glanced at Frank for an explanation. That was when the spell hit.

“Morsio!”

A stinging sensation spread through her shoulder, causing the strap of her purse to snap. Her purse and her things, for the second time that day, fell to the ground. With a startled shout of pain, Maggie stumbled back a few steps and steadied herself against the grimy wall, managing to regain her balance. She muttered a few choice words under her breath and then whipped her own wand out, settling in a defensive stance.

Margaret caught a glimpse of their hands touching and felt something uglier and more painful than the sting. Frank asked if she was all right but she ignored it, glaring right back at the woman and nearly mirroring her feral expression. By her protective stance, Maggie didn’t think Frank was in any danger, but the image of the two of them united against her did little to improve her mood.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you.” It was less a question and more of an accusation. “First you cause a panic in Diagon, nearly slicing off my hand for no reason at all. And now, here, you throw a hex at me again,” Maggie voice rose, seething with rage. “You’re lucky you’re mentally unstable. Don’t test my patience a third time.” It wouldn’t end well for either of them, she suspected.

Another voice broke in and Maggie stiffened, turning slightly to keep both the newcomer and Iza in her view. He wasn’t aiming his wand at anyone, but he did have it out, which made Maggie suspicious. His angry tone, too- why did he care?

Frank answered for them. Maggie pointedly ignored his offered hand, showing him he was still in the doghouse. At this point she didn't care if she was being fair or logical. Letting out a rude snort at his comment towards Iza, Maggie looked between the woman and the man again, trying to figure out if there was a connection.

“Do you know her?” She asked bluntly, jerking her head towards Miss Hex Happy. “Because she clearly needs some kind of help.” Perhaps he’d volunteer to haul her back to St. Mungo’s before Maggie lost her temper.