IV: New Beginnings

Chapter IV: New Beginnings

On Thursday of the following week, Charis was finally hurled from the stasis of her quiet, lazy Muggle existence and back into the frenetic hubbub of the wizarding world. The peaceful Somerset countryside was replaced with the hustle and bustle of London streets, and the sound of birdsong switched for that of traders hawking their wares. Charis had initially been feeling quite nervous about visiting London as she'd never gone there on her own before. Now she chided herself for her nerves; she was of age and a full-grown, fully qualified witch now after all. But she still couldn't stop the queasy feeling in her tummy as if a nest of Nargles were resting there. Her future very much started here, and as much as she wanted to embrace it, something was holding her back, too. She didn't feel like a grown-up at all, not really. She still felt like a little girl; a girl who wanted to be protected and sheltered from the world, not thrust back into it with no idea what she was doing.

The Ministry of Magic had arranged a Portkey for her, and nervously she had taken a Wellington boot at nine o'clock from the leafy seclusion of Dunwear Ponds. Portkeys weren't Charis' favourite means of transportation. Whereas she had once admired the brilliancy of the invention, Portkeys nowadays filled her with a feeling of dread. No wonder, really. The last time her hands had closed around a Portkey, it had thrown her right into the arms of Bellatrix Lestrange. But the Wellington boot was safe, of course, and it brought Charis straight into the Ministry-owned flats located not far from Diagon Alley.

It was there she was greeted by an ageing but friendly Greek wizard named Mica Dimesto, who took much pleasure in showing her around the cosy apartments that were to let. They were clean and safe, if not particularly spacious, and pets were welcomed. Each apartment consisted of a bedroom, kitchen, lounge and bathroom, and they each had their own tall, narrow Floo. They were also sparsely furnished, a bed and a sofa were provided, but everything else would need buying. Charis nearly balked when she heard how many Galleons per month the cheapest flat went for. Once again, her naiveté about the situation was clear. She had no idea if it was a good deal or a bad one. But she did not have the luxury of time to shop around for a better price, and so, charmed by a little flat in the eaves with a small round window in the lounge, she signed a six month contract on the spot and was told she could move in at any time from now and that the first month's rent would automatically be deducted from her first Ministry pay packet. She was presented with a copy of the contract and a fat, shiny brass key and left the building feeling decidedly more grown-up and optimistic than she had going in.

Charis had managed to secure a flat after just over an hour of being in London and felt jubilant at her luck. She had her induction with the Ministry at two, which gave her several hours in which to shop and spend her birthday money. Of course, she stopped off at Gringotts first to fill up with Galleons, and then she went straight to Madam Malkin's in order to buy some new robes for work.

Madam Malkin herself was a kind, squat witch, who fussed and cooed over Charis when she'd spoken of her new job and her desire to look the part.

'You'll look like a professional in these, dear,' Madam Malkin told Charis as she held up a particularly beautifully cut set of pretty, teal-green robes. 'They're self-ironing and temperature-adjusting, so you don't have to worry about getting too hot in summer or too cool in winter. They bring out your eyes, too.'

Charis felt somewhat akin to a butterfly coming out of its chrysalis when she viewed herself in the robes for the first time. She'd worn dress robes before, of course. But they were for an occasion, to be worn for one night only, whereas these robes would be what she would be wearing every day from now on. It felt strange. As a Muggle-born, the only time Charis wore robes was at Hogwarts. Buying her work robes was another symbolic act on the road to becoming what she thought was a "real" witch.

