A truth universally acknowledged is a woman in want of a treat will go to a candy shop.  Margo Amherst was one such woman who was making such a trip.  Honeyduke’s was the place to be, though she would have preferred to go when it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend for the Hogwarts crew.  It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids, but really? It was so busy and so hard to get around – for a woman who already struggled to some extent with getting around to the best of her ability; having munchkins running around was not the easiest environment to maneuver, especially when she was already towering above most of them. 

She would have been more inclined to actually enjoy her time in the store if she didn’t hear the screaming and fighting of two first years trying to buy the same ice mice and then some poor second year getting tricked into sucking on an acid pop.  That was going to be a nasty trip to the infirmary.  Tugging off her dragon-hide jacket Margo sighed, it was hot in there with all the screaming and excess energy everywhere.  Someone wouldn’t even know it was November outside!

Of course, the weather was unusually nice for close to the beginning of winter.  She certainly enjoyed it.  The past week she had even worn a skirt to work – of course, it was a more than usual discussion piece when she had to go into the office like that.  Thankfully winter was really coming up and she’d be able to avoid the whole issue if at all possible.  No matter what happened, she would at least have her boots on.  Currently, those boots were securely on her feet and she was guiding them through the throngs of children at Honeyduke’s. 

Weaving through the crowd, Margo made her way to the chocolate section, looking at chocolate frogs, fudge flies – she was not entirely sold on this course of action.  Frowning gently, she felt almost like she needed something cinnamon… Pepper Imps!  She realized those would be exactly what she needed, especially for working in the office.  It’d be quite the kick for the lunch room (so immature), and she laughed as she picked up four packs for good measure, and then a box of fudge flies to top it off. 

Carrying the goods in her arm, Margo had her sights set specifically on the counter, the line for checkout was long and she didn’t really have all day (well she did, but she didn’t want to admit that).  Unfortunately, her focus was so set upon the line, she completely missed the fact she was going to totally wham into someone… and she grumbled angrily as she hit the block of body and dropped all of her pending purchases. “Oh sod it!”

  Fergie definitely appreciated Hogsmeade weekends. It was nice to get away from the castle and have a change of scenery, if only for an afternoon. It also provided him with a chance to do a little shopping and stock up on such important items as quills, ink, and, most important of all, sweets. No trip to Hogsmeade was complete without a stop in at Honeydukes, after all.

 As usual on these weekends the sweet shop was full to the brim with students of all ages, shapes, and sizes, and a fair amount of noise assailed his ears as he entered. Fortunately he was small enough to slip through the crowd easily, and old enough that he no longer had to fear being trampled by other customers...

 Or at least he'd thought so until, rounding a corner at the end of a row of shelves, someone knocked into him. This unexpected blow nearly sent both him and his half-full basket of sweets to the floor, and the sixteen year old felt all the irritation one normally feels when being almost knocked down because of someone else's stupidity. Fergie let out an exasperated sigh, taking a quick moment to smooth down his hair and now-rumpled blue sweater before reprimanding the offending party. "Excuse me!" he snapped, one hand going to his hip as he glared up at the dark haired woman in front of him, "Didn't anyone ever teach you to watch where you're-"

 The Slytherin broke off his statement as he realized, with some surprise, that his accidental attacker was not unknown to him. He hadn't seen her in years - their fathers didn't exactly get along - so it took him a few moments to place her, but eventually recognition dawned. "Margo?!"

Margo was not happy she dropped her things, she watched as a chubby child on the way to the chocolate frogs stepped on one of the boxes of pepper imps, crushing all of the hard, cinnamon and pepper candies with a sickening sort of crunch.  She winced and sighed, having to go get another few boxes and looked down at the shrimp she had bumped into. 

He wasn’t dressed like any other Hogwarts student she’d seen, certainly had the look of a Ministry G-man about him, in a more… fashionable sort of Diagon Alley shop window sort of way and that glare – oh that glare!  Quite the di- she blinked before she could even start comprehending where she recognized that trademark swoop of hair, the full lips, and big, eyes.  Oh! That look was almost immediately recognizable.

And as he started to form the start of her name, Margo responded with “Ferguson?!”  It was a complete bizarre turn of events.  She had not seen the tyke for years, between her travelling and the fact their fathers did not see eye to eye, well, Ferguson had not been taller than her hip the last time she saw him.  He had changed so much!

