*She's only just arrived when Remus strolls up, a few minutes late despite the cafe's close proximity to home. Amrita's frowning politely at the sign and looking a good deal more subdued than their last meeting, having traded in her riot of pleated silks for a smart gray dress. But the fit is immaculate, and her jewelry is appropriately small and tasteful but it certainly isn't paste, that's for sure. And she's still wearing sindoor (every day, without fail) and alta on her hands; she's gotten back into the habit, now that she can look however she pleases.
As a result the Muggles milling around the cafe are looking ever-so-slightly sideways at her moneyed strangeness--but she's completely unconscious of them, as if they are flies or potted plants. It's only when she spots Remus that she smiles.*
Hello. It's closed, apparently. Something wrong with the, ah-
*She circles one red-tipped finger in the air, groping for the word.*
*She shrugs, a little awkwardly. And of course to Amrita, now, it is. But the first time she'd woken up here it'd been blinding and startling and alien: high ceilings and a wall of windows and an awful lot of white, and peculiar art and artifacts everywhere--never mind how many times her little room at the Leaky could fit into it.
And it hasn't changed much since then: a few more bookshelves by a little chair for her to read in, an idol in one little nook that's probably the brightest thing in the room, and a circle of carpet that's almost-imperceptibly worn. And of course there's a handsome iron hook suspended from the ceiling, holding only a blameless plant in a hanging pot.
She drops her purse onto a table and crosses the room to the bar.*
Make yourself at home, now. It can get you just about anything--it actually made me coffee once but I was awfully upset, don't know if a repeat performance is in the cards--Iced tea for me, I think, please, with cardamom--
*The bar clinks and chatters into activity before she's even spoken to it, and it produces a gently steaming cup of flawless tea--evidently anxious to make a good impression on this new friend of Amrita's.*
That was fast. Bit of milk and sugar, isn't it?
*She returns and extends the cup and saucer to Remus with the easy and workmanlike grace of someone who's served for a living--you can take the girl out of the pub, but--and settles into an armchair.
For all her blatant dismissal of his Muggle wife, Amrita's still obnoxiously lovesick. She can't help asking.*
You'll have to tell me how you and Hazel met. Was it very very romantic?
*Damn. He never should have given her a name, it humanized her, and now he's got to invent things - he's always been good off the cuff but it doesn't mean he likes it just now. The stakes are too high. So he just dives in, spinning out the kind of silly schoolgirl fancy she'd probably believe, too aware that it couldn't be less like the reality of his relationship with Sirius, from the framework up
( ... )
*She sees it ever so vividly: oranges rolling everywhere on the cobblestones and poor hapless Hazel-the-Muggle (a pretty if slightly dumpy brunette, in Amrita's mind) fretting all over the place. And Remus, of course, to the rescue. The story is enough, but the little smile he's wearing clinches it, and Amrita lights up like a Christmas tree, right on cue.*
That's just wonderful. Ever the white-knight, I could just die.
I don't know about you but I'm a bit peckish, I was sort of counting on a pastry or two from Maurice's. Let me get us a little something, we've got fruit and scones and things--won't be a second--
*The smile vanishes the instant Amrita's gone, and he's off. He's only got a moment, he knows, so he makes it count - the place is too spotless to afford many hints as to where he might look for anything incriminating, so all he can do is start with the obvious. Tea cup still in hand in case she comes back early, he quickly crosses for the nearest thing with drawers - an old and expensive-looking credenza sitting tastefully off to one side. There are curios spaced attractively on top of it, but Remus spares them barely a glance. As quietly as possible he pulls open the first drawer, careful not to actually touch anything.*
*The credenza gives a little mutinous creak at his touch, seems to twitch a bit, but that's all. The drawer would certainly have bitten, or worse, if anything incriminating was in the drawer--but it contains only a pair of smooth and intricately-carved wands.*
So do you have a flat together?
*Amrita didn't do much more than help out with kitchen prep at the Leaky--the cook was an ancient and horrid woman she was obliged to call Miss Fletcher who was in the habit of complaining loudly about 'it' touching things when Tom wasn't around. But she remembers some, and makes short work and neat slices of a few nectarines and tangellas. But that won't do on its own, so she keeps on rummaging and calls over to Remus.*
*So Sirius wasn't the only one to think to get secondary wands. It's hardly surprising - honestly, what Crouch thinks he's going to accomplish by these absurd regulations....
Shutting the drawer gently, he moves onto the next, setting his teacup down to open two at once this time. As long as he can hear movement in the kitchen, he reasons, he's fine.*
A bit out, yes, in Croydon.
