outfit | babything + babycoatthing

The tiny bundle at her chest was less blanket and more pink flesh; Colin had been let out of the hospital after two weeks of close observation and persistent treatment, and he was as healthy as any infant could hope to be, if a bit smaller. But small was lucky, Tilly had learned: her own little corner of sunshine in the bustling Wizarding streets had proved faithful for years, and she couldn't asked for more. And now her tiny flat was even more crowded, with baby gifts and a hippie-ish nursery, and good tidings coming in and out of the door at all hours of the day.

But where there were small, wondrous joys, there were also cruel fates, and not everyone had been so fortuitous as Colin. For every well-wisher and friendly face baring homemade bread or knitted baby jumpers, there were strange looks in the darker parts of the alley, unsaid words in old crones' eyes, and tears of mourning in the wake of the newest attack on the ancient cobbled marketplace.

Matilda had not even been able to give her thanks to Ramona for the adorable guitar-themed onesies and musical mobile she'd gifted the new family-- lucky relics of Johnny's own infancy, and cherished by the young mother, whose own love was also a musician and (now) a proud father. They'd barely had Colin in their home for a week when the news had arrived at the door, solemn faces and pointy hats removed and placed over chests in the heart-stopping manner that preceded fatal news. Crying for lost life and nursing new life all at once had been a queasy head rush, and it left Tilly wondering where to be sad and where to be grateful. She was thankful, deadly thankful, that Ramona's children had gone unharmed. It was a terrible thing for a parent to bury a child, she was now certain, and everything Ramona had done, until her last breath, had been for her brood.

So Tilly had offered her shabby chic home, and second home, Reducto, too, to the girls with open arms. Her flat was not big enough to bring them in permanently, and they had their own father and brother besides, but girls often wanted women in their lives, and it was the very least Matilda Quinn could do for the children who had taught her so much about parenting when she'd spent long summer nights babysitting them and building quilted forts in their living room.

Soft music played over the invisible speakers in the storage room-staff room hybrid, soothing but upbeat. Colin seemed to like it, for he made not a sound but to gurgle milk, and Tilly had to smile at that, even if she was still sad for having to attend her dear friend's funeral the day prior.

Another friend turned family member, Jacoba, had done brilliantly in keeping the place together while Tilly had been away in St. Mungo's, juggling healers, aurors, a premie, and worried friends. Now Tilly found solace in being at the shop-- being home-- when she could spare a few hours, and she wanted Colin to be raised around the people and the magic she loved. Music was its own magic, it had been said. With Dennis for a dad, and Tilly for a mum, the child was bound to favor guitar strings as much as he would a wand. She smoothed the swirl of downy, white-blond, baby-soft hair atop his head and stood up, wrapping her cardigan around the pair of them as she headed for the door.

Customers browsed the bins, shelves, and displays. A young sales boy was ringing out a modest queue of happy music lovers at the clerk's counter. Upstairs she could hear the muffled creak of the floor and the echo of drums as instruments were repaired and tested and haggled over. Down in the basement, she knew a seasoned old musician, half-blind and fierce as fire, was methodically magicking the last parts of the new recording studio. The old, cramped space upstairs by the practice booths and lesson rooms stood as it always had, and was offered to those who still favored its postered walls.

All of it was coming together, and all of it was moving to fast. When had her world changed so much? It finally occurred to her how truly thankful she was for the aurors posted stealthily about the shop and street.

"Jess," she told the boy behind the counter. "Go on your break. It's past time you got some food in you." She crinkled her nose into a wicked little grin, and sidled up beside him at the counter. Cupping his shoulder, she nodded toward the queue. "I've got this." It only took one hand to manage a register, and Colin was still tiny enough to rest sleepily in one arm, his baby eyelashes fluttering softly against healthy cheeks while he slumbered in her cardigan.

She'd meant to spend more time away, on maternity leave, but that was before. The music had drawn her back, and the series of events leading up to spring had reminded her how short life was. If her son begrudged her a little music and the chime of the ancient register, he made no indication. Reading babies, she thought. It's harder than reading Beethoven. What would Ramona have advised?

Jacoba was just coming off of her own break when Jess had slipped out the door.  They exchanged brief greetings as the boy moved off on his way and Jacoba grinned as the boy flashed a nervous, bashful grin to Jesse Payne, Three Owl's keyboardist.  As the band was still between tours (and there was a new Creevey in the house), Jesse, along with the band members had become common sights around record shop.  And, in the last few days, Jesse had proven himself invaluable. 

