Friday, 25 August 1922
The Drifting Kettle
Late afternoon
Three years
The crowds were thinning out now. Morgan had been here for hours. She’d told her dad that she just wanted some time alone and that she really didn’t want to buy anything. She brought some money just in case, but she hadn’t seen anything that caught her attention. Wandering around here had seemed like a great idea when she first woke up on today of all days.
It was officially three years since Morgan’s mum had been alive. She would never forget how her father brought her from Camp to tell her the bad news. How they had stayed in her flat for days before she finally relocated to his home.
She was in a new home now, again, and while her room was looking more and more like it belonged to her, it didn’t feel the same. Morgan missed that flat. She’d hated that she felt like her mum cared more about work than her, but overall she’d had a great life.
But then there was the hurt. The only reason she even knew about her father was because of Hogwarts. She truly believed that. Had she never received her letter… well, she’d likely be living with her mother’s parents at this point. She frowned at the thought; she loved them, but she wouldn’t have what she had now.
What did she have now? David croaked in her bag, hanging at her side. Morgan absentmindedly pulled him out of it. She hugged the toad to her chest and turned to look inside the teashop’s window. A teacup that a customer was using was familiar.
Morgan had been five, reckless, and clumsy. She’d also been hopeful that the hot tea (which was really just warm water with some sugar stirred in) would be enough to pull her mother’s attention away from the case file she’d been buried in for days. It hadn’t. She was brushed off, told to go play for a few more minutes. Morgan, defiant, threw the teacup down to the floor and screamed.
That was when Caroline, her mother, finally gave her some attention. And punishment. The teacup inside the tea shop was identical to the one she’d smashed.
If this was even just last year, Morgan would be in tears. But so much had happened – her father, Julia, Jude, the new house – that the memory felt like a lifetime away. She sighed, and hugged David, lost in thought as she stood outside the tea shop’s window.
Diagon Alley was growing on him. Knockturn wasn’t so bad either, but he usually got strange looks and whispered comments as he walked through the darker streets of Knockturn Alley. Today, Brooks was keeping to the lighter side.
School was starting in less than a week. Nothing about this excited Brooks. He had become comfortable with his daily routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, get Kinley up, give her a bottle, cuddle and play with his little sister then wake up his mother. Their a team, she deals with the nights, he does the mornings. He didn’t like to think about what would happen when he was away, but she insisted everything would be fine.
Once his mom wakes up, Brooks was free to roam the city. Much like Boston, he had freedom most kids his age didn’t get. Thinking about the restrictions that would soon be placed on his time gave the boy chills.
With school starting soon, Diagon Alley was bustling with activity. Families moved from store to store picking up supplies and books. Their faces showing various levels of terror and excitement. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the little first years, most walking around in a state of wonder.
Brooks sat at a small table watching the events unfold, finishing up an ice cream cone while reading a book on Hogwarts history. This was his typical day, having tried twenty different ice cream flavors over the summer. His current favorite was chocolate cayenne, while Earl Grey was promptly tossed in the trash.
The crowds of people parted briefly, giving a view of the local tea shop. Tea… not his favorite. What interested him the most was the person standing there, looking in the window.
Mystery Girl
Brooks tried to see what she might be looking at in the window, something was holding her attention, but all he could see was her reflection. Something wasn’t right.
He didn’t know much about this girl, but something seemed off. Standing up, Brooks tossed the last few bites of his cone into the trash, plum licorice, not the best. He walked towards her, taking in the way her body looked smaller, her shoulders slumped. He couldn’t see her face, but he’d bet money that she looked sad.
This shouldn’t bother him, but it does.
He slowly approached, waiting for her to see his reflection, but she didn’t turn. Brooks wondered if he should walk away, leave her alone to look in the window, but it didn’t seem right. Instead, he walked towards her left side, while tapping her on the right shoulder. As she turned towards the right, then redirecting to the left, their eyes met. He smiled, “Hello Mystery Girl. We need to stop bumping into each other like this.”
The tap on her shoulder drew Morgan’s attention to the right. No one. She turned left, and found the boy there.
