Neely pulled down the wire of her sunglasses, peering into the window of the popular pub like some sort of Ministry-appointed spy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see anything in the sun’s glare. At least not enough to determine whether the girl whose face she’d never seen was already sitting inside. Why hadn’t she asked Sasha for a picture?!

Oh, right, they weren’t speaking...

Snapping off her sunglasses, she took a deep breath and waltzed through the door. The chime of the bell overhead was like a stage cue, and Neely fluttered her lashes toward the bar in a very Corina Woolfolk-ish way, only just long enough, and then promenaded toward the back, to a booth that couldn’t so easily be watched.

If she wanted to pass for an adult, she needed to carry herself like one. She’d picked out one of her most mature outfits, had been careful with her makeup, and had made sure to keep her hair and sunglasses nicely framing her face while she ambled down Hogsmeade’s high road.

Slipping into the booth, she set her purse on the table and practically melted into the seat. She was parched. The sun had been horrible, even in the dead of autumn. She was a delicate creature, Miss Neely Woolfolk!

But then someone was speaking beside her ear, and she shot up like an electrocuted mouse. Turning immediately toward the perpetrator, she recognized a foolish young waiter she’d always giggled over with her friends. Her expression became a cool smirk, and posture immediately improved. “Hello,” she said, in her a sort of drawn, formal voice that mimicked her mother’s tone when she introduced herself to people. “May I have a cherry soda?” She asked, her hands folded perfectly in her lap. She caught his eye, wondering whether he knew she was a Hogwarts student. When in doubt, flirt. “And a basket of those delicious chips.” As if he were a five-star chef or someone’s grandmother, and not simply a young man taking orders. “And a sherry on the side,” she added quickly, to make herself sound more legitimate.

He glanced her over, and Neely stared right back. It was best not to look suspicious. She read that in a magazine. She just had to play innocent, angelic... and mature, of course. Finally, he nodded, with a promise to be right back. But as he turned, Neely was struck with a thought. “Wait!” She cried in a loud whisper. “Have you seen a young woman, twenty-ish... er, she probably Floo’ed here, and may look a little... overwhelmed.” It was true, wasn’t it? “She’s not from around here,” Neely elaborated. “But she’s an old friend. We used to write to each other. When we were still in school.” Her grin widened. “She didn’t go to Hogwarts.” If that was a bit too much information to cover her own bum, Neely didn’t seem to notice.

As it turned out, getting to this Three Broomsticks place wasn't as easy as the letters had made it out to be.  The part of Jacoba's mind that continued to carry a kernel of suspicion about the validity of this whole - what was it?  Game? Story?  Thing - was convinced she was going to walk into some town in Northern Scotland just to be bombarded by some TV celebrity surrounded by cameras declaring she was on candid camera.  Dreogan would be there laughing and holding up his tie-camera.  The more she thought about it and the further she seemed to get wrapped up in it all, the more likely that scenario seemed. 

What she hadn't decided, yet, was whether she was going to be pissed at Sasha or impressed and proud he'd actually managed to pull such a stunt.  Probably both.

But, despite her doubts, with Dreogan's assistance, Jacoba managed to find her way to the small village of "Hogsmeade"  (Hopefully it wasn't named after a drink, despite what it sounded like).  Needless to say, so far, Hogsmeade was proving a bit disappointing. 

One of Jacoba's housemates back in Dresden had spent a summer with her family in the United States.  They'd, apparently, gone driving through the Eastern part of Colorado and visited a "living museum ghost town."  The little run down town had once been a thriving town on a cattle drive route but had fallen to ruins years ago.  But, the museum hired people to wander around the place in costume to give tourists the feel of being in the Old West.  She'd showed them all pictures.  This 'Hogsmeade' was feeling a lot like that.  The ranshackled town barely looked fit for habituation but it was crawling with people in various costumes as, with backpack on her back, Jacoba strolled down the main street. 

A fairly kindly looking  (though rather flamboyantly-dressed)  old man pointed Jacoba in the direction of one of the larger buildings along the main road.  Oddly, unless Jacoba was mistaken, the town's buildings seemed to appear slightly less ... ransacked than they had when she'd first arrived. 