With Adon not able to walk Jacoba to and from work, both Jesse and Corby had offered their flats as floo points into Diagon Alley and both had offered to see Jacoba the short distance from their flats to the shop.  As Jesse had actually done well on his Defense Against the Dark Arts test and Corby had all of one OWL to his name, Jesse had gotten the volunteer gig.  A roll for which Jacoba was eternally grateful. 

The kebab sandwich, bag of chips and can of soda under her arm were proof that her break hadn't included time to eat.  Today was just proving to be a somewhat crazy day.  On top of a rather crazy week.  On top of what was, let's face it, an extremely crazy year.  Jacoba had dashed down the alley at the start of her break and had used Jesse's fireplace to floo to St. Mungo's.  The majority of her break had been spent there, checking in on Adon.  She'd floooed back a short while later and, with Jesse's help, had made her way down to the street outside the Leaky Cauldron with just enough time to call her brother and check in with him as she waited for them to prepare her sandwich.  Jesse, bless him, had seen Jacoba back to Reducto. 

She pushed her way to the register, fully expecting to have to jump right into ringing up and cashing folks out.  But, to her delight and surprise, a familiar face was behind the register.  "Ah, meine Liebe,[1]" Jacoba breathed as she slipped behind the counter, brushing a friendly peck of a kiss on Tilly's cheek and grinning at the baby before plopping on a stool just behind the counter.  "My father would have my head for saying so, but you're my savior," she tagged on, plopping on a stool and shoving a chip into her mouth.  "I'll be just a minute more," she ensured Tilly around a mouthful of potato.

1.	Oh, my love,

The register clanged like an exotic but absurdly familiar chime as Tilly made the sale and looked up to find Jacoba where Jess had stood. The Squib grinned and returned the loving peck to the cheek, basking in the accustomed murmur of German. She had no idea what the words meant (she usually didn’t), but the voice was enough to stir her. After the strange month they’d had, Tilly was pleased to be back in her day-to-day routine-- with its less than conventional, but all-too-peaceful quirks.

“How is he?” She asked, following Jacoba into the break room a few moments later when the last customer in queue had left with the latest Ogden’s Old LP under his arm. For all her time spent in the hospital, Tilly had not had the chance to go back and visit Adon with Jacoba. “What are the doctors saying?”

She shifted the slumbering Colin to the other arm without much effort (he was much strong now, but still a frightfully tiny thing), and stole a too-tantalizing chip from Jacoba. Tilly chewed, waiting for the verdict, and with a little more faith in the medical community than she’d had some weeks ago. She supposed she owed to them-- Quincy’s protectiveness had helped heaps, Merlin knew.

Still, Tilly felt haunted whenever she passed the looming exterior of the hospital. She knew now that things were settling down, she’d have time to pay a proper visit to Adon, who had been a very dutiful customer in addition to being Jacoba’s lover and flatmate. It made her clutch Colin a little closer, wondering if all the people being treated in the aftermath of the werewolf attacks, and now this runespoor mess, were as frightened and confused as she’d been. Some brave soul she’d proved. It made her wrinkle her nose. She’d opted to take Colin to Quincy or Tulojow... or Ramona, before...

Tilly frowned. "Venomous knives and assassinations and wolves in broad daylight. I still can’t get over it. What’s happened to this world? Who would create such...” She trailed off; she had no idea who to blame. She’d always been steadfastly anti-weapon and pro-werewolf’s-rights, but where did this leave them? Wands weren't even the root of the evil. Ages of policy might be overturned, bizarre things were still being smuggled into the country from every direction, and the new ‘monster’ breed, these direwolves, no one was any the wiser on where they’d come from. It wasn’t some sudden evolution, as far as Tilly could understand. There had to be a spark... But when you lit an animal on fire, you had to run or prepare to be staked through the heart by anxious horns. "God, I sound like my mother." Despite everything, she laughed. "Sorry, Jacoba, I... wish we could just throw open the doors and throw a party."

Eternally grateful for the few extra minutes to eat, Jacoba flopped herself on the old, ragged easy chair in the corner with her lunch in her lap.  She wrapped her fingers around the heavenly greasy kebab sandwich and hunched over her lap, nudging the packet of chips with her pinkie to give Tilly easier access. 

