Time to Kill.

Tension was something that could be found in every room of the Armstrong Household. It was a smog that invaded every nook and cranny and hung about the place they called home twenty-four hours a day seven days a week. But that tension that invaded every nook and cranny and hung about the house all day every day had evaporated. It had evaporated with the return of Vanessa Armstrong. The woman had descended upon the house with broken Primark bags filled with things she’d taken from Simon’s house, pinched from his children’s rooms, and crudely wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper from 1991.

It was difficult for Rafael to comprehend sometimes that the woman before him was in fact his mother and the mother of the children she was giving a stained walk-me Barney the Dinosaur toy and a half deflated football. He couldn’t understand why they loved her visits and were in awe of the gifts that were probably only brand new when they were still on the shelf in the store. They were toys that weren’t even popular at the height of manufacture, toys that probably had some sort of disease and would leave him and Mynah scrubbing the tufts of synthetic fur that clung to the bids of plastic that had been used by children that probably didn’t even know the meaning of share. Vanessa was home again which meant Rafael was the child once more. His authority was undermined by a woman that hadn’t grown up; a woman that was still holding onto her youth by slapping on layer after layer of powder and gloss and stuff that probably shouldn’t even come in contact with the skin.

“Look Rafi, look!” The excited voice of Raina broke through Rafael’s thoughts and he looked over to where the seven-year-old was crouched in front of a wooden doll’s house that had been decorated ‘lovingly’ with crayon and Action Man stickers. She was excited. A doll’s house was something she only saw at one of her friends’ houses so to actually own one must have been mind-blowing. Rafael wanted to be overjoyed also. He wanted to indulge his sister and play for hours on end with the little figures that were missing arms and legs but the thing was that he couldn’t. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at the items that were scattered around the living room floor. It was all wrong, sick and wrong. The only thing that he could focus on was the ugly stain by the armchair where Jaret had purposely spilt Nicolai’s black-current juice on the floor during an argument.

He felt a hand squeeze its way into his and he looked down at Raina, her mop of strawberry blonde hair sitting haphazardly on her head. He could tell that she’d tried to do her hair that morning. She’d clearly denied Mynah’s offer to brush it and throw it up into pigtails. Instead it looked as if she’d tried to brush her hair with a hairdryer. Bits of it were up and bits were down and although she looked unkempt and unloved Rafael knew it was just her way of telling him that she was growing up. Vanessa was completely oblivious to the change in her own daughter where as Rafael knew exactly what was going through his sister’s head. She wanted her independence and although he wasn’t ready to give it to her, he was willing to budge a little bit. She was seven-years-old, hardly a child but yet still not quite mature enough to handle some of the things her brothers did and if Rafael was going to be honest, he didn’t want to see her grow up just yet. He didn’t want to have to fetch her of all people from the police for loitering or breaking a window with a football in the case of Jaret and Nicolai.

“Rafi were you listening to me?” Raina asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. Rafael exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He reached up with his free hand and massaged his temple slightly before opening his eyes once more. Rafael leaned down and scooped Raina up into his arms. She giggled and he couldn’t help but grin back at her. Rafael buried his face into her neck and breathed in the strawberry scent that was reminiscent of the shampoo that both she and Mynah shared. He opened his eyes and saw through the strawberry blonde locks that Vanessa had stopped playing with Nicolai long enough to glare at him and Raina. Rafael could tell right then and there that she’d “start” and he didn’t want to argue with her today – not in front of the children. But if she was prepared to start lobbing things at him like usual then he’d oblige her and probably end up chucking Jaret in her general direction, Gameboy and all.