Once inside the building, Jacoba paused in the doorway, her eyes straining through the dark, dusty interior.  A young man moved lazily towards her, bearing a tray of drinks and chips.  A strange place to be having a meal.  "Is someone expecting you?"  The young man asked, pointing towards a faded booth in the corner where a young woman sat.  Jacoba followed the young man to the table. 

"Are you Neely?"  Jacoba asked, looking for conformation before lowering herself into the bench opposite Neely.  She was pretty - exceptionally so, in fact.  Perhaps, Jacoba shouldn't be surprised - and she hoped it didn't show too much in her face - but ... Jacoba grinned, figuring there'd be plenty of time to ponder how her brother might get matched with a girl like this.  "Hi.  I admit, this is all really strange.  I take it he's not with you?" 

Neely didn’t see her arrive, as her eyes were glued to an abandoned copy of the Prophet left by a previous patron (she couldn’t very well complain about the state of the tables, lest she be thrown out, or, worse, caught). An ad for the new shade of her favorite lipgloss was gleaming tantalizingly just above the Sports section-- where a picture of her own, evil half-brother nearly ruined her fun.

"Are you Neely?"

She looked up quickly, tearing her eyes from the paper. Jacoba Schlagenweit was not the blonde, girl-version of Sasha she’d expected (even after seeing Anna, and realizing that the family’s eldest daughter was a bit bolder than her bookish brother). “What?” She asked, blinking. “Who? Sasha?” Her cheek spread in a grin and she shook her head, laughing. “Of course not.”

And then, lowering her voice, she leaned across the table. “We’re not allowed out of the school whenever we like. I had my mum write a note saying we were going for lunch, and that our elf would be accompanying me.” Or chaperoning her. But Neely had rid herself of the Little Helper as soon as she’d stepped out of the gates of Hogwarts, and into Hogsmeade’s High Street. “Besides, Sasha isn’t allowed in town, anyway, is he? Your Mum and Dad never signed the permission slip. I was going to introduce him to some expert forgers, but...” Well, Jacoba was bound to know. In addition to Sasha probably refusing such criminal offers, the pair of teenagers were currently Not Speaking.

Sitting up again, she continued to smile. “So you’re Jacoba,” Neely said at last, appraising her jovially, and offering a hand. She’d almost forgotten to continue the formal introduction, in her eager attempt to divulge her expert plan of escape. “I really like your handwriting. Do you want a drink? Order anything you like. I’ll pay.”

Neely caught the eye of the waiter, and waved him over. He nodded, grabbed a tray with her own order, and wandered back toward them. “You’ll have to try butterbeer before you go, of course. It’s terribly cliché, but it’s a must.”

This wasn't the first time Jacoba had gotten the sense that there was more going on in this world than she was aware of.  Since that first strange, confusing letter had found its way to her hands, Jacoba had gotten the distinct impression that there was much more than met her eye.  This was far from an exception.  While the strange little pub didn't seem quite as shabby as she first thought it still didn't seem to fit with the young, primly-dressed woman sitting at the booth. 

"Are you Neely?"  Jacoba repeated - the girl seemed confused.  Hopefully, it was simply a matter of Jacoba having picked the wrong table.  The confusion on the girl's face, though, seemed passing and was quickly replaced with a pleasant and charming smile.  So, it hadn't been the arrival - but who had arrived that had confused the younger woman.  "Not quite what you were expecting?" she asked with a light-hearted chuckle. 

So, Neely had used some clever improvising to find her way around the rules.  Excellent - Jacoba approved.  Her head bobbed slightly, trying not to get too distracted by the confusing details in the girl's tale - but one stood out.  "Elf?"  A quick glance around the room just to confirm some tall, exotic, handsome blond wasn't standing in a corner.  She tried not to look too disappointed when she turned back to Neely.  "Do they bake cookies in oak trees?" 

Neely was spared from having to complete her sentence.  Unless Sasha had changed drastically in the last few years (so far, this conversation was proving that was not the case), Jacoba, indeed, knew.  And, after the last month, Jacoba now had a fairly good understanding of the situation her little brother found himself in.  "He's allergic to breaking rules," Jacoba finished for her.  It wasn't his fault - but, boy, it could get frustrating at times.  But, Jacoba had enough experience defying her father for both of them.  "Could you get me one of those slips?"  Jacoba asked, without batting an eye.  "Or, if I give you the signature can you copy it onto one?" 

