Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Ten: Crab Cakes?

Housework is a never-ending disaster of broken fingernails and dishes. Note to self: tomatoes require more care than expected, will try onions next.

Freya wrote in a notebook, her hair damp from her shower and her toe polish drying. It had been a few weeks since she had returned back home, and she was almost done with the main tasks of her to-do list.

Thank Merlin for magic, or else things would have been a nightmare. Charms and spells helped her clean up the living room and kitchen, but none could help her produce a single piece of produce by herself and funds were too thin for her to purchase food every day from the market.

Although some students argued that they would never actually need some of the spells they were taught in the real world and some were utterly ridiculous at times, Freya found a good chunk of them to be quite practical in her day-to-day life.

Admittedly, she wasn't even supposed to be practicing magic outside of Hogwarts till she turned seventeen, however, the Trace could only detect if magic was cast, not by who, and as an extra measure of precaution, she used her mother's wand do them in case, for some odd reason, the ministry had any interest in checking her wand.

However, today was not for housework, rather becoming presentable for high society. With all her clothes neat placed in her room and Isra hooting contently as toon played on the little record player spin beside her, Freya had to plan and tailor her outfit well.

Most of her clothing was school uniforms and dark sweaters, but that wasn't proper attire. She needed a good dress for a good impression.

Black felt too on the nose, and red was too flashy.

Emerald always flattered her skin nicely.

Moving the muggle magazine from her lap, she stood up and pointed to her deep red dress, silhouette already in mind, and waved her mother's wand. The fabric morphed into a deep green(just a shade off from what she intended) form-fitting shape, then Freya frowned.

Was it too modern?

What if they had anti-magic enchantments?

Or worse, what if they thought she was trying too hard?

Lips pressed together she went downstairs to check on her mother. Aysun was drinking tea by the window, her shawl draped over her bony shoulders. Beside her, on the old oak table the previous owners had left behind in the house, was the stack of ancient transcripts.

Her mother's job was to translate them into English, it was rather a dream when she had first gotten it. Paid decent, plus she liked languages and reading.

From a young age, Aysun let Freya join her while her father went to work at the ministry. Over the years though Freya had begun taking over the job, occasionally she'd even take a few texts to Hogwarts and finish them there, but with O.W.L.S this year it was hard to squeeze it in.

Freya picked up the scrolls with her nicely manicured fingers and neatly rolled them up into proper cylinders. "Would you like some lunch, mother?"

"The neighbors have new gnomes." She stared through the curtains, then thought about it. "They're rather endearing."

"I'll see if they have some the next time I go to the market," Freya said before returning up the stairs. On her way back, she passed her mother's room. The door was open and she went to fix it when a thought struck her.

With very light feet, despite it being completely unnecessary, she went into her mother's closet. At the base of it was an old trunk, simple, but sturdy. It was her mother's old dress, she shuffled through a mix of attire, some from her days in Turkey before she immigrated to Europe, others from when she actually went out.