milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Lily comes into the bar this evening in her favorite Muggle dresses, hair pulled back with a vaguely floral gold barrette set with a very sparkly, deep blue stone. It doesn't exactly match the green dress she's wearing (as Petunia pointed out three times on the way to Christmas Eve services earlier), but it was a Christmas present from James and Lily likes it, so she wore it regardless (and will likely do so again, and frequently).

Bar presents her with both a mug of hot butterbeer and a copy of the Christmas edition of The Daily Prophet, with a note clipped to the front that reads see page four.

There are two things on page four, and both are distracting enough that Lily is completely ignoring her drink.

The first is a pair of photographs of 'Father Christmas' visiting the children at St. Mungo's on Christmas Eve. And while he's not identified by any other name, it would be more or less impossible to not recognize the headmaster.

The other is a long report of the Minister for Magic's Christmas party on the 23rd, which sounds like quite the event. The paper goes into great detail about the elaborately decorated Christmas trees, the animated dancing ice sculptures, the snow that fell from the ceiling but evaporated before hitting the floor, the special performance by Celestina Warbeck.

There's a partial list of the guests, as well, though Lily only knows some of the names – Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore (the latter as himself this time), textbook authors Bathilda Bagshot and Miranda Groshawk, a couple of Quidditch players Cliona has mentioned, a few last names she recognizes from Hogwarts classmates. And, of course, 'Mr and Mrs Harold Potter and their son, Mr James Potter.'

Lily will stop staring in a moment or two.

Though probably not before her butterbeer has gone cold.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

jingle...jingle...jingle

...jingle...jingle...jingle

...jingle...jingle...jingle

"Ah, good evening, Miss Evans."

Bar's sense of humor remains, as always, unfailing.

Lily startles slightly and then sets down the paper.

"Happy Christmas, Professor."

"Happy Christmas, indeed."

Dumbledore smiles.

"I trust you're enjoying your time at home with your family?"

Lily nods. "Yes, sir, I am.

"Are you enjoying your holiday as well?"

He certainly looks like he's got into the spirit of things.

"Very much so, thank you. Though I occasionally feel that school breaks are busier than the terms."

Lots of demands on his time. Particularly now.

"I would imagine the school's a bit quieter, though."

Sirius Black is not in residence, for one.

"D'you stay there over breaks?"

Dumbledore chuckles.

"Disconcertingly so."

Hogwarts is generally a little too quiet during breaks.

"Generally," he adds. "I've been invited to spend a few days with friends between Boxing Day and the new year. But Christmas Day I prefer to spend at Hogwarts."

"Due to the students who remain there over the holidays, you see."

He would no more leave that handful of students alone on Christmas Day than he would his own children, if he had them.

"Of course."

There are always a few.

It seems to Lily that it must be such a lonely way to spend Christmas.

"Will you be Father Christmas at school as well, sir?"

"Alas, it seems, by the time students reach Hogwarts, that particular brand of magic is gone."

He'll probably be back in more conventional robes.

"Though I imagine it would cause Professor McGonagall to make a most memorable face."

Lily laughs a little.

"Yes, I imagine it would.

"And, I dunno, even if no one believed you were Father Christmas, it could be fun. For all of you.

"Possibly even Professor McGonagall."

"Perhaps I should take it under consideration. St. Mungo's was not explicit about when I needed to return the costume."

It's not needed for another year, after all.

"Does your family still embrace Father Christmas? You have no young siblings at home, as I recall?"

Lily shakes her head.

"No, just one older sister.

"And we don't have presents from Father Christmas any more, but ... well, saying that we don't embrace Father Christmas sounds so ... Scrooge-like."

"I would never cast such aspersions."

But there's nothing wrong with outgrowing setting out biscuits and milk. That's the way of life.

"Ah, yes. Your sister, Petunia."

Dumbledore still feels a bit badly over Petunia Evans. Not that there was anything to be done about that situation, of course. One sister had been born a witch, and another had not. Special circumstances can only be stretched so far.

But he still regrets fostering distance between siblings.

"Yeah, Petunia."

Petunia has outgrown a great many things.

"She's off to London next month. To take a typing course."

And, no doubt, to work on losing her accent.

"I'm sure that will be quite exciting for her. Venturing out on her own. Few things are a greater adventure."

At least, Dumbledore hopes that will be the case.

"Will your parents take it well? Both of you off and away?"

"I think so.

"I mean, I'm sure they'll miss her, I know they miss me, but they're pretty good at taking things in stride."

Case in point, finding out their younger daughter is a witch and has a place waiting for her at a magical boarding school in Scotland.

"I think Dad's a little sad that neither of us is likely to wind up following him to Oxford, though."

"Ah, yes. I understand that it's an excellent school."

Even in the wizarding world, one hears things.

"I know that it's a dreaded question, but have you had any thoughts as to what you might do after Hogwarts, Miss Evans?"

"Of course I have, sir. A lot of thought.