Jacoba took the extended hand and gave it a small shake.  Smirking at the younger girl,  "for better or worse, yes, I am.  Though, if you go having anymore chats with Anna, you'll loose more points if you don't call me Johanna."  Her birth name - she'd started going by Jacoba shortly after being sent away to school.  "My handwriting?" Jacoba laughed.  "Well, I don't know what they serve here - or - what would you recommend?"  Butterbeer.  "If that's a pilsner with a stick of butter in it, I'll pass."  It was unclear, yet, how much of a joke that needed to be.

"So, I have to be honest." Jacoba leaned against the back of the booth, draping an arm across the top of it and situating herself more comfortably.  "You don't seem like the type of girl that would be interested in my brother."

Neely nodded, and then promptly shook her head. She was Neely, and Jacoba wasn’t Sasha’s female doppelgänger. It seemed the quickest way to get those facts straight-- and also the best way to save face. Keep silent, and nothing could be confirmed. Luckily, the waiter wasn’t around to hear her name, or to catch her in the act of admitting a mistake.

But she could only blink when it came to the question of elves. Oak trees? “No...” She said cautiously after a moment’s pause. “Why would they? Our kitchen is perfect. If anyone needed their elves to bake in trees,” she giggled. “They wouldn’t own any elves, would they?” People who lived in tree houses tended be very young and playing ‘pretend’, or very crazy and potentially out of work. She’d once read a salacious tabloid story about a man on the run from the Ministry using a muggle tree fort as a refuge.

But, despite her absurd visions of house-elves, Jacoba was quickly shaping up to be the antithesis of the girl who had tried to get Sasha to ditch Neely. (Granted, Neely had done a fine job of doing that on her own.)

She continued to laugh, though it came more naturally, more relaxedly. She was in her element, discussing Sasha’s naivety. And this time with someone who wasn’t Sasha! “Really, you mean it?” She raised a brow, clearly impressed. It was almost impossible to keep the smile off her face, and so she didn’t try. “You’re a legal adult, and a muggle-- they won’t be able to detect cheating. Brilliant. I’ll owl you one, how’s that?” All she had to do was go sobbing to an adult, or kissing up to the pretty Runes professor. Or maybe she could pay Tulo a visit.

“Johanna? There’s a lot of girls in Sasha’s life with rhyming names.” Maybe that was the problem. Neely wasn’t called bloody Roxanna or... Cornelianna. “But I won’t forget. That’s an easy one to remember.” Much easier than The Girl With the Eyes. Neely wondered if she had siblings called Vegetation and Animal Life. “I can call you Jacoba now, right?”

“Your handwriting,” she confirmed, grinning with trademark charm. “It’s lovely. But don’t be ridiculous-- I would never drink butter!” Just cocoa. Iced. With whipped cream. And a fancy-doodle straw. “This isn’t a lobster house. Butterbeer is...” It was hard to explain, really. It was butterbeer. It had always been just that. Neely never paused to wonder what was in it. It just tasted good. “Trust me, you’ll love it. Everyone does.” And Neely Woolfolk had good taste!

The blonde tilted her head, knitting her brows. “Why’s that?” She felt a sudden need to defend herself, though, in truth, she knew exactly what Jacoba meant by the statement. Neely hadn’t paid Sasha any mind until she needed help. And then a whole slew of adventures had unfurled, like a giant ball of yarn whose end was nowhere in sight (though currently paused in some dungeon corridor). “I think people have the wrong idea about him sometimes, and he let’s them go on thinking it... he apologizes for everything.” Neely rolled her eyes. “But when you get him on his own, he’s kind of brilliant... not in the nerdy book way-- well yes, in that way-- but in the fun way, too!” Suddenly, the Slytherin was all too aware of what she’d said. And, more importantly, to whom she said it. Her cheeks flushed and she sat up a bit, looking down toward the table.