Charis eventually settled on the green robes as well as some in royal blue and purple and a black travelling cloak, and buoyed by her purchases, and on a roll, she paid a visit to Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions. Half an hour later, she came out with a little vanity case full of creams, lotions and potions. Well, Charis thought to herself, there was no point buying new robes to look the part if her hair was a mess and she had pimples. In all honestly, she had been feeling very unattractive and plain for quite some time. Snape's rejection had hit her hard, and the experience with Morgana in the Room of Requirement had left her feeling confused about their friendship. The result of this meant Charis had taken very little care in her appearance during the last few weeks at school, not having the energy or desire to bother with make-up or styling her hair when she'd had so many other things on her mind. And returning home to her parents had given her plenty of time to comfort-eat, which had piled on a few pounds and made her feel even more unattractive. The poor diet also showed on her complexion, which was usually clear and smooth, but now bore red spots on her chin. All in all, Charis felt like she should be walking around with a brown paper bag over her head with eye holes cut out, such was her dislike of her appearance.

But a new job meant a new start and with that, a new look. It was time for her to pick herself up and start looking like a real witch, Charis decided, even if she didn't actually feel like one yet. She would dress the part and hoped that by doing so, it would also make her act the part.

By now, Charis' stomach was telling her it was time for a lunch break, and so, laden with bags, she chose a café with brightly coloured umbrellas over the tables outside and perused the menu, feeling for all the world like a sophisticated young woman as she ordered salmon en croute. She savoured the delicious lunch and watched the weird and wonderful wizards and witches going about their daily business. Yet she noticed that the atmosphere had changed since her last visit to Diagon Alley. The street was much less busy than it usually was, and no one seemed to take time to browse in the shop windows and instead seemed almost furtive and in a hurry. Charis supposed the various wanted posters of suspected Death Eaters that were leering down from every available space did little to make the place feel welcoming.

Charis didn't linger, either. As soon as she had finished her lunch, she requested the bill, paid up and set off for the Ministry. It wouldn't matter if she was early, and she would rather be an hour early than one minute late.

The letter she had received from the Ministry had suggested that she arrive in what Charis thought was an extremely unconventional way. Rather than by Floo or Portkey, the letter held explicit instructions to find what looked to be abandoned public toilets just off Charing Cross Road, which was not far, as The Leaky Cauldron led out to the adjoining Tottenham Court Road.

As Charis bustled through the busy Muggle London streets, trying to manoeuvre herself and her many bags through the crowds, the butterflies in her stomach began to flutter around once more. What if she messed up her induction and they decided she was not suitable to work at the Ministry? What if she hated her boss? What if working at the Ministry placed her in more danger somehow?

Charis frowned as she spotted the disused public conveniences up ahead. Why on earth would she mess up? She was fully qualified for her job. And her boss was surely a very nice person. But she had always had a very overactive imagination when it came to fearing the worst. Most probably, that was one of the reasons she had not been sorted into Gryffindor, Charis supposed. So, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Charis gave herself a stern talking to, told herself not to be silly and slowly approached the shabby loos.

Subtly, so as not to arouse attention, she backed up towards the entrance little by little, pretending to squint at her map, until she was standing in the doorway. Then, after a furtive glance around, she disappeared inside.

The loos were grim. There was the constant drip, drip, of a leaking tap echoing off the grubby tiled walls, and the cubicle doors were etched with years and years of graffiti. However, each of the doors, although marked "Vacant", stood firmly closed, despite Charis trying them all. Only when she caught sight of a coin slot near the door locks did she remember the strange Ministry-marked coin she had been sent along with her letter.

Fumbling in her pockets, she pulled out the coin and pushed it into the slot. The cubicle door sprang open and Charis entered. The door automatically shut behind her and she heard the click of the lock which she presumed now displayed "Engaged". Charis was not sure what she had been expecting to see inside the cubicle, but it was certainly not a plain old toilet. Cautiously, she peered forwards. The bowl of the lavatory had water in it. It was, by any means, a normal looking loo. Charis quickly checked her letter again. According to the instructions, she'd have to flush herself in!

Charis wrinkled her nose. For some reason, she had presumed that the flush mechanism would be in place but there wouldn't be an actual toilet in the cubicles, or that if there was, there would be no stagnant water in the bowl. But it appeared she was expected, on her first day at the Ministry, to climb inside a loo, get her shoes and trousers covered in bog water and arrive looking dishevelled and disgusted. Couldn't they have thought of an easier entrance, Charis thought to herself as she gingerly stepped up on to the toilet seat. Maybe it was some kind of test, to see if she was tough enough? Of course, she could Scourgify herself on arrival, but the thought was still disgusting.

