Destinies Collide

Nocturnally

September 30th, 1988

If Michael had a cent for every time something in the wizarding world frustrated him, he would be tempted to open a vault in Gringotts. Actually, he should probably do that anyway, but the point was that he was once again exasperated at not being able to find the information he was looking for. He knew the ability to talk to snakes was referred to as being a parselmouth , which made no etymological sense as far as he could tell, and that it was rare, thanks to one of Harry's letters to Draco, but where Diagon Alley's libraries were concerned, it may as well not be something that exists, especially given the looks his questions earned him no matter how politely he phrased it.

"Oi, suit guy!" Someone called from behind him as he exited the bookshop and he turned to look for the origin, not sure if it was meant for him or not. His eyes meet narrowed brown ones a couple of inches lower in height, belonging to a gangly teen leaning against a nearby wall, "yes, you, come here."

"Yes?" He raises one brow, looking more closely at the teen.

The boy had long-ish brown hair reaching slightly past his chin and framing a thin face, probably left loose to hide the scar he could see starting at the corner of his cheek and likely spreading upwards. His clothes were a mix of something resembling dark robes but too short to cover his full frame, though the slightly faded grey trousers - looking like something he might have owned and thus not quite as wizardly - made sure to cover up the legs of the young stranger. Still, if the legs looked anything like his half-exposed arms, they were sure to be bony and thin.

All in all, Michael was pretty sure he'd never seen the teen before.

"You're not gonna find what you want over there, y'know?" The teen jutted his chin toward the bookstore as he spoke in a tone of conspiracy, "Dunno what you're asking for that's got the boss lady in a tizzy but you'll have better luck in Knockturn."

"Where?" He frowned before mentally realigning his priorities and adding, "and who are you?"

"Names have power, mate. You ain't getting mine, just some free advice," the teen answered, stepping away from the wall and riding up the robes to shove his hands in the trousers' pockets.

"I suppose," he left the suspicion out of his tone as much as he could, not sure if this was a wizarding thing or a this particular teen thing but not willing to ask about it to the stranger, "what did you mean by nocturnal?"

"Knockturn Alley," the teen elaborated, though his expression told Michael it was supposed to be obvious, "I've seen ya leave this place with a crap ton of books, thought it was some mastery research project, but guess not. You a muggle then? Don't get lots of muggles this eager for a read."

"Squib," Michael explained, slightly annoyed at the look of understanding that was levelled at him a moment later, "care to show me this nocturnally, then?"

It seemed pretty harmless to let some random advertiser show him to a different store, the kid did seem old enough to work and definitely looked like he needed the money. The chance to find some actual answers, too, was tempting enough to spur him on.

" Knock -turn," the teen corrected, "like knocking on a door, or getting knocked up," the wiggling eyebrows sent his direction did little but make him roll his eyes, "fine, the best example for it is knocked down anyway. Follow me, mate."

"Seems a tad out of the way," Michael can't help but point out after he's led through a few twists and turns into a seedier-looking part of the alley.

"Right where they like us," he barely caught the teen's mutter, sounding resentful but resigned.