"The dreaded question is 'and what have you come up with'?"

Dumbledore smiles.

"Perhaps I should allow Christmas cheer to persist and avoid that one, in that case."

It is a holiday, after all.

"At any rate, I can say with some conviction that what one plans is seldom what comes to pass, at least in its entirety. There are always surprises, which I feel is a good thing."

Usually.

"I myself had many plans for my career, post-Hogwarts, most of which got turned on their ears."

The career is only part of it.

She has met her descendants.

That changes things.

"What made you decide to be a professor, if I may ask?"

"You may, of course. Though I fear that there is no straightforward answer."

And some of the details he does not share with anyone, much less a student.

"Events conspired. Opportunities arose. I worked, for a time after leaving Hogwarts, with a dear friend, Nicholas Flamel as his assistant. In time, I began to make a scholarly name for myself in my own right. So, when the post of Transfiguration teacher opened up, I was a good candidate."

"I was, I must admit, glad to return to Hogwarts. It has always been very much like a home."

The one he's had the longest.

"Hogwarts has always felt that way, in some ways. Even when I'd only just arrived.

"Like I was somehow coming back, even though I'd never been there before.

"I think I'm going to miss it, after next year."

"You have no idea how much it gratifies me to hear that."

It is the sort of feeling that he would hope Hogwarts evokes in all of his students.

"It is natural to miss that which is familiar, especially when it is a place with which one holds fond ties. But I'm sure you'll find the world ever wider and greater."

"Gracious, you're just as pretty as a picture."

Kate meanders up to the Bar, one stool removed from Miss Lily's right. She herself is in her typical fare, though she's had time to clean up from her daily chores. In lieu of her cowboy hat, her hair is clean, and combed into a braid.

"That color suits you," she smiles.

[ooc: If it's not too late? Feel free to ignore, otherwise. :)]

[OOC: Not too late at all. :)]

"Thank you, Miss Barlow," Lily says, with a bright smile (and the very slightest of blushes).

She folds the paper over (page 4 still visible), and sets it on the bar.

"I've just come from Christmas services at home.

"How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. An' yourself?"

She sits down, and a hot apple cider appears with a cinnamon stick for stirring. Her eyes naturally dip to the paper, but only for a moment.

"Goodness, is it Christmas already in your world?"

"I'm very well, thank you.

"And, yeah, it's Christmas. It's not that far along here, though, is it? It's odd how that happens, isn't it?"

"Mm, I've grown accustomed to Miss Bar's unique concept of time," she teases. "It's the middle of November here, by my reckonin'. So, not too far along at all — goodness, I hadn't even thought about it."

She shakes her head, going a touch reflective.

"It's only April out in Texas, but I'm not home near as often as I should be. Time might start movin' without me, if I'm not careful. Do you attend services with your family?"

"Does that happen? Time starts moving without people?"

That could get awkward in a hurry.

Lily nods. "And, yes. With Mum and Dad and my sister, Petunia. We've never been terribly good about going every week, but we always go at Christmas and Easter."

"Not t'me personally. I've always walked out precisely where I came in. But t'friends of mine, it has. Whole seasons have passed."

Awkward doesn't even begin to describe it.

She smiles and shakes her head, nonjudgmental.

"I've grown lax my own self. When my father was alive, we always attended Sunday services; since his death, I grew more infrequent. Now I can't even remember the last time I heard a service. I always loved Christmas, though. Our little church would shine."

"It's one of my favorite parts of Christmas. Everything in church is shiny and bright and joyful. Hopeful. But ... simple, you know?

"School's stunning this time of year. We have these great huge Christmas trees and the fairy lights really are fairies and it's all dazzling, but ... I dunno. Sometimes the things that aren't magical are more magical than, say, dancing ice sculptures."

Yeah, that part of the article made an impression.

Because ... dancing ice sculptures.

Her smile widens, and the more Miss Lily talks, the more her eyes widen as well.

"Maybe for someone used t'magic," she points out with a chuckle. "I mean, I understand what you're sayin'. An' I agree. For all the shine an' whimsy of the bar, it doesn't hold a candle to — well, candlelight. Or starlight. The kinds of things that remind me of home."

Beat.

"Dancing ice sculptures?"

Lily nods. "At the Minister for Magic's Christmas party."

She hands the Prophet over to Miss Barlow.

"There's a picture and everything."

The photograph in question -- which is, of course, moving -- shows a handful of partygoers watching an exquisitely carved ice couple, in Victorian garb, waltzing on a small platform.

She takes the paper, and if it's possible for her eyes to grow any wider they might, in fact, stick that way. She points at the picture.

"Goodness gracious, look at that!"

She's seen all manner of modern print, from 'notebook' computers to telephones with television screens — even holographs — but there's something truly awe-inspiring about a newspaper with moving pictures. Her eyes scan over the article.

"I've never seen anythin' like it; not even here!"

"There's a special potion for developing film, it makes the printed photographs move.

"Painted portraits can move, too. Or go visit other pictures in other frames. And talk.

