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Tristan T. Travers (alliterative) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Tristan looked down at the little girl with another smile. "Yes," he said, reaching his hands into his pockets, fishing around. "I am magic. More precisely," he continued, pulling out a piece of paper, "I'm a wizard. I'm also very sorry you haven't seen any magic yet," he added, glancing down to the paper as he began folding it. "Because this is a magic place, or at least a place for magical people like witches and wizards like us." Or presumably like them. He could only assume she was a witch if she were here in the wizarding part of London, or at the very least that her father assumed she would be a witch and not a squib. He didn't mention that, of course. Instead, he continued talking, absently folding the paper here and there.

"Beedle the Bard was a wizard. It sounds like the bug, but it's spelled differently. He lived a long, long time ago -- hundreds of years ago, in fact! And he wrote stories for young witches and wizards." He paused a second, licking his lips. "They've been compared to Muggle fairy tales," he hoped she knew about those, at least to an extent, "but they're meant for witches and wizards.

"There's one about a warlock's hairy heart, and one about a wizarding and his hopping pot. And there's one about a witch named Babbity Rabbitty, as well as others, all of which you'll have to read the book to learn their stories," he said, moving to squat down in front of her. "I don't like to give away the plot of stories, you see," he said confidentially.

"However...." Tristan finished fussing with the paper, closed it between his hands, and concentrated. It'd been quite some time since he'd really done any magic without a spell or without his wand, but he wasn't going for anything major here. When he opened his hands, he smiled as a paper butterfly flapped its wings. "I can help with the magic thing." Smiling, he gave a little blow on the butterfly, and it fluttered over to the little girl.