Ginger
January 6, 2026 at 5:40 AM
"Abu?" Aola called out as she descended the steep stairs and stepped into the courtyard in search of the djinni. "Abu-u!"
"I am here, my Mistress!" a voice echoed from the garden. "One minute!"
"Don't bother, I'll come to you." She followed the voice and found the fire spirit trimming the honeysuckle bushes. In a burst of inspiration, instead of the usual geometric shapes, he had sculpted a dragon out of the zigzagging green wall.
"How beautiful!" Aola admired. The jinni smiled, flattered. "Anything to delight your exquisite eyes, my peri. Do you have a task for your faithful servant?"
"More of a request, actually..." Aola lowered her gaze, studying the path strewn with colored stone chips.
"Ask!" the jinni exclaimed fervently, bowing his head. "Anything within my power."
"Abu, would you like to keep me company? I plan to travel to London."
"To leave the house and follow the daughter of my master — peace be upon him, may the Almighty rest his soul in the gardens of paradise — protecting my Mistress from the unworthy gazes of the sons of jackals? You even ask?! It is my sacred duty! The Master would have liked this."
He looked at the girl with unhidden approval. It was as if he were thinking: Not even a hundred years have passed, and the girl has finally come to her senses. Aola bit her lip to keep from laughing.
"There's no need to go overboard with the 'protection' part, of course. I can look after myself. But an old friend and good advice wouldn't go amiss."
"As you wish, my Mistress! Should I begin packing?"
"Yes, I suppose... It would probably be best if you traveled directly in the lamp."
"I shall bring it to your room." Delighted by the upcoming journey, the jinni was ready to bolt, but Aola held him back.
"And one more thing, Abu... After this, you may be free. Your debt will be paid in full, and the contract fulfilled."
"But the term has not yet expired, my peri," the jinni stammered, taken aback.
"I know, Abu... But my own time hadn't expired either, yet I have already returned home. I have been forgiven my debt; allow me to grant freedom to you as well. I know too well now what it means to wait. You could have left after Papa's death, but you didn't. Why?"
The jinni knitted his thick brows and sniffed through the thick gold ring pierced in his septum. "You have a very kind heart, my Mistress. I thank you. But allow me to decide for myself. I owe your father my life, and I gave this vow myself — to serve him and his family."
Instead of answering, she smiled at the fire spirit and affectionately touched his hot hand with her palm.
Aola didn't dare Apparate to London — it was enough that she had nearly been hit by a car just a couple of dozen meters from her own home. Who knew how much the place she held in her memory had changed? Muggle photographs and even videos weren't suitable as a source for the mental image — one needed the sensations, smells, and sounds of the destination.
She had never liked broomsticks for comfort, and to her great surprise, flying carpets had been banned in the United Kingdom. That left her own wings, but flapping them for a good four hundred kilometers, half of which was over water? A dubious pleasure. After some thought, she decided to Apparate to the coast at Calais and take the ferry to the island from there. She loved the sea, and she generally wanted to be among people, to hear what they were talking and arguing about these days.
Abu brought the lamp and quickly "self-packed," ignoring Gringualda's lamentations — who would look after the house?!
"Auntie, I am leaving you all the elves, and they are all intelligent, decent, and independent." The Duchess gently cut off the attempt to wheedle the jinni back and tucked the polished lamp into a brand-new travel suitcase with convenient wheels and a pair of sturdy latches.
Almost everything in it was also brand new. Like any normal woman, Aola had first familiarized herself with what people wore now, how they did their hair, and how they applied makeup. The cosmetic achievements didn't particularly impress her; a peri had her own beauty secrets for which not only Muggles but the vast majority of witches would sell their souls.
But she liked modern clothes, and she was absolutely delighted by the lingerie. Finally, they had thought to dress the fair sex in something truly delicate and small! She still remembered the days of corsets and knee-length pantaloons — br-r-r, thank Merovee she had grown up in the East and wore the comfortable clothing of Persian women for most of her life.
The revolution in hairstyles also pleased her; there was no longer a single standard, and girls did whatever they pleased with their heads. Aola happily got rid of the mane that had grown to her waist, opting for a bold asymmetrical cut. On her curls, a voluminous long side-swept bang and a shorter back looked very lively and attractive. The hairdresser lightened a few strands, saying it would accentuate her eye color. She hadn't lied. Surrounded by honey-colored curls, the peri's Eastern eyes shone like molten gold.
Finished with her preparations, Aola perched large sunglasses on her nose and examined herself critically in an antique mirror. A completely modern girl looked back at her, with a great haircut and a beautiful figure in a light cocktail dress just above the knees.
Interesting, what would Tom say if he saw her like this? He wouldn't recognize her... Aola took a shaky breath. In her heart of hearts, she cherished the hope that he was divorced, widowed, or single. No matter how many years had passed or how he looked now, he was still her "dear boy"...