“Rafael,” She said shortly, rising up onto her feet. The sickly sweet tone she used told the brunette that he needed to defuse the situation but a part of him didn’t want to. He wanted to flaunt the fact that he was Raina, Nicolai and Jaret’s father – their parental figure – not the bloody woman that came in with used toys that had limbs missing. He wanted to show her that he was the head of the family, that he was the one bringing in the money when she wasn’t prepared to give her own children enough for food. He wanted to show her that he was better for them than she was; that he didn’t need to buy their affection because he already had it. That was one half but the other knew that they’d either start arguing as per the norm or he’d just have to step out and let her be the parent for once. The latter was coming from the more rational side of the wizard but why should he have to step down for the day just because the drunken prostitute they called “Mummy” had come home? He shouldn’t have had to but one look from Mynah told him that he most definitely did.

Plastering a smile on her face, Vanessa spoke again. “Sweetheart I understand that you look after my babies for me but today is my day. You can go off with your girlfriend-”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, mother.” Rafael said shortly, letting Raina back down onto her feet. He watched her rush back over to her dolls house and he squared his shoulders. You had to be ready for anything where Vanessa was concerned.
“Boyfriend then,” she smiled, ever the optimist. “Just get out of my hair, Capeesh?”
Rafael’s facial expressions altered and his indifference turned to anger incredibly quickly. Mynah dived over to him with his coat, wallet and phone in hand no doubt deciding to chuck him out before he began to “mouth mum off” as Jaret would say.
“You know what? I will.” He spat venomously. “Not because you told me to but because when the novelty wears off you’ll sod off and leave me to do my job! I can last five hours without knowing whether my siblings are safe can’t I? Of course I can! If you had something in that head of yours you stupid cow then maybe you wouldn’t desert us and realise that shockingly enough these children actually need you!”

And then, just like that, he was shoved out of the front door and into the warm summer air. Mynah had slammed the door behind him, obviously deeming his behaviour disgusting. He knew his behaviour was disgusting he didn’t need her to spell it out for him but the problem was that at the end of the day he didn’t care. Where Vanessa was concerned he didn’t give a toss. He wouldn’t have shed a tear if she threw herself off of a bridge. He would have no doubt had a party with Jaret if he caught the blighter breaking into the cupboard that had been filled with whisky and vodka but the woman herself. They’d make good use of it; thank her for the booze she supplied then get completely and utterly smashed; a way of celebrating their freedom if you will. But then thing was, she wasn’t going to die. She was on this planet to do one thing and one thing only – make their lives more difficult than they already were and she was doing a damn good job of it too.

Somehow, Rafael ended up in Diagon Alley. He weaved through the throng of people and managed to avoid being accosted by witches trying to sell him the latest hair care kit. He stumbled across a bookshop, not one that he would have noticed on a normal day but he was frustrated, irate and it was typical of the emotions he felt when he was in Diagon Alley. Why was he always frustrated there? He wasn’t really sure himself but he was going to figure it out one way or another. Ducking into the bookshop, Rafael could feel the dust enter his lungs. It was as if the shop hadn’t been touched for years and it was his for the taking. Exhaling in anticipation, Rafael walked the length of the shop, counting the paces it took to get to one end to another. He inhaled once more and in a flash, dived into the shelves to begin the browsing process. He could spend hours in a bookshop and hours were exactly what he had.

The crisp smell of pages that hadn’t yet been turned, the cracking of spines, even the thin layer of dust which covered the lesser-loved volumes – all of these appealed to Amelia’s senses, which had been dulled by the past few months of her captivity. There was nothing like a bookshop to bring her back to life.

For the first time in five months, Amelia had been given her parents’ full permission to be out of the house on her own, which was actually quite a feat considering the leash they had kept her on since her untimely removal from Hogwarts in March. Although they had told the headmaster that her removal was due to “familial concerns”, that answer was just about as vague as the ones Amelia typically gave to her peers and teachers. The concern had come from her mother – technically family, though more robot – who objected to Amelia’s participation in the Hogwarts Tournament. While this had been the anticipated reaction from the maternal sector, Amelia had hardly expected to be removed forcefully from Hogwarts on account of her being selected champion.

