Surviving in Harmony

Chapter Four | London, July 1998

Chapter Four

London, July 1998

 

            “Oooh, what about this one?” Amara held up a tiny porcelain bunny rabbit, white as snow and with a little pink bow around its neck.

“It’s unrealistic.”

“Drew.”

“It is! Rabbits don’t wear bows.”

Putting it down, Amara sighed in exasperation. “Fine. What should we get Baby Weasley then?”

Andrew shrugged and looked around the large Muggle store. It was stuffed with baby things, from clothes and toys to breast pumps. This was not Andrew’s domain, and though all the babies made him feel a rather odd sensation in his chest, he wasn’t enjoying the stuffiness of the place.

“I don’t know Amara. The kid already has tons of stuff – relatives I didn’t even know we had are sending things from all over, plus the Weasley and Prewitt relations.”

“You have to get your sister a present, Andrew.” Picking through a bin of stuffed toys, she pulled out a stuffed toy of  “What about something like this? You liked to read as kids, right?”

Looking at the toy, Andrew suddenly understood the longing in his chest – and knew what he was going to get his little niece of nephew.

“C’mon, we won’t find anything in here.” Grabbing Amara’s hand, he tugged her out of the store.

“We could have just gotten a rattle or something!” she said as they navigated traffic.

“I have the perfect gift.” He said persistently “C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Soon the stood in front of a little hole in the wall shop, a sign hanging over the door reading ‘Vinnie’s Vertacularly Buldingerly Books’.

“Those aren’t real words, are they?” asked Amara, giving the store a spectacle look.

Andrew grinned and opened the door, setting off the bells “Maybe.”

“Oh wow.” Amara gasped, craning her neck to see the ceiling. Books were perched precariously on top of each other, creating a DNA strand of faerie tales and adventures, far away places and love stories.

“This was Sonia and my favourite place to go as kids when Mum brought us into the city.” He told her, beaming like a child and bringing her deeper into the maze of books. A canopy of open books let snippets of adventure ripple down and get caught in their hair, and the whispers of letters never sent, secrets never told, clung to Amara’s skirt with ends of never finished sentences.

“This must be magic.” She whispered, hearing the first few lines of an old poem trickle down her neck. “It has to be.”

“Vinnie is a Squib.” Andrew told her in a hushed voice “But he always had a way with words, with books – and kids, which is why Sonia and I adored him so.”