"He's doing better," Jacoba assured Tilly between mouthfuls of lunch.  "They've still got him fairly well drugged which ..."  She shrugged and bought herself some time to think of how to end that sentence by taking another bite of her sandwich.  She chewed slowly this time, granting herself a moment to both savor the spices and think.  "I'm quickly discovering it's not quite as fun being the only sober one in the room."  She hesitated a moment, staring down at her sandwich as Tilly proceeded to sum up the turmoil of the last few weeks. 

"I swear," she offered in conclusion, with a shake of her head.  "Nine months ago, I never would have thought any of this stuff was even possible.  And, there hadn't been any of this worrying about others."  It had been just her.  No family.  Plenty of casual connections but none of them were actually significant enough.  What's happened to this world?  "You're asking me?" Jacoba asked with a chuckle as she glanced up at Tilly.  "First Niobe.  Then my brother's stupidity.  Now Adon.  I must be the first muggle most of the St. Mungo's staff can identify on sight." 

"You definitely don't sound like my mother." Jacoba grinned as she munched on a chip.  "And, that can't be anything but a compliment.  Trust me.  You'd have ..."  Really, imagining a conversation between TIlly and her mother wasn't nearly as entertaining as it might have seemed.  It would have ended quickly.  Her mother would have dismissed Tilly in the first sentence and turned away. 

Jacoba shrugged.  "We could," she pointed out.  "The muggle world does benefit and awareness concerts all the time.  I mean, Reclaim the Night does their marches and events each November ... I guess it's not a party but there's no reason why we couldn't."  People could throw parties to lighten the mood.  People could also throw parties with purpose and lighten moods and bring awareness.  By now, someone probably would expect something of the sort out of the little record shop that could. 

Tilly nodded sympathetically. The hospital did like to go heavy on the drugs... "Mmm, try it for nine months," she teased, raising an eyebrow in the younger woman's direction. "Well, five, but..." She looked down at Colin, smiling somewhat guiltily. "I guess I wasn't the only one to give up the bottle." Dennis, for his part, had done wonderfully. She felt a little bad, actually, having to rob him prematurely of his rockstar life so that he could play house. But it was worth it. Colin was worth it.

"And what about Sasha?" It had a been rough week for Jacoba.

Speaking of nine months...

"Nine months ago, I never would have thought any of this stuff was even possible."

Tilly laughed. Having grown up in the wizarding world, it was everything she knew. But she understood where Jacoba was coming from, perhaps a little better than most of the people the Schalgenweit girl encountered on the cobbled street from day to day. Tilly didn't have a wand; she couldn't do magic, not real magic. All her life she'd wished and waited, and it made no difference: they were both spectators who had run headfirst through the brick wall behind the Leaky, and it made the living bit quite the adventure. Tilly wouldn't trade it, though, not even if it meant erasing all the bumps they'd experienced along the way. Some of those bumps had paid off. Colin included.

She was glad, too, to be told that she didn't sound like someone's mother. Well, not the sort she supposed Jacoba's mother had been (as much as she dearly Jacoba, and had to congratulate her belated parents for producing such an enthralling young woman, the stories of her friend's tight-laced father and traditional, conservative family had been somewhat cringe-worthy). But Tilly still felt weird calling herself a mum, so she had no business judging anyone else's. As far as she could tell, it was a hard job. She wanted to be a good mother, but she wanted to be Tilly, too. She smiled softly, pensively. "But I'm sure there was something in there that helped make you what you are," she offered. Rather, everything Mrs. Schlagenweit had been had apparently inspired to Jacoba to be the exact opposite. "I wonder if I'll worry as much as my own mum did when I went away to school for the first time..."

But that was ages. She and Dennis still needed to survive to thirty, and it would still be years before they saw it.

A party. Yes. The more Tilly thought abut it, the more it unraveled in her head. Exploded like fireworks. "A benefit would be perfect... and I know we're not the only business in the alley would want to contribute." Even if sometimes it felt like they were alone, Tilly knew they had more friends than enemies. Strangers, a lot of them, but well-meaning ones. "We should probably talk to Roh first." She pushed her lips to the side, having said what had to be said.