And so she had been tutored at the family’s summer home in Ireland during the remaining months of the academic calendar by various tutors who were either dreadfully dull, completely incompetent, or altogether unconcerned with her performance, but rather with the paycheck they had been promised. A particularly dreadful tutor with a peakish appearance and mustache that took up most of his face had met an unfortunate end when one of his own demonstrative charms backfired; he was not invited back.

Aside from her studies, Amelia had been allowed on the grounds of the estate, to attend events which her parents would also be in attendance, and not a lot else. As a result of the amount of free time which had been heaped on her, the redhead’s wandwork, non-verbal spells, and musical talents had expanded and improved this summer, but her social skills seemed to have receded even further, if that was at all possible. Although her mother had put her through the rigmarole when it came to learning to interact with others, Amelia had faltered at every step – whether by design or personality flaw it would have been difficult for Antoinette to tell.

But now, her mother had finally deemed Amelia’s punishment fulfilled and had relocated the family back to London. Her father had been thrilled to return to his old office and proximity to the other researchers in his field; Ireland had been almost as much a punishment to him as it had been to Amelia, though that certainly hadn’t been Antoinette’s intention. And with this relocation came the reinstatement of Amelia’s freedom to come and go as she pleased, though her mother’s short temper kept her from wandering too far.

The Black Raven Bookshop had always been a sort of haven for Amelia whenever she was on summer holiday. Although there was a library in her parents' home, Amelia had long ago made it through all the pages which lined the shelves, leaving her longing for more. This shop was not all that well known to the general public, which made it all the more appealing to Amelia, who enjoyed the solitude the shop often brought. The owners were kind and unobtrusive, willing to let Amelia be and not ask too many questions. It was like disappearing into another world when she came here, and each book she read a world within that world.

Having just finished flipping through a book on interspecies transfiguration, Amelia replaced the tome in its appropriate shelf and began walking the aisle again. She stepped slowly, allowing her eyes to rake across the names, some familiar and others new to her. At each unfamiliar title, Amelia paused to take in the spindly, block, or even handwritten words, occasionally pulling down a book to peruse the first few pages to gage her interest.

Just as she had pulled down a particularly thick volume entitled Wizards and Wandlore, Amelia saw through the shelves the upper torso and neck of another individual. The bookshop having worked its magic on her, Amelia was in such a state that she was willing to make assumptions about who else was in the shop, and thus she believed she had just caught a glimpse of one of the shop’s few employees, a young man who had helped her on a few other occasions when she needed to order a book or ask about getting a translated version. Flipping open Wizards and Wandlore, Amelia was reading as she walked around the end of the aisle and into the one she had just glimpsed, her eyes on the pages as she spoke.

“Andrew, you wouldn’t happen to have this in hardcover would yo-“ Amelia had begun saying, though by the time she reached the end of the anticipated question, she had looked up and realized that, in fact, she wasn’t speaking to the shop assistant, but instead to a total and complete stranger.

Mortified by her mistake, Amelia felt blood rising blotchily to her cheeks, obscured only slightly by the hair that hung around her face. Her eyes immediately darted to the ground as she snapped the book shut, pulling it tight to her chest as her mind chastised her – stupid, stupid, stupid.

A solid minute of stone silence passed before Amelia could stop the mental bashing long enough to even think about anything else, though it felt like days from where Amelia was standing. Raising her free hand to the back of her neck, Amelia rubbed the muscles there in a characteristic nervous gesture, still not looking at the young man she had so easily mistaken for another.

“Ah…” Amelia finally muttered awkwardly, a slight nervous laughter escaping her, though it was clearly not the ‘laugh-it-off’ type of giggle, but more of a ‘get-me-out-of-here’ variety, “… obviously you aren’t…um…you don’t work here…I…um… sorry,” the be-freckled young woman finally managed, all of this spoken at the floor, though meant for what she assumed to be the store’s only other customer, and perhaps inhabitant.

