~A/N~

Hello again, friends, foes, fans (hopefully not too many foes). AA-M here to say that this story is the spawn of a recently-renewed OBSESSIVE, COMPULSIVE FANGASM for Howl's Moving Castle. This particular story is based off the book for reasons of character, though the movie is actually what set off this MASSIVE ATTACK OF FAN. Not that you needed to know this.

Disclaimer 1: These magnificent characters in all their imperfect glory, (as well as everything else regarding Ingary), belong solely to the fantastic mind of Diana Wynne Jones, bless her heart.

Disclaimer 2: The warning applied to seekers of citrus in Five Day Weekend, my Fullmetal Alchemist story, is not necessarily true here. Just saying'. I'm undecided as to how far it will go, though.

Do enjoy the fic, and do review, and I shall shut up and let you read it!

~Chapter One~

In which nothing has changed

~H~

It looked as though today was not going to be the day after all.

Part of the problem, Wizard Howl thought, was that Sophie Hatter looked quite becoming when she was pouting. Her face flushed and she clenched her fists and stomped around with her limbs tensed into lines of righteous indignation, her red-gold hair fwooshing behind her as though catching the updraft from all the energy glowing off her face. Right now she was mopping, and in between hearty mop strokes her eyes were crackling and spitting fire left and right, daring anyone to question her.

Which of course was what Howl intended to do.

"Sophie," he called across the room from his workbench, "have mercy on that poor piece of floor; it's only wood, after all."

Whump-fwssh, WHUMP-fwssh went the mop, with a harder WHUMP the second time for emphasis. "There's a huge horrible stain here," the girl said in between whumps. "This is the only way to get it out and the floor ought to thank me for trying." She spoke through gritted teeth; Howl enjoyed her smoldering expression for a few moments too long and was punished when she turned her head and intercepted his gaze. "What are you looking at, Howl Jenkins? Are you going to tell me that you like the stain here too? First spiders, now this!"

"You wound me, Sophie," Howl said, putting on his best wounded face. "I would never criticize your methods of floor torture. My tender heart is going to burst at any moment from this flagellation."

"If it does then you'll have to clean it up yourself," Sophie snapped. Whump-fwssh. Whump-FWSssh. So far, so good. Searching his memory for recent things he could have done to bother her, and discovering nothing of consequence, Howl changed tacks. He asked, "How's Lettie? Did you, er, buy any more boring clothes down in Market Chipping? Has she told you all about Mrs. Fairfax's aunt's cousin's sister's newest horrible hat?"

WHUMP-FWSSSssssh. Sophie's mouth contorted and she shot a particularly withering glare down the mop handle at the stain on the floor. "Lettie," she growled, "is in fine form today. She's doing splendidly, thank you very much." WHUMP-clatter! She hit the floor a glancing blow, sending the mop handle crashing to the ground; and then the fire blazing in her small face lilted to the side and flickered down a notch. "You useless stupid thing!" Sophie said to the mop, wringing her hands and seeming to abandon all pretense of paying attention to the conversation. "Bother Lettie! Bother all of them!"

Caught between the urge to laugh and a sudden surge of worry, Howl said, "I'll get it." He flicked out a hand toward the fallen mop, so that across the room it sprang upright again, nudging Sophie's limp-fingered hand like a small animal that wanted to be petted. Far from being helpful, however, this actually seemed to make her angrier. She knocked the handle away and rounded on him.

"And you! You can keep your magic to yourself, mister!"

"What have I done?" Howl yelped, jumping up from the workbench and preparing to defend himself. He wasn't quick enough, however, to keep a loony grin from splitting his face. Now he was definitely in for it.

~S~

The problem, Sophie thought, quite calmly given the situation, was that Howl thought he could cheer her up by being insensitive and clever, and therefore slither out of having to deal with the issue at hand. Well, it wasn't going to work. She was going to show him just how un-cheered-up she could be.

"You haven't done anything!" She cried, advancing across the wood floor toward the wizard to give him a piece of her mind. "That's exactly the problem!"

His eyes and brows were trying to arrange themselves into something apologetic, but a smile had snuck its way across his lips and utterly ruined the look. "I'm—" Howl said, obviously choking back laugher. "I'm fl-flabbergasted, Sophie, I've been as helpful as I possibly know how to be, and I am—heh—completely in agreement with your opinion on that stain on the floor, it absolutely has to go, right now, quite violently if necessary—"

Sophie looked around for a weapon and noticed that Howl was sneakily attempting to summon the mop from across the room, presumably to put between the two of them. "Oh, no, you don't," she snapped, reasonably certain that since she used the thing on a weekly basis it ought to have more loyalty to her than anyone else. "Don't you dare listen to him, mop!" At Howl she cried, "You're missing the point!"