"Me?"  Jacoba lowered her sandwich onto its waxed paper wrapper and shook her head, slightly.  She tried to picture it: her.  Pregnant.  On the verge of figuring out how to account for the responsibility of another's life.  "I don't think I'm exactly the motherly type."  Not that she'd really known what the motherly type really was until she'd met Hestia.  "He stuck to it, too, you know," Jacoba offered.  "Dennis.  Given how much Jesse complained about Dennis' complaining, it's got to be true."

Jacoba met Tilly's question about Sasha with an unintended groan as she retrieved the kebab sandwich from the paper.  She was certain, as she suspected Dreogan was, that Sasha wasn't exactly being forthcoming about what had happened.  But, she knew her brother.  The more any of them pushed, the more he'd clam up.  "That's right, I didn't tell you.  Such an idiot."  The sandwich was, once more, abandoned.  "Last Thursday, Dreogan discovered Sasha had been attacked by a werewolf.  Yeah," Jacoba nodded, figuring Tilly could and probably had done the math.  The attacks had occurred on Wednesday.  "He thought he could handle it himself.  Was giving himself antibiotics.  It was obviously all infected but the weirdest thing was when we got him to St. Mungo's, they said he'd already gotten some healing.  Your guess is as good as mine as to where.  Idiot."

Tilly laughed and Jacoba grinned, shaking her head.  This was, indeed, perhaps one of those situations one could only laugh at.  There wasn't much more they could do.  Well, that wasn't entirely true.  But, none of the options Jacoba was aware were very attractive. 

"In my mother?"  Jacoba looked startled at Tilly's assumption and watched the woman for any obvious signs that the comment was intended as a joke.  Either the squib wasn't joking or she was very good at acting.  "I ... heh ... no."  Jacoba's laugh was tense and bitter.  "My mother didn't bother herself with matters like childrearing.  That's what hired staff is for.  She could have stood up to my father but doing so interfered with her social schedule.  I was at boarding school by the time I was eight.  They found a place that'd take my brother when he'd turned seven.  I don't think I remember more than a handful of conversations with my mother."  She'd always wondered if that would have changed if her father was ever out of the picture. 

Jacoba watched Tilly, giving her some careful consideration.  Of course, she knew little about Tilly's mother so wasn't really qualified to guess.  But, she would still try.  "I suspect you'll worry.  But, not in a bad way.  Will you have him go to school before Hogwarts, though?"  She asked, curiously. 

The idea of a benefit concert sounded grand.  That was, until, Tilly's last suggestion dragged reality back to the forefront.  There was no way Roh was going to consider such an idea if it came from Jacoba.  That much, she was certain of.  Jacoba wasn't usually the sort to back down from a perceived challenge so it felt weird to hesitate.  But, the idea just wasn't sitting right.  "I'm not sure the idea can be mine," Jacoba admitted with a regretful sigh.  "In fact, I suspect she'd interpret it as me trying to stir trouble.  That might be enough to overstay my welcome."  Jacoba wasn't sure what it would take to have the obliviators sent after her.  But, that might be pushing it.

Tilly looked up from the baby’s face, which had become chubby and rosy with health, only on a smaller scale: their own little, rebellious runt of the pack. She grinned knowingly at Jacoba. “I don’t think I fit the bill, exactly, either... but it happened. Maybe one day. You’re a young one, still!” Hell, Tilly was, too, for that matter. She had to raise a brow, though.

“Oh, did he now?” Tilting her head so that her hair was again in Colin’s trap, but thank the gods the baby was slumbering. “He’s stuck to his guns-- er, strings, though.” Wands? Tilly wasn’t in a position to choose any weapon, let alone one over another. A guitar seemed more powerful than magic or bullets, in her slightly biased opinion. Peace! And rock... And sobriety, apparently. “It’s not the drinking, it’s the... excess. You know? Some people just can’t really stop when they’re on a roll with it.” Artists in particular, Matilda had learned. Something about all of that passion and energy bottled up in a person who hated nine-to-fives and went against the grain of society. Everyone needed their crutch, their thing to depend on. “We’re proud of him. I just hope it doesn’t stop him from writing...”

Tilly didn’t want to be that person who ruined Three Owl.

