Chapter Text
London had to admit, she had mixed feelings about her upcoming flying lessons.
On one hand, learning to fly sounds like it would be an enriching experience, even if the school brooms apparently left much to be desired according to the older students.
On the other hand, however, it was with the Hufflepuffs, which London had been getting the distinct impression that they don’t like her very much.
Now a lot of people didn’t really think much of her, it's true, thanks to her mothers reputation. But it felt particularly pronounced among the Hufflepuffs, especially centered around Susan Bones, who she often caught glaring at her.
This doesn’t come as too much of a surprise, as unless she is very much mistaken, she is probably related to Ameila Bones, the head of magical law enforcement in Britain. She can’t imagine being the daughter of a cop killer who got off on a technicality would be doing her any favours in this instance.
Nevertheless, she tried not to let it bother her as she arrived in the yard alongside the other Ravenclaw first years, enduring the distrusting glares from the Hufflepuffs who had arrived not long after.
Personally she wished she had this class with the Gryffindors instead, as then it least Hermione would be there to keep her company. She could almost hear Hermione's distressed chatter that she had been subjecting London too leading up to her own flying lessons.
Her musings were interrupted however by Padma, one of her fellow Ravenclaws. “So… London, how are you feeling about flying?”
London blinked and turned her head in her direction, surprised for a short moment that anyone would be talking to her, let alone asking her how she is feeling.
She quickly pulled herself together, not wanting to be rude to Padma after she had been so polite as to ask the question. “Oh… Well, honestly, I’m not really sure how I’ll do to be honest.”
“Really?” Padma pondered with a head tilt. “I’m surprised there is anything you wouldn’t be confident in.”
“I’ve never really flown on anything other than an aeroplane before, and even then that wasn’t me flying, it was the pilot.” London admitted. “Well, actually, there was that one time I had tried to get mothers dolls to lift me onto the roof, but it had been such an unnerving experience that I didn’t dare tell them to take me back down. I had to wait for mother to come get me. Gave me quite the tongue lashing too, she was very cross that I did something so pointlessly dangerous.”
Despite the general uneasiness she had when London's mother was brought up, Padma couldn’t help but snort at London's retelling of the incident. “Now that is even harder to imagine. You are always so confident, I can’t picture you being nervous about anything, let alone doing something that silly.”
London couldn’t help but pout. “I was seven at the time, and I can be just as whimsical as any child my age, thank you very much.”
“The fact that you use the word whimsical in casual conversation is exactly why I find it hard to believe.” Padma spoke sardonically.
London turned up her nose snootily. “The English language has over one hundred thousand words, and I intend to use them.”
To her surprise, that earned her a surprising amount of giggles from the other Ravenclaw girls, and even a nervous chuckle or two from the boys.
London, feeling a little warm inside, thinks that maybe she needs to give the hat more credit, Ravenclaw seems to be suiting her.
Then she catches Susan’s glare from the corner of her eye, and thinks that it was certainly a better option then Hufflepuff at the least.
It was then that Madam Hootch arrived, a severe windswept woman whose sharp eyes swept across the collected students critically.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” She barked. “Everyone stand by a Broomstick. Come on, hurry up!”
London, like everyone else, quickly complied.
London frowned down at the mangy looking thing. While she had tried to find the least decrepit looking broomstick, pickings were slim, and obviously being passed through the hands of hundreds of children over the years had clearly been kind to none of these broomsticks.
Thinking back to her mundane primary school, she supposes some things were universal, one of them being school sports equipment that hadn’t been replaced since the seventies, at least. She just hoped that the enchantments were in a better state than the bristles.
Next year she is definitely buying her own broomstick, that's for sure.
“Stick out your right hand over your broom.” Hootch instructed from the front of the class. “And say ‘up’!”
“UP!” everyone shouted.
