Scraps

[Francine Fairebrother]

Francine made a very peculiar sight in the side-street right in the heart of wizarding London. Her perfectly pressed blouse was tucked into a plain green pencil skirt over sheer stockings and sensible buckled heels; all items perfectly ready to be ruined picking through garbage in an alleyway. Her horn-rimmed spectacles were pressing divots into the skin above her nose, but she was too focused to adjust them as she carefully sorted through the items in the industrial bin. She used her wand to levitate each item and rotate it carefully before setting it to one side in the bin and moving onto the next. Under her breath, Frankie kept up a litany of mutterings related to each and every one.
"Broken chair? Useless, although if it was made before nineteen forty, the varnish might be of use ... No no, mustn't hoard, there is a purpose to this endeavour, Francine-my-girl."

Of course the witch was aware that her action weren't exactly within the bounds of unnoticeable social behaviour, but one often had to do 'dirty work', so to speak, in order to collect useful tokens for her experiments. A Representative of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts ought to not have the tendency to misuse muggle artifacts, but Francine was sure that her inventions would one day benefit all of wizard kind ... If only she could find enough springs (a large shipment would surely attract attention in her line of work).
A clatter at the entrance of the alleyway caused the thirty-seven year old woman to startle like a mouse, and she automatically cancelled all spells, sending broken and unused objects clattering about over the cobblestones. Francine looked around wildly and pushed her sagging glasses up her nose again. Great, now she'd really look suspicious.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

It was difficult to identify the precise motivation that brought Monty to London half way through the school semester. The weather in the English capital was far from desirable, though for now the heavy grey clouds were holding back the incipient rain. Perhaps the Potions Professor had aspired to a pleasant yet familiar change of scenery. Perhaps the charming little shops of Diagon Alley were amongst the only he could acquire dragonfly wings. Or perhaps, and most likely of all, he'd simply felt as if he needed to be there.

Whilst Monty's stroll was aimless, the eccentric man was content in the knowledge that he had nowhere better to be. His usually restless hands were happily sheathed in his jacket pockets. When he lifted his face, the sun took the opportunity to peer through a crevice in the sky and warm his lightly wrinkled forehead.

Later, Monty would claim that a rat had darted over his shoes, and that he most certainly hadn't tripped over thin air and dived straight over a metal dustbin. The earth-shattering clatter woke every dead spirit within a hundred mile radius. Blushing intensely, he scrambled to his feet in a very unsophisticated manner and gave the area a quick glance over for possible witnesses. Only one lady seemed to have seen, though truth be told, she looked almost as ashamed as he. Monty rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry to startle you," he called into the alleyway, gesturing to the ground with a finger. "Tricky bit of ground, that. Deceptively flat."

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

Francine pressed her hand to her lips to smother her sh!t-eating grin at the mess the gentleman had made. Well, now they could both feel silly. She pushed her glasses up quickly and gave him a nod of acknowledgement before hoovering up the precious doohickeys and thingamabobs that were absolutely essential to her latest projects. The ministry representative carefully bent at the knees to retrieve a metal toast-rack and added it to the pile.

She kept flicking glances at the man still at the end of the alley, growing increasingly pink as he seemed to be watching her magpie-like behaviour, though she may have been projecting. Eventually she grew exasperated and stood up with her arms full of scraps and the extras floating about her.
"Well, if you're just going to stand there, you can help me find that rusty monkey-wrench that you kicked under the dust bin. It's rather important. Oh. Um, please, I mean." Frankie managed to look both imperious and sheepish at the same time. "Really, though! Time is of the essence! I'll forget it all unless I have all my bits and pieces."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Though the intimidating walls of the alleyway and the overcast sky hindered most of Monty's ability to see, he couldn't help but make out through the darkness the woman's obvious amusement at his clumsy coordination. If his cheeks could have grown any hotter they'd have been a danger to the environment. He was both stunned and embarrassed, which made for quite an unpleasant combination of feelings, yet he didn't seem to be able to walk away. His slightly detached eyes watched the woman scrabble around by the industrial bins, not really seeing and not really taking in the picture before him. Until the bespectacled lady spoke.

Monty jumped, snapping out of his daydream, and followed the woman's direction to the dustbin to retrieve her wrench. It was only then that he began to notice what she was doing. Curious by nature (and unable to keep himself away from the interesting collection of objects in her hands), he tucked the wrench under his arm and approached. "A hand?" he offered, and then slightly tentatively fished a flattened cardboard box from the top of the bin. "Erecto." With the help of his wand and a quick spell, the box unfolded itself and returned to its original shape. "Are you taking these, er..." he glanced bemusedly at the toast rack, "this kitchen paraphernalia far?"