Knitting her brows, the young mother wondered when any of them would get a break. Wasn’t a sober Dennis and a new storefront window enough?! Now Jacoba’s brother was in the hospital with Adon, and Ramona was gone, and everyone’s family was in a panic. She swished her lips to the side and shook her head, rounding the table to place a free hand on Jacoba’s shoulder. “Breathe. I’m sure he didn’t go looking for a werewolf, so...” Tilly couldn’t help but smile a bit. For all their supposed differences, both of the siblings seemed to have a penchant for finding trouble. It wasn’t particularly funny (it wasn’t funny at all), but something in the calmer aftermath made it endearing. “At least we know the line just keep swimming runs in the family.”

Tilly had a habit of asking blatant-- sometimes inappropriate-- questions when she only meant to be comforting, but she was aware it was odd to bring up Jacoba’s mum so soon after... everything. “Ah, sorry, love, I...” She wasn’t one to beat around the bush-- she would have made a fine Gryffindor, minus the squib thing-- but she knew how much the muggle girl had been through in a few short months. “I wish you two could have been closer. But, for what it’s worth, you seemed to have turned out perfectly adjusted.” There was warm humor in her throat, and she stroked the back of Jacoba’s dark hair before pulling away and giving Colin another little rock to keep him dreaming sweetly.

She’d thought about it, both before and after telling Dennis she wanted to do this, to have a family, to shack up and raise the miracle product of their emotional one-night stand in her cramped Diagon flat. “Mmm. If we find the right fit. Some place where he can be himself, yeah. I think school’s brilliant-- if it brings out the kid in the kid, instead of trying to turn him into someone he isn’t or doesn’t want to be. It’s nice to adjust to being around people your own age, isn’t it? Sometimes kids are too sheltered and they...” She frowned, not quite sure how to explain it without being insensitive. She had nothing against homeschooling. “I mean, politics get in the way sometimes, but I want him to be adjusted for when Hogwarts comes. I don’t think either of us are the best person to teach him maths and basic, conservative essay structure,” she admitted sheepishly. “I could do it, but my mind would probably wander more than Colin’s. Still, it might be fun to bring him on tour and let the world be his teacher.” She could imagine her son tucked between Jesse and Corby in some pub, doing arithmetic or reading a children’s wizarding history book. “I expect him to write to me heaps when he’s at Hogwarts, though!” She laughed. She was, in true motherly fashion, already dreading the day she had to send him off on a train. “If takes after Dennis, I mean.” She made a motion with her free hand to suggest... magic. “And my whole family minus me,” she added, laughing. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t, it’s a very dominant gene, magic-- more than dark eyes or height, even-- but if not, he’s got the right set of parents to love him exactly the way he is.” She’d like to see someone try to bully their kid for being a squib. The poor sod wouldn’t last long with hoards of rock fans running after him, and hippie throwing vegetables from windows.

“Er, can you take him for a sec?” She swooped down gingerly beside Jacoba once more, offering her the baby as if he were a bundle of shopping. She grinned apologetically, faux innocence swarming her face. “He won’t steal your chips, promise.”

Standing up again, Tilly wandered over to one of the many piles of boxes that had somehow been shoved into the back room with the break table, kitchenette, and spare mattress. “I  think-- I might have something here that can help us convince Roh-- but don’t quote me on that.” The newspaper reporters had enough of that, and without actually quoting her.

Young.  That seemed to be the label Jacoba was gaining alongside Muggle.  Perhaps she should just change her name to "That Young Muggle."  Or, start a band.  Move over Fine Young Cannibals, That Young Muggle is coming on stage.  She hadn't felt young in years.  But, Jacoba knew that wasn't what Tilly was insinuating.  And, given the context of children, Jacoba was alright with using the excuse of being young.  "Maybe one day," Jacoba said, vaguely.  "I suppose knowing you're with someone who's committed to the longterm helps, too." 

Jacoba nodded, grinning at the expression on Tilly's face.  "As far as I know," Jacoba confirmed, nodding her head.  "I mean, I caught him looking at one of Corby's beers like it was a long lost friend but I don't carry around a breathalyzer.  If ... you know what that is."  Did wizards have such a thing?  Did they worry about it?  Were there laws regarding drinking and ... flying?  Or Flooing.  Obviously there weren't any corny public service announcements since there weren't any televisions.  Shame.  They could probably be quite amusing.  "Well, I've only known him since he's been sober," Jacoba reminded him Tilly. 

"I'm pretty familiar with the excess."  And, she couldn't even blame it on the 'art.'  "Well, he was self-medicating, wasn't he?" Jacoba asked, carefully.  Again, she'd never seen it herself, but given the stories she'd heard it had always been her assumption.  It was pretty common among musicians. 

