The Little Lightning Girl

47- More Grandchildren

Once we finished with the presents, my friends dragged me to Hogsmeade. We bought pranking supplies and sweets and had a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. The day was... free, we acted more adolescent than I'd allowed myself to be in a long while. This was what birthdays were supposed to be like, I realized. Sure, there were still other students staring at us as we wreaked havoc through the village. Sure, all of my problems would be waiting for me tomorrow. But today, I was carefree.

We spent the whole day practically terrorizing Hogsmeade, but most of the shop owners didn't seem to mind. By the time we all hiked back up the hill to the castle, the boys were piggybacking Rose, Kaley, and I. They dropped us off at the door to our dorm room and for the first time in a while, I didn't have any dreams that night.

Just a few weeks later on the train, Rose and I were chatting about how we planned to spend Christmas Day. I'd sent my mum a letter weeks just before my birthday, explaining that although I loved it being just the two of us, the Weasleys had invited us to join their dinner at the Burrow. She'd said yes, and I was dreadfully excited. Still, I was glad that the rest of the break would just be us two. Kaley's family had traditions of their own, and despite her grumbling about Rose and I being without her, I knew she didn't really want to miss being with her family on Christmas.

For a week, I got to be home with mom. It was fairly uneventful. The second day I was home, we went Christmas shopping in London and then ice skating on the Thames. That, at least, was something I'd never done, having grown up in Hawaii. I stumbled and slipped repeatedly. Despite my steady center of gravity, I had more than a few wipe outs.

After one such wipe out, I was sitting on the ice, trying to get my feet back underneath me when a voice spoke from behind me, "First time, is it?"

I spun on the ice, still sitting, to face the boy that had spoken. He was tall, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. But the smile on his face was what made me trust him. He held out his gloved hand to me and after a moment's hesitation, I took it and let him haul me upright. He was at least four or five inches taller than me. Though, I supposed it wasn't hard to be taller than me. He was cute, too, with dimples and a soft warmth to him.

When my eyes met his, his smile grew, "You 'ave 'ze most remarkable eyes."

His accent was clearly French, and I couldn't stop the blush from showing on my cheeks, but managed to mumble, "Thanks."

My embarrassment only made his smile wider, "You're welcome. I'm Tristan, by 'ze way."

I shook his hand when he offered it, "I'm Alana, it's a pleasure."

His head tilted quizzically after I spoke, "Where are you from, Alana? Your voice eez... unusual."

"Says you, Frenchie?" We both laughed, and I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before answering, "I'm originally from America but I moved here several years ago, so I'm stuck in between accents."

Tristan seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying, and definitely intrigued by how I said it. I knew that I sounded British to the Americans, and American to the British. Usually, when any of my friends remarked upon my accent, I switched languages entirely to irritate them into shutting up about it.

"Well, I like it. I wouldn't mind 'earing it more."

"Well that's... nice?"

He scooted closer to me, "Can I get your phone number? I'd like to call you sometime."

I grimaced and tried to think of an acceptable lie. Telling him "no, because Greek monsters will find and try to kill me if I call you," probably wouldn't go well.