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

"Two blocks," replied Francine primly. To her townhouse in fact, not that she was going to tell a perfect stranger that. Seeing as he was kind enough to erect a box for her, he'd probably offer to carry it as well, which suited her just fine. "I'm going past a muggle district, though, otherwise I'd just levitate it all. Shrinking it might damage the complex matrices in the elemental composition of the metal, and- Well, let's not get into that." Great; she couldn't talk for half a minute without getting weird on someone. This was why she didn't have a boyfriend.

"If you would be so kind," said Francine a little more hesitantly, "Would you accompany me to my destination? It is rather late, and it's a bit to carry. Don't try any funny stuff, though," she warned, plucking her wand from her supremely starched coat and waving it at him threateningly (which was about as threatening as a pigeon with a hairpin, but semantics), "I am a excellent shot! Shall we?". She put out her hand to take an arm as a lady ought. "Francine Fairebrother. Pleasure to meet you, Mister ... ? Best not call you 'recruit'."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty nodded. Two blocks wasn't far, and it wasn't as if any important happenings required his presence elsewhere that evening. He listened with pleasant surprise as the lady began to explain to him the complex scientific process behind shrinking metal, and soon decided that she was very agreeable indeed (if a little bizarre - but did Monty have room to judge?).

"Certainly," he said, thinking that of all the people he could have tripped over a bin in front of, he was quite fortunate that it was her. He had just packed a box and lifted it to his chest when a wand waved at him balefully. Peering over the top of a protruding spray can, Monty tried to look worried rather than entertained, and failed. "What am I going to do?" he asked, glancing downward. "Polish you to death?" Assuming that this comment would not be taken with as much amusement as it was given, the inventor stepped aside in what could have been, perceivably, a courteous gesture. "Pendleton - Monty," he explained, grateful that the clutter in the box hid most of his bashful expression. His gaze drifted down to her arm, and whilst he probably could have levitated the box until they reached the next district, he felt as if he'd rather carry it than offer out his arm. It wasn't by any means personal, and so he gave Francine an apologetic look and jiggled the box to make the contents rattle. "Perhaps you'd lead the way?" he suggested alternatively.

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

"Mister Pendleton," said Francine happily to herself. What a nice gentleman! Although he'd very artfully avoided her arm, which was rather rude, but she supposed he was shy which would do well enough if he was to be her escort.
"Far be it from me to make suggestions, Sir, but I'd go for the monkey wrench above the aerosol. Which I am definitely not suggesting. Good shot," she repeated, lifting her nose at him with her arms full of 'treasures'. Laughing at her, indeed. Well if he turned out to be not such a nice gentlemen, he could giggle all the way to St. Mungo's.

She took the initiative and began their walk with quick little steps going clop-clop-clop on the cobblestones. Mister Pendleton seemed to have a long enough stride to keep up with her, and she never slowed down; there was too much to do! They walked no more than thirty seconds before the fiery-haired lady tired of the silence. The poor gentleman had found her in a sciencey mood, which was far from her usual quiet, tempered demeanour.
"What do you do, Mister Pendleton?" asked Frankie politely, readjusting her glasses unnecessarily as she flicked her gaze to his face. He has a nice face, she decided. Very personable.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

"Mm," agreed Monty as they set off, biting his cheek in an attempt to remain serious. "The wrench would provide adequate aim and accuracy, though its speed would rather let it down. A well timed aerosol to the face, followed by a swift whack of the monkey wrench to the temple should do the trick." The Potions Professor sincerely hoped that his humorous grin was visible in the moonlight. His disposition was far from threatening, but he supposed women had to be cautious at this time in the evening.

They walked a short distance in silence, save for the sound of their soles on the cobblestone path. It was Francine who broke it. "I'm a Potions Professor," he told her, stealing only brief glances her way for fear he'd trip over his feet again. "At Hogwarts New Zealand." When he wasn't watching the lady at his side, Monty's eyes drifted back to the clouded night sky, and to the soft lamps lighting the narrow street. He was thinking that if he could paint a vivid enough picture of the evening, he might have been able to recall it when he closed his eyes that night. "What say you, Miss Fairebrother? What do you do?" In the pause between the end of his question and the beginning of her answer, Monty tried to guess. Her scientific knowledge and hoarding behaviour certainly led him to one particular conclusion, but the inventor didn't dare raise his hopes. Surely it was beyond possibility.