The bookshelves were old, rickety and looked as if they were ready to collapse under the weight of the books. Piles of books that couldn’t quite be squeezed onto the shelves were on the floor or sat on equally rickety tables and Rafael was finding it a little difficult to weave between the books in his aisle. Rafael rubbed some of the dust away from the spines of the books on the shelf he was in front of and picked a small tome with dark leather bindings on it. He turned it over in his hands a few times before opening it up.

The pages were water damaged and yellowing. The text was handwritten and he could see where mistakes had been made in the text. The calligraphy was beautiful though and Rafael decided that the thing as a whole was a piece of art without having read the content of the book. He was mesmerised with the damaged beauty of the item and was sorely tempted to buy it. All of the books were used so it would come cheap; it just depended on how cheap. He’d make sure to take one of the shoeboxes when September rolled around and it was time to buy the children some new shoes. There he’d store the book and any other ones by the author. They weren’t to be played with.

He gently closed the book and turned it over in his hands once more before tucking it under his arm. He rubbed some more dust off of the spines of the books and continued to search through them. He felt so calm here, in the bookshop. Any anger from moments earlier had completely disappeared and was replaced by content. His anger towards his mother would always bubble away like a simmering cauldron in the back of his mind but it wasn’t something he could be rid of. It was impossible for him to love that woman and even though that sounded awful it was just the way it was, the way he felt. He’d long since let go of any love for her.

Sighing, Rafael ran a hand through his sandy hair and squinted to read the small font on the spines of the books. He heard a voice, soft, light and almost musical and he looked up. He saw a young woman standing at the end of the aisle. She’d mistaken him for someone else from her request Rafael gathered that ‘Andrew’ was an employee. Rafael had never actually seen any employees but perhaps they saw he wanted to be left alone most of the time. Diagon Alley was the place he usually ended up when he needed to cool off. Being part of the “other world” was easier than having to deal with his reality. This bookshop was proof of that.

He placed his book down on top of a pile that was veering off to the right and he quickly rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows before picking the book up again. Rafael swallowed and felt his brain begin to whirl as it prepared itself for the speech that would have to come. He couldn’t just remain silent; the poor girl looked embarrassed enough. He cleared his throat and his hand went involuntarily up to rub the back of his neck. He rolled the tan skin around a little bit before dropping his hand and quickly forming the words he needed to say in his mind. He was getting rid of his nervous stutter now which was good news for the most part. He was still hesitant around new people but this girl seemed to be more embarrassed than he was nervous.

“That’s okay.” Rafael tried to reassure her. “I guess it’s an easy mistake to make.” He smiled ruefully and decided to add, “I’m Rafael by the way. You know I could always help you find a hardback copy of your book...” He offered weakly. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to say but she inadvertently made a request aimed at him, although it was really the employee, so Rafael wanted to help. She could easily say no but he couldn’t deny the fact that he did offer to give her a hand. Well, not literally a hand but some help finding her book. Swallowing, Rafael’s teeth reached out and took his abused bottom lip between them. It was chapped and chafed and it was his own fault it was in that condition but like the stutter it was a nervous habit. Awkward social interaction wasn’t something he had wanted to partake in but the girl seemed nice enough. A discussion and chivalry couldn’t hurt could it? It would probably help the hours pass as well.

Although Amelia’s eyes were still fixated on her toes, visible through the tips of her heeled shoes, she could tell that she had drawn the attention of the young man to whom she had spoken. How could she have avoided doing so, when she had so blatantly interrupted him for a reason that had nothing to do with him, but with someone else entirely? The silence of the bookstore, so often a welcome blanket in which Amelia wrapped herself, had been broken by Amelia’s words, and she was now faced by the young man who had turned physically toward her as much as his attention had turned to her, though she could not yet bring herself to look at him.

He is wearing cross trainers… Amelia’s over-active mind noted, in spite of the whirlwind of criticism and embarrassment that was whipping through her mental capacities and leaving them in a state similar to an actual tornado. That’s practical.

