Diagon Alley
They spend the next few days in the same fashion. Share breakfast, work on different charms or spells, of which Leo learned there is a difference between the two, break for a quick treat, and then, as Professor Fig prepares dinner, he tells him different moments throughout wizarding history.
Leo is currently sitting at the kitchen table, a new addition to the home that Fig had taken as a small teaching moment in transfiguration. Fig had explained, while emptying a wooden crate, that finding an item that had something in common in whatever they were trying to transfigure was the goal. Thus, Fig found the wooden crate, and with a simple wave of his wand, created a wooden table, tucked into the corner of the kitchen.
“Generally, you should try to find an object that is about the same size as the object you’re trying to create. Notice our table is not opulently large nor is it ridiculously tiny. It is generally a similar size to the crate we transfigured.”
Leo found it amusing that he said ‘we’ as though he had done anything to aid in the process. Still, Leo took diligent notes, separate from his dictionary notes. He found transfiguration to be the most interesting, but Fig had yet to let him practice on his own.
“Are you listening, Leo?”
He glanced up from his parchment, sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry, Professor Fig.”
A shake of his wand, and a stern look was all Fig offered in terms of scolding. Then he was back to preparing dinner. Leo always marveled a bit when Fig didn’t become angry with him for things like that. He just laughed it all, as if it wasn’t a worry that Leo had been ignoring his lessons.
“At the beginning then, yes?” Fig asked.
Leo grabbed his other parchment stack, the one he reserved for history lessons, and motioned for Fig to continue. When it never came, he glanced up again, finding Fig’s eyes staring at him.
“You need journals, it seems.”
He did not understand the statement, and that fact must have shown on his face, as Fig explained, “Your parchments are in stacks, separate by subject. Loose, and all over the place. We should go into the city, find you some journals to do your writing in. Perhaps you can even start on a more permanent copy of your dictionary.”
Leo looked down at his parchments, and did notice the rather disorganized nature of it all. His charms notes were crumpled up, having shoved them further into his satchel when he pushed in his potions notes. His transfiguration notes were even worse, after he set a piece of chocolate down and promptly forgot about it, where it neatly melted into a blob on his parchment. He hadn’t told Fig, more embarrassed than anything, despite knowing the man could fix it without a thought. The only parchments that weren’t torn, or wrinkled, or stained, were his dictionary parchments. Those he treated like glass, placing them in his satchel as if they were worth more than… Well, he didn’t know how much parchment was, considering Fig simply just conjured it up when he needed it.
“We’ll go tomorrow, hm? A break from lessons. While out we’ll get you some clothes, and other supplies. We can stop in at a new sweet shop that just opened in Diagon. I’ve heard good things. They even have Turkish delights!”
Leo smiled at the thought, not minding the idea of more Turkish delights. Though his mood soured a little, saying, “I don’t have any money, Professor.”
Fig placed a steaming bowl in front of him, smelling of cabbage and potatoes, and put his plate next to it. “Beef and stew tonight, my boy, hope it’s alright.”
Leo nodded, saying his thanks, and waited for Fig to respond to his previous statement. When the parchments were cleared from the table, and Fig settled in with his plate and bowl, he let out a great sigh.
“Money is never something you have to worry for, Leo. I have plenty enough for the both of us,” as if sensing the coming argument, he raised his hand up to keep Leo from speaking, and continued, “My wife and I had no children, nor did we spend more than we ought to have. We kept ourselves happy with each other. This has led me to have more than enough for me to buy you the things you need. Now, no more talk of money. It gives me a stomach ache.”
Leo snorted at that, letting things lie, digging into dinner.
As they’re preparing to part ways for the night, Leo with his bag of parchment, and Fig with his nightly tea, they both stop at the top of the stairs. Fig has placed his hand on Leo’s upper arm, halting him.
“Miriam… My wife, Miriam, would have wanted me to spoil you. She always wanted children.”
And then Fig was gone, into his room, the door shut quietly behind him. Leo was left staring at the door, still feeling Fig’s hand on him. He wondered, not for the first time, what Fig’s wife had been like.