Resting her hands on the back wall to steady herself, she dangled her right foot into the toilet bowl. To her surprise, although the tip of her shoe passed through the water, when she pulled it out again it was completely dry. Encouraged by this, Charis submerged her whole foot and sure enough the water did not penetrate her clothes. Well, that was one thing. But trying to get both feet into a toilet bowl was very awkward indeed. After a few moments of rearranging herself and her bags, still using the back wall to keep her balance, Charis reached one hand up to the flush and after a deep breath, pulled it hard.

Immediately, she felt herself being squeezed as though through a tube of toothpaste, a very similar sensation to Apparition. But then the sensation changed, and suddenly she was spinning and being jostled from side to side, with flashes of light whizzing past her. Charis found she could not keep her eyes open, the motion was making her nauseous. She closed her eyes firmly and gripped hold of her bags tightly, petrified they would be ripped from her from the force of the motion.

After what seemed like five minutes but could only have really been about thirty seconds, the spinning motion began to slow and eventually stop. And before she knew what was happening, Charis emerged from a curtain of emerald green flames and stepped from an ornate fireplace into a large, tall, impressive-looking hall. Looking around, she saw that the high ceiling was peacock blue with golden symbols moving over it, and the floor was covered in polished dark wood.

In front of Charis in the middle of the hall was an area seemingly full of rubble which was fenced off by sheets and scaffolding. Charis supposed this was more collateral damage from Harry Potter's fight with Voldemort here just a few weeks ago. There were various witches and wizards hurrying about their business, holding pieces of parchment and frowning in concentration. Charis was delighted to see a flock of paper aeroplanes, which had been charmed to fly, swoop into the nearest lift and jostle for position with some rather annoyed-looking occupants.

'Excuse me? Are you Charis Byrne?'

Charis turned to see a tall man with long, fair hair tied neatly into a ponytail and kind blue eyes. He was dressed in rather smart-looking grey robes. She supposed he was in his mid-forties by the little smile lines around his eyes. He held out his hand for Charis to shake.

'Grindling Gibbons. I'm the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies, and so I guess, technically, that makes me your new boss.'

He smiled as Charis shook his hand and greeted him politely in return. Charis had a good feeling about him, although she couldn't put her finger on why.

'We'll have to sign you in to the security desk before I can show you around. They'll need to keep hold of your bags and register your wand whilst your here. Just standard procedure, nothing to worry about,' Grindling added quickly seeing Charis' face fall at the possibility of being parted from her wand. He could not, of course, know that Charis' original wand had been snapped in two by one of the Darkest witches alive only a short time ago and that Charis had not let her new wand out of sight once since she had acquired it.

After passing through a set of golden gates, the Watchwizard at the security gate checked Charis with a strange instrument called a Probity Probe, issued her with a shiny visitor's pass and registered her wand. He placed her bags in a little locker for safe-keeping, and then she and Grindling were free to finally descend to the Department Of Mysteries on Level Nine.

Charis' heart was thumping with nerves as she was led through a black door and into the gloomy, circular, many-doored Entrance Chamber and finally into the Hall Of Prophecy itself. She gasped at both the enormity of the room and the enormity of the damage that had befallen it. There were still rows upon rows of damaged shelves, and here and there were piles of broken glass and damaged orbs.

Grindling looked more than a little apologetic as he explained the scale of the damage and what Charis' role would be in helping to get the Hall Of Prophecy back to normal. 'There are new prophecies coming in every day; that's the problem,' he confided. 'So, we're struggling with the backlog and trying to clear up the mess and reorganise the prophecies again.'

Charis understood her role would be critical if not especially taxing, but she was eager to start and show her lovely new boss just what she could do. She was determined that she would work hard to get the Hall Of Prophecy back on track and couldn't wait to get stuck in. She would therefore be starting first thing on Monday.