Snapping her fingers, Aola shrank the suitcases to the size of small wallets and dropped them into her handbag. Her ultra-modern smartphone, purchased the day before, was already sitting there. Muggle technology impressed her.
"Dear, I hope you'll write as soon as you arrive. I shall worry," Gringualda reminded her.
"I'll call; it's much faster," Aola countered.
"I don't know which end to touch on that thing!" the venerable aristocrat protested.
"Any Muggle grandmother knows which end, and you'll learn quickly," her niece assured her uncompromisingly. "Olive has already figured out how it works and will hand you the receiver when I call."
The beaming house-elf, who had been honored to replace Abu, nodded his large-eared head, shining like a new penny. He was terribly flattered by such trust.
"Well, that's it... I must go." Aola hugged her sulking aunt, stepped back a few paces, and closed her eyes...
The sea. The sound of waves crashing against the shore. The salty wind. The cries of seagulls. Everything hit her at once, making her take a deep breath of the Atlantic air. She opened her eyes. The pier in Calais... Much had changed here, of course, but not critically.
On a huge concrete lot, a whole stream of cars and tourists waited to board the ferry. Aola looked around. Just as she thought — several people were staring in amazement at the girl who had suddenly appeared out of thin air. She cast a charm to divert their eyes, and the gazes that had just burned with greedy curiosity grew hazy and drifted sleepily away.
Everyone’s, that is, except for one — a tall lad of about eighteen or twenty, golden-ginger, with fine and very attractive features. He smiled kindly at Aola. One of her own, then... a wizard. She returned the smile and turned away. She hadn't come here to smile at handsome boys...
Once aboard the ferry, Aola wandered through the interior, watching Muggles gamble excitedly at slot machines, then headed to the upper deck. On the open platform enclosed by railings, round wooden tables with chairs bolted to the deck were laid out. Taking a vacant one, Aola admired the turquoise sea beyond the railing of the ship, which felt more like a huge floating house. The weather was sunny, and the usually leaden-gray channel delighted the eye with shades of ultramarine.
At the next table, capricious children, unhappy with the trip, were bickering weakly with their mother. Behind her, a group of men discussed their romantic adventures. Diagonally across, people argued about politics.
"People don't change, only the times do," the Lady mused with a smirk. She took the smartphone and headphones from her bag and immersed herself in the fascinating world of music. Here was another truly wonderful Muggle invention — so much music all at once in such a small box! During her forced absence, so much had been composed and played that it would last her until the end of her endless life.
However, her public solitude didn't last long. The Ginger from earlier appeared by her table with a couple of cups of coffee in his hands and raised his eyebrows questioningly. May I sit?
"A Weasley, perhaps?" the Lady thought, pulling out her headphones. "Drawn to them... by old genetic memory."
"Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked in English.
"Of course, please," Aola responded graciously. Clearly from a good family... Many modern guys, from what she had seen online, would have flopped into the chair without asking the lady's permission.
"Do you like coffee? I can treat you," he continued, settling in opposite her.
"Thank you, but I prefer fresh-ground, prepared in a cezve, the way my jinni brews it." Aola didn't want to offend the lad, but she had no desire to continue the conversation either.
Everything in her that came from her peri mother was designed to please, to seduce, to conquer. To captivate men with a single look. The upbringing instilled by her father allowed her to control this innate "superweapon," but if she started smiling back at him — the boy was a goner... Like Tom once was...
"You have your own jinni? How curious. By the way, I thought I was the only wizard traveling like this," the Ginger persisted.
"As you can see, you are not the only one."
"Have you come from far away? A tourist? You have such an... interesting accent."
"Yes, and I haven't been in Great Britain for a very long time. By the way..."
"Ted," he introduced himself briskly, thumping the cup onto the table and extending a hand with long, thin fingers.
"Aola," the Duchess offered her elegant hand in return, and as he shook it, he noticed the signet ring with the coat of arms.
"Oh... Lady Aola?"
"Just Aola, no titles," she countered, thinking the boy was quite observant... very much so. "So, Ted, I haven't been on this half of the globe for a while, let's say... and I know almost nothing about the Wizarding Wars. Won't you enlighten me, since we're chatting? Who is this Dark Lord? Where did he come from, what did he want?"
The boy was young, of course — probably born after the war — but surely he must have studied history in school? Maybe even at Hogwarts? At this, the Ginger turned somber and said: "I'd rather not talk about that subject..."
Aola finally took off her sunglasses and saw that Ted's eyes were golden-brown, similar to hers, just a shade darker.
"As you wish," she shrugged.
"It's not out of spite, don't think that... My parents died in the second war."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to reopen your wounds."
"You couldn't have known... You can read about all of it on the Internet, anyway."
"And where?" Aola brightened. "I thought there were only Muggles on the Web."
"Far from it!" the lad laughed. "We have our own sub-net. Where on earth did you live that doesn't even have a proper Internet? Africa?"
"Latin America," the Lady replied, and handed him her smartphone. "Will you show me how to find it — this sub-net?"