Speaking of self-medicating.  That had always been one of those lingering questions: would she have every gotten closer with her mother?  "I kind of always wondered," Jacoba admitted, wrapping the remainder of her sandwich back into its paper.  There wouldn't be a whole lot of time for cooking after visiting Adon at St. Mungo's.  "Whether we'd ever have been closer if my father wasn't in the picture.  Not that it really matters now but, who knows."  To be honest, at this point, it was a whole lot easier not to care.  She hadn't given her mother much thought before Christmas; there wasn't really any reason to give her any more thought now. 

"Well, you've got a while to decide," Jacoba pointed out as she took the youngster from his mother.  Luckily, she wasn't a complete novice when it came to such things; she was the oldest of three and had had seven years on Anna, after all.  She cradled the tiny person against her, grinning down at the serene face.  It always marveled her what babies could sleep through.  "Well, you could always hire a tutor," Jacoba pointed out.  "But, as fun as hanging out with rockstars might be, it's not the same as hanging out with other kids.  I'd imagine always being on tour with stars could go to a kid's head pretty quickly; he wouldn't really have any peers.  You know?"  Other kids wouldn't see him as a playmate; they'd see him as Colin, the son of Dennis Creevey.  "Would you send him to a muggle primer school?  Even if you thought he might be a wizard?" 

Curiosity brimming, Jacoba watched Tilly as she started rummaging in a pile of boxes.  "I don't think mood enhancing drugs would be a good idea," Jacoba mused aloud.  Of course, she seriously doubted that's what Tilly was looking for but she was having a hard time imagining anything that would be effective in convincing the Auror. 

"I suppose knowing you're with someone who's committed to the longterm helps, too."

Tilly had to laugh at that. “Or you could just accidentally get pregnant and find out.” She shrugged goodnaturedly. Things had not been traditional for her, but she wouldn’t change them. Nor would she have confessed to Dennis anything if she hadn’t wanted it, or hadn’t believed he could be committed. Sometimes men just needed a little tap on the shoulder to wake them up. Sometimes women did, too. But Jacoba was twenty, submerged in a new world, and had only her brother to anchor her to a family history. By comparison, Tilly’s life was predictable. Which was a strange and terrifying thing, and a hilarious one, too.

“A breathalyzer,” she murmured pensively. Jacoba was the only person in all of Diagon who might have brought that up, but it got Tilly to wondering. What Would Wizards Do? The age old question. Matilda wasn’t a batty woman who sent private detectives after her lover, and she had no immediate plans to invest in a handy-dandy breathalyzer. But what if she wasn’t paying close enough attention, what with the baby and the attacks on the store, and redoubled efforts at renovating? Or what if, in turn, she was being too hard on him? She had been in more relationships than Dennis, that much she was sure of, but neither of them had ever quite done... this. And still, they weren’t married, a point each of their parents had not failed to mention. Funny how parents seemed to multiply in the shadows when one became a parent. “Slap me if I get that bad,” she concluded, at long last. It might have helped, though, if there had been a wizarding equivalent of AA, or if Dennis’ partner-in-crime wasn’t an equally charming rockstar with an equally reputable tolerance for alcohol in his bloodstream. Tilly would slap herself before turning Corby into the hurtle, though. They all loved and needed him, Corby and his singular O.W.L. in the fine arts of Divination.

"Well, I've only known him since he's been sober."

Tilly nodded, not really sure she could elaborate. She’d begun to take for granted that Jacoba wasn’t a permanent fixture in their young history.

"Well, he was self-medicating, wasn't he?"

“Yeah. He lost his brother in the war. They started the band together. I think... as much as music is an outlet, it’s a reminder, too. And to live that sort of life--” Music was a double-edged sword. As were most artistically-driven lifestyles. There weren’t mere ‘good days’ and ‘bad days.’ The ups and downs were more turbulent, from the top-of-the-world rush of rockstardom and fans screaming for peace and owl wings, to post-tour binges and epically haunting headaches. And strings and strings of people looking for handouts, secondhand fame, stranger soul mates, noteworthy bedfellows, stage rivals, addicts, heroes, and a place to fit in, to feel less alone. “People see you’re passionate about something. They enable and take advantage, even when they don’t mean to.” Tilly was not immune, not innocent. She had sought comfort in Dennis, too, even if she’d also helped him nurse hangovers or prodded him about whether he’d been taking care of himself. “And you let them do it, because it’s easier than hurting.”

