Bagsy Beetlehorn and the Thorned Gauntlet (The Bagsy Chronicles 1)

Silver Tongues

Christmas was a few days away. Bagsy's dad, Himble, had already told her she could visit Diagon Alley and buy whatever she wanted as her Christmas present from him and her mum. He'd interrupted Bagsy, who'd been about to tell him that she wanted to have a proper family meal for her present, and her request had died on her tongue.

Bagsy's mum was locked in her room, as usual, and Bagsy hadn't seen her since she'd returned home. Bontie was working at the Ministry for longer hours than she had been before and her late returns had led her straight to her bedroom without a word in greeting.

Bagsy hadn't used to mind. She had been happy in isolation, working on her latest ideas of potions and inventions, colouring, drawing, or generally making a mess of her room. If anything, interaction used to annoy her, but now she'd grown used to a little company here and there, the murmur of tired conversation at breakfast and the clamour of her peers at dinner had all become a pleasant background noise to her day. It was difficult to focus on work when she couldn't hear Greenda rifling through books on leadership as she snuggled into an armchair next to the fire place or sketch out an idea for some lofty invention without the occasional huffs from Mezrielda as she glared in frustration at her homework. The shuffle of books floating back into their places in the library, or the gentle clatter of cutlery, or even the murmur of ghosts and animated paintings, were a warm background ambience that felt so starkly missing at One Aesher Common. Her home was like a plunge pool – her head abruptly ducking below freezing waters, away from the heat she'd been used to. Most of all, she missed the conversations she'd have with her sort-of friends. Greenda's chatter about Quidditch, healing or her lessons, Mezrielda's snappy brooding, or even Tod's infuriating confidence was better than this new loneliness.

Bagsy had written to Mezrielda. She hadn't sent the letter, of course, she didn't know where to send it, and she didn't know if a name was enough for an owl to work with so, instead, the letter was sitting in a drawer, collecting dust. As was the book Fitzsimmons had gifted her; it felt like a Christmas present and Bagsy wanted to save it for Christmas day, even if that meant waiting to find out what it contained. At least then she'd get to open one gift that someone had bought for her.

Bagsy's living stampelia and her two pet rats, Bill and Jill, had been her only company since she'd returned, which was perhaps why she'd found herself creeping downstairs at midnight when she heard her sister return home.

The many wooden steps were kind and, for once, didn't creak below her feet, so she easily made it to the kitchen unheard. Bontie was poking her head in the cupboard with the ice slab, probably scrounging up some food she could call dinner, and hadn't turned the main lights on, leaving the blue ice slab to cast a cold light on her exhausted features. When Bontie's stomach let out a loud growl Bagsy couldn't hold back a snigger, and Bontie shut the cupboard suddenly, the blue glow ending with a snap as she pointed her long, crooked wand at Bagsy, the tip glowing a deep red.

Bagsy's heart sped up in fear and she instinctively raised her hands in surrender. Bontie lowered her wand, let out a breath, and dismissed the red glow at its tip. They stood in darkness.

'Don't do that, Bagsy,' Bontie said tiredly, opening the cupboard again. With a flick of her wand the main lights shone dimly onto them.

'Sorry,' Bagsy said, lifting herself with effort onto one of the bar stools. They were just that bit too high for her and it scraped along the floor.

'Shh!' Bontie hissed, pulling some left over take-away from the fridge. It was from Dumplings and Dollops and was one of Bontie's favourite dishes – steamed cacti spines with syrup and rice. Bagsy wasn't keen.

Bontie slurped up the mystically cooked cacti spines like they were spaghetti and looked at Bagsy with a mix or curiosity and annoyance. 'What do you want? I'm not in the mood for conversation,' she managed to say around her mouthful of cacti spines.