"If there had been a point I imagine I would have!" Howl said, positively gleefully. Then he sobered, or gave the appearance of sobering. "I think the problem here is that you're simply—" The mop, which had been scootching slantwise across the floor, halted in its path, obviously torn, and the wizard leaned forward and made a grab for it— "not—" The mop made it into his reach, but not before Sophie had got one hand's grip on the wooden handle. "—communicating effectively!" Howl finished with a maddeningly serious expression stretched across his features.

"Ugh!" Sophie gave her end of the mop an exasperated yank, but he had the squishy wet woolen end clutched to his chest by now, and to get a better grip on it she had to slide her hands right up against his blue-velvet-covered ribs—which did not leave her in a position much suited for pulling. She could see that she was not going to be able to gain the upper hand, even with all the limberness her eighteen years afforded her.

It had been two months since the Witch of the Waste's curse had broken, and Sophie was still being continually surprised that she no longer creaked and wheezed when she tried to do something strenuous (like wrestling a mop from an impertinent wizard). She felt sometimes that she probably should have gotten used to it by now—but then again, two months was not too terribly long a time when you thought about it. It hadn't felt that long at all. It really felt like just yesterday Howl had held her hands in his and declared happily ever after, and since then they'd needed time to settle down to the comfortable rhythm of the flower shop and Calcifer's daily absences and a great upsurge in demand for Howl's magic at the capital. That is, the aftermath of certain Witch- and wizard- and prince-related events hadn't yet stopped affecting their future.

Which was what she ought to have said to that busybody, Lettie.

Today was Sunday and the flower shop was closed, and Sophie had spent the morning with her younger sister—Mrs. Fairfax's Lettie, not the Lettie-who-had-recently-confessed-to-being-Martha-Lettie—in Market Chipping, which was usually quite enjoyable in a Lettie sort of way. That is, there was a whole lot of gossiping and admiring new clothes and chatting with acquaintances from town who were out and about. All Sophie had to do was stand next to her sister and dip into the conversation if it interested her; invariably she watched the people more than she spoke, and quite often she would imagine what kind of hat they would have bought from the her late father's late hat shop, for apparently old habits lingered.

"That one's definitely a swan hat," she had told Lettie this morning as they waved goodbye to a portly lady dressed in cream with a dour smile on her face. "Thinks she's happier than she is."

Lettie's laugh pealed bell-like over the cobbles of Main Street. "Poor thing," she said. And then she looked straight at Sophie's face, right into her eyes. "But really, Sophie, you're starting to sound like an old maid again. Honestly, how are you doing? Are you happy?"

"Yes," Sophie had said. There had never been a question to which she'd had to hesitate less. "What makes you ask?"

Lettie gave her most conspiratorial wide-blue-eyed downward glance, peering at her sister from under long lashes. "Mrs. Fairfax is worried about Wizard Howl, that's all. She thinks he's going to work you to the bone cleaning that grimy old castle for free, and she keeps picking at me to warn you that if he hasn't married you by now you ought to run off and find some prince to chase after you instead. Oh my, speaking of princes, did I tell you?"

And Sophie, blindsided by the sudden turn of the conversation, could only mutter, "What?"

"Prince Justin came calling again last week," Lettie squeaked. "He keeps trying to get me to finish off at Mrs. Fairfax's early so I can go to the capital and study with Suliman. Sophie," she said under her breath, big eyes dead serious as she dropped the newest shocker, "He tried to kiss me."

"Really?" said Sophie, who felt as though something had soured in her stomach. She was used to Lettie having gobs of admirers and moreover to hearing about them each time she spoke to her younger sister; but to throw in that ridiculous bit about Howl, and now to change the subject before she even had a chance to retaliate, seemed unfair and petty. But she had to ask: "Well—um, did you enjoy it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lettie breezed. "I stopped him before he could." She looked to the side, suddenly unsure. "I have so much more to learn, I don't think I could get married now. Sure, it's nice to have someone around, but then I'd have to become a housewife and do all that sort of wifely stuff and maybe have children and then I'd never have time to get anything done."