Miriam.
If she was anything like Fig, Leo knows he would have liked her.
Leo did not vomit this time when Fig apparated them back to the pub. He swayed on his feet, feeling like his insides were squirming about, but his eggs and ham had stayed successfully in his stomach.
“We’ll stop back by the Ledbury’s on our way home. Pick up whatever clothes you still need that we can’t find in London or Diagon,” Fig said, leading the way to the floo point.
It was like he hadn’t even noticed it, calling it home. Leo felt an odd feeling inside of him, and not from the apparating. Instead of a rolling stomach, he felt warmth traveling all throughout inside him, settling in his chest. Leo had never had a home, not one he could remember anyways. And it may have only been a week, but Fig’s house does feel like home. What a strange revelation to have standing in a fireplace, Leo thought.
“Diagon Alley!” Leo called, much more prepared for the smoke this time.
As Leo’s vision cleared, he took note of the dingy room he found himself in. Fig was standing off in a corner, speaking animatedly with a couple people, though the shadows hid most of their faces. Leo made his way over, glancing this way and that, wondering why a magical pub would be so dimly lit. The pub in Abbotsbury was seemingly in much better condition, with sunlight streaming in through the few windows the establishment had to offer. This… Leo did not particularly care for the doom and gloom this pub seemed to be shrouded in.
“Ah, this is my charge here! Leo, meet some friends of mine. This wonderful woman is the owner of this pub we’re in now, Dottie Beetle, and her better half, Yarrow Beetle.”
Yarrow offered Leo his hand to shake, of which Leo noted the man had a rather balmy palm, and a too tight grip, as he violently shook Leo’s hand up and down. Trying to discreetly wipe his hand on his borrowed trousers, Leo nodded his head at Dottie, who returned the action, though with a smirk on her face. She likely knew all about her husband’s sweaty palms, Leo thinks.
“You’ve a good one here, Leo, good one indeed. Eleazar’s a decent sort, he is,” Yarrow says, leaning ever so slightly to the left, not really making eye contact with Leo as he obviously speaks to him.
Leo nods, slowly, glancing between him and Fig, the latter seeming to find the entire situation amusing. “Yes… He’s been very kind to me, and has taught me so much about magic,” Leo says, offering Fig a smile.
“I’ve been fortunate to have such a talented young student, truly! Leo takes to magic like a grindylow takes to a weed bed!” Professor Fig exclaimed, earning chuckles from Dottie and Yarrow.
Grindylow? Leo’s hand itched toward his dictionary pages, safely tucked in his satchel. “What is a grindylow, Professor?”
As always when Leo asked a question, Fig’s eyes took on a bit of a crazed gleam, as his excitement for sharing information took over his more logical side, “Grindylows are water demons, known for their obvious dislike of witches, wizards, and muggles alike. They tend to feed on fish, algae, and other small water creatures, but are sometimes known to eat humans,” Fig paused as Leo openly guffawed at that statement, “They live in weed beds at the bottom of many lakes around the country. They’re a particularly sickly looking green, with pointy horns, and rather spindly fingers. Merpeople are known to keep them as pets.”
Merpeople…
Leo was about to ask Fig to explain about merpeople when Dottie spoke for the first time.
“So, it’s true then? You didn’t know you were magic until recently?” Leo turned his attention to Dottie, who was already staring at Leo intently. Her too-bright blue eyes seemed unnatural, but maybe that was just a magical thing, Leo tried to reason with himself.
“Um, yes, it’s true. I didn’t know magic even existed.”
Yarrow’s eyes had fully closed, making his rather bushy eyebrows look like they were holding his eyelids closed. His head was flat against the wall, body slumped in a way that held him upright. Dottie, though, her eyes had never left Leo. “How fascinating. Isn’t it rare, Eleazar, for one of his age to come into their magic?”
Fig hummed lowly, clasping his hands in front of his chest, “Yes, indeed. Leo is one of few, but he is in rather good company. A Hogwarts professor of years previous came into his magical inheritance at this age. Perhaps Leo can become a professor!” He seemed genuinely excited at the prospect of Leo becoming a teacher. Which… Leo was unsure he would be a good fit.