“Hello Mystery Girl. We need to stop bumping into each other like this.”
For a brief moment – literally just a half second – something showed on her face that she hadn’t meant to be put there. The kind of thing that only exists before you know anyone is watching. Then, when she realized who it was, that moment was gone. She packed it away with the efficiency of someone who had a lot of practice.
What remained was something closer to the girl he’d recognize. Quieter, definitely. But familiar. Her green eyes searched his face momentarily before looking down at David, who was sitting comfortably in her hands, regarding the boy with a stoic expression.
“Mystery Girl,” she repeated with just enough of a raise of her brow to show that she found the nickname mildly absurd. “We really do.”
The memory of her mother was tucked away and she managed to turn her body to face the boy. As she did so, she shifted her toad slightly, holding him comfortably in her hands.
“You followin’ me?” Morgan asked, allowing the corner of her mouth to pull up… not quite a smile, but a smirk. She hoped the amusement would reach her eyes, but if she was successful or not, well, she didn’t know. “This is twice now and I’m startin’ to think you’ve got nothin’ better to do than turn up wherever I am,” she added, sliding easily into the banter they’d had in the bookstore.
Banter was her favorite kind of armor.
“You followin’ me?” She said, a smirk gracing her face. Brooks took a second to look, now that she was in the light of day. The bookstore had been dingy and dark, obscuring her. The sun was a different story.
She was pretty.
He gulped.
He was going to ignore that for... ever.
Pointing to his chest, as an answer to her question. "I'm clean, I don't know what you're playin' at. I was here first, so if anyone’s doing the tailing, it’s you.” The smile on his face growing.
Brooks couldn’t place it, but something seemed wrong. The light in her eyes was not as bright as it should be. Prying into other’s business wasn’t his style. If she wanted to share she would. If not, maybe he could brighten her day a fraction before they had to go back to their real lives.
“This is twice now and I’m startin’ to think you’ve got nothin’ better to do than turn up wherever I am.”
Brooks let out a short huff of a laugh, leaning one shoulder against the brickwork of the tea shop. "Give me some credit, Mystery Girl. If I were following you, you wouldn't have any idea. I’ve got better things to do than shadow people, like deciding if plum licorice ice cream is actually food or just a prank you Brits play on unsuspecting tourists."
He nodded toward the toad in her hands, who looked about as thrilled to be there as Brooks felt about the upcoming school year. “Who’ve you got there? He’s side-eyeing me like I ate his lunch.” Leaning forward a bit, he inspected the toad carefully, surprised that it was just sitting in her hands without giving her a fight. The poor thing was resigned to his fate.
Standing up straight again, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the girl properly. "Besides, you looked like you were about to be swallowed whole by that window. Figured I'd step in before the glass finished the job."
He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against a stray coin, a habit he’d picked up from his da. He pulled it out, flipping it over his knuckles with practiced ease. "You look like you need something better than tea," he said, jerking his chin back toward the ice cream parlor. "And I'm currently on a mission to find a flavor that doesn't taste like my Granny’s potpourri. You in? Or are you too busy holding onto that toad to help a guy survive his last few days of freedom?"
The boy’s laugh, strangely, filled Morgan with a sort of warmth she hadn’t expected. She continued to hug her toad to her, though, unwilling to let her guard down just yet. David, as sour as he was, was also a great deterrent when she wanted to be left alone.
"Give me some credit, Mystery Girl. If I were following you, you wouldn't have any idea. I’ve got better things to do than shadow people, like deciding if plum licorice ice cream is actually food or just a prank you Brits play on unsuspecting tourists."
Narrowing her eyes slightly, she watched as he observed David. Any minute now and he’d be leaving her alone…
But then he stood up straight and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her as he spoke about saving her from being eaten by the glass in the window. Observant. Dangerous.
The boy reached into his pocket, which piqued her interest. She watched as he pulled the stray coin out and began the nifty trick of flipping it over his knuckles.
"You look like you need something better than tea. And I'm currently on a mission to find a flavor that doesn't taste like my Granny’s potpourri. You in? Or are you too busy holding onto that toad to help a guy survive his last few days of freedom?"
