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She’d lost a bet, and Penny Haywood had been kind enough to come with her. They’d convinced Penny’s parents to let her stay the night with Imogen at The Leaky Cauldron as a gift for finishing Hogwarts with exceptionally high marks. Penny had arrived before Imogen and reserved a small table in the corner of the pub where her friend had arrived to find her surrounded by young wizards offering drinks and strolls about Diagon Alley.
“Piss off, you lot.” Imogen shooed them away, briefly brandishing her wand at a couple of stragglers.
“They weren’t doing any harm, Imogen,” said Penny.
“Maybe they don’t say so, but do you really want to know the truth?”
Penny thought for a moment. “Probably not.”
The two ordered butterbeers and shared a meal before taking their overnight bags up to their room. They washed up and changed outfits from their plain muggle clothes; a cropped black cloak over a deep purple dress for Penny, and a maroon dress with black leggings for Imogen. Penny wove Imogen’s hair into a flattering over the shoulder plait, and rested her own locks loose around her shoulders.
Charlie had left for Romania two weeks before their trip and lamented not being there to see the consequence of the wager. Penny had brought along her camera to document the night for him. There were several photos leading up to the main event: one of Penny and Imogen before they left The Leaky Cauldron, one of Imogen trying on an oversized witch’s hat, another of Penny trying a new flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, and of course the shopfront of the only tattoo artist in Diagon Alley.
Penny had insisted on choosing the tattoo Imogen would be stuck with forever, and decided on a blue butterfly. Imogen asked for it to be placed on her shoulder, and true to the sign over the door the application wasn't painful. It was mildly irritating, uncomfortable even; she could feel the spell embedding into her skin like the prickling of a sleeping limb.
Imogen turned over her shoulder to see the butterfly slowly beating its wings until it suddenly fluttered across her back to her other shoulder. Her mother would have a fit if she knew. Penny handed Imogen the camera and sat in Imogen’s place.
“What're you doing, Penny?”
“I'm getting one as well. So we’re matching.”
“Your parents will kill you.” Imogen had met the Haywoods on several occasions, and they were nice people, but even they wouldn't take kindly to their daughter being marked so permanently.
“Let them. If I get one act of public rebellion, this is it.” Penny wrinkled her nose as the artist worked the spell. “This is weird.”
Before they left the shop they asked the artist to take a photo for them: shoulders exposed, looking back as the butterflies settled where they pleased, wings splayed to show off their eyes.
The pair paid and stepped back into the alley, arms locked, wandering down to the end, back toward the Leaky Cauldron. As they neared the pub, Penny pulled ahead and broke off, stopping just out of reach of the pub’s light. A few yards beyond, the gray light of Knockturn Alley ebbed around the crooked gate.
“What’s it like?” she asked. Imogen glanced to the gate where a cluster of witches and wizards loitered, then caught Penny’s hand in her own.
“The tattoo is enough trouble for one night; do you want your mother to actually murder me?”
Penny resisted a second longer before letting Imogen pull her back into the pub. The rest of the night they spent in their room, laying in bed, gossiping, and writing a letter to Charlie. When they became too tired to continue talking, so exhausted they could only communicate in giggles, they went to bed. As soon as Penny’s head hit the pillow, she was out like a light. Imogen lay beside her, taking in the scent of her shampoo and cherry lip balm. She waited several minutes before gently rising from the bed and throwing on her cloak and shoes, and quietly leaving.
At such a late hour, the pub was mostly cleared out, allowing Imogen to leave without catching anyone’s eye. Once outside she pulled up the hood of her cloak and made her way through the dimly lit gate at the end of the lane. Knockturn Alley wasn’t much different than Diagon Alley, except for the dodgy folk and even dodgier businesses. Jae had once told her it was easier to be swindled by a business owner than it was to be pick-pocketed.
Imogen slunk through the alley with her eyes forward, sure not to make contact with anyone she passed. When she came to Borgin and Burkes she dipped into the short alcove beside it where a battered door stood nearly invisible. She knocked a pattern on its front and waited, wand in hand. Footsteps came down a creaking flight of stairs, and then the locks on the door turned and groaned. The door cracked open just enough for the light of the shop to illuminate a shorter witch with wispy blonde hair and curious brown eyes. Imogen pulled her hood aside for the witch to identify her and open the door for further entry. Imogen followed her up the stairs to a small, murky flat above the shop.
“Would you like some tea?” Jane asked from the sitting room, straightening the doilies on the back of the winged chairs.
“No, thank you, Jane.” Imogen stood in the doorway taking in the tidy blue rug and polished coffee table in front of the fireplace. “I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I was in the neighborhood.”
Jane smiled, her voice light and airy, happy to have a guest. “Is this about your letter?”
Imogen rolled her shoulders back. “Yes.”
“The one about your parents?”
Her mouth felt dry. “Can you do it?”
Jane came to stand before her, the firelight casting angled shadows over their faces. If she hadn’t known better, Imogen would have imagined Jane as entirely unsettling, possibly even a villain from some Muggle television program.
“Can’t you?” Jane watched Imogen closely, so intently that Imogen felt as if she could see into her mind.
“No.” Imogen’s voice broke. “I need someone better equipped.”
“And less suspicious.” Jane smiled again. “I know.” She turned back into the room and began replacing tea cups to cabinets. “When?”
“As soon as possible. They’re to leave in five days.”
Jane stopped, still watching Imogen. She placed her hands on the cabinet’s edge and considered the younger witch. “Are you sure this is what you want? It won’t be easy.”
Imogen nodded solemnly. “It’s all I have. It’s better this way.”
“You would think so,” said Jane. “Send an owl when it’s best. Discretion is a virtue.”