He still doesn’t know what merpeople are. Though he can hazard a guess they’re people that live in the water, if they keep grindylows as pets, but he didn’t even know what a grindylow was until just a few minutes ago. He doubts he would make a good teacher, though he’ll let Fig have his ideas.
Dottie seems uninterested in previous Hogwarts professors, “What did you say his surname was?”
“Ah, I didn’t.”
Leo turned to Fig immediately, never hearing such a tone from the man before. His hands were at his sides now, enclosed in fists, as he stood at his full height before Dottie. Leo never noticed Fig had been hunching over all this time, making him relatively the same height as Leo. But now that he’s standing up straight, he’s inches over Leo, and almost a head taller than Dottie. There’s a frown that Leo’s never seen before.
Dottie doesn’t seem as startled as Leo, though, as she asks, “What’s your last name, Leo?”
Fig placed his hand on Leo’s shoulder, stopping him from answering, not that he necessarily wanted to. “I believe we need to be taking our leave, Dottie. Give our regards to Yarrow.”
And with that, Fig swept the two of them out of the pub, and into the sunny street of what Leo can only assume is Diagon Alley. It was bustling with witches and wizards, all wearing funny looking robes, some matching the colors of Auror Higgins and Healer Lawson. He had learned from his short time at the ministry that aurors typically wore red robes, while healers wore green. He didn’t know who decided those colors, but he couldn’t help but notice the flood of scarlet-clad witches and wizards roaming around the cobbled walkways. Leo turned away from them, focusing on his mentor, who still seemed rather wound up.
“What was that, Professor?”
Fig took a deep breath, and when he exhaled, his entire body deflated with it. He hunched back down, matching Leo eye to eye, and re-clasped his hands in front of his chest.
“Dottie Beetle enjoys nothing more than tittle-tattling. She engages more often in false gossip than she ever does in truth. I rather think having a drunk for a husband causes more boredom than anything else, so she takes to prying into the lives of others.”
Fig may have relaxed outwardly, but his speech alone tells Leo the man is not yet over the encounter. Whatever the encounter had been.
“Sir, she only wanted my last name,” Leo said, eyebrows pulling together as he tried to piece together why that upset Fig so much.
Professor Fig sighed, gesturing for Leo to follow, which he did obediently. They walked in silence, the sound of hundreds of others taking up the air between them. Leo listened to the clomping of shoes on cobble, chatter between the others that passed them by, and the call of vendors set up in the alleyways between shops. Finally, they walked into a little shop, smelling of ginger, vanilla, and lavender. Leo looked around, enjoying this space much more than the pub previous. Lit from the sun outside, it was warm and inviting on the inside, with iron chairs featuring plush looking seat pillows. Tea cups were clattering around from the many different patrons already enjoying a rather early afternoon tea. Fig led them to an empty corner, dropping unceremoniously into the chair. Leo followed suit, running his fingers over the cool metal loops that ran around the outer ring of the table.
“You have a rather interesting last name, Leo,” Fig said, hands resting in his lap, eyes looking somewhere beyond Leo.
Before he could say anything, a young girl, likely around Leo’s age, bounded up to them. She seemed overly delighted once she caught sight of Fig, eyes widening before saying, “Oh, Professor Fig! I didn’t think I’d see you so soon!”
Fig offered a smile, though it touched only his lips. The girl didn’t seem to mind, running right through, “But of course you’d come here! My Aunt Eleanor does make the best tea in all of Diagon! Oh, may I choose your tea, Professor? If you don’t like it, you can choose another, but I’m rather good at guessing what flavors people like!”
Finally, her eyes slid to Leo, and she froze. Entirely. Leo worried a spell had hit her, taking a cautious look around the dining room, before turning back to look at the girl. She blinked once, and then jumped back to her previous demeanor.
“How rude! Is this your nephew, Professor? My name is Lenora! I go to Hogwarts, where Professor Fig is my professor! Oh, well… I suppose you knew that last bit already… Can I choose your tea for you?”