Are you really commenting on the practicality of his footwear? another part of Amelia’s mind chimed in, the irritation coming through with crystal clarity.

It’s the only part of him I can see!

Well then perhaps you should quit staring at the ground and look up.

I can’t.

Well isn’t that convenient?

And thus the internal argument continued in silence, while another part of Amelia’s mind contemplated what the young man before her might be thinking. He hadn’t yet responded to her untimely mistake, and she thought perhaps he was considering ignoring it altogether. That would have been preferable to Amelia, but even with this hope in mind she was still able to reason that that outcome was unlikely. She could see him fidgeting in her peripheral vision, though she hadn’t yet worked the nerve to stop examining the floorboards, setting something down and then returning to the same object. When he cleared his throat, Amelia braced herself for whatever his response may be, but by the time his words actually came, her shoulders had relaxed from the pure exhaustion of maintaining such a tense position for so many seconds.

Amelia had not known what to expect in response – she herself would have had no words for such a situation had the roles been reversed – but in the silence that had followed her outburst, the young man – Rafael, by introduction – seemed to have gathered his thoughts and what was sure to be meant as a reassuring answer. Although Amelia was not altogether calmed by his words, his reaction was likely the best she could have hoped for, which allowed her to relax her grip on the back of her neck and, after a few seconds, let her arm drop back to its natural position.

So are you going to say anything? Amelia’s subconscious demanded after more than one unnecessary second after the young man had stopped speaking.

I was working on looking up, actually. Witty to a fault, even in her own head.

With a deep breath for stability, Amelia managed to complete both demands of her mind at once, raising her crimson-tinged face to meet Rafael’s and managing to produce the words she had quickly rehearsed in the silence that had stretched between them.

“I’m Amelia,” the redhead echoed, pushing a few strands of hair behind her right ear as she looked up – and then up again, for he was taller than she first anticipated. His physical appearance also warranted her discerning eye, for even a passing glance showed that he was far from average in appearance, but for now Amelia’s focus needed to be on forming and repeating the words she had so painstakingly practiced in her mind moments earlier. It was ironic that speaking was the only task she could not accomplish in tandem with any other.

“And, ah, yes, if you want,” Amelia continued, her eyes darting between the book in his hand and Rafael’s eyes, still a bit uncomfortable with making eye-contact considering her less-than-stellar first impression, “I do need help finding a hardcover copy. Organization is not the Black Raven’s specialty, but they make up for it in other ways,” Amelia responded, pleased that she had managed not to trip over any of her specifically chosen words.

“Shall we?” Amelia asked, somewhat hesitantly, as she turned to move more toward the back of the shop. For once, she was not discontent with the misplaced piles of books on the floor, but rather thankful for them as she stepped daintily around, for they gave her a ready-made alternative of something to look at other than the boy who, Amelia assumed, was following behind her. She would have to look at him for longer than a few seconds eventually, Amelia knew – both common courtesy and her own curiosity would demand it – but she was content for now to give her nerves some time to relax before tasking them with that new mission.

“I think they keep the hardcovers more toward the back of the store,” Amelia said over her shoulder, modulating her voice as she walked, though it was likely unnecessary. The shop was almost certainly deserted aside from their presence, the owner probably having stepped out to get lunch or deliver a package, as often happened. This store was visited so infrequently by anyone outside of the regulars that there was little worry of theft, and anyone who might wander in would likely be unaware of which books were most valuable anyway.

Human interaction had never been Rafael’s forte. He’d never really wanted it nor appreciated the company that was forever around him. But perhaps that was why he resented people so much sometimes. He wasn’t used to having to deal with social interactions. He found cooking, something people his age weren’t really doing a lot of, easier than holding up his end of the conversation. It was much simpler caring and dealing with people younger than him. They didn’t ask the in-depth questions he was afraid of having to answer. Only once or twice did Nicolai or Raina ever ask where their mother was. That was when they were much younger, though, in a time when Rafael could be blunt and somewhat insensitive about matters that bothered the children even now.