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

"And aerosol to the face?" spluttered Francine, whipping her head around and almost smacking Pendleton in the face with a fat ringlet. "Well, that's just cruel! Look, if it comes to that, I'm sure you're a gentlemen enough to just trip over again and save me the trouble."
Dear Merlin, this was an odd conversation, but damned if it didn't make dimples appear on her cheeks in plain amusement. She never bantered with anyone except her coworkers, and if she ever tried it on strangers, the young man behind the coffee machine at the bistro always looked at her as if she were mad for trying to exchange pleasantries.

"A Potions professor? How marvelous!" said Francine with obvious delight at the introduction of his profession. "My goodness, you're far from home, aren't you? Oh, unless this is home, and New Zealand is only work ... Oh, never mind. Yes, anyway, I work at the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts," she told him, and then inexplicably went cherry red. Mister Pendleton did not seem to be a fool, so he'd likely read between the lines as she put her chin on the armful of whatsits she was carrying. She felt rather ... ashamed, somehow, and a bit of a fraud, but she couldn't explain why she ought to feel that way when Mister Pendleton was just a stranger. Or at least an acquaintance now, perhaps.
"And do you enjoy your work, Mister Pendleton?" she asked quietly as she ducked under an awning hanging over the street.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty narrowly dodged the flying ringlet as it flipped at his cheek. Though inside the Potions Professor burned with embarrassment, he disguised it with a polite (if slightly strained) laugh at his own expense. He wasn't usually so inelegant and uncoordinated, and for some reason he felt the nagging need to explain this to Francine before she stored away this misrepresentation to look back on after they'd parted. But he didn't, because he was incredulous that Miss Fairebrother would ever wish to recall such a moment anyway.

Monty smiled as he walked, content to allow his acquaintance fill the time with her slightly eccentric ramblings. Unless the topic at hand was one Monty was particularly knowledgeable on, he wasn't much of a talker himself, and it made a pleasant change to feel no pressure to be one. He would answer Miss Fairebrother's questions and reciprocate them where appropriate, but otherwise it seemed fairly evident that Francine was happy to talk for the both of them.

At the revelation of her occupation, the inventor's eyebrows crept a millimetre or two towards his hairline. He barely needed to throw a sideways glance to clock the heat that had settled on her cheeks. It was a mixture of courteousness and introversion that ultimately made him refrain a reply. "I do," he said, reverting his eyes to the path ahead just in time to duck for the awning. "It's incredibly rewarding." Presuming he needn't ask if Francine enjoyed her job, Monty walked the next few steps in silence before composing his next question. "Do you frequent here often? Or only every other Saturday before they empty the bins?" Monty jested, but his grin vanished when it struck him what he'd just said. "Blast."

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

She was pleased to hear that he enjoyed teaching, which was always lovely to hear. She contemplated the man beside her mucking about with cauldrons and found it suited him very well. Francine would have asked more questions had he not absolutely scandalised her with an idle question. The Ministry worker was so appalled that she immediately lost her composure and laughed till tears came to the corners of her eyes. Frankie laughed and laughed, stopping to lean on a lamp post with the bundle of treasures.

"You are full of cheek, Sir!" Francine accused, still hiccuping the occasional giggle. She was sure that the gentleman would likely be just as scandalised to be accused of cheekiness, but it served him right after that little slip up. "Do I frequent here often, indeed. Well as a matter of fact, yes Mister Pendleton, I do. It is the largest skip nearest my house, and I am most likely to find the goods I'm after in a muggle area next to a wizard's." 'So there' said her tone, although the blush on her cheeks didn't fade in the slightest.

They were approaching her green-lacquered front door at a leisurely rate, and sitting out the front waiting to get in was a slightly undersized Himalayan Persian.
"Metrixus!" said Francine, her attention diverted from her gentleman companion. "Mow," said the cat balefully. "Did you fall out the window again, you silly tom? Come on, then." It seemed Monty was to meet the whole family; her and her cat. It would have been a bit sad if the smartly-dressed woman hadn't been so jolly about returning home with an armful of goods. She planted her chin on top of the haul and fiddled about for her keys while Metrixus wound around her legs. "Stop that, you'll make me fall. Monty, I mean Mister Pendleton, would you mind terribly carrying this all up with me? It's just to go in my lab. Well, office," said the copper-haired woman.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty grinned all the way to the emerald door. Miss Fairebrother didn't seem to have noticed his mistake - although he supposed that may have been because she was too preoccupied defending his humorous accusation to get any other words in edgeways. Monty was half way through thinking he'd never heard anything like it when it struck him that he had - in himself. Though around the presence of strangers and acquaintances the Potions Professor's demeanour was reserved and shy, in the company of friends like Greg, the only way to get him to stop talking was by offering him a slice of cake.

