October 14, 1893 — High Street, Hogsmeade Weekend
Charley Goode

Frankly, Charles was already regretting coming to Hogsmeade today. It wasn't that he was behind--frankly, he spent so much of his time studying and doing schoolwork that he thought it might be physically impossible for him to fall behind at this point, even if he took a month off doing anything more than the bare minimum. But at this point, he had spent so much time worrying over school that he felt something like guilt for taking a break to himself.

Charles was on the High Street now, trying to distract himself from the impulse to go back to the school early. He was standing presently in front of Quality Quiddith Supplies, looking at the display in the window. He didn't have a particular interest in quidditch, per se, but again, distraction. It was as he was looking, though, that he saw a familiar-enough reflection in the glass. Turning, he said, "Hey! It's you!"

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"That aggie's mine!" The grit of the urchin's teeth might have undermined her smile, but Charley wasn't about to let her opponent spy any weakness. She lined up her shot, the divot in her stone wobbling back and forth under a dirty fingernail. The prize was straight ahead, and at the last second she swiveled her aim and fired.

"For the last time, it's en't marbles. Not even a jot!"

Charley couldn't risk rolling her eyes, they were far too busy tracking her stone as it rolled. The divot caught on their uneven playing field, as she knew it would. Only it spun straight clear of the prized gobstone in the middle this time. The urchin rocked back on her knees, grabbing her head with a loud, agonizing, "Noooooooo!"

The squirt of awful liquid spewed out from the stone, and she only missed getting a faceful with one guarded hand. Charley turned it around, making a face at the dripping, smelly liquid that was her reward for losing.

"Hey! It's you!"

A voice from above drew a look from the irate urchin, enough to miss stopping her challenger's quick movement. With nary a breeze, the other urchin swooped a hand at the prized gobstone and was alight on heels that barely made a sound in retreat. Charley's head whiplashed, staring first at the place where her opponent had just sat, then up to the boy whose intervention had cost her the chance at the perfect gobstone.

"You hidgeot! I was boutta win that too," Charley told the idiot boy. Who in their right mind interrupted a gobstones match? When her eyes met the face of this game-ending villain, her face settled into a glum look of defeat. It was that awful upper year boy who didn't play games. Now she really did roll her eyes.

"You owe me a gobstone!"

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Charles wrinkled his nose. "Sorry," he said, though he didn't really sound like he meant it. There was still gobstone goo dripping from the urchin's hand. "You sure you even know how to really play?"

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   Charley Goode

Charley scowled at the older boy, her freckles melting together at the creases of her forehead. They almost disappeared under the warmth of her cheeks, inflamed by the pointed daggers thrown from his mouth. Embarrassed, she shook her wet hand away as the drier fingers of the other clasped around one of the gobstones still sitting on the drawn playing surface in the dust. The stone clenched tightly in her fist, ready to throw it —or her knuckles— to get revenge for the smear.

It shouldn't have even bothered her, somehow this teenager had a way of getting under her skin.

"What'd you say to me?" she started, thinking more deliberately for a moment. Hitting him would feel really good, and it was hard to resist the temptation. Crouched on the ground, Charley was too easy a target for retribution if she threw the stone or a punch. Even holding herself back rankled the urchin, and she could feel her face scrunch tighter and hotter at the bitter anger inside her, burning for release.

The urchin rose to her full height, and if she lifted her chin it was almost even with the boy's shoulder. Her feet shifted her weight automatically into the balls of her feet, in case she needed to run or dodge. It didn't matter. He'd challenged her, and now he'd answer for it. Otherwise the boy was a coward, and she'd make it known to anyone he met up with before the day was over. This, Charley promised herself with every fiber of her heart and all the magic pumping through her veins.

"Like you'd even know what a game was, Duke o' Limbs. Were you born without the knack for fun, or did yer nanny whack it outta you with her umbrella?!"