Morgan hesitated momentarily. David croaked. She turned her head back to the window, quickly looking around for the teacup that had pulled her into her memories. It was gone. The table was empty now too. She frowned, the memory officially tucked away. An unpleasant one, one that she shouldn’t hold onto too tightly, but a memory nonetheless.
Did she want to distract herself from her grief? She did. Morgan sighed slightly, feigning boredom. She then turned back to the boy. “Granny's potpourri is a low bar,” she commented, falling into step without quite agreeing out loud. “But fine. David's a decent judge of flavor.”
It was entirely possible that he was butting in where not wanted, but she didn’t seem like the type to do something she didn’t want to do.
“Granny's potpourri is a low bar,” she said, coming up next to him on the way to the ice cream parlor. “But fine. David's a decent judge of flavor.”
Brooks stopped abruptly and turned to the girl and her amphibian. “David? Hmmm. Either you're talking about the toad or you like to speak in the third person. I’m going to step out on a limb and say your name isn’t David, which means it’s his.” Bending low, coming eye to eye with the beast Brooks took stock of the green skin and beady eyes.
David…
Yep, it fits. Patting him on the head three soft times Brooks cocked his head to the side and talked to the toad seriously. “David, nice to meet you. This is important. I’ve been at this for over a month and still can’t find an above board flavor. The only one in the running for good is a chocolate peanut butter number, but it was filled with chunks that got stuck in my teeth.”
Standing to his full height, 5’9”, Brooks looks down on Mystery Girl with an inquisitive stare. “If we’re going to embark on this adventure together, I think it’s about time I know your name. But just saying it seems too easy. Anticlimactic if you will. So, lets guess. What’s the first letter of your first name? Mines B. Let the guessing begin!”
On the hot August day the ice cream parlor was bustling. Having already been once today, the workers gave him strange looks, but he didn’t care. He was on a mission.
“Mary, Margaret, Mathelda, Millicent. Am I getting closer?” He asked, looking at her face to see if she gave away any hints.
“I’ll give you Brits one thing, your ice cream flavours are something else. Back home, we had the basics: chocolate, vanilla and strawberry. Then there are some other variations, but no where I tried ever served anything as insane as pistachio honeycomb lavender delight. Do you think they just picked options out of a hat and tossed them into a bowl?”
Little by little the line crept towards the front, but they were still a good 7 or 8 people back. He didn’t mind, standing around quizzing the girl was enjoyable.
Strangely.
“Moira? Mauve? May? Milderd? I have to be getting closer right? You’d tell me if it was actually Mystery right?”
Morgan narrowed her eyes slightly when the boy bent down eye-to-eye to her beloved toad. He then patted the creature a few times softly, then continued to speak to David. She assessed him while he wasn’t looking at her, the sound of his voice speaking to the toad also warming her chest. But she wouldn’t admit that. She thought back to how Benji treated the toad; with hesitation and distance. Which caused the amphibian to scream. Always screaming.
The boy then stood up fully. Morgan’s brown eyes turned up to him, finally taking in his full height. He was a giant. Like everyone else.
“If we’re going to embark on this adventure together, I think it’s about time I know your name. But just saying it seems too easy. Anticlimactic if you will. So, lets guess. What’s the first letter of your first name? Mines B. Let the guessing begin!”
The most Morgan gave him was the letter M. As he began guessing her name, she smirked and shook her head ‘no’ with every name. David had been safely tucked back into the bag at her side since she was no longer in the midst of an unpleasant memory.
The line in the parlor was long. It was hot and it seemed most parents were rewarding their kids with a cold treat after a successful day of back-to-school shopping. Morgan shifted her weight onto her other foot as the boy began speaking about ice cream flavors. She didn’t respond.
“Moira? Mauve? May? Milderd? I have to be getting closer right? You’d tell me if it was actually Mystery right?”
“Mauve isn’t a name,” she responded flatly. “That’s a color.”
Morgan looked up at the board of flavors, squinting slightly at the more elaborate options. “And pistachio honeycomb lavender delight is not insane. It’s ambitious. There’s a difference.” She didn’t care much for the flavor either, if she were honest.