London, initially, was pleasantly surprised as her broom shot right into her hand, glad that despite its ratty appearance it seemed to be quite responsive. Her pleased mood shifted to inquisitive however, when she noticed that hers was one of the few that did. Other people taking several attempts to get their broom to respond, and some being severely less enthusiastic in answering their riders' calls. She eyed her own quizzically. Was hers just in better condition, or were these brooms somewhat moody? She understands that a lot of magical items when left alone too long can develop egos after all. Perhaps hers was just more spritely than the rest.
Regardless, once everyone's brooms were in hand, and they were all taught how to mount their brooms, along with the correct grip and posture to riding, they all took to the air.
To London's surprise, as Hootch took them through various drills, it was almost trivially easy. Getting the broom to move how she wanted was almost second nature. Indeed, while most of her yearmates were struggling to move in circles and maintain a consistent speed, she was zipping around like nobody's business. Hootch even complimented her, saying with a few more lessons, she’d probably be ready to fly unsupervised, and possibly be the first in class to earn her flight certificate.
It was hard not to feel smug after that.
“So much for not being confident.” groused Padma as they left the courtyard with their classmates. “Are you sure you never flew before? I own a broom at home, and you still finished the basic drills before me.”
“I have never so much as touched an enchanted broom before.” London answered, trying not to sound smug. “Perhaps I just had a knack.”
“Way more than a knack I’d say.” Mandy cut in enthusiastically. “You were flying circles around us! If you weren’t a first year you could be on the house team!”
London gave her a quizzical look, before she recalled something her mother had told her about. “Oh right, Quidditch team.”
She hesitated, as now that she thought about it, her mother had only really mentioned it in passing. Neither her nor her mother were really that into sports, so she hadn’t really bothered to enquire any further.
“Well, maybe… could be a distinct possibility.” London commented diplomatically.
However, her classmates were not Ravenclaws for nothing, and they picked up on the cagey response immediately. “Do you not know anything about Quidditch?” Mandy asked.
“...Not in so many words, no.” London admitted.
“How could you not know what Quidditch is?” another classmate, Lisa Turpin chimed in incredulously.
“It had never really come up.” London mumbled defensively. “My family isn’t really that sporty, and we weren’t really keeping track of what goes on in the wizarding world until this year.”
“Well, Quidditch is like, the sport in the wizarding world!” Lisa’s words were nothing short of enthusiastic, “Right! First off, there are two teams, with seven players, not including reserves-”
And thus London was subjected to an in depth explanatory lecture into the grand Game of Quidditch by her classmates, and London was forced to politely nod along to.
Nevertheless, she felt warm again, as she felt the gap between her and her classmates close little by little, perhaps she will have good news for her next letter home.
However, she noticed that Lilly, who had elevated herself higher, kept glancing behind her, and sweeping the corridor. Something had triggered her doll's heightened alert state. Someone was following her.
With a sigh, she held up a hand, stopping Lisa in the middle of explaining various fouls, and how all seven hundred of them had been committed in one game back in 1473. “Ah, sorry could you hold on a minute?”
She turned around to see a surprised Susan Bones duck behind a suit of armour just a second too late.
“No point hiding now, I’ve already seen you.” London called out to her stalker a little annoyed. The story was just getting interesting! “Do you have a problem with me, Miss Bones?”
The other Ravenclaws turned to watch, making London sigh again, now this was probably going to be a spectacle.
Susan, reluctantly stepped out from behind the suit of armour. And mumbled something London was too far away to hear.
London cupped her ear theatrically. “Sorry, couldn’t quite catch that?”
Susan, now looking a little annoyed, closed the distance until they were standing a metre apart. “Keeping an eye on you, my Aunt told me to while at school.”
London raised her eyebrow. “I doubt she meant for you to stalk me out of class. It would be very irresponsible behaviour for a member of law enforcement to encourage in an eleven-year-old.”
Susan continued. “She told me Alice Margatroid was a bad person, and I should be careful around you in case you are also bad.”
“That still doesn’t sound like a suggestion to tail me. If anything, being careful should be the opposite.” London reiterated.