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"I know what a game is," Charles said, not sure why that rankled as much as it did. Also he didn't know how to respond to "Duke o' Limbs"--in fairness, he didn't spend a lot of time with people who would stoop to name calling. At least not to his face, which was probably not the same thing. "I just don't do it out in the street."

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Charley made a show of rolling her eyes at the taller boy, who was practically all arms and legs. There was still considerable doubt in her mind that such a dull, judgemental person could have ever played a game in his life. Not like it wasn't unthinkable, she knew there were games so boring that even a dull person would find them fun. For a moment, the urchin tried to imagine the Duke o' Limbs playing one in a stuffy room and it made her double over in giggles.

She landed on a scoff, as one shoe kicked out toward a gobstone. It didn't connect, just passed close enough to stir up the breeze. Charley watched the stone roll out the corner of her eye, shaking her head at the dullard boy. "What? You got some big, fancy table to shake outta those sleeves?"

Where else was she supposed to play?

It wasn't like the urchin had a room, and any table was only hers for the time she could claim it. She had streets and the discards of folks like him, who'd sooner turn up their noses than stick them too close to the muck. Charley couldn't figure out why someone like him would stick around long enough to tell her off about it. But if boy duke was inviting himself to her streets, she was going to take advantage.

"Are ya playin'?" Her chin nodded down to the stone, which had rolled to a stop at the boy's feet. Charley couldn't hide the glee in her eyes, or the challenge in her words. Besides, he owed her for losing a chance at a prized gobstone. "Or don't you got the stones for a proper game?"

The urchin grinned wide and toothy at the boy, waiting to see if he'd take the bait.

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"Obviously not," Charles said, scowling. He had places inside where he could play games, though he just stopped himself from saying so out loud. That might have been a bridge too far, politeness-wise. Though Charles' instinct toward politeness had more to do with who he was than with who he was talking to.

Charles eyed the urchin skeptically. "I don't think we have the same ideas of what a 'proper' game is," he said.

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"No truer words..." Charley snorted, looking up at the boy with the barest hint of admiration. Maybe there was something smart about him after all. He just had to step off his lofty pedestal and come back down to earth, where she could teach him a thing or two. "Whether it's proper or not, you still owe me a game. If yer gonna come here an' mess up my fun, might as well make it worth your while."

If he had enough rocks for brains to give her lip, he could use those to play against her. Or she'd rattle them enough until the smarts came out again. Either way, the urchin wasn't about to take no for an answer. She let idle fingers brush away dirt from her shirt sleeve and blew at a strand of hair that had come loose from under her cap. He wasn't going to take all day to decide, was he?

The longer she stood there waiting, the less satisfying this was going to be. It'd be easier if he'd make it quick so they could both get on with her day. The urchin considered herself rather good at gobstones, practicing with no one really. Charley figured she'd beat him at gobstones easily, then find her wayward partner for a shot at his aggie again.

Charley swayed in place, her mouth twisting into another thought. A hand came out, stretching far enough that the Duke of Limbs could reach. If they were going to play a proper game, they might as well do it the proper way. She could spare him the spit shake this time so long as there were no more complaints about her spot. "Name's Charley."

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Charles thought of saying no. He really ought to say no--whatever the urchin said, Charles didn't think he owed anyone anything in this situation. And for a moment, he really thought he was going to, that he was just going to say "no, I don't think I will," and then walk off. But then he looked at her--he still wasn't sure that was right--and when he opened his mouth to say no,, what came out was, "All right, fine. One game."

He was surprised by the hand extended toward him, but he regained himself surprisingly well, and took it to shake. "Charles," he said. He thought about introducing himself properly, but decided at the last second that, maybe, telling this urchin--Charley--that his surname was "Whymper" would have earned him more derision. He couldn't help that his surname was ridiculous sounding.