“You’re not even close, by the way.” Which was amusing to her.
“Mauve isn’t a name. That’s a color.”
Brooks rolled his eyes dramatically. Not hiding the move at all. “Well, yeah. Of course it is, but so is Scarlet, Olive, Amber and Jade. Colors can be names, but, I will conceded that yours is not Mauve. You don’t look like a Mauve, so I’m happy to hear that.”
They moved up another position in line, almost to the glass case that displayed all the flavors. He had counted, there were more than thirty, and that was just the normal Ice Cream. He hadn’t added in the sorbet or Frozen Yogurt, which was a crime against nature.
“And pistachio honeycomb lavender delight is not insane. It’s ambitious. There’s a difference.”
Brooks stood next to Mystery and crossed his arms looking at the same board she was perusing. “It’s not ambitious, it's atrocious. Ice Cream should not taste like soap. I don’t know how they managed it, but there you have it.”
They moved up another position, words having stalled.
“You’re not even close, by the way.”
He looked over at her, smirking. There was color back in her face, her eyes didn’t look as haunted, so something was working. He wanted to ask why she had looked so sad, but he didn’t like seeing the sadness on her face. It didn’t belong there.
“Magdelina, Magnolia, Mabel, Mavis,” he said, tapping his pointer finger on his chin. His eyes studied her intently. “Well, Mysty, it may take time, but I will figure it out. Or, you’ll get so annoyed with me that you scream it. Either way, I call it a win.”
Two more spots and they were finally at the glass display case. Looking at the flavors on offer for the day, he saw at least five that did not count as edible.
Apparently he was very particular with his ice cream flavors.
“Now, I’m not here to tell you what to order, but the Dragon’s Breath Chili-Chocolate I think burned my tongue. Black Pepper & Fig Jam made me sneeze uncontrollably. Smoked Bacon & Maple Molasses had promise, but was too smokey, overpowered all the other flavors. Burnt Toast & Bitter Marmalade somehow tasted like burned fruit, just weird. And Blue Cheese & Honeyed Walnut didn’t get past two licks.” Brooks shuddered with the memory.
The conversation around them ranged from talk about school and weighing the choices in front of them. His eyes caught on a black ice cream in the back corner of the display, mixed with brown bits. Nothing edible should look like that. Reading the small tag, Brooks made an audible sound that alerted everyone in the vicinity that he was horrified. “Doxy-Egg Toffee Crunch? What are you playin’ at? Are you trying to make people sick?”
Looking at Not-Mauve, his eyes went comically large. “I don’t even think David would touch that. What are you going to try Monica? I think I might go with Toasted Sweet Corn & Blackberry. Of all the flavors, that one seems like the least toxic.”
Sure, so the boy had a point. Their own previous headmaster Ruby had been a color. Or a gemstone. Ironic, considering she was rotting in Azkaban now. She smirked at the darkness of that thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
“Magdelina, Magnolia, Mabel, Mavis... Well, Mysty, it may take time, but I will figure it out. Or, you’ll get so annoyed with me that you scream it. Either way, I call it a win.”
Another smirk, this time directed at the tall boy. Part of her knew that she’d never get annoyed with him, though that thought seemed to appear out of nowhere. She pushed it down, out of reach, so she couldn’t dwell on it any longer. But the feeling was still there…
Her eyes scanned the array of colorful flavors the ice cream shop had to offer as she listened to his catalog of failed flavors with the particular expression of someone filing away information for future use. She couldn’t help but to feel the corner of her mouth twitch up when he spoke about the Doxy-Egg Toffee Crunch ice cream.
“I think that one’s purely decorative,” she said, nodding towards the black dessert. “Like a warning.”
Finally, it was their turn. Morgan looked at the options, hesitating when he said his latest guess. Monica. It was close. It was the ‘Mo’ part that came before the ‘n’ that made her pause. She shook her head. “Still no, but you’re gettin’ warmer,” she admitted, smirking.
Once the boy ordered his, she smiled at the shop keeper. “Chocolate, please,” she said politely, keeping it simple. She remembered the first time she’d been here and had played the same game the boy was playing. Chocolate always won.