“Oh my Godric!” she finally said as she started to smile, stepping back to get a better look at him.  He was most assuredly the same kid she knew from at least – oh, six years ago?  He must have been… well, she was terrible with ages, but he was most assuredly not the young man she saw in front of her, except in the face and hair.  That apparently did not change.  “How are you?!  How have you been?  Wow.  It seems as though it’s been forever!”

  Upon recognizing the face before him, Fergie relaxed a little and the unpleasant scowl slipped from his face to be replaced by a warm smile. He didn't get to see her branch of the family often, but he'd always liked Margo. Fergie could remember her rescuing him from his brother at a family event when he was about seven or eight, and she'd always been unapologetically herself even if that meant she didn't quite fit in with their more formal relatives. He'd admired that, and of course anyone who delivered him from Marmaduke's violent clutches was cemented in his heart as a definite favorite.

 "I go by Fergie now, actually," he corrected her swiftly, "'Ferguson' always makes me feel like I'm in trouble." This was mostly because that was how his father always addressed him ('Fergie', apparently, not being a dignified enough moniker to please Algernon Amherst). And nine times out of ten when his father was speaking to him it was to point out that he was doing something wrong.

 When she stepped back, it offered Fergie the perfect opportunity to survey her and see how much she'd changed over the past several years. She was as tall as ever, he realized quickly when he had to look up a bit to meet her eyes. He wasn't too disturbed by this - he was a little shorter than most other boys his age, but at sixteen he wasn't done growing yet. He had a couple of years to catch up yet. But it would've been nice to have those few extra inches, if only to demonstrate how much he'd grown up since they'd last met.

 Oh well. He had other things to worry about, like Margo's unfortunate wardrobe choices. He carefully suppressed a sigh. No need to start in on her clothing right away. He'd give them a few minutes to reconnect first. She was right; it really did feel like it had been forever and he didn't want to estrange her by immediately criticizing her apparel. "I'm great! I'm a fifth year now. Slytherin. How about you? I heard you were out of the country!"

“Fergie?” Margo could not help but smile at that.  Apparently someone else hated their given name too, which was not a foreign concept to Marguerite Frances Amherst.  It was truly one of the worst names she had ever heard in her entire life and decided that Margo was far more appealing in every way.  “I like it,” she surveyed him, looking at the snappy clothes and together appearance – he clearly cared a lot more about himself than Margo did on most days, she laughed a bit. “It fits.” 

That was an apt assessment of it, and really, Ferguson had never really fit.  Of course, the nicknames his brother had come up for him had never really worked either.  Fergie was a wonderful choice.  She had always known she liked her spunky little cousin, much better than the other ones when they even got together.  He was unique and didn’t just listen to what people wanted either, she respected that.  Granted, it got them both into trouble, and earned some death stares for her in her day (and the never ending cursing of their fathers’ mother, who felt like she was a lost cause and should be blasted off the tree), but it was refreshing to be different. 

They were both certainly different, and Margo chuckled softly, forgetting about her candy for the time being and glad to see her cousin.  It was something to be enjoyed- it wasn’t like Marmaduke or anything! If that were the case, well, Margo would have jumped ship in about three seconds.  But, for the very special cousin now called Fergie she could stay for a while.

“Fifth year?!  Enjoying your Hogsmeade weekend?” She looked him up and down, well, that made sense.  Wow. He had been so much younger last time she saw him.  It was absolutely insane.  “You’re old,” she said pointedly, though the grin on her face was completely teasing.  She did not mean to be mean or anything, but she was stunned.  “Kind of making me feel old now too,” she laughed and then shrugged, waving her hand. 

“I was in Romania up until about six months ago,” she explained.  “I’m not surprised no one updated you,” she laughed, “I don’t think I told anyone but my parents and maybe Raul and Mateo… but, you know,” she shrugged, “Family."  It was enough of an explanation for the pair of them to understand, no doubt.  Never had the most stellar relationships with the web of people that made up the Amherst-Whatever jerks they married Clan.  "But, I'm back now - at the ministry - just one more disappointment," she chuckled and winked, putting her hands in her pockets.  "What about you - make prefect to make daddy proud?"