Susan, once more ignoring her objection, pressed on hotly. “Don’t you even feel bad about all the people your mother killed!?”
There was some awkward shuffling behind her, as her housemates were once again reminded of that awkward fact about London’s mother, thoroughly spoiling London's good mood.
“Why should I? I didn’t kill them. Nor was I complicit in their killing.” London sniffed derisively.
“They were good people!” Susan retorted.
“Then maybe the Ministry shouldn’t have sent them to die.” London answered coldly, drawing gasps from behind her, but she pressed on anyway. “My mother was minding her own business, putting on puppet shows for some innocent mundane children. That the Ministry thought that was worth dying over was not Mother’s fault, and it certainly wasn’t mine. One does not blame the tiger for those foolish enough to wander into its den.”
“They were just doing their jobs!” Susan retorted.
“And my Mother was just protecting herself from unjust persecution!” London shot back.
“Unjust?!” Susan had never felt this indignant before.
“If, as a British Witch, a German tried to arrest you in France for breaking German law, would you not resist? Would you not do anything to protect yourself from such injustice?” London crossed her arms as she was now confidently glaring at the girl tailing her.
“She is a British witch though! And her first offence was in England!” Susan countered.
“She was a magician who had not participated in Wizarding society for decades, lived mostly in isolation, and had only ventured into mundane England to shop and put on her shows. The ministry might as well have been a foreign power for all it mattered.” London said.
While Susan tried to think of a retort, London changed tactics a little. “Let me rephrase that. Say that instead of a German man, it was one of that Lord Voldemort Person's followers." Everyone recoiled at the name, and Susan looked like she had been struck. “Say they had won the civil war, and were now trying to enforce their own rules and values upon you. Should you not resist? Should you not fight for your freedoms? For what you believe in?”
Susan looked stunned for a moment, mouth flapping, before she abruptly turned and ran away, surprising London somewhat.
London shrugged, assuming that Susan had just lost the will to argue, and was just about to check it off as a win, but when she turned around, she found that her housemates looked kinda uneasy.
Before London could wonder if the argument had soured their opinions of her, Padma spoke softly. “That was kinda a low blow, London.”
“I’m sorry?” London asked, tilting her head in confusion. Had there been something specific she had said?
“You don’t know?” Padma continued. “Almost Susan's entire family had died in the war, including her parents. It's mostly just her and her Aunt left.”
Oh dear...
“Oh dear.” London finally uttered. “Well now I just feel like a heel.”
Sure Susan had been rude to her and her mother, but that was no excuse to be so insensitive. Perhaps an apology is in order…? M
Maybe not in person though, she clearly feels threatened by London… a letter perhaps? Perhaps an apology gift too? Sweets would feel too juvenile for the nature of the offence, more like a bribe than a proper apology. Flowers might work, far more serious feeling, but that could be taken as rubbing it in…
She turned to her housemates. “Excuse me, do any of you know of any appropriate gifts that could be used to demonstrate remorse for a tactless comment, but without feeling condescending, or disrespectful to her deceased relatives?”
They all stared at her in confusion.
She felt her cheeks flush a little. “What? I may appear proud, but I’d like to think I know when to admit fault.”
Another time, another place…
Malfoy paused as he stepped into the Entrance Hall, having inadvertently crossed paths with London stepping off the grand stairway.
“Miss Margatroid.” He spoke evenly, with a respectful nod of his head.
“Mister Malfoy.” London answered the same way, nodding in kind. “Excuse me.”
“Go ahead.” Malfoy said, gesturing to let her pass.
London paid him no further mind, walking past without sparing him any further glances.
The same could not be said for her tagalog, that insufferable Muggleborn know-it-all Hermione Granger, who regarded him with open suspicion, stopping to give him a disapproving glare, before hurrying to catch up with London.
Malfoy scowled at their backs, but schooled his expression into neutrality when the doll floating by London snapped its head back towards him for a moment. It stared for a few seconds longer, almost giving Malfoy a cold sweat, before it too looked away.
This time he didn’t relax until they had left the room.