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Charley fought the urge to bark a laugh at the boy. This crazy Duke o' Limbs was pulling her leg, he was having a laugh and all at her expense. His name couldn't be Charles, not for real. The urchin twisted her grin, adding more pressure to her squeeze. "Sure, Charles," she said, releasing him at last with one finger pointed back his way, "Don't go changin' yer mind now, alright?"

Her eye fixed him with one last stare, a dead serious one. Even though they hadn't spit-shaked on it, she was trusting him to be a man of his word. It was probably folly, but that's all Charley had left for the moment.

She took her place on the other side of the circle, the gobstones there waiting patiently for her return. It wasn't the same game she was returning to, but it wasn't like the stones were about to care. They stood gleaming in the sunlight, as proud and indifferent as the cobblestones of the street. None were so pretty as an aggie, the prize he'd stolen from her, but she could fix that soon enough.

Picking up her shooter, Charley sat back on her haunches and gestured for Charles to pick up a stone. She rolled hers between fingers, feeling the pits and cracks in its surface. Learning them as well as she'd learned the rooftops and shop alleys of Hogsmeade. Impatience took over as Charley called out, "Yer shot, Chuck."

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Charles rolled his eyes but took up his own piece to play--and then paused with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression on his face, as if he was contemplating his move. Because, well, if she was going to be impatient about it, he didn't mind being annoying. There were, after all, precious few people in Charles' life who he could annoy with impunity. At the very least, he didn't feel bad about it.

"I don't know," he said. "I really have to think about this one."

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The minute the boy's fingers touched the stone, Charley knew she had him. There wasn't a thing he could do otherwise now, he had to take a shot. And miss, she hoped. When he was all splattered with gobstone juice, she was going to laugh long and hard. Chuck deserved it, just a little bit anyway, for running off the real prize with her first opponent.

Given the way her fortune was going today, she'd settle for one of the buttons on the boy's nice coat.

Charley guessed it'd be too much to ask for the whole coat. Still, a girl could dream, especially with the amount of time that the suspiciously-named Charles was taking to make his shot. "Put yer whole noggin to it, Chuck, she goaded him, an uneasiness nipping at her words. She bridled at how easily he could bring the edge out of her, what was so special about him anyway? He was just a big, old, Duke o' Limbs.

The urchin tried to busy herself by picking at the dirt under her fingernails. It didn't work very well for keeping her busy, but it might look enough that way. Charley bit on one experimentally, only to pull back and spit out the dirt she'd obviously missed. "If you take any longer, I might hafta pop out for tea."

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"You can't rush me," Charles snipped, though he only took another couple of seconds before making his move. It had been a bit since he'd last played this game, but Charles thought it hadn't been so long that he'd embarrass himself.

Obviously, social clout amongst the urchins of Hogsmeade was something he should be striving for. At least Charles was aware it was ridiculous.

"There," he said. "Your go."

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A frown crossed over her lips as the urchin considered the boy's move. For all the chinwagging over it, his shot was far truer than she'd been expecting. It put a real crimp in her plans for an easy match. Charley might have given him a shot or two first, just to lull ol' Chuckster into thinking he could humiliate her twice. Now that it seemed like he stood a real chance of it, she couldn't dither or dally with this foe.

"Well, dash my wig," she muttered after a low whistle, grasping the need to settle right down onto the offensive instead.

Hopping to another portion of the circle, the urchin crouched low. She already knew it was going to be a tricky shot, one that could have required her own dose of patience. Charley also knew better than to trust herself with patience. Pressing her wrist down against the dusty ground, thumb extended to the sky, she closed her eye with an aim to line up the right angle between the gobstones.

"See mate, in this game, it's not all about talent," Charley started, chattering as a means to fill the air between them. A nervous tick, perhaps, or that's what she wanted Charles to believe, anyway. "Though you've got that in spades."

She also wanted Charles to believe she was only working on her aim from this angle. It helped her manage the gentle press on her sleeve, not too hard, that was just enough to dislodge the gobstone held there between the buttons. She swept up the freed stone quickly with her hand, making it look only like a shift in her position. The stone wasn't as good as a real aggie, marble or not, but one she had enchanted to work just as well. Better, even, than the road-crusted stone she was meant to use instead, one she had passed deftly into the cuff of her sleeve for safekeeping.