Leo wasn’t sure if she was going to wait for an answer, but Fig agreed, waving her away, before Leo could open his mouth. She didn’t even care to ask for his name, or to get confirmation on if he was Fig’s nephew or not. She bounced away, disappearing through a door, and Leo turned his attention back to Professor Fig.
“She is a kind girl, that Lenora. You’ll have a chance to get to know her properly this year.”
Leo could not care less about Lenora, as rude as that thought was. He was not interested in Hogwarts students, or tea. He wanted to know more about his last name, as Fig seemed so educated on the topic.
“Why is Lestrange an interesting last name?” Leo asked, twisting one of his fingers into an open gap in the twists and loops of the iron.
Fig sighed, as if the question was a great burden to answer.
Perhaps it was, but Leo was going to push anyways.
“It’s a magical name, my boy.”
Leo could feel his eyebrows pulling together, could feel his lips purse, and could feel his fingers curl around the iron loops. “A magical name? That would mean that my family was magic, wouldn’t it?”
Fig nodded, looking steadily over Leo’s shoulder.
“So, my family is magic. What happened to them, then?”
Finally, Fig looked at Leo. “I don’t know what happened to your family, Leo. I know of your last name, the ones that carry it as well. I do not know your relation to them. I do know that neither of us are ready for news to spread of your existence.”
A glance down showed Leo’s fingers turning an ugly shade of red, and he let his hand slip from the table, falling uselessly to his lap.
“You make it sound as though I’m a bastard,” Leo whispers, afraid if he says it too loudly the other patrons will hear him, though they’re nowhere near him.
When Fig doesn’t immediately answer, Leo looks up at him, and the frown gracing his face tells Leo all he needs to know. “I am a bastard, then?”
Fig reaches out lightening fast, leaning over the table to scoop up the hand that was not mangled around metal loops. Leo can feel his heartbeat in those fingers. But Fig is squeezing the other hand, clasped safely in both of his. He’s looking dead on at Leo, not even blinking.
“It doesn’t matter, Leo. Bastard or not. It doesn’t matter. You are talented, smart, and worth more than the whole damn lot of them.”
Them. Leo knows he means the others. The other Lestranges.
Leo’s family, whether Fig sees them as that or not. They share blood with Leo, and he never thought that possible before. His entire life was spent wondering if he had family left, it was only the last few years that he firmly decided he did not. He buried the idea, dug the hole deep inside of himself, and left it in an unmarked grave, never wanting to return to it. Yet, it was exhumed for him, placed as an offering at his feet. Leo wants to poke the body, unravel it like a mummy, study it, be consumed by it. Leo’s family.
What would they do if they knew Leo existed? A bastard boy raised in an orphanage, where the nuns didn’t even like him. Was Leo’s mum alive? Had she intended to bury the idea of Leo as he had buried the idea of her? But…
“Why do I have the last name? If I’m a bastard, dropped at some orphanage, why give me the last name at all?”
Fig slowly let go of his hand, letting his back fall against his chair. “My thoughts? I believe your Lestrange parent, whether they your mother or father, cared enough to give you their last name. Perhaps they hoped you’d find them one day.”
Leo thought that idea sounded absolutely fantastical, and far too unrealistic. He did not believe his parents would want such a thing. Perhaps they gave him the name as a failsafe. A hidden card they could pull out at a moment's notice. Fig had told him some about the prominent wizarding families in England, though he noticed now that he conveniently left out the Lestrange family. He knew they valued heirs, male heirs. Perhaps his mother or his father hid him away just in case, their chess piece. He was just a tool to them, he figured. Nothing more.
A bastard.
A means to an end.
Lenora arrived with their tea as the two of them wallowed in silence. She seemed to pick up on the atmosphere surrounding their corner, as she quietly set their teas down, and vanished as quickly as she came.
Unfortunately for Leo, the peppermint tea Lenora had chosen for him was delicious, and he begrudgingly took the girl up on a second cup when she came round again.