Of all the people Alice's daughter could have befriended, it was the most annoying Mudblood Malfoy had ever had the displeasure of meeting…
“I don’t get why you let her get away with it.” Crab grumbled. “Putting on airs like she owns the place. Snubbing you in favour of the Mudblood.”
“Of course you don’t get it.” Malfoy snapped.
“Is she even our sort?” Goyle had his own grumbles. “Sure, her mum's a witch, but who's her dad? No idea about her Grandparents either.”
“Nobody does.” Malfoy sighed, having wondered that himself at times.
He shook himself. “In her case, it doesn’t matter. Father told me not to antagonise her, and to remain cordial.”
‘And probe out her potential allegiances.’ Malfoy added to himself. ‘But even then, if she is not favourable to our cause, I am to keep my distance and avoid bringing it up around her.’
He is still not completely certain she opposes blood purity, but her willingness to hang out with that insufferable teacher's pet does tell him that she, at the very least, is indifferent to such concerns.
“Isn’t her mum a muggle lover though?” Crabe brought up. “My Dad said something about her putting on shows for muggle kids. He said it's a disgrace that the ministry let her get away with that.”
He knew that, and had brought it up to his father, but…
“…Listen Draco,” his father began with a serious tone. “I understand you may find it distasteful, as do I. But even then, it is best to avoid antagonising the Margatroids.”
“But why Father?” Draco felt his blood boiling at the answer given to him. “Surely our Lord would not tolerate such… fraternizing with Muggles!”
His father gave him a look. “In fact, he did. Alice was active in England from nineteen sixty-eight to some time in the eighties, the entire length of our Lords reign, unchallenged. Do you know why?”
Draco paused, having not realised that until now. He shook his head.
“Because the Dark Lord Voldemort explicitly told us to leave her alone, and to not approach her under any circumstances. Why, I do not know. But suffice to say if our lord, for all his power, thought that Alice warranted the same caution as Dumbledore, should tell us all we need to know.”
…Draco would not dare pretend he knew better than the Dark Lord. So he did as his father instructed, and addressed London with a respect she almost certainly didn’t deserve.
He considered trying to explain all this to Crabe and Goyle…
“Crabe?” The Blonde started.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Well, he considered it at least.
“You know, he behaves completely differently when you are not around.” Hermione said matter-of-factly, as they headed to one of the few classes the Ravenclaws and Griffindors had together.
“Is that a fact?” London said airily.
“You should have seen him at the flying lessons, poor Neville broke his wrist, and had to be taken to the Hospital wing by Hootch, and Malfoy had the gall to laugh at him after she had gone.” Hermione explained with a hissing tone. “He even grabbed Nevilles remberal that he dropped in the accident and threatened to hide it up a tree. Lucky Professor McGonagall was watching and put a stop to that, but still, he is awful to anyone not in Slytherin, yet around you, he’s a perfect gentleman, it's honestly creepy, aren’t you bothered?”
“Not really, as you said he doesn’t do it in front of me, so I don’t really have the point of comparison.” London answered casually. Catching Hermione's disapproving look, she elaborated. “Look Hermione, if what you say is true, then for whatever reason, probably his parents, he has decided that I, or more likely my mother, was not worth antagonising. But at the same time, it's not worth me antagonising the Malfoys either. The Malfoys are an old and rich family with a lot of influence, and my mother is not exactly popular. I don’t want to give them any reason to start viewing me or my mother as a threat and start making our lives difficult politically. I’m here because my mother wants me to get a more generalist magical education, and to mingle with magical peers of my own age, not cause problems for my mother, especially for the sake of strangers.”
“But-…” Hermione bit her lip, not sure what to say to that, seeing the logic, but found it clashing with her sense of justice.
“That said, you are not a stranger,” London added, “If he gives you any problems, at least beyond a few mean words and snide comments, I will be sure to snub him more thoroughly in your honour.”
“Thank you?’ Hermione said, “I think?”
“Your welcome,”