 "It fits." Fergie had to grin at his cousin, relieved. With his family, he could never be quite certain how they were going to receive his nickname. According to his grandmother, Ferguson was a fine name - her father's name - and he should be proud of it. Sigh. It wasn't that he disliked it or anything (with a brother named Marmaduke, he figured it could have been a lot worse), but it was kind of a mouthful and...well, like Margo had said. 'Fergie' just fit.

 "Thanks." Holding the Honeyduke's basket in the crook of an elbow, he folded his arms across his chest and leaned casually against a shelf, his usual self-satisfied smirk in place. "I certainly think so." As though that weren't already obvious.

 Apparently he didn't need the extra inches to prove that he'd grown considerably since the last time they'd met. He supposed that even if he wasn't quite as tall as she (or most of the other boys his age), he was still significantly taller than he had been at ten years old. And hopefully he'd grown into his nose a little more. "Yes, it's nice to get out of the castle for a while," he replied to her question about whether or not he was enjoying his Hogsmeade weekend.

 Old? "I'm sixteen - I'd hardly call that old," Fergie pointed out, shaking his head and laughing a little. "And while you might feel it, you certainly don't look it." She was only ten or so years older than him, after all. And if anything, it seemed that age had only improved Margo. She'd been sort of awkward and clumsy when she was younger, from what he could remember.

 “I was in Romania up until about six months ago.”

 The Slytherin nodded. "That explains..." he trailed off, surveying her outfit, and cleared his throat before continuing. "Are you having any trouble re-acclimating?" It was the politest way he could think of to complete his thoughts, at least verbally, on her outward appearance. As she'd expected, her simple statement of 'family' needed no explanation. With the relationship between their sets of parents being what it was, it wasn't really surprising no one had bothered to inform him that his cousin was back on British shores. "What made you come back home?" He inquired - he hadn't heard about her leg yet, either. "From what I recall, you seemed very excited about traveling. Get homesick?"

Had he made prefect...that question was easily answered by a shake of his head. Even had he been offered the badge, he wasn't sure he would have accepted it. He was going to have enough on his plate this year, studying for OWLs. He didn't really want the added responsibility. "I'm afraid I've been a bit of a disappointment there," he joked. Well, half joked, anyway. Between not making prefect, declining to even try out for the Quidditch team, and generally being...different from what was expected of him, Fergie knew there were areas in which his father found him to be lacking, or at least difficult to understand. Somehow, despite the fact that his marks in school had been mediocre at best and he possessed all the charm of a troll (at least when no one important was looking), Marmaduke had always been the favored son. It was frustrating, but that's just the way things were.

Well, well, well!  Ferguson surely learned something from his family – though it was a good something.  That bugbear-spit was charming, at least, and Fergie was good at it.  Perhaps he just remembered what she was like before and decided, along with the rest of the family, that even if age had done nothing for her sanity, at least it had balanced out her body and made her look a lot less like a walking stick bug and much more like a human being, in particular a woman, which was a step in the right direction.

Their shared grandmother had at least been thankful for that, though as much good as it was she could appear like a human in public, once she opened her mouth, it was over.  One step forward, sixteen steps back – that’s what they always said.  “That’s sweet of you,” she commented with a bit of a laugh and smirked before appraising him.  “But, I must say, you look fully sixteen – and so…” how did someone tell their sixteen year old cousin they dressed like a 40 year old model on the cover of a fashion magazine, “handsome.” 

She actually hated words like that, they seemed so generic, but it was the only thing that came to mind and she didn’t want to stall anymore, he would think she was being mean and the last thing she wanted to do was be mean to Ferguson.  He was one of the only people in her extended family on her father’s side that she could actually count on to not be judgmental, though mostly because he suffered from the same remarks she did, just on other issues. 

Of course, then he asked her if she was having trouble re-acclimating to England and she titled her head to the side.  She didn’t think she was, at least that had never come across.  She had been here for a good number of months, clearly she was readjusted.  “No, not really.  I used to slip into Romanian at times,” she shrugged, “but it’s gotten much better.”  Sometimes, it was a blessing she was so oblivious to the obvious meanings of a back-handed question.  The gentle wording made it indecipherable to the brunette.  And then there was the far less subtly questioned remark, which made Margo smile sadly. 

