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Call her a pessimist all you want, but Mara Potter was having an awfully hard time coming to terms with the plethora of information the giant who had burst into the shack she was staying in, mere minutes ago, was throwing at Harry and herself.
So far she'd gathered that she was a witch ( yeah right, next he'd be saying that she was clairvoyant, too. Or better yet, mermaids were real ). Honestly, she found the whole situation she'd been unwillingly placed in rather peculiar.
Yet, what was all the more odd to her, was that Harry seemingly jumped on board with the shit this Giant ( whose name she'd learnt was Hagrid ) was spewing. Honestly, was a cake and an offer from some school named Hogwarts ( where her parents supposedly went — of that, she wasn't so convinced ), all it took to persuade Harry into believing anything? Although, even Mara would admit, the cake made her ponder — because like, how did he actually know their birthday?
Despite her confliction, Mara found herself leaving the sodden hut with her twin and the Giant, as soon as the rather feeble lie that the Dursley's had told, of her parents' so verymundane deathin a car crash, was revealed to be exactly that — a lie.
Sure it was a reckless move, perhaps even the begining of a horror movie. But when Hagrid told the exceptionally vivid story of her parents untimely murder on the Halloween ( of all days, really? ) of 1981, and how they gave their lives protecting Harry ( Hagrid had made a point to mention that Mara had little to no involvement in her parents death — she didn't know whether to thank him or cry ), from Voldemort, who somehow managed to die as a result of his embarrassingly poor use of the killing curse which, shockingly enough, made Harry somewhat of a celebrity in the Wizarding World.
At least, that was what she'd gathered from beneath Hagrid's muffled voice and choked sobs.
Mara wasn't exactly sure how to feel about the revelation. Her parents had died an awfully long time ago, and she'd come to peace with that in her own way. So she'd decided to count herself lucky that she couldn't remember the events of the night they were murdered.
So in short, that was how Mara found herself walking aimlessly down the streets of London, half-listening as her brother read out a list of Hogwarts necessities, only joining in at the end of the conversation, "where are we meant to find a pet owl or toad in London?"
"There are places, if yeh know where to go." Hagrid grinned as he opened the door of a run-down pub, which Mara would honestly have missed had he not pointed the sign out, 'the leaky cauldron'. Well, it definitely sounded magical.
Unsurprisingly, the inside was just as unappealing as its exterior. Which, she was aware, sounded rude. But she'd expected wizards pubs to be a bit more lavish, seeing as they could flick there wands and boom —a building!— but alas, it wasn't. Truly, it was rather glum-looking.
Hagrid was met with a flurry of greetings as he made his way towards the bartender, the two Potter's trailing behind him, wondering if there were in there to watch Hagrid get black-out drunk.
"Ah, Hagrid!" The bartender spoke, instinctively reaching towards a glass, "the usual, I presume?"
"Can't Tom, I'm on official Hogwarts business today." It was as though his lack of words had set off some kind of realisation in the man.
"Good Lord." His eyes were wide as he stared down upon Harry, almost in awe. "Is this — can this be — ?"
Silence had broken out across the once lively pub, wizards and witches alike were immersed in the conversation surrounding the boy. "Bless my soul, it's Harry Potter." Tom didn't waste a second. In a flash, he had Harry's hand enveloped in his own, tears glistening down his cheeks as he welcomed the boy who lived home.
Mara found herself cast to the side, watching with a slight awkwardness as the entire population of the pub stood to admire her brother, acting like it was some kind of meet and greet. Then again, she couldn't blame them — Harry was famous after all, no matter how weird it seemed to her.
"Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid had by some miracle, managed to break Harry away from the witch that was hugging him ( so tightly he looked like he may pop ) and redirect the bespectacled boy and his sister towards a shaken pale man. The Giant beamed as he told the twins, "Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."
"What subject do you teach?" Mara questioned the nerve-wrecked man.
"O-oh, Mara P-Potter?" The brunette girl couldn't help but smile meekly as she nodded. He knew her name. "D-defence Against the D-Dark Arts." His attention was quickly diverted to her brother. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-Potter? Really, c-cant tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."
Harry was pushed away by an ever-growing crowd of witches and wizards before he had a chance to answer. However Mara remained there, making small talk with her soon-to-be-teacher.
Quirrell seemed nice enough. But the more he spoke, the more Mara found herself wondering if the Professor was truly this apprehensive, seeing as he taught a class about Dark Arts. A subject she'd presumed was at least somewhat intimidating. It was all just a bit... strange?
Mara had to endure another ten minutes of mindless conversing before they left the pub. To say Harry was beet-red by the time they did so, was an understatement. He looked as though he'd been dumped in the desert and left there with no suncream on. "You okay?" She asked him.
His bewildered state flourished into a look of sheer amazement. "Yeah! Did you see all of tha-" He paused, "oh right. I didn't mean to get dragged away." Harry did feel bad that he'd allowed himself to become so caught up in his moment of fame, that he'd forgotten about his sister entirely. But it wasn't as if he had any control over the situation.
Mara was on the verge of a response — to tell Harry she didn't mind, Hagrid had pre-warned them about it, after all — but the Giant found himself speaking before she could.
"Stand back you two." He instructed whilst tapping the brick wall that had appeared before them when they left the Leaky Cauldron,three times with the point of his umbrella. The bricks seemingly rearranged themselves, moving to create an archway towering above the three. . .