The staffroom table was small, but it seemed to be turning, a revolving thing with more corners than could be counted. Tilly liked having Jacoba around, being able to confide and ask questions and seek answers. Much as she loved her entire staff, it was not the same as talking to someone who shared a common quirk, a think so many others saw as a disadvantage. Lovers and drugs and parents might have been universal topics, things that made them all human rather than separating into the ‘magical’ and ‘non-magical,’ but it was still nice to talk to someone who didn’t have a wand, a pensieve, proposed magical cure. Dennis was the only other person who had ever been particularly keen on Tilly’s stash of muggle aspirin. Which was one of the many reasons she was glad to woken up to the idea of... waking up with him each morning. (Or afternoon.)

"I kind of always wondered [...] whether we'd ever have been closer if my father wasn't in the picture.  Not that it really matters now but, who knows."

Parents (excluding current generations present) seemed to be of another world’s mindset. Tilly was lucky to have been raised in a modest household where her parents didn’t expect too much of her, weren’t disappointed that she was a girl, and didn’t expect her to carry on their name out of duty. Still, for all their love and acceptance, they were more traditional than she. Not to mention the larger portion of her father’s family, who saw her a blight upon their lineage. Had her own mum been in Jacoba’s mother’s place, what would she have done? Tilly couldn’t imagine her mum and dad not being together, choosing a path without the other. It wasn’t just about being soul mates. They were husband and wife, and one stuck by the other, no matter the consequences. Or so that generation seemed to believe. “Do you mean if they’d separated or...” If Jacoba’s father had been someone else entirely? “If she’d married someone else?” But then Jacoba might not be here. For everything disruptive that happened in families, fate also had its hand.

Tilly took the words to heart, looking over her shoulder, smiling softly at Jacoba and Colin. She was right. “It would definitely go to his head if he hangs around with this lot,” she laughed. A bunch of old souls in cheeky, charming rockstar bodies, with childish habits and vague ideas of excess. It was like being three ages at once. Being on tour thus provided a raw and unique experience, but it had its drawbacks. “I think so, yeah. I mean, Dennis was raised by muggles and I only ever knew muggle school...” Well, sort of. Before her squib status had been confirmed, she’d spent a decent amount of time around wizarding children, even while living in a primarily muggle town. Afterward, their parents had been wary, even if the most accepting of them. It had been before the second war, and squibs had always had a sort of bad luck vibe. Some parents had pegged her as contagious. “Honestly, I don’t know that the two are all the different. Uniforms, schedules, homework. It takes a certain kind of personality. And obviously it helps if you start at a young age. But I left secondary after my exams and never blinked at college or uni, and he did much the same.” Sooner, even.

“These philosophical conversations always make me starving,” she admitted, eyeing the fridge for a moment before going back to her boxes. She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve caught me. I’m secretly stowing trafficking uppers from my storeroom to supplement our income. New sound studios don’t come cheap today.”

More likely, one could find such bottles in the little cabinet near the stove. Tilly used them less and less now that Colin was in the picture, however much energy he consumed. She’d never been dependent, but she’d been more careless before the extra fingers and toes and mouth had joined the force.

What she’d really been looking for... She yanked the poster from the tall box of cardboard tubes, snapped off the rubber bands, and unraveled it. It was still as many muggle photograph or print work, and with good reason: it boasted the names of headlining bands from the top of the muggle charts, and indie bands young and feverish, seasoned and cult status certified. It also boasted corporate sponsors, grassroots groups, and media circles. There was even a government web address tagged at the bottom, though Tilly knew they wouldn’t find a computer in the Ministry of Magic, let alone a web literate auror. Even the Ministry sanctioned typewriters were something out of a period film, and more oft than operated by charms instead of agile fingers.

Still...

It was what people could do when they took their heads out of the dirt. “Maybe if Roh knows there’s a muggle equivalent...” She would roll her eyes at Matilda for proving her own point. She let out a huffy, amused breath, her mouth closed in a knowing smile. “Well, it’s worth a shot.” The benefit concerts in London were a powerful sight to behold, even a wizard couldn’t deny it. Raising hope and money for incurable diseases, world peace, and natural disasters was something to aspire to, magical, muggle, or otherwise.