Was Neely disappointed as well as surprised?  Not that Jacoba would care - she was used to being the outlier of the family - a position that usually prompted disappointment with acquaintances of the family.  Which was why Jacoba usually avoided that lot. 

"Not a clue," Jacoba admitted.  At first it seemed like a foolish question - who really cared why Keebler chose to house those cookie-backing elves in oak trees.  It just was.  "That's just where the commercials put them.  Or the North Pole.  But, I think those are different elves.  The cookie backing ones don't seem like their big enough to make toys."  This world was confusing enough - Jacoba wasn't sure how serious or foolish this conversation really was.  "I ... wait.  You own an elf?  Is it like a pet?  Or -"  Jacoba's mind flickered to a less than appropriate thought, involving, once again, a certain tall, (well, in that movie) blonde movie start tucked away in someone's closet.  A slight pinch of color rose in the apples of her cheeks and she quickly shook her head.  "I would have rather owned Aragon," she admitted, out loud.  "But, I guess ... he was owned by his own elf." 

Elves were proving to be a confusing topic.   

"Of course," Jacoba confirmed.  It was understatement to say Jacoba was well-practiced in forging her father's signature.  She had the skill down to a fine art though she wasn't sure what her being a legal adult had to do with it.  She'd been just as good at it when she was a minor - actually better.  Since she didn't have that many reasons to practice since setting out on her own.  "Um ... sure.  Owl works."  She assumed.  "Do you need to know where I am for it to find me?  I'm still trying to work out more permanent housing arrangements. 

"You mean Hannah?"  Jacoba asked, trying to confirm if that was the other rhyming girl's name Jacoba was referring to.  "Who - doesn't exist?"  She added.  Though it had been mentioned quite plainly in the letters, Jacoba really just had to confirm that.  Making up girlfriends was, admittedly, strange.  Even for her brother.  But, now that they were sitting across from each other, face to face, Jacoba had the opportunity to get her facts straight.  "And, my brother dumped Ms. Make-believe and started dating you?  But, then you dumped him?"  Hopefully, there was more to it then that but one could never underestimate the drama-causing potential of teenage girls.  They all, even if they didn't admit it, got bored if things worked out the way they always hoped.  "And, I'm not trying to add to the rhyming names but who's Ava?"  Jacoba asked. 

It was a relief to hear that these wizarding types didn't have drinks with sticks of butter in them.  "I'm willing to try most anything once," Jacoba admitted.  Something told her this very clean and well-dressed young woman sitting across from her had rather discerning tastes.  If she thought this stuff was good - it couldn't be that bad. 

Cornelia wasn't trying very hard to hide the defensiveness that Jacoba's comment prompted but, from what Jacoba had heard so far, Neely wasn't met by the family with open arms.  "It's nothing personal - I'm just still catching up with my little brother dating.  I didn't really ever think about what think 'his type' would be."  And, really, Jacoba's assumption had been more of a compliment to the girl than otherwise.  In the hopes it might would help Neely recognize that, Jacoba shrugged.  "You're attractive and you're smart.  I'm sure you're quite popular.  And, it sounds like, despite being angry, you still like Sasha."  The color on her cheeks, her sudden fascination with the table all seemed to be supporting that theory.  "Right?"

“My elf can bake cookies and toys,” Neely elaborated on a clear mission to impress. And on a not-so-clear mission to give away her youth. “Not that I play with toys,” she amended quickly, clearing her throat. “Toys are for children.” There was almost a nervous edge to her laugh, but Neely was too proud, too seemingly confident to let it really escape her throat. In truth, she was all too aware of how others perceived her. So much so that she didn’t spend nearly enough time reflecting on the sincerity of her own prerogatives... or really seeing the point of what others saw.

“No,” she giggled, shaking her blonde locks. “Not a pet. A maid, sort of. A servant, you know? They take care of the family, and when they have baby elves, those become part of the family, too. They keep your secrets and keep your sheets clean. If the elf is bad, you give it clothes to dismiss it.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “Ours are the best breed of elves. We’ve had the same line as long as the Woolfolks have been around. And that’s a very long time,” she promised. Ages and ages. “I don’t know who Aragon is, but that’s a silly name for an elf. It should be cuter, less intimidating. They work for you, remember.”