She left the Ministry feeling optimistic and happy from her induction and more positive about her future than she had in weeks. It might seem like a small thing, cleaning up the mess from You-Know-Who's attack. But Charis felt it was an act of defiance; her own small way of fighting back. Little did she know then that her job at the Ministry would be more involved in the resistance than she could possibly imagine.

* * *

Two hours later, Charis had made her way back to Diagon Alley for a celebratory ice cream at an unusually quiet Florean Fortescue's, where she had arranged to meet Morgana. She was dying to tell her friend all about her productive day. But since Morgana hadn't seem to have arrived yet, Charis decided to go ahead and have her pick at one of the many delicious treats that the ice cream parlour had to offer.

It was always tricky trying to decide what to have. There was so much to choose from! Ice Mice. Frozen Pumpkin Pasties. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Ice Cream. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Charis' mouth was watering from the mere sight of all the sweet things, but a part of her was wondering if she should have ice cream at all. She had been eating all sorts of the wrong food lately, after all, and had gained a couple of pounds. But she felt excited about her new job, and there was no better way to celebrate than with a delicious dessert. Dieting could wait.

'What can I get you, lovely?' Fortescue beamed at her from across the counter, his striped waistcoat stretched across his rather large paunch.

'Er...' Charis hesitated. Blueberry or Vanilla?

Mr. Fortescue raised his eyebrows in an understanding sort of way as Charis continued to deliberate. 'Take your time,' he said. 'And should you regret your choice, you can always come back tomorrow.'

Charis smiled, and after some moments, she finally made her decision. 'A Blueberry Bat, please.'

Just as she had made her choice, a low, drawling voice came from right behind her.

'I knew you'd go for the bat. So predictable, Miss Bryne.'

Charis spun around, only to see her best friend Morgana standing there with her arms folded across her chest, cocking an eyebrow and with a distinctly devious look on her face.

'They have chocolate bats, too, you know,' Morgana told Charis wryly. 'Dark chocolate. Should be right up your alley.'

But Charis didn't care if Fortescue sold solid gold bats which could poop rainbows. Her best friend was here, and she had missed her deeply. Without even thinking, she threw herself at Morgana in a hug.

Instinctively, Morgana tensed up, but awkwardly wrapped her arms around her friend nonetheless. 'Easy, lassie!'

'Oh, I've missed you!' Charis exclaimed, hugging her friend even tighter.

'Something for your friend, Miss?' Fortescue asked, smiling even more broadly. 'Now you can take two of each and split them.'

With the attention of the shopkeeper on them, Morgana tried to wriggle free from her friend's grip. 'Ice, I'd say. To cool this one down.' She smirked, but really she was not at all comfortable with that public display of affection.

'Make that two bats, please.' Charis grinned at Fortescue before turning back to Morgana. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked her friend up and down critically.

'You look... different. Have you been working out?'

Morgana wrinkled her nose in a characteristic display of distaste. 'How long have you known me? I don't work out.'

'You've lost weight, anyway,' Charis pointed out.

'I simply don't sneak off to the Hogwarts kitchen anymore to steal food,' Morgana replied, wanting to end the topic of her appearance. She had one hot meal a day and a croissant for breakfast, but besides that she still didn't eat much. Her appetite had disappeared about a month into her pregnancy, and both to her and Madam Pomfrey's confusion, it had never returned. Combined that with her training for the Auror physical examination and her late night excursions around Knockturn Alley, and it was no wonder she had lost weight. But Charis didn't need to know about any of this. Charis mustn't worry.

Charis, in turn, looked down, embarrassed. 'I've put on a bit. I'm sure you can tell.'

Morgana had noticed her friend's curves were a little more round than they had been at school, but to her Charis now only looked more womanly. The curves suited her just fine.

'So?' she asked, as so often not aware of her friend's self-consciousness. 'You're still cute, aren't you?'

Charis smiled at her friend as the shopkeeper handed over the ice creams. She paid the man, and the pair took a seat by the windows, a spot which once would have been ideal for people-watching. Nowadays, however, there didn't seem to be too many people out and about in Diagon Alley.

