This Isn't About Mary Hayworth
July 7th, 1992, Tuesday.
It was a sunny day in London, and Mary Hayworth was taking her children to a local café she was rather fond of. Now, Mary Hayworth was the sort of woman who loathed the mere thought of having to wait in line, as such she was quite relieved to see that there was only five or so other people in the café. She blinked. Well, the five or so other people were quite, well, quite other; even in comparison to each other!
The first one she noticed (there were only five, though it seemed like more) was a tall, spindly sort of man, with a crooked nose, long silver hair and half-moon spectacles. Of course, nothing about that was too strange, the fact that he appears to have shot past 100 was. Though his age wasn’t the oddest thing about him, the man’s ... Mary figured that the mishmash of clothing, so bright that even the colourblind could see, didn’t really deserve to be called an outfit took that title.
Of course, the man wasn’t the only member of his party. Sitting across from him, who, in contrast, was the youngest member of the quintet (Mary would peg him as late to mid-teens), was a fairly normal looking young man. He looked like one of those kids who hung around on the side of street corners (they were rather nice and sweet kids if you asked Mary, always full of ‘can we carry that for you Mrs. Hayworth?’ or ‘d’ya want us to help you with that, looks heavy’, yes, they were very nice and sweet). Dark curly hair, a smattering of freckles and a sleeveless shirt that appeared to be, perhaps, a size too big. The only oddities she could really spot were the plethora scars on his arms, chest and back, as well as the rather oddly coloured sunglasses perched on his head.
The woman beside the young man was maybe around middle aged (like the next two), possibly older. Rectangular glasses perched upon a rather stern face and hair tied up into a tight bun, that would have allowed the woman to blend in, if it weren’t for the outfit that would have been considered chic... in the 50s.
Across from her had to have been the shortest man Mary had ever seen. Disregarding that, the man had a very important looking tuxedo, sort of like the ones you might see a conductor wear, which was a bit too formal for a café gathering.
And finally, sitting at the end of the table, was a fairly squat woman. She had bushy grey hair that seemingly tied back with, what Mary swore, were vines. The woman wore muddy dungarees over what must have once been a nice, bright yellow, shirt. You couldn’t tell now, for it was covered with dirt and leaves. Plants seemed to be poking out of her wellies.
Now, this seemed like a rather large amount of information to take in (it was) and would take quite a while to process (but it didn’t) and Mary was quick to make her way toward the cashier, quick to place her and her children’s orders and quick to leave. Mary was also quick to put the odd little quintet out of her mind, for Mary was a busy woman and had more important things to think about than some strangers’ odd fashion choices. Mary would continue her day, bustling her children to and fro in the sort of way that eventually culminated in a car chase in what was a rather grand escalation of events. Unfortunately, this story is not about Mary Hayworth and the third most interesting day in her life, it is about the group of strangers and their also equally interesting plans.
The youngest narrowed his eyes and pulled a face somewhere between irritation and confusion.
‘I wo-wouldn't call th-this b-b-bl-blen--’ he took a breath, ‘blending in. You look nothing like Muggles.’ He crossed in arms and made a valiant effort to look stern.
‘Come now Quirinus, I’m fairly certain these are the types of clothing Muggles wear.’, the old man said this.
Quirinus huffed, the old man was right (technically), ‘Well it doesn’t fit in! That lady was staring at us for quite a while.’ Apparently, Mary Hayworth wasn’t as quick as she thought. The old man patted Quirinus’ hand soothingly. Then short man coughed a little into his hand. The table turned their focus over to him;
‘Erm, Albus, shouldn’t we get back to our planning?’ squeaked the short man.
‘Of course, of course, Filius.’ said Albus. Albus opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by the stern woman;
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Severus?’
At this, the squat woman nodded,
‘Minerva's right, we ought to, its only polite.’
Filius nodded and Abus made a face in response. Quirinus looked around the little café nervously. It was rather dumb, having a conversation of this sort in café, a Muggle café at that. It had seemed like a rather good idea at the time he supposed, nobody’d think to spy on them here. But Severus wasn't here, and this ought to be a very private conversation. Quirinus thought a bit before saying,
‘We’ve b-been waiting for a better part of the hour; I think it might be best to get on with it.’.
The group hmmd and hummd at this, before slowly nodding, except for the squat woman. They looked at her, ‘Quirinus is right Pomona, Severus hasn’t exactly been... responsive.’
Pomona let out a little huff, before nodding, they were right. Volde— He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was on the loose, there were six or so horcruxes (Quirinus liked to call them Voldebits and Pomona was fond of the moniker as well) and Severus was missing. It would be best to get on with it.
‘Now that that’s all settled, anyone have any ideas?’ Albus asked,
‘I think it ought to be done on a Tuesday, nobody ever expects anything on a Tuesday.’
‘But todays Tuesday.’
‘Doesn’t have to be this one, we’ve got five or so left.’ There were seven Tuesdays left of summer, but the group was made entirely up of professors, and they needed at least two or so weeks to plan lessons and extracurriculars (Lesson plans were already mostly made, it was mostly ensuring that they were in place). To be more specific, the group was composed of some of the most respectable professors in their fields, who taught at one of the most respectable schools in all of Europe. The school in question was Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
‘But what about the dragon? They say there's a dragon’
‘Yeah, there is, had a nasty run-in with it. S’blind though, think they’ve got it conditioned to respond to some weird little clankery things.’ It was Quirinus who said this, because he’d done this sort of thing before and as such was quite knowledgeable.
‘We aren’t on the dragon yet; we haven't even agreed on a day.’
‘Does anyone else have any suggestions other than Tuesday? No? Well, I guess that settles the day, still need a time though.’ (Albus said this, he was in charge you know)
‘What's a boring time?’
There was a brief pause. They were all witches and wizards who taught magical children for a living. In between students trying to blow themselves up, students trying to be consumed by plants, students learning to fly and students messing with the natural order, there was very little time for boredom. Filus always felt rather sleepy from 2:00-4:00 pm, and so that was the time he suggested. It was met with nods and the general agreement that that was probably a very boring time for most people. They had a day and a time, no date, but that could be figured out later.
‘Now Quirinus, what else did you say was in there?’
‘Oh-oh! Th-there's this w-w-waterf-f-fall that- it can- it s-st-stops th-thieves a-and--’ Quirinus seemed a tad too excited for what was being discussed.
‘Take a breath Quirinus,’ Filius said, and Quirinus did.
Albus eyed the little group. Quirinus, who trying very hard to not bounce in his seat, was sounding far too enthusiastic about the dangers that lay before them. The others looked far less enthused, though having someone, in graphic detail, reveal all of the traps and wards and dragons they’d have to deal with, was, in general, not a very confidence building sort of topic. Albus, on the other hand, felt rather calm about the situation at hand, for they were the best in their fields, had survived whatever the past two decades had thrown at them and, with any luck, would continue to do so. Though, if he were being completely honest with himself, Albus most certainly found Severus’ lack of communication deeply concerning. He didn’t think Severus was going to betray them, but it was a possibility. Albus shook his head and turned his attention back to Quirinus’ ‘little’ debriefing.
Now, anyone who knew who these people were and had listened in on what was being discussed (not that there were any) would have many questions, like;
‘Why, would some of the most respectable professors in their fields, who taught at one of the most respectable schools in all of Europe, be gathered in a little Muggle café in London? Why, out of all things, would they be talking about Tuesdays, dragons and the most boring time of day?’.
Simple, they were planning on robbing a bank.