Detective Ron Weasley poured steaming water into his stained cup, staring at the steam as the tea steeped. The stale bags in the precinct were a poor excuse for tea, but it was the best there was. Ron didn't look forward to his turn on the night shift, but with a full moon approaching, it was time for his unit to be on alert.
Ron listened to the scanner reports, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A warehouse on Bugden had caught fire. A resident reported a robbery of her greenhouse. The telephone beeped just as Ron took a sip of his tea, causing him to jump and spill his cup all over his desk. Why the shrill beeping was so alarming to him, he didn't know, but it scared the hell out of him every time.
"Aye," he barked into the speaker. "Weasley here."
"Detective Weasley, the Captain would like to see you in her office," said the old secretary.
"Sure thing." Ron stood and straightened his tie. He glanced at the telephone once more, still wondering why he found the thing so strange.
Precinct Seven was a small office, tucked away in a quiet section of London. The building wasn't large, three narrow floors stuck on the point of an intersection. The halls were lined in old tile, not derelict, but not exactly clean. The lift to the top floor beeped and Ron presented himself to the secretary, a strange woman with long gray hair and tiny rings on each finger.
"She'll see you now, but you should know that the Captain is not in the best of moods."
"Good to know," said Ron as he took a deep breath and walked into Captain Maloney's dark, dreary office.
Never one to start with small talk, Captain Maloney tossed a brown folder across her desk to him.
"Detective Weasley, here's one for your team. Strangest thing I've ever heard." The Captain sat back down in her chair and leaned back. "A woman in Chadwick claims that her garden gnomes came to life and robbed her neighbor's house."
Ron sat down without being asked and read the file. He pulled out a blurry picture of two garden statues flashing the middle finger. Just perfect. What would the night shift be without petulant garden pottery?
"And I suppose this woman claims she had nothing to do with the robbery?"
"Of course not," quipped the Captain. "Go interview her anyway, won't you? I don't want the press getting this lovely picture."
"Aye, ma'am. We'll take care of it." Ron stood to leave. "But if we get any more reports of disappearances, I'll leave immediately."
The Captain nodded, "You'll the first to know, Detective."
Twenty minutes later, Ron and a uniformed officer name Lubble were stuck in evening traffic, making their way out to Chadwick. Ron wondered briefly what it would feel like to fly above traffic, with nothing in the way. He often thought flying, only to have the moment escape him, as if washed away by water.
Ron and Lubble finally arrived at the home at 10:15. The front garden seemed ordinary enough, if only a bit weedy.
"You think she's a nutter?" asked Lubble as he rang the bell.
"Maybe," muttered Ron. "Keep sharp, though."
They heard shuffling behind the door, and the bark of a small dog. The homeowner cracked it slightly, the chain still on.
"Yes? Who is it?" she asked in a sing song voice.
"Detectives, ma'am. We're hear about the, um, the garden statues."
The woman opened the door. She was pretty, with long white blonde hair. "Please come in." The dog growled at them, but back way at the owner's shush.
They walked in slowly, taking in the bright cottage decorated from floor to ceiling in colorful glass tiles. The woman walked softly in bare feet to her sitting room and motioned silently for them to sit.
Ron took out his notebook and pen. "So, Miss Lovegood is it?"