It was human interaction, words passing between two life forms, which had brought Rafael to the bookshop. He was also experiencing it now. He wasn’t sure whether it was a nerve-wracking experience or not. He felt relaxed enough. The two had a common interest, books, so it couldn’t be that hard to keep up conversation, right? Wrong. He was like trying to talk to a brick wall sometimes. Rafael figured though that on occasion a brick wall would be much more interesting than him. This time was a little bit different. Not much but seeing as even his thoughts weren’t making sense, it had to be different. Rafael had offered assistance and he was pretty sure that was a good thing. Wait, of course it was.

Shaking his head, Rafael cleared his head of his odd thoughts and ran his hand through his hair. He blinked a few times and quickly walked away from his bookshelf so he didn’t lose Amelia. Rafael noted that there was a lot more dust further back in the shop. The piles of books also got higher and the tomes were thicker volumes. It was a bit worrying. If his foot caught the corner of one of the books then shop could collapse in a domino effect. Although thrilling it would probably scare the living daylights out of him and cause him to Apparate out. He didn’t want that to happen so carefully made sure to keep one foot directly in front of the other. “What exactly are you looking for?” Rafael asked as he pushed a cobweb away from in front of him.

With her back to Rafael, Amelia felt noticeably more comfortable. She had spent so much time wandering among these shelves that they were almost a second home to her, and definitely the best company she found herself spending much time around. Books had always made better company for Amelia, for they gave only answers, never questions, and even when she was empty-handed after finishing a tome, there was always another to take the place of the one that had left her wanting.

She could hear the boy’s footfalls behind her and was careful with her own, maneuvering quickly to the back of the store. The Ravenclaw girl came to the end of an aisle, face to face with a wall full of books, just as Rafael’s voice came once again from behind her. She did not turn to look at him as she answered, but rather allowed her eyes to pass over the books in front of her as she responded, her words polite but still a bit guarded, which made perfect sense to her considering how dreadfully little she knew about the boy following her. If pressed, she would have guessed he was a student at Hogwarts, but Amelia was not overtly fond of conjecture, and thus focused on the task at hand instead of the details of Rafael’s life.

“I am looking for Wizards and Wandlore,” Amelia’s voice came easily over her shoulder, the words unweighted for once, mostly because they were rooted in fact. “I found the paperback version near the front of the store, but I prefer hardcover for my collection, which is how I came to…” she paused her, a twinge of embarrassment still twisting in her gut at the recollection of what had happened only a few minutes earlier.

“…came to meet you,” Amelia finally managed, turning around to look at Rafael once more. She had chosen her words carefully to avoid drawing any further attention to the unorthodox circumstances of their introduction. Looking at Rafael once more, Amelia examined him in a way someone might scrutinize a test question they ought to know the answer to, but couldn’t quite pull the information from where it was buried.

He must be a student, Amelia decided, though not voicing this thought. He looked to be about her age, and she thought she had seen him around Hogwarts before. He must have kept a low profile there, for her not to have any prior knowledge of him, but she knew she could not be the only student at Hogwarts who liked to keep to themselves. After a few seconds of scrutiny, though, Amelia pulled herself out of her own questions and supplied one for Rafael, perhaps one which should have come sooner, considering his own offer for help.

“Should we be looking for something for you as well?” Amelia inquired, gesturing toward the heavily-laden shelves. The redhead supposed it was possible that Rafael too was looking for a particular book, and knowing the shop as she did – at least to a certain point – she might be able to offer him some of the same assistance he was now giving to her.

“Do you have a particular brand?” Amelia added, using the colloquialism for the genre of books the taller boy might prefer. Personally, Amelia had a tendency to cross genres as it suited her mood and temperament of the moment, but she was aware that others were more particular in their literary choices.