Paisley Higgs | (Sirius Black)

Chapter 2- What the Hell is a Pukwudgie?

For a brief time, as I scuttled in my broccoli green dress down the old cobbled village road, the drab and boring cottages that lined the street were painted golden, drenched the last rays of sunlight. Mom was ahead of me, holding a casserole dish—some Cajun concoction of hers (of course)—and my dad was walking along at her side, shamelessly admiring all the front yards we were passing, making comments here and there about how good their flowers and shrubs looked. ("Betty, just look at those begonias!")

I walked behind them awkwardly adjusting and readjusting my dress. It didn't fit right.

Or maybe it did and I just wasn't used to it.

Whatever.

The point is that the dress Mom made me wear was both a hideous shade of green and uncomfortable. Oh, and I had somehow forgot my sweater—needless to say I was too preoccupied to really breathe in the bland splendor that was Godric's Hollow.

It was a surprisingly short walk to this illusive neighbor which we were meeting, for which I was thankful.

We had only gone down the south side of the street and around the corner. The stone house was comfortably sized—two story with a small gate. It had green shutters (which Mom loved), a few muggle garden gnomes peaking out behind some well manicured shrubs (which Dad loved), and a large sprawling tree whose limbs stretched out towards the second story window (which I loved).

I loathed the house on principle because it meant I'd have to talk to strangers (not my thing—see grocery store incident) but even I had to admit it actually looked rather cozy, all things considered.

Actually, reminded me a lot of the house our old elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, lived in. She had a glass eye, donkeys named after the three stooges, and always brought us tomatoes and cantaloupes from her garden.

Can you grow cantaloupes in England?

I pondered this fact as we walked through the gate and hustled up to the door.

It was a squeeze for all three of us (plus Moms cajun casserole) to clamber up to the front porch, but we Higgs are a tenacious breed, so we made it work.

I shuffled to the side and looked up. A little wooden sign hung above the door with the words "Potter Cottage", painted on in black cursive letters.

I saw mom eyeing the sign as well, with the familiar glint that oft preceded extended crafting sessions...

"Why don't you do us the honors, Paisy?" Dad said, pointing to the doorbell with a silly grin.

For a big scary auror, Dad could be such a goof. I shook my head and tried not to smile as I pressed the bell.

A pleasant, muffled chiming from inside was immediately followed by frantic footsteps and a woman's voice.

The door swung open, whooshing a warm gust of air at us that smelled of freshly baked bread and spices. An older woman stood in the door way, gray hair up in a French twist, smiling kindly at us. "Welcome! Welcome! Come on in! Please!" she said graciously. "Here, let me take your coats!"

My mother was the first to shuffle in. "Thank you for having us, Euphemia," she said in her gorgeous southern drawl, smiling genteelly. She always sounded like a southern belle—aka nothing like me. "This is my husband, Sam, and this," she said gesturing to me with the hand that was not holding a casserole dish. "Is our youngest daughter, Paisley."

Euphemia smiled warmly, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "What a lovely name. It's very nice to meet you," she said looking between me and dad. "Both of you."