Smirking, Neely shook her head again. “He’ll find you. Our owls are even better than our elves.” Neely trusted the family bird to find Jacoba. “But if you need help with real estate! I can give a hand... I already told Sasha... well... before we stopped talking-- I know people who run hotels and things.”

Neely blinked. The point wasn’t that Hannah wasn’t real. A lot of women weren’t real. Half the Quidditch stars had wives and girlfriend who were approximately 60 percent or more charms-and-potions. Not particularly well-bred or authentic. Hannah was as much as threat to Neely’s happiness as was any real, breathing, corporeal Ravenclaw girl who stood in her path. “That Hannah,” she affirmed, sighing melodramatically. “I was the one who dumped her for him... or the other way around.” It was, to put it in Sasha’s words, complicated. “I was doing him a favor! I thought he knew it was because I liked him-- and, well, you don’t kiss someone if you don’t like them, right?” Her brows shot up, her chin down, her eyes focused on Jacoba. She was trying to appeal to the older girl.

Ava? What did Ava have to do with this?

“Ava Grosvenor? Well... er, she kissed Sasha last semester to help Slytherin win the game. She’s gorgeous and super cool. A very good friend of mine.” Neely grinned. Perhaps that was stretching the truth just a little. She hadn’t seen much of Ava lately. The young woman had been a bit distant. Probably doing wonderful seventh year things. “What did he say about her? Does he have a crush? I knew it!”

Neely liked Jacoba. She was adventurous in the way it counted. The way the Slytherin liked her adventurous. Slightly devious, perhaps. Not guilty. Self-assured.

She also knew how to flatter.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Neely neither confirmed nor denied her own attractiveness or intelligence. The fact that more than one person in Sasha’s family thought of her as smart was, on its own, quite the ultimate compliment. It was harder to remain cool-headed as she was probed about her feelings. Eyes on the table, hands trying not to squirm, she lowered her voice to a murmur. “Well, yes, I suppose... but I don’t know if he feels the same. I can’t chase a boy.” She looked up at Jacoba. She had chased plenty of boys, Sasha included. “How could he not know we were dating? I mean, we planned a date in the kitchens and everything! With cocoa! Hot cocoa!”

"Seriously?"  Jacoba asked, finally starting to gather that they weren't talking about goofy commercially-motivated, hat-wearing little people.  Now that her mind had shifted away from Santa elves and Keebler elves and Legolas, she was pondering the idea of having a little servant around that could bake cookies and toys.  "I don't know, there are some pretty cool toys out there," Jacoba said, passively with a shrug.  Toys might be for kids, but some (like nerf ball launchers) were quite fun, especially after a few drinks. 

"But, that's ..." irrelevant.  "So ... where do they come from?  I mean, how does one go about getting one of these elf things?  Clothes ... dismiss it?  So - you have little naked elves running around your house?"  Jacoba arched a curious eyebrow at Neely, only belatedly considering it might have been an inappropriate comment to make in the presence of a fifteen (sixteen?) year old.  "Oh - well, Aragon wasn't an elf.  He was human.  He was just in love with an elf.  Her name was Arwen.  I don't think she cooked cookies, though.  And, I know she didn't work for Aragon." 

Hmm... it seemed, "we have very different ideas of what an elf is."

So, this young woman was well off or well connected - or both - she had to be, if she had toy-building elves and housing to offer at the drop of a hat.  "Well, I'm not exactly rolling in savings," she admitted.  "I think finding a job will come before finding a place to stay, you know?  And, that's not very easy these days." 

Jacoba leaned back against the back of the booth bench, watching the young woman across from her as she stumbled her way through her explanation.  Of course, discussing relationships with teenage girls was wrought with hazards - especially when it was their relationship in question.  Jacoba wanted to be honest, but she didn't want to be patronizing and it was already clear that the young woman across from her was sensitive to anything that might be interpreted as criticism. 