“Not homesick, no.  There was a bit of a thing  - you know, dragons… Not exactly as cuddly as a pigmy puff,” a bit of a nervous laugh, “But, I had to spend a spell in the hospital,” she waved her hand dismissively, as though it were not a big deal  - which, of course, it was – but she did not like to admit to it, “Best decision was to come back to Britain and take a more… steady job.”  That was the easiest way to put it for the time being.  Fergie wouldn’t care to know about the leg thing and she didn’t want to share in the middle of Honeydukes.  It was too loud and the second she did, it would get silent and everyone would hear how her leg (and most of her lower half) was mangled and burned and that was just awkward. 

Satisfied that the subject was changing, Margo let the anxiety turn into pleasure and laughed when he said he was a disappointment there.  She was not disappointed in the least and grinned easily.  “That’s okay.  I was never exactly a model student figure either.  Are you at least doing me proud and raising hell?” she laughed even at the suggestion.  He did not look like the type that would cause trouble, except maybe posting lists of the worst dressed people at Hogwarts.  No doubt if they had gone to school together, she would have been at the top of that very list.  Thankfully, things had changed (at least in her opinion). 

Handsome. Fergie smirked - he could deal with that. "Thank you," he said, nodding graciously, although inside he was preening. Who didn't like to be told they looked good? Fergie, personally, thrived off of such compliments. Unfortunately he was already pretty vain on his own - stroking his ego involved a risk. He was in danger of becoming insufferably conceited at times.

 Apparently subtle didn't work on Margo. His hint about her clothing seemed to have gone completely over his cousin's head. He suppressed a sigh...he'd have to figure out some way to gently, but firmly push her in the right direction. He couldn't have a relative (especially one that he liked and was eager to get to know again) walking around looking so... His eyes rested on the battered jacket she was wearing as he mentally trailed off, trying to think of the appropriate word. Scuffed up? Bedraggled? Something like that.

 "Have you been shopping since you got back?" He inquired finally. This was far from subtle - surely she'd get it now, although he hoped she realized he meant no offense. "Maybe I could go with you, if I still have time before I have to head back to school." He wouldn't have trusted her purchases if she went on her own.

 Fergie took her explanation as to why she'd returned home at face value. She was obviously in one piece (or so he thought), so it couldn't have been anything too serious. He could definitely understand wanting to come home to a less dangerous job after an unpleasant encounter with a dragon, no matter how slight the consequences. Of course, he wouldn't have gone to work with them to begin with...but Margo clearly didn't share his penchant for self-preservation. "Well it's nice to have you back. Hopefully we can meet up more now." His parents wouldn't like it, but well...London was a big town. They didn't necessarily have to know.

 Him? Raising hell? The Slytherin shook his head, letting out an amused snort. "Hardly," he told her, grinning. "I hate to disappoint you as well as my father, but I've never been much of a rebel. At least...not from a disciplinary standpoint." Not that he was an angel, by any means. He just didn't fancy landing himself in detention and did all he could to avoid it.

Shopping? What kind of question is that?  Raising her eyebrows, she looked down at her hands, realizing she had dropped all of her snacks, so maybe that wasn’t going to happen, but whatever the case, she pursed her lips, unsure of what he was insinuating.  He couldn’t possibly be talking about clothes, who had time for that?  Shaking her head, she just had to laugh.  “Only for work clothes.  Apparently it is frowned upon to wear dragon leather pants to the office,” she shrugged with a bit of a laugh, “who knew?” 

Of course, back on the field, she’d probably never wear leather pants to work either, but that was because she’d been in a pair of pants she cared very little about and probably knee-deep in something they didn’t even want to know what it was.  Fergie, with his clean cut look about him and penchant for not wanting to get dirty, well, he would die.   Margo was not quite so concerned about getting dirty or having trouble with that sort of thing, but she could practically see her cousin dying on the inside.  His suggestion to go shopping with her, well, for some reason, images of argyle and pearls flashed through her mind and it just made her think of being at home – a sick sort of feeling. 

“Maybe over the holiday,” she smiled somewhat anxiously in response to his idea.  It was a decent way to put it off for the time being.  “I just popped down to the Village weekend, but I’ve got some things to do… you know, busy.”  Her vagueness and flippancy was a clear indicator the suggestion was uncomfortable at best   That would probably involve a lot of planning and Ferguson would not be allowed to leave Hogsmeade, just bad decisions – and then there was the whole body thing – lots of scars, bad stuff-  not happening. 