Miss Fairebrother's house was quite beautiful. To most, it was a fairly ordinary terraced house on a fairly ordinary road, but Monty quietly appreciated the way her window boxes had been spruced up with an array of brightly coloured flowers, and how her green door stood out amongst the otherwise grey street. A 'Mow' snapped him back to his senses, and he looked down to see an incredibly hairy cat weaving between its owner's legs. Monty's immediate reaction was to hold his breath, though it became apparent after four seconds that this arrangement was not going to work. Never mind. It wasn't like he had to go insid-

"Not at all," said the Potions Professor ruefully, wishing he'd never had his previous thought. But the cat wasn't the only of Monty's concerns. He peered up again at the white-washed house, which suddenly seemed three times bigger than it had done a moment ago. Deep down, the inventor knew that hs fears were ridiculous, and that Francine had far more to worry about inviting a stranger into her home than he did entering it, but it was still with an air of anxiety that he followed her into the house and awaited lead.

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

It may have appeared that Francine was not aware of her guest's anxiety, but she was intensely aware of it. Her excited bustling slowed to compensate, and she almost purposefully exuded a sense of perfect ease. See? said her mannerisms. All is as it should be. You are safe and I am safe. It helped that she was in her own space, and her little townhouse was certainly set up to be inviting. She kept it like that for the sake of others just as much as herself. Her lab/office was organised chaos, but Frankie's living room and entrance hall were done up in soothing creams and white-shell colours, with crocheted pillows and leather chairs for a 'lived in' effect. It was exactly what people expected to see, so it was what she gave them.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything," said Francine genially as she opened the door and stepped out of her polished shoes, nudging them carefully to the side and leaving her in her stockings. Metrixus had darted through her legs as soon as there was a gap wide enough for him to enter and disappeared to lurk in the kitchen. She lead Mr Pendleton up the stairs and only gave him one quick look before pushing open the door to her workshop.

It had originally been a second bedroom, but she'd taken the smallest for herself and fitted it with a plump single bed. The workshop had the largest window with was open to the breeze, and it sent many thingamabobs and whatsits spinning, bouncing and whirling.
"Drat," muttered Frankie, placing her pile of salvaged goods on what little bench space there was while she went to shut the window with an added "Blasted cat." Something spat bubbles at her as she passed which she waved away without a thought. It was truly the most astonishing little room. All mannrt of herbs, tools, samples and junk hung from the eaves, each with a label carefully tied to it with string. Two cauldrons were smoking on a low, contained flame on a bench in the corner, one filled with something that looked like watered-down grape soda and the other like mercury. Gadgets puttered about and did whatever they were supposed to do, measuring temperatures, slicing gurdyroot or tapping a particular jar at a particular frequency. The workshop was exploding with life and colour in a way entirely different from the lower house.
Francine must certainly have interrupted Monty's thoughts by standing in the middle of the room a little nervously and indicating a shelf high above the door. "There, please. The box, I mean."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

If anything could have made Monty feel more comfortable, it was the easiness with which Miss Fairebrother went about her well kept town house. Her disposition wasn't in the least bit intrusive, and by the third stair he had made up his mind that he had nothing to worry about. "Oh, nothing of great importance," he said dismissively, doubting there was anything much he'd have assigned a greater urgency to than assisting such a pleasant acquaintance.

The Potions Professor grappled with the edges of the heavy box, which were straining with the bulk of Francince's hoarded oddments, but didn't dare threaten his chivalry by making a fuss or whipping out his wand for a quick featherlight charm. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, it took Monty great effort to breathe without making a noise. The landing, he noticed sadly, was as pristine and ordinary as the rooms downstairs. In fact, there wasn't much about the house at all that suggested Frankie to be the eccentric lady he'd been introduced to in the streets below. He surmised that it was probably just wishful thinking on his behalf and followed her into her 'office'.

Monty stepped out of the house into a dream. The box, suddenly forgotten, became weightless in his arms as he stared at rows of colourful jars, self-functioning tools and bizarre contraptions. The room smelled, sounded, looked, and felt like the workshop of an inventor. Monty marvelled at the sheer sight of it. He hadn't seen a lab like Frankie's since he'd cleverly blown his own up. His fingers itched to reach out and touch a little of everything, and they might have done had they not been preoccupied with the box. He gave his acquaintance a blank stare, completely nonplussed by her question until the weight of her successful forage suddenly returned. He placed the box on the floor before levitating it to the shelf, thinking that not even chivalry was enough to risk a broken back; and then turned back to Francine. "Er, is that..." a calorimeter with three combustion chambers? "Is that all I can do for you?" he asked, smiling cheerfully and with an air that there was absolutely nothing was out of the ordinary going on.