*Sufficiently pedestrian and boring and lower-middle-class. He hopes.*
*The first drawer opens smoothly, revealing a dozen or so more wands, each carved and inlaid with infinitesmal chips of mirror. But it appears the credenza's had enough, because the next refuses to open at all. The wood gives another long creak, and it sounds more like a growl than anything else.*
Lovely. Did you have a housewarming? Goodness, I've really missed so much. Do you have all sorts of Muggle things in the kitchen?
*She's babbling, but a charming little fruit plate has taken shape, and the scones are busy toasting themselves, and where is the chocolate--*
*More sentient furniture? Why can't they just have a nice boring non-living side-table? If it won't open willingly, that's fine; he pushes the first drawer shut and slips his wand out a pocket stitched inside his waistcoat. First is a silencing spell, then a more forceful attempt at gaining entry.*
No, it's quite alright - and we do, there's a toaster and a blender and a coffee maker and everything. She can't very well do without them, I mean, so -
*The drawer opens, almost too-obediently--and then it snaps abruptly (and silently) shut, with sharp brass teeth that seem to have come out of nowhere.
For her part, Amrita is still rummaging, muttering to herself in a low undertone.*
*His eyebrows shoot up; it has teeth? Well, fine, there are more than one ways to skin a cat, and he hasn't got time to muck about with this. Crouching, he levels his wand at the drawer and tries simply vanishing the front panel of the wood itself.*
As a result the Muggles milling around the cafe are looking ever-so-slightly sideways at her moneyed strangeness--but she's completely unconscious of them, as if they are flies or potted plants. It's only when she spots Remus that she smiles.*
Hello. It's closed, apparently. Something wrong with the, ah-
*She circles one red-tipped finger in the air, groping for the word.*
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*She shrugs, a little awkwardly. And of course to Amrita, now, it is. But the first time she'd woken up here it'd been blinding and startling and alien: high ceilings and a wall of windows and an awful lot of white, and peculiar art and artifacts everywhere--never mind how many times her little room at the Leaky could fit into it.
And it hasn't changed much since then: a few more bookshelves by a little chair for her to read in, an idol in one little nook that's probably the brightest thing in the room, and a circle of carpet that's almost-imperceptibly worn. And of course there's a handsome iron hook suspended from the ceiling, holding only a blameless plant in a hanging pot.
She drops her purse onto a table and crosses the room to the bar.*
Make yourself at home, now. It can get you just about anything--it actually made me coffee once but I was awfully upset, don't know if a repeat performance is in the cards--Iced tea for me, I think, please, with cardamom--
Remus?
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Ah - darjeeling, please, if you have it.
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That was fast. Bit of milk and sugar, isn't it?
*She returns and extends the cup and saucer to Remus with the easy and workmanlike grace of someone who's served for a living--you can take the girl out of the pub, but--and settles into an armchair.
For all her blatant dismissal of his Muggle wife, Amrita's still obnoxiously lovesick. She can't help asking.*
You'll have to tell me how you and Hazel met. Was it very very romantic?
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That's just wonderful. Ever the white-knight, I could just die.
I don't know about you but I'm a bit peckish, I was sort of counting on a pastry or two from Maurice's. Let me get us a little something, we've got fruit and scones and things--won't be a second--
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So do you have a flat together?
*Amrita didn't do much more than help out with kitchen prep at the Leaky--the cook was an ancient and horrid woman she was obliged to call Miss Fletcher who was in the habit of complaining loudly about 'it' touching things when Tom wasn't around. But she remembers some, and makes short work and neat slices of a few nectarines and tangellas. But that won't do on its own, so she keeps on rummaging and calls over to Remus.*
In London, or--?
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Shutting the drawer gently, he moves onto the next, setting his teacup down to open two at once this time. As long as he can hear movement in the kitchen, he reasons, he's fine.*
A bit out, yes, in Croydon.
*Sufficiently pedestrian and boring and lower-middle-class. He hopes.*
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Lovely. Did you have a housewarming? Goodness, I've really missed so much. Do you have all sorts of Muggle things in the kitchen?
*She's babbling, but a charming little fruit plate has taken shape, and the scones are busy toasting themselves, and where is the chocolate--*
I won't be a second, sorry!
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No, it's quite alright - and we do, there's a toaster and a blender and a coffee maker and everything. She can't very well do without them, I mean, so -
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For her part, Amrita is still rummaging, muttering to herself in a low undertone.*
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A half-second later, Amrita's puzzled voice filters over from the next room.*
--What on earth is a blender?
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