With that decision already firmly made in her mind,  and smiled far more easily when the conversation got out of the boutique and back into the present.  It wasn’t as though she felt badly about herself, quite the opposite, but things fit differently and she had a hard time adjusting to different shoes or things because of the stiffness and anything too short or too low-cut was going to show off unsightly marks, which other people in the field did not care about, but on a larger basis, people turned a very critical and curious eye to scars, and it was such a pain in the arse to explain. 

Meeting with Ferguson more might incline her to allow him to have that honor, but for now, she just nodded.  “That’d be great.  You should owl me when you’re going to be done for the holidays, we can get together.” She dug in her jacket pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, “I can write my address down for you.”  That would be absolutely wonderful. 

She grinned a bit and put her hands in her pockets, rueful.  “Maybe I can teach you how to raise a little hell if you’re going to try and dress me.”  She grabbed a box of candy from the shelf and looked at him with a critical eye, tossing it in the air for a moment, glancing at the counter.  The man was so busy, incredibly busy – he wouldn’t even notice.  To some extent, she just wanted to see how horrified her cousin would be, but then she figured he might not even want to know her after that.  She put the trinket down for now.  She’d horrify him in some other way at some near future point.  “Deal?”

 Dragon leather pants to the office. She wore dragon leather pants to the office. Fergie couldn't even remember the last time he'd been so horrified by someone's wardrobe choices. Wearing them (and the jacket, and the boots - oh Godric, had she worn those to the office to?) around Hogsmeade was bad enough, but even someone who'd been off living in the wilderness for years should know better than to wear them in to their desk job.

 "Anyone with common sense!" He couldn't stop himself from exclaiming. Bloody banshee. Had she really not known any better? Fergie took a deep, calming breath, smoothing down his sweater. "Er...no offense." It just physically pained him to think of it, that was all.

  Her tone when she postponed the shopping trip left him feeling skeptical.  Somehow, he wasn't certain he could wrangle a better time out of her, at least not yet. It was his own fault, he supposed, after that little outburst just then. "We'll have to see what we can arrange," he told her brightly anyway. Fergie was stubborn, but he was also smart. He knew when to push and when to step back. He would bring up the shopping trip another day, when it seemed more likely to be well received.

 Hopefully over the holidays, since she seemed eager to see him again at that time. "Really?" He asked enthusiastically, when she offered to write down her address for him. "I'd like that. Do you have a quill? I didn't think to bring one with me this afternoon." He'd have to make up some excuse to tell his father - Algernon Amherst definitely did not approve of Margo and her dragon leather pants - but he was sure he'd think of something. 

 "That's not exactly my style," he explained, eyes widening as she plucked an item off the shelf and looked pointedly towards the counter. She couldn't really be suggesting what he thought she was suggesting. Could she?  "Margo, I'm not gonna -" he hissed, stepping closer so no one could overhear. He wasn't going to steal. Who needed to, anyway? He had plenty of pocket money. And he wasn't risk getting banned from the shop just to...'raise hell'. His parents would murder him! After a moment, however, he let out a sigh of relief as she put it back on the shelf. Margo was clearly insane. He shook his head, frowning heavily. "That wasn't funny."

Margo just laughed.  Ferguson clearly had a better understanding of what was appropriate and what was not, but Margo just never had to care about stuff like that.  It became more apparent now when she actually had things to worry about  - like how people viewed her and if she was going to get fired, but even still, she had things to do and didn’t really have time to worry about what was going on with her clothes when there were people to place and dragons to work with. 

His reaction was absolutely perfect.  She couldn’t have imagined anything better, and she laughed softly, looking down at herself.  She didn’t think anything badly about what she was wearing, but apparently he had some issues.  Shrugging, she wasn’t really there to impress Ferguson with her outfit, and she didn’t really wear her clothes to impress people – she wore them because they were comfortable and they were her.  Well, they were what she thought were her.  Perhaps Ferguson, upon knowing her better, could also make that choice. 

She would be more comfortable with that when he actually had a chance to really get to know her.  That meant she wanted him to be aware of a lot of things – and not immediately jump to the flowing gowns and things that the rest of the family wore just because it was fashionable.  It didn’t look right on her in many situations and she was not that type of woman.  Fergie was probably gathering that, but he did not even begin to know the extent.