Morgan accepted the cone and smirked up at the boy. “Toasted Sweet Corn and Blackberry,” she said, tilting her head to the side as if assessing him. “You’re brave.” She then licked her ice cream while he paid for their desserts.
The tables were full. Walking would have to do. Unless they found a bench outside.
“My turn,” she said. “You said ‘B’... so it’s gotta be somethin’ like… Bonaparte! Balthazar, Beaumont, Broderick, Barnaby, Brennan, Benji like my fr –” she stopped, not just talking but walking as well. As if her brain short circuited. She blinked. Benji wasn’t just her friend anymore. He was her step brother now too.
“No, let’s go Bobby…” she said, recovering somewhat awkwardly.
Finally it was their turn. Brooks rattled of his choice, then waited for her to pick. “Chocolate, please,” she said simply.
Brooks turned to her with a face of outright shock and disgust.
“Toasted Sweet Corn and Blackberry,” she said, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb with her ridiculous choice. “You’re brave.” Taking their ice cream, Mysty walked out ahead of him, Brooks trailing still silent. Not sure what to say.
Once outside in the warm summer air, Brooks stopped in front of her, forcing her to stop and look up at him. “Chocolate. What kind of a choice is that?!” His voice rising with mock annoyance. There was no true anger, but he couldn’t let her boring choice slide.
“Mysty, what have you done?! There were over 30 other options in there that would have helped me narrow down the flavors and you chose chocolate?! You wound me. I thought you understood the mission. I thought we were in this together.”
He couldn’t keep up the act, a smile leaving onto his face. Taking a large lick of his ice cream he stopped mid swallow. It was… different. “Well this is… hmmm. Jury’s still out.”
They began walking, Brooks eyeing the chocolate cone, realizing that she probably had the right idea, and the best flavor in the entire store. Sometimes simple is best.
“You said ‘B’... so it’s gotta be somethin’ like… Bonaparte! Balthazar, Beaumont, Broderick, Barnaby, Brennan, Benji like my fr – No, let’s go Bobby…”
He stopped alongside her, tossing his cone in a nearby trash can. “Maddy, Maisi, Margot, how can you do this to me?” He asked, clutching his chest. “BEAUMONT?! Do I look like a Beaumont?! I don’t even know what Bonaparte is and Balthazar? Actually, that one is pretty cool. You can call me Zar for short. I bet Barnaby would like that corn berry ice cream crime against nature. I may give up on the ice cream. Switch to cupcakes or something.”
Taking a seat on a nearby bench, Brooks sat, tipping his head back to look at the sky. “So Molly, you doing ok? You looked a little down earlier. And if I’m stepping on toes, just know it’s not me, it's Broderick, he sounds like a total ass-hat.”
Morgan stopped walking when the boy planted himself in front of her, looking up at him with the particular expression of someone who was not going to be made to feel bad about her order. “Chocolate,” she said, completely unmoved by his outrage, “is a classic. It’s not boring. It’s correct.”
“I thought you understood the mission. I thought we were in this together.”
Brow raised, Morgan took another lick from her delicious chocolate ice cream cone. “The mission required someone with standards. You’re welcome,” she said, and watched him take his first taste. The jury being out was better than she’d expected from that particular flavor combination and she chose not to say so.
It didn’t take him long to decide it didn’t deserve more than that and he tossed it in a bin as they walked.
Morgan couldn’t believe her Benji slip happened. Thankfully, she managed to recover with ‘Bobby’ and began walking again as if nothing had happened, which was her preferred method of handling most things.
Or not handling things.
Depending on how you looked at it.
“Balthazar is a lot of a name. Zar is even worse. You’d spend your whole life correcting people who wanted to call you Sarah,” she commented, smirking at the thought.
On second thought, perhaps she’d call him Zar after all. Or Sarah, at this point. That’d be fun.
She stopped walking as the boy took a seat on a nearby bench. She sat next to him, definitely not too close, and focused on her ice cream. She let silence envelope them for a few beats while she finished her cone, then wiped her mouth with her napkin.