"He kissed you?"  Jacoba was, clearly, somewhat surprised.  But, that was less the point.  "Well, usually, no - they don't usually do that unless they like them.  Though, sometimes, even kisses can be confusing."  They sometimes meant very different things than one might think.  But, her brother had only discussed the matter briefly in his letters - not out of an attempt to avoid it, but because there were just so many things to discuss after three years.  But - he had mentioned, vaguely and convoluted, the meeting with Anna.

"So - you hadn't kissed him to annoy Anna?"  Jacoba asked, carefully.  That seemed to have been the impression she'd gotten from Sasha.  "And, you were expecting him to play along?"  Jacoba looked up as the server set a tall mug of ... something golden and frothy in front of her.  "What little he's said about it, that seems to be what he thought was happening."  She peered across the table at the young woman, hoping she took the comment for what it was - the other part of what seemed to be a miscommunication.  Not an accusation or trying to apply blame. 

"I'm not sure - but, I don't think so," Jacoba said, honestly, shaking her head.  No - she didn't think she'd gotten the impression he had a crush on this Ava girl.  Most of it had implied worry on Sasha's part - but, again, such would require more information from the source.  And, he wasn't here right now. 

It was probably the entirely wrong moment to do so, but when Neely murmured her dismay that Sasha hadn't picked up on the subtle signs, Jacoba couldn't help laughing slightly and shaking her head.  It seemed rather fitting, unless he'd managed to change remarkably over the last few years.  "You've seen what part of my family's like - and, Anna's one of the easier parts of the family.  My brother might be somewhat smart, but he's also pretty dense, sometimes.  He probably didn't think beyond what it was - getting cocoa in the kitchens."  Besides, trips to the kitchens weren't, exactly, the classic date setting.

Moving on quickly from the topic of toys, as the waiter loomed near, Neely elaborated on real elves. “Well, ours have been in our family for centuries. They get old and hit the grave, and their children take over.” She blinked, as if that explained everything. Neely hadn’t the faintest idea where the elves came from, or how they’d been introduced into the Woolfolk family. The only thing she knew for certain was... “Usually, you have to have a bit of money, you know? The more money you have, the more elves. All the old families have them. They have to keep your secrets. Their loyalty is to you and only you.”

Wrinkling her nose, she giggled. “No, no. They wear clothes! But if you give them new clothes, it sets them free. They see it as an insult, really. They’re born to work. Like bees.”

The idea of a man and an elf falling in love was as hilarious as it was preposterous. Neely’s giggles turned into pure laughter, and she had to press a hand over her mouth to shut herself up. “Good golly Godric, I would not want to see their children.”

Neely shrugged, deciding to leave the young woman to her own devices. She seemed peculiarly... capable. Not that Sasha wasn’t, but sister seemed to be much more forward and aware of herself. Not a worrier. Not shy.

Nodding rather quickly, Neely couldn’t help but smile. “I mean, at first it was just for show, because we wanted to convince your sister, but-- come on, who does that?” Right? Right?! “And then I kissed him back and he did not push me away.” No, they’d both rather liked it, Neely was sure. Hadn’t he even admitted it, after she’d gone fished for a reaction? “Anna doesn’t go to Hogwarts,” she continued, “So why on earth would he think it was still a game?”

Boys. That was why. They were so blind sometimes. But how could anyone be that naive?! Especially someone as smart as Sasha. Neely wouldn’t admit it, but her dramatic anger had been a mask for feeling wounded.

A tiny blush crept into her cheeks, and Neely cleared her throat, sitting taller. She tried to keep a poker face, tried to ignore the laugh. “But what should I have done?” She asked quietly, wringing her hands in her lap, which was luckily hidden below the table’s edge. “You can’t just go up to someone and say ‘Will you go on a date with me to the kitchens for cocoa and snogging?’ Can you?” It went against every part of Girl Culture she’d learned! Magazines, mothers, and makeup adverts were all very particular about the whole dating game: the girl was supposed to be flirty, but coy, and the boy was supposed to do all of the asking. If he was shy, like Sasha, it was fine and dandy to give him a few queues... but surely if he’d liked Neely, he wouldn’t have written it all off as a game after the run in with Anna. Though outspoken, the small Slytherin sitting across from Jacoba knew there were rules to this sort of thing. And yet, here she was, begging advice off of the boy’s sister.