“I think so…” she mumbled, feeling around her pockets for a quill.  Ah!  Tugging it out of the inner pocket of her jacket, she jotted down her address in London, a nice selection of flats that were wizarding in nature, and smiled, holding it out to her cousin.  “Make absolutely certain you keep in touch with me,” she ordered with a playful grin, hoping her handwriting was legible.  She knew what she wrote, but if Fergie needed clarification, she’d probably just have to write to him first…

Of course, the way he was reacting to even the mere holding of the item with that devious little smirk was enough to say that perhaps he wouldn’t contact her at all.  She couldn’t help but laugh – he really was straight laced, but dropped the smile when he hissed at her like an angry cat.  Well, well!  She put it down easily, and laughed even harder as he smoothed himself out and preened to the point of polished Persian once again.  “Yeh, it was,” she grinned, still laughing with each passing breath. 

“You need to loosen up, Fergie.”  She tapped his shoulder with a soft push, giggling.  "But, for scaring you, I'll buy your candy.  Cousin treat," she smiled and went to grab his purchases from him.  Still not the best with manners, she did mean well - and the ministry was not skimpy on paying its bureaucrats.  She could afford to treat her cousin a bit!

Fergie glanced over the scrap of paper before pocketing it, wanting to make sure his cousin's handwriting was legible enough that he wouldn't get confused. He couldn't remember ever having seen her handwriting before, but wouldn't be surprised if she gave it the same lack of care and attention as she obviously gave her wardrobe. Fortunately, it seemed decipherable and he was able to fold it back up and stick it in his pocket, confidant that he'd have no trouble reading it later.

 "Yes, ma'am," he told her, the saucy twinkle in his eyes at variance with the air of feigned docility he'd given the words. He didn't think he'd have any reason to disobey the issued order - she was easy to talk to, and they had plenty of catching up to do. "But you have to write me back. Deal?"

  What was it about family that gave them the innate ability to ruffle one's feathers like no one else? Fergie continued to glower at his cousin as she continued to laugh at him. Honestly? Was his reaction to her blatant display of hooliganism that amusing? "My apologies," he huffed, words dripping with sarcasm. "My sense of humor must not be as highly evolved as yours."

 He blinked at the shoulder shove, not really sure how he was supposed to react to it. That brand of palling around was sort of...foreign, to him. He wasn't used to it, especially from family. Was he supposed to push her back? He didn't know the proper etiquette for the situation. "I'm...plenty loose," he said, settling for an awkward grin. But that quickly slid off his face as she made a move to take his basket of candy from him. "Wait," he said, clutching it tightly and eying her warily, "I appreciate the offer, but...you're actually going to pay for them, right?" Hey - given what had just happened, he felt he had to make sure.

Her cousin was saucy!  Margo grinned as he sassed her with his seemingly innocent words, but the tone – well, it wasn’t that innocent.  Smirking, she nodded and held out her hand for a handshake.  She would have, just to mortify him, spit in her hand first – but decided that, in public, it was not the thing to do.  Maybe some things had actually stuck from her childhood, like spitting in public was not acceptable.  “You have yourself a deal,” she smiled brightly, using a term she had learned from an American in Sweden, finding the accent hilarious and the turn of phrase fun to repeat. 

She would look forward to really getting to know one of the cousins she could actually stand.  There were just a few that she would like to actually associate with and Fergie was one of them.  She had never really known his younger sister, as she was a lot younger than Margo, but then there was Covi, who she now worked with – she supposed that was it.  Duke was a horrible git and the rest of the cousins were extended, and most usually horrible.  Margo had a lot of problems from childhood with them that she preferred to keep in the past, so she avoided most of the people she grew up with.  It was nice to actually find one that she felt an almost instant connection with.

“You’re really loose, I can see that,” she teased pointedly, looking him up and down like he probably would have done to her if she were some sort of stranger – passing judgment without a second thought.  Of course, all she could think when she looked at him was miniature fashionista professor but that wasn’t the point.  She was just so amused with him. 