'It's quieter here than I was expecting,' Charis started. 'Diagon Alley has really changed. And all those wanted posters everywhere are just creepy.'

'Well, since Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance got killed, everyone is nervous,' Morgana answered matter-of-factly. 'And there are some who are quick to cash in on people's fears. Look at the toothless old guy on that stall over there.'

Charis looked over her shoulder and saw a man in shabby robes with matted hair. His "stall" appeared to be a table draped in an old curtain, with an open suitcase on top. Inside the suitcase glittered objects of silver and gold.

'Protective amulets, he's selling,' Morgana went on. 'Reckons they repel Dark magic. Can you believe some people are dumb enough to buy them?' She snapped the head off her bat with relish.

Charis could not help but grin at her friend's pleasure. 'Watching you with that bat, you're like Ozzy Osbourne.'

Morgana looked puzzled. 'Who?'

Charis shook her head. Morgana frequently failed to understand her Muggle references, due to her upbringing in the wizard world. 'Don't worry. So, tell me about the Ministry! I am so excited after my induction, I can't wait to start!'

'The Ministry is a big, gloomy building. But why would you ask? You've just been there for two hours yourself. You should know,' Morgana answered obtusely.

'I meant about the Auror stuff, silly!'

Morgana grinned. 'Well, let's say the real Alastor Moody is even crazier than the impostor that taught us for a year. He tried to poison us all during our briefing lunch.'

'What?' Charis exclaimed in shock, nibbling at the wing of her bat.

'He succeeded with two,' Morgana continued. 'Needless to say, they aren't accepted to the program.'

'Let me guess: Constant vigilance?'

Morgana sighed. 'Indeed. Seriously, he's crazy.'

This time, it was Charis' turn to grin. 'Looks like you two will get along fine.'

'Ha, cheers! But you might be right. According to the psychological evaluation, I have severe trusting issues and anger management problems.' Morgana rolled her eyes theatrically. 'Your friend's a nut case.'

'Well, that's no surprise. You could have told them that.'

'Who? Docile little me?' Morgana looked mock-offended. 'I'm insulted.'

''course you are.' Charis grinned again and nibbled delicately at her bat once more.

Morgana narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. 'So, how was your salmon?'

Charis frowned. 'How did you know I had salmon for lunch?'

Morgana smirked in a rather self-satisfied way. 'I've been following you ever since you left Madam Malkin's. You bought three robes. Rather nice ones, by the looks of things.'

Charis' mouth dropped in surprise.

Morgana looked at her nails casually. 'Then you went to Primpernelle's and bought a vanity case full of lotions and potions.'

'So that's what they're teaching you,' Charis exclaimed, not really sure whether she was impressed or creeped out by Morgana's confession. 'How to freak out your friends!'

Morgana laughed. 'I am determined to achieve best grades in Stealth and Tracking. Unless Moody poisons me before the exams, that is.'

'Judging by that performance, you'll be top of the group.' Charis smiled. 'You sound like you're enjoying it, anyway.'

'It's a nice change from sitting in a stuffy classroom,' Morgana admitted. 'A little more "hands on", if you know what I mean.'

'I think it's going to be a while before I get to do any good stuff at work,' Charis replied. 'I've been given my assignment already.'

Morgana looked surprised. 'You have? Can you tell? Or is that classified information?'

'It's what I imagined. A clean up operation. But no, I can't really say much more, I'm afraid.' Charis looked apologetically at her friend.

Morgana shrugged. 'That's alright. I'll find out eventually.'

Charis put her finished lolly stick down and licked her lips. 'Hmm. That bat was delicious.'

Morgana, meanwhile, had only eaten half of her bat. 'Yeah, it was alright,' she replied, less than enthusiastically.

Charis once again felt self-conscious of her weight and shifted uncomfortably. But Morgana didn't seem to notice her friend's discomfort.