"It's about stayin' down-to-earth, being humble-like," she carried on, as if her sleight-of-hand had been nothing more than just a fidget of the palm. With a glance at the boy to ensure he was none the wiser, Charley lined up her real shot. The one she knew would hit as true as his, truer if her spell worked properly. She meant to reserve the enchantment for snatching the prize aggie in a proper game, but the urchin could settle for shutting up the tall, gangly boy who had lost her the chance.

"It's takin' hits as much as you deal 'em out, ya get me?" Charley snapped her thumb down on the stone, watching it shoot out across the circle. It flew right where she wanted, hitting the target stone to make it ricochet deeper into the circle. Whether it would pass in front of Charles' shot or behind was the question now, one that she wasn't about to wait to find out.

"Take that!" The urchin cried, declaring victory for herself ahead of time. Whoever was about to wind up full of ink would discover the truth sooner than later.

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Charles huffed. "Nice shot," he allowed, because it was, and it felt unsportsmanlike to say otherwise. Whether sportsmanship really applied to a game of gobstones was another question entirely, of course.

Charles eyed the marbles in front of him, saying, "Right, sure, humility. If you say so, I guess." Which was probably the wrong thing to say, it turned out, because Charles made his next shot, and the universe, it seemed, was unamused by his lack of enthusiasm for humility.

"Ach!" The spray of ink hit the boy squarely in the chest and he lurched back instinctively.

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   Charley Goode

Charley giggled. It was a giddy sort of tune, one she could have danced to if she wasn't kneeling on the ground at the moment. She stared at the boy's fine suit, stained and dripping now with gobstone ink, which only made her laugh harder. Her stomach cramped from the effort, doubling her over as the urchin laughed out her lungs. Satisfied and gasping now, she looked up with victorious glee in her eyes, "Ya sure ya even know how to really play, Chuck?"

The urchin let out a few, last chuckles before taking a giant breath. She slapped her knees, throwing her triumphant grin over at Charles. After all his bluster, the boy was no better than anyone at this game. It wasn't like she was, half the time Charley swore the stones rolled with their own mind. They probably picked out who they wanted to squirt ahead of time, those tricky enchanted monsters trapped inside the spheres. The pits and cracks on their outsides were only there to make the players think there was a method to the game's madness.

In truth, there was only chaos.

She pried a nail against one of the cracks on her chosen stone, wiggling it idly to consider the ring. Charley figured there would be more goo squirted her way before the game was up, the question was really more about how to put it off for the longest. Chaos and the urchin might be bunkmates, but that didn't mean she had any better handle on when it would turn on her next. "Next shot's a big one, be ready..."

Setting down her stone, Charley poised her thumb behind it. Under her breath, she whispered to the stone. Appeasing it, she figured. This wasn't her lucky, enchanted stone anymore, and Charley needed all the good parts of chaos on her side. "Right, we gotta make this one count. Jes think of ol' Chuckster covered in ink!"

The thought gave the urchin more to grin about, and she spared one flicker of a glance for Charles. Then she flicked the stone across the circles drawn in the dirt, aiming to win back her trick stone. With a hop, the crack in the stone hit her nail and lurched to the side, knocking her lucky stone toward the boy and shooting another squirt of ink in her direction.

"Drat, you've spoilt 'em, Chuck!" Charley gritted teeth as she frowned at her sleeve, almost soaked through with ink. If he played enough games, maybe the boy would learn to avoid the worst of the gobstones too. It wasn't her cap or vest anyway, and that was plenty to be grateful for even if her shot had gone entirely the wrong way. "The 'stones were all friendly-like 'til you came along!"

There was no telling how much worse it could get if Charles figured out the truth of her favorite stone.

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