"It took me the longest time to get used to it. Of course, my friends who grew up with Wizard parents find it bizarre that I have pictures that don't move."

She arches her eyebrows.

"Sounds almost ghoulish. Paintings that can move about an' speak? I imagine it would take me quite some time t'get used to it as well."

She might have to cover them all with sheets.

"Your parents aren't Wizards too, then?"

And Lily hasn't even mentioned the time she got lectured by a showerhead.

"No, they're not," Lily says, with a shake of her head. "Neither is my sister. Just me.

"It's not exactly common -- most of my classmates have at least one parent who's a wizard or a witch -- but it's not exactly uncommon either. I'm hardly the only Muggleborn witch at Hogwarts."

That, perhaps, is a story for another time. A time when Kate can be properly gobsmacked.

"Oh, I see. So, there's no barriers between the two? No ... segregation?"

She's heard 'Muggle' used as an insult before, but not for a long time. Given what little she knows, she always thought the two communities were separated from each other.

"Well, I don't think I'd say that," Lily says.

"I mean, the average Muggle doesn't know wizards exist. My parents only know because you can't exactly take someone's eleven-year-old daughter off to study at a magical boarding school without telling them she's a witch.

"There's a Statute of Secrecy, both because of persecution in the past because, and because magic really can't solve every problem, but if someone's frame of reference for it is ... fairy godmothers and Prospero, it can create unfulfillable expectations. And things got nasty, sometimes, before the Statute.

"And as for wizards ... there's definitely a class of wizards who consider it important that they're purebloods, people who have all magical ancestors. Or at least as far as they'll admit. Not all purebloods care, of course, but some of them ... well, there's defintitely prejudice.

"And to them, I'm be an aberration and somehow 'less', and my boyfriend, who is a pureblood, is blood traitor."

She listens with all attentiveness, nodding along. She'd never thought about the possibility of non-magic-practicing people trying to take advantage of those who do, but the moment Lily mentions it she thinks it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Statute of Secrecy. Sounds complicated, havin' t'keep somethin' like that secret. Though, now that y'mention it, I guess it's not uncommon. I know mutants an' superheroes in different worlds hafta have the same thing. I'm so used t'Milliways I wouldn't even think about forcin' someone t'use their gifts for my benefit — or hatin' them for it."

Though, she understands that, too. 'Witch' is an ugly word in her world, and for anyone practicing magic the punishment would be severe. She came to Milliways with a lot of fears and prejudices that have taken years to understand. But one thing she doesn't need help with is Lily's final remark. A line forms between her brows, and she looks down.

Traitor.

"Are there laws against you two bein' together? Is it dangerous?"

"No laws, nothing so formal. Raised eyebrows, maybe, and probably unkind remarks. Not from everyone, you understand.

"As for dangerous ... well, the people who feel that way tend to feel that way very strongly. They don't necessarily control our society, but some of them are not exactly without influence, either. And people who define themselves by the ways they think they're better than other people can be dangerous when that idea is threatened. D'you know what I mean?"

She breathes a very small sigh of relief.

Her lips twist crookedly, and she nods.

"Yes, I think I do. I went through somethin' similar myself."

"Did you?

"What happened? Can I ask?"

She sets the paper down.

"In my world, white men tend t'look down on men of other colors. For a long time, those with black skin were only looked at as slaves. Now that they're free men, they still don't have the same rights as white people do.

"I — fell in love with a man of color. He was one of my dearest friends. I'd been pursued by many men, includin' one of our most prominent land owners. His daddy owned half the town, an' he spent his whole life thinkin' he was better than everyone else. I turned him down, and when he found out Sam an' I had been kissin', he came with torches, an' a mob.

"Y'see, it is against the law, in my world, for a black man t'kiss a white woman. An' so this young man — Charles Walker — burned down my school, Sam's cart an' mule, an' chased us out to the middle of the lake where I used t'live before he shot Sam t'death."

She looks down, chewing on her bottom lip. After all these years, she still can't tell the story without tears coming to her eyes.

"And it was all perfectly legal."

"Oh, Miss Barlow, that's horrid.

"I'm so sorry."

Lily produces her handkerchief and offers it to Miss Barlow.

"I don't even know what to say beyond that's horrid, which doesn't even come close, does it?"

She waves off the proffered kerchief, reaching to an inside pocket for one of her own.

"Thank you," she says, regardless. "It's all right. Well, it's not all right — it's awful, an' unjust. He was a sweet man. The kindest man I've ever known. He didn't deserve that."

She dabs at the corners of her eyes, quietly clearing her throat. She smiles weakly, and shakes her head.

"I know what it's like t'know men who think in ways like 'pure-blood' an' 'half-breed'. T'somehow justify thinkin' less of a body who comes from different roots, or mixes company with those who do. It's all a load of hogwash, Miss Lily. You hold on to what y'know is right."

Lily nods. "I will."

Even when it's not especially easy to do so.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only