'So, what's up for tonight?' she asked instead. 'Where are you staying?'

Charis grinned broadly. She had been saving her best news for the right time, and this was it. 'Guess who got herself a flat this morning?'

Morgana was amazed. 'You didn't?'

'I did! It's more Galleons than I care to think about, but it's gorgeous. One of the Ministry ones. It's right in the eaves, so it has cute sloped walls and a little circular window in the lounge.' Charis was practically levitating with excitement. 'I have the key, but there are no furnishings or anything yet. I guess I will have to Transfigure my clothes into a blanket tonight.'

'Well, you know, Silvy would love it if she could treat you to a chocolate croissant tonight,' Morgana said softly. 'Or for breakfast tomorrow.'

'You mean, stay with you?'

Morgana smiled awkwardly. 'Yeah. If you'd like to. Mind you, the place smells of cat pee...'

Charis didn't have to think twice. 'I'd love to! Would your landlady be okay with that?'

Morgana nodded. 'She only ever says: no boys!'

Charis snorted.

'Really, I doubt she'll mind,' Morgana continued. 'But we'll have to share a bed. The room's too tiny to conjure a couch.'

'That's okay. It'll be like a sleepover.' Charis' face lit up with inspiration. 'Hey, we can try out my new potions from Madam Primpernelle's!'

'Ewww, that's girly stuff!' Morgana moaned. She tended to shy away from all things girly if at all possible.

Charis was not put off, however. 'Well, your complexion might not need pampering, but mine sure as hell does. Look at these zits!'

'Oh, don't be silly,' Morgana scoffed. 'Who cares about your zits?'

'I look like a spotted dick,' Charis complained.

'Hm, tasty!' Morgana answered, licking her lips.

Charis grinned. 'So, what are we waiting for? Shall we go back to Chez Belakane?'

'Chez Belakane, the one and only place in London where you get cat pee and bat droppings all at once,' Morgana commented with a sneer. 'But hey, you like cats, and you like bats. You'll absolutely love it.'

It was a short walk, as Fortescue's was situated only a few houses away from the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, but the short distance was enough to give anyone a picture of the current mood in the wizarding community. Of course, so close to the darkest alley in London, there were more shifty traders that sold protective amulets and knock-off Sneakoscopes than anywhere else, and the wanted posters hung side by side.

'Will they ever catch them?' Charis asked quietly, rooted to the spot in front of the wanted poster of Bellatrix Lestrange. Even on a photograph, the woman looked insane and endlessly dangerous. And Charis had to fight very hard not to burst out in tears. She had not talked about Bellatrix's attack on her with anyone for the whole summer. There was no point in telling her parents. Her mother would only worry herself sick without being able to do anything, and her father didn't want to hear anything about witches and wizards at all. And so Charis had kept her feelings to herself. She had also kept quiet about the death of her cousin, Sirius Black.

'Our best people are on it,' Morgana replied, positioning herself between her friend and the picture of the deranged witch, directing her gaze towards the other side of the street. 'See the old man over there, the one with the hunch?'

Charis nodded.

'That's one of the Ministry's best Dark Wizard catchers.'

'THAT man?' Charis exclaimed in disbelief. 'How old is he? A hundred-and-thirty?'

'Forty-three, to be precise,' Morgana explained. 'He isn't only good at catching, he is good at disguising, too.'

'How many Aurors are there out in the field?' Charis asked.

'A few. I think I spotted Tonks somewhere around here earlier. But I could be wrong. One never knows with Tonks.'

'Tonks?' Charis had to think about the name for a moment. 'Oh, that was that cool witch at Grimmauld Place.'

Morgana nodded. 'She's a Metamorphmagus.'

'Awesome. You've met her again?'

'Yeah, she's one of the young Aurors who's taking care of us newbies. She's a good laugh.'

'Don't you get too friendly with her,' Charis joked. 'You're my best friend.'

To that, Morgana snorted. 'No worries, kitten. I'd never make friends with a Hufflepuff. But come on now. We don't want to be outside when darkness falls.'