"Did you say that all to him?" On one hand, Sophie admired her sister's quest for knowledge. Lettie had shown herself to have a clearer head than any of the family would have hoped for two or three years ago. On the other hand, Lettie couldn't do much better for herself than being courted by the King's own brother. And it seemed a waste of a kiss, which didn't have to lead to anything anyway. Sophie mentally tutted at herself. A year ago perhaps nobody would have expected her to think such thoughts either. But—

Lettie shook her head again. "Well, sort of, rather. He didn't seem upset by it—he said the offer's still open, especially if I come live in Kingsbury. Anyway I'm sure he's got other girls coming out of his ears, so I can't imagine it can be too bad for him. But then again—" and here her sister's voice sped up as it tipped into emotion, "Should I at least have given it a try? He was a part of Percival too and I used to think I was in love with him, until it turned out he was actually two people…what if I could like the Prince just as well? What if I actually just missed my chance at love, and with someone so rich, too? Oh, Sophie, what do you think I should have done? You're in love, aren't you, Sophie? How can you tell?"

The directness of the question shot straight through Sophie's stomach; she almost stopped walking in the middle of the street at Market Chipping.

"I—" she said. "I don't know." A thousand fragments of thought shot through her mind at once, but nothing resolved itself to anything so decent as a way to tell. It wasn't as though she was always happy when she was around Howl. In fact, half the time she felt like she was living with a small temperamental child, and another quarter of that time was spent being extremely cross or extremely tired. But really there was no denying it.

This answer was apparently inadequate, because Lettie huffed a sigh and peered more deeply into her sister's face. "Sometimes I worry about you, Sophie," she said. "Sometimes I get this idea that Mrs. Fairfax is right."

"It's certainly none of her business," Sophie growled. That sick feeling surged up again in her chest. "It's not something that I can put into words, but there's definitely…something. Now are you quite finished, Lettie? I was enjoying our chat about Prince Justin. Do go on about him."

At that Lettie had narrowed her eyes. "Sophie," she had said warningly. And then a new thought had struck her, and in the same insufferable manner she'd jumped subjects again. "What's it like kissing a wizard? Ooh, does he give off sparks or something?" And at the deep flush of horror that Sophie couldn't stop from flooding onto her face—"Oh, Sophie, he has kissed you, hasn't he?"

~H~

"Now doesn't that at least sound reasonable?" Howl gibbered at Sophie. His serious face was slipping. The mop's head, which smelled of lye and lavender soap and was beginning to make his eyes water, pressed dampish into his shoulder. If anyone had asked, he would have had to admit that this hadn't exactly been his plan as far as mop-placement went. Thankfully, nobody was going to ask.

Sophie simply snorted. Her soft-lined face was glowing with the heat of the argument. "You horrid, traitorous piece of furniture," she finally growled, her eyes leveled at Howl's chest. "Look what you've done. I ought to smash you into splinters."

Assuming that she was now addressing the mop, Howl relaxed and let the impending smile slink back onto his face. "There's no need to take it out on the mop," he said in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "I daresay it was helpless to resist my charm. Look, have you punished me quite enough yet? I was getting rather fond of this suit, and now it's all wet and…floor-y."

"Ha," Sophie said, looking straight up at him once again. Then her eyes crinkled up and she gave the tiniest smirk—but, for its size, it was the wickedest and most delighted smirk he'd seen for a good while, or at least since he looked in the mirror that morning. Howl was seized with fervent gratitude that the girl was no longer disguised as a ninety-year-old woman. A smile like that would have been hopelessly lost among the wrinkles, and that would have been a crying shame.

Pleased with himself, and hopeful that Sophie had been more or less mollified—no one can deny the restorative power of a good argument—the wizard pushed his hair from his face and released his grip on the mop, which swung down and hit the floor with a whump. Sophie pulled it away from him wordlessly, the smirk softening into something more like a real smile. And without really thinking about it, the wizard took her by both shoulders and leaned forward, trying to push her back towards the waiting stain on the floor. "Now since we've made so much progress here, I suppose I'll go back to my business and you to yours—"

He ended up a lot closer to her than he'd intended, because for some reason Sophie's feet seemed glued to the floor. Her smile disappeared without so much as a trace, and Howl felt her shoulders stiffen under his palms. They were quite alone in the flower shop; Calcifer was out and Michael was running errands. Howl's heart gave a jolt that was almost painful—which was unsettling, since he'd so recently come back into its possession—and by then the girl had backed away out of his grasp and slammed the mop back in the bucket. All the tension that had been strung across her face earlier was back twofold.

"Excuse me, I'm going out to get some air!" Sophie said over her shoulder, and banged out the door with the knob orange-down.

Howl stared after her, shaken. His heart definitely hadn't recovered from whatever had just happened and now it was already having to try and make sense of something else. He would definitely complain when Calcifer got home.

"The floor's going to be all wet, Sophie," the wizard murmured helplessly to the closed door. "At this rate I'm going to have to stop telling people that you never do things by halves."

Then he said, "Dammit."

~1~