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

His poker face was flawless, she'd have to give him that. No one could be that nonchalant in the face of such oddities, and Frankie was desperate to know what he was really thinking. It shouldn't ought to matter, though, seeing as she'd never see him again. There was a pang in her chest at the thought, and though her face did not betray it, she still pressed her clasped hands there as if to protect it.

"Yes," she said, pulling herself out of her daze. "That was very kind, thank you." And there it was; the strange impasse they were facing. She wanted his company, but she didn't want to want it. It was disruptive to put more effort into communication than just a morning debriefing at work, but the last half hour had reminded her that she desperately wanted more than what coworkers had to offer. A friendship, someone who shared a common disposition and an interest in something beyond the daily grind. Francine was forced to be brave.

"If I might be so bold, I'd like to write you if you're amenable to the idea. This has been an agreeable acquaintance thus far ... A little correspondence outside of work might do me some good," said Francine tentatively but with growing conviction. She would very much enjoy sending a letter or two every now and then, and perhaps Mr Pendleton might even like to receive them. It did occur to the Ministry worker that he might have a partner who would dislike him been written to be a strange lady, and she hastened to amend her assumption. "Oh, but if you've a wife who'd feel uncomfortable, or something or rather, don't feel obliged," uttered Francine reassuringly, wriggling her stockinged toes sheepishly. "I won't be offended."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty smiled, pleased that he could be of some assistance, and held his hands behind his back. When Francine spoke again, the Potions Professor assumed that it would be to direct him to the door, and so he was both surprised and a little uneasy when she proposed that they keep in touch. It wasn't that he hadn't found her company pleasant, as such, but that the list of women he was comfortable carrying continuous correspondence with was almost non-existent. There was Arvo's dear wife Kata, to whom he frequently wrote when the Arithmancy Professor 'couldn't make it to the owlery', and often in exchange for a batch of her latest cupcake recipe; and there was Ava, who Monty really had no choice but to keep in regular contact with on the understanding that she was his boss. Besides these, the shy man tended to keep all communication with women to a minimum. After several misunderstandings of the past, he'd simply decided it was easier this way.

Monty paused for a moment, the sound of whirring instruments and bubbling concoctions all that saved the room from silence. He supposed there was no harm in it, and had observed that Miss Fairebrother did not seem the type to jump to any false conclusions. "Yes, certainly," he said with a smile. "No, no, that's no matter. Here, let me just..." The inventor patted his pockets for a piece of paper and moved to one of the desks to borrow a quill. He scribbled down a few lines before straightening up and handing the slip out to Francine. "There's the address for the school. Perhaps you'd disclose yours in a letter, should you find yourself with the time to write. Oh, I must forewarn you of my engagements at the castle. It may be some time before I have a moment to myself. Still, feel free to..." he gestured at the piece of paper. "Yes. Well, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Fairebrother. Shall I see myself out?"

 

[Francine Fairebrother]

Francine went a little pink, imagining to herself that he thought she had nothing better to do but to write him letters on floral parchment spritzed with perfume. How perfectly pedestrian! How perfectly vile.
"Of course not, I shall walk you to the door," she blustered, padding over in her stockings and gesturing for him to take to the stairs. All the while she contemplated the only person whose opinion she cared about over this association: Mr Pendleton's. He seemed to be all that he appeared; well-mannered, gentlemanly and just the sort of person whom she'd like to develop an agreeable acquaintance with.

Frankie was deeply suspicious of his lack of interest in her trinkets; she'd have to squirrel his true feelings on the matter out of him eventually. Most importantly, however, she considered that he might be made uncomfortable by how forthright she'd been in offering her correspondence, but really, how else could one make friends? Oh, she was woefully well-versed in misunderstanding men's intentions, and it had served her very ill over the course of her young life. The ministry worker had passed all that long ago. Tea and good company was all she asked for, but even that was in short supply. She'd had to be brave, and grab life by the letter, as it were.

Mr Pendleton was a Professor, and therefore a busy man (as he'd so carefully implied), but if she was lucky and perhaps an entertaining enough writer, she might get a response. As Frankie waved slightly at the wizard walking down the street, Metrixus poked his great fluffy head out between her ankles and watched him go. Her voice carried, unbeknownst to her, and she said to her cat "What a nice man. Metrixus, you must never cough a hairball onto his shoes, or I will count you as ungrateful for your tuna and hold you in contempt."​

~ Finis ~​