If she did not want to waste her time with him, she would not have been so happy to laugh – perhaps at him this time – and his attitude that told her that he should have had pursed lips and snapped at her.  “You’re forgiven,” she responded with a cheeky sort of sensibility, and gladly started toward the register, turning on her heel as he suggested that she might not pay for them.  Laughing outright this time, Margo looked down at him (as she looked down at most people) and laughed heartily.  “Of course I am,” she said with conviction, though she could not help but smile, waiting at the end of the line after grabbing two more boxes of pepper imps. 

She loved those things and would go crazy without them.  The fudge flies had been saved, thankfully, but she needed her pepper imps.  As she waited, she looked at him curiously. “So, what else do you have planned for the day?  Meeting up with friends?” 

 Fergie gave his chin a slight, defiant tilt upwards as Margo's gaze flitted critically from the top of his head to the tips of his loafers. Considering that he made a point to never step out of his dorm room, let alone the castle, without making sure he looked as well as he possibly could, he knew he didn't have a reason to be worried that she would find some fault with his appearance. Besides - she was wearing dragon leather pants. Who was she to judge?

 But he still got the feeling she was laughing at him, and he wasn't exactly sure how to take that. "I am," he asserted, on the subject of being 'loose', since she clearly didn't believe him. "Just because I'm not a juivenile delinquent doesn't mean I don't know how to have fun. It just means that I'm...more creative with it." And that he stayed out of trouble.

 Oh, well...he sighed in relief as she assured him that she would, in fact, be paying. Margo might be capable of getting away with stealing one small box of candy, but an entire basket? He shook his head. That would have ended in disaster. "Oh. Well...thank you," he said, smiling as he stepped into the queue beside her. "I appreciate it."

 Fergie shrugged when she asked him about his plans for the day. He hadn't really made any concrete ones, except - "I wanted to make it to Gladrags before they closed for the day," he told her. "That's about it, as far as actual planning goes. What about you?"

“I’m a delinquent, but definitely not juvenile,” Margo countered with a sassy little smile and a hair flip.  She was – dare she say it – much older than a juvenile at this point, though she did not usually feel that way.  In fact, there were days when she woke up and was surprised she wasn’t in her dorm at Hogwarts anymore.  She had the heart of a young person, and the mind of one as well, so getting along with the theme of being completely immature, she was not going to break the law. 

She might have when she was younger, to be perfectly honest, but now?  Well, she was with her cousin at the moment and didn’t want to be a bad influence.  That would just be unfair to him and if they got caught she would totally get in trouble beyond what she was willing to just to mortify Ferguson, so that was part of it too.  She was not the type to commit the crime and not be willing to do the time.  One had to be committed, and she just wasn’t.

So, placing the amount of candy that she was toting on the counter, she didn’t really think of the price at all.  It wasn’t as though she wouldn’t have the money, especially because her parents had been smart enough to set up funds for them providing they made it to twenty without getting in serious trouble.  It had been a miracle, but Margo had actually accomplished the task without a prison sentence, so she didn’t consider money to be an issue.  It wasn’t, and putting down the amount without a second glance, Margo requested two bags, separating the items, and grinned as she took both from the cashier – seemingly exceptionally frazzled from the amount of children in his store.

Holding out the bag for Fergie to take, she smiled.  “It’s no big deal.  I know how it is, free stuff is always welcome when you’re a teenager.”  Hell, Free stuff was still awesome when you were an adult, but it always seemed like there was something magic about getting something free as a kid.  She couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling, but maybe it was the fact that spending your own money seemed like such a sin as a child, so someone giving you something was just the icing on the cake that made complete sense. 

And his plans, of course, made sense for him.  Nodding she smiled, “Sounds like a good plan to me,” she consented, “I was going to do this,” she raised her bag, shaking it a little, “and then pop down for some quills and ink – running low, and ministry black is so dull,” she grinned with a bit of a laugh.  She would never use Ministry supplied ink when she could get her own, and she wanted a new quill – something red, she thought to herself, something flashy, she liked that.  “Maybe Three Broomsticks later tonight, when all of you are gone,” she added with a wink, “But we’ll see about that one.” 

“What about your friends?” she asked, "Shouldn't you be surrounded by a gaggle of like minded students raising... fashion awareness or something?" she grinned crookedly, trying to joke with him before they inevitably parted ways for the time being.  She surely wasn't going shopping with him and he had other plans, which she also had.  It was just temporary though, at least she hoped!