The Art of Magical Mayhem

Dealing in Diagon

July 1935

"Mom! I'm headed for Diagon again—call the Aurors if I'm not back by eleven!"

I pulled on a pair of flats. Diagon was just around the block, so I went pretty often. Besides, I had an appointment today.

"Make it eight," Mom called back from the living room, "I don't want you forgetting dinner again!"

"Okay!"

—————

Darting out of the entrance of Knockturn Alley—hopefully unnoticed—was always horribly nerve-wracking, especially right under the bright afternoon sun.

I lost myself in the crowd and put my mind to the next task: meeting up with Emmerson. Evidently, hanging out with people during the holidays was a normal thing done by normal teens. Normal being 'not Slytherins,' that is. We snakes would much rather spend our time on more productive things, such as studying ahead and planning gruesome acts of revenge for each of our worst enemies.

Eventually, I wound all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, not hesitating to enter the hustle and bustle inside.

"Star! Over here!"

Emmerson was seated at a table in the corner with a sweating glass of lemonade in hand. I walked over to her and slid into the seat across.

"Hello," I greeted, "How've you been?"

"I've been alright. The summer holidays are usually pretty boring on my end. Supplementary classes, Dad's been trying to get me to learn dancing..." She shivered. "How about you?"

Well... I certainly wasn't going to tell her about my weekly excursions...

"I've been reading a lot, trying to get ahead of the game a little. Hemlock seems to be having a quarter-life crisis. She hasn't owled me since Yule."

Emmerson wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Yeah, well, who cares about her right?" she said, taking a dignified sip of her lemonade, which was now spitting out soapy-looking bubbles like some magical bubble wand. One bubble popped right on her glasses. Emmerson didn't even blink.

Suddenly, it struck me—like a bludger in the stomach—as seemingly obvious facts often do, that maybe Emmerson really didn't care about Hemlock. At all. Not one bit. That maybe she wasn't using me to plant some plot... or trying to turn me away from the "dark, evil Slytherins" or whatever. Maybe she genuinely just wanted to be friends for whatever Morgana-forsaken reason-

The idea felt so ludicrous. In hindsight, it was a really Merlin-awful—dare I say, lame—epiphany to have in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron sitting across from a Hufflepuff and her bubbling glass of "lemonade."

Oh, right. I was in the middle of a conversation. Yes. Okay. Play it cool.

If there was any bubble residue on Emmerson's glasses, I couldn't see it—but then again, they were probably magical glasses, because whyever would they not be?

"Sorry," I said, trying to look sheepish, "Her last few letters were just really strange, and I've really done nothing interesting anyway. Everything eventful seems to happen at Hogwarts."

Emmerson laughed. "Hogwarts is like an excitement magnet, isn't it? Everything outside it seems dull in comparison!"

—————

Emmerson had dragged me around Diagon in a full circle of what felt like at least twice, though most of our time had been spent in Quality Quidditch Supplies. "The immortal shop," I'd heard people call it, "because Quidditch is literally never going to die. Ever."

Emmerson wanted to try out for the Hufflepuff team this year. For what position, I wasn't sure. I'd tuned out most of her babbling. It wasn't like I even knew how to play anyways.

Now we were just meandering back to the Leaky. I'd left my watch at home today, but I was pretty sure it was around six' o, give or take a couple quarter hours.

In the mutual silence, I couldn't help but ask:

"Why are you so insistent on being friends?"

Stupid, stupid question, Star! It just- it just slipped out- and-

But I was curious. Stupidly, horribly curious, because friendships in Slytherin were never just because. No friendship was just because-

Emmerson looked confused, and then a sad sort of expression slipped over her face. That solemn set in her eyes was so jarring on a twelve-year-old that I couldn't help but look away.

"You stood up against Victoria," she finally said, "No one's ever done that for me before."

The enemy of my enemy is my friend, then.

Alright, I could accept that.

Now... what?

Before I could decide what to say, Emmerson stopped in her tracks.

"Friendships," she declared, turning to face me, "are based upon trust. And I want you to trust me... because we're friends."

She tugged a gold filigree chain out from under her robe. A polished chunk of rose quartz hung from it, shining faintly in the light of the summer sun.

"This was my mother's," she said more quietly, "She died when I was five. Aconite poisoning. We think it was a jealous mistress that did it. We never found out. Whoever it was, they're long gone now. Probably ran off as soon as they could."

I didn't know what to say.

"And my father," she continued, staring at nothing in particular, "He- he was never quite the same after she died. He became more distant, more withdrawn, until the only time I ever saw him was at the dinner table. I used to wonder if... if—somehow—maybe it was my fault she was dead, and that was why..."

Emmerson trailed off, eyes refocusing. She smiled faintly, tucking the necklace back under her robes. "Don't worry. It was a long time ago. People come and go—it's just how it is."

Huh.

Friendship, pure and vulnerable. It felt like an alien notion, even though it really shouldn't be. But still... I was friends with Victoria for station, friends with Anemone for convenience. Vulnerability was for neither. Vulnerability was for no one, except...

Here Emmerson was, being vulnerable with me.

"Thank you," I said, "For telling me, that is."

I wasn't planning to return the favour, obviously. Hufflepuff-iness was not contagious, no matter how much it seemed to be so.

We picked up pace again, heading back to the Leaky Cauldron in renewed silence.

And that was that.