“So Molly, you doing ok? You looked a little down earlier. And if I’m stepping on toes, just know it’s not me, it's Broderick, he sounds like a total ass-hat.”
Morgan looked down at her hands. He’d noticed. She thought perhaps he hadn’t known her well enough to know something was off. But she’d been so much more on top of it when she last saw him, and this time she hardly even felt like herself.
She hesitated momentarily, looking at her hands.
“It’s a hard day. Not every day, just this one,” she responded, not willing to open up. Anyone who knew Morgan knew that she had thick armor. She didn’t like to show her weaknesses to just anyone – hell, her dad hardly ever saw them.
She then sighed and looked over at him, squinting slightly in the sun. “Morgan. That’s my name. Not Molly, not Monica, not Mystery.” Her statement was simple, and matter-of-fact. It was the least she could do since he’d shown her some sort of concern. “Don’t make it weird.”
“Balthazar is a lot of a name. Zar is even worse. You’d spend your whole life correcting people who wanted to call you Sarah,” Brooks rolled his eyes. “First of all, you brought the name up, so you can’t be doggin’ it now. And second, I would make a fabulous Sarah.”
He regretted asking her, but he was also slightly concerned. Or as concerned as a fifteen year old boy could be. The mood had changed, taking on a darker edge.
Nodding, Brooks leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Looking at his feet, he dragged them back and forth, pushing a small pebble around with the toe of his boot. Brooks was an open book with those he liked. And for some reason, he liked this girl sitting beside him with a toad in her bag and chocolate ice cream dripping down her hand.
“Yeah, I get it. I have hard days too. Usually the ones that smell like rain, old wood, and the dirt and grime of a big city. Reminds me of a place I can't go back to. And the people who didn’t come with us.” He didn't look at her, giving her the same privacy he’d want if he were the one staring at a ghost in a window. He just kept his eyes on that pebble. “You’re allowed to have hard days. Even if it’s just the one.”
When she broke the tense silence, he smiled to himself. “Morgan. That’s my name. Not Molly, not Monica, not Mystery. Don’t make it weird.” He straightened up and let out a long breath, the lopsided grin returning, though it was softer now. “Since you’ve gone and ruined the guessing game by being sensible, I suppose I should settle the tab. You were close with Brennan, but you missed the mark by a mile.”
He stood up, brushing a stray crumb from his trousers. “It’s Brooks. Brooks Garren. But most people back in the old neighborhood called me Rook. Mostly 'cause I’m wicked good on a chess board.” He offered her a hand to help her up, his eyes meeting hers with a flash of that familiar snark. “So, you can call me Brooks. Or Rook. But you try that Sarah business and I’m tellin’ everyone your name is actually Magdalina.”
He was passionate about ‘Sarah’. She filed that away neatly to be used again later. There would be a later.
Morgan listened as he spoke about his hard days without looking at him, giving him the same privacy that he’d given her. She appreciated it and knew that he would too. Rain and old wood – she could smell it now, if she were honest – and a city that he couldn’t go back to. She frowned and didn’t ask any questions that she wouldn’t want him to ask her. The silent offer between the two as they shared something not very happy was something that would mean the most to both of them later.
Then the boy stood, and her green eyes followed.
“It’s Brooks. Brooks Garren. But most people back in the old neighborhood called me Rook. Mostly 'cause I’m wicked good on a chess board.”
Rook. Morgan nodded slightly and then took his outstretched hand in hers and stood. Very briefly she hadn’t realized what she’d done, but she let go as soon as she did and brushed invisible crumbs off her lap from her ice cream cone, attempting to be nonchalant about the whole thing.
“Rook,” she said as if she was testing it. “I’ll use Rook.”
Then Morgan narrowed her eyes slightly. “Brooks sounds like someone’s father.”
The girl then reached into her bag and pulled David out, holding her in the hand that had touched his, hoping to dull whatever part of her was still thinking about that brief second of time.
“And for the record, my name is Morgan,” she said and began walking. “Not Magdalina. If you try to make anyone call me that, I will tell everyone your chess skills are average at best.”
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