1. AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR
With one last desperate push, the owl squeezed through the crack in the stone and forced its way inside the crumbling wall. It scrambled along the narrow fissure, careful to protect the slip of paper clasped in its beak. Jagged bits of rock and mortar raked the bird's wings as it pushed deeper into the building, and several feathers were lost before the crack opened up into a dimly lit room large enough to hold the entire Hogwarts owlery.
The exhausted bird landed on a nearby rafter, a thick wooden beam cracked and splintered with age, and peered down into the room. Its bright yellow eyes darted about as they adjusted to the candlelight flickering up from the floor far below.
The building had seen better days. Once an imposing four-story tower that had commanded the surrounding countryside, its upper floors had long since collapsed, leaving the structure little more than a hollow shell consisting of a single, very tall room. A few modest pieces of furniture lay scattered about the room. A desk and chairs, several trunks, two bookcases, a small wooden table, and a sofa, all illuminated by nearly two dozen candles floating ten feet above the floor. A young man with brown curls was sprawled across the sofa, his body partially hidden beneath a tattered blue blanket embroidered with the image of an eagle. His soft snores drifted up to the owl.
After shaking bits of mortar and dust from its wings, the owl leapt from the rafter and glided down to the sofa in a long spiral, careful not to disturb the floating candles. It fluttered to a landing on the back of the sofa and dropped the note on the man's chest, then let out a screech that sent half a dozen mice scurrying off to shadowed corners. The man didn't move. The owl waited what it considered a reasonable length of time before hopping onto the armrest and pecking the man's ear.
The man brushed feebly at the owl without opening his eyes. "Go away, Orielle," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "It's too early."
The owl tilted its head to one side, as if considering this, then hopped onto the man's chest and pecked his other ear, harder this time. The man's eyes popped open, and he raised his hand as if to push the owl away, then stopped and squinted at the bird in confusion. The owl grabbed the note with one scaly claw and tossed it in the man's face, then leapt into the air and disappeared back out the way it had come.
Viridis Olwyn stared blearily after the owl. It had been scarcely six inches tall, which meant it probably belonged to Dawn. He yawned and opened the note.
I'm bringing someone by your place this morning! Be ready.
D.
Viridis frowned. He hadn't talked to Dawn in over a month. Why would she be bringing someone by his house today? Shouldn't she be teaching a class? He lay there for a minute or two, still half asleep, trying to remember what day it was. Had Dawn mentioned something about this to him earlier? The feeling he'd forgotten something nagged at the fringes of his mind.
Another owl, even smaller than the first, darted in through a hole in one of the boarded-up windows. It circled the room twice before landing on Viridis's stomach. Without so much as a hoot, the owl dropped its note on his shirt, then launched itself back into the air and exited the building.
It's important you impress this person!
Viridis pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. Why all the cryptic messages? Who was he supposed to impress? And why?
He scarcely had the chance to consider these questions when yet a third owl zoomed out of the fireplace. It sailed over Viridis, dropped the note it held in its mouth, then wheeled about and disappeared back up the chimney. Viridis shook his head as he snatched the note out of the air. Why did Dawn always write in snippets?
And make sure your place is clean!
He blinked. Now what was that supposed to mean? He glanced around the room. Clothes lay strewn about everywhere—tossed onto pieces of furniture, wadded up in piles on the floor, and draped over the suits of armor lining the walls. Used dishes were stacked precariously on the table, awaiting cleaning. Spiderwebs hung like tinsel between the floating candles.
Viridis crumpled the note into a ball, his cheeks burning. How did these messes keep happening? He tossed the note on the floor, then stood and searched for his wand, which he eventually found under a mismatched pair of socks hiding beneath last week's copy of the Daily Prophet.
He waved the wand in a circle and every pair of pants in the room stood and marched their way to his wardrobe, closely followed by shirts, socks, and shoes. With another flick of his wand, plates and glasses rose from the table and floated toward the sink. He grinned. Dawn worried too much.
A sudden pounding on the front door echoed through the house and Viridis whirled around, sending several of the plates crashing into the wall. Yellow mustard oozed down the already grimy stone.
He stared at the door. Dawn couldn't already be here, could she? For several seconds, he considered pretending he wasn't home, but the banging at the door became more insistent, accompanied by a man's muffled voice. Viridis let out a sigh of relief and headed for the door, traipsing across the large area rug with the Hogwarts crest woven into its fabric. He opened the door.
Mr. Ridley, a red-faced man with oily brown hair stood on the porch, rubbing his right leg. Viridis groaned. He knew he'd forgotten something.
Ridley raised his head and glared at Viridis. "Where is my report, Mister Olwyn? It was due last week, yet I have received nothing from you. Not even an owl. Am I going to have to call in the authorities? Or perhaps a few of my more… persuasive acquaintances?"
"No need for that," Viridis said, peering over Ridley's shoulder to see if he had, in fact, brought any such acquaintances. "I finished the report last night."
"Then why isn't it in my office now?" Ridley demanded, taking a menacing step toward Viridis.
Viridis backed away. "I'm sorry, sir. It was rather late last night when I finished it and I, uh, fell asleep. I planned to send it to you first thing this morning."
"This morning? It's almost eleven o'clock! My client has been waiting over a week for that report. He is most displeased."
Viridis swallowed. "I'm terribly sorry. It's just that I've been... busy."
Ridley waved his hand in dismissal. "Busy doing what, I wonder? Obviously not busy keeping your property in good order. Your sentry bushes are out of control. Attacked me on the way up your steps." He pointed to a hole in his trousers. "It's a wonder your neighbors don't complain."
"Sorry, sir. I don't get many visitors. And I don't go outside much."
"Then perhaps you should spend your time inside more wisely, that is, if you plan on remaining in this…dwelling of yours much longer. Money does not grow on trees, Mister Olwyn."
"Yes, sir, I understand."
"You do?" Ridley asked, his face turning an angrier shade of red. "Then why are you still standing here instead of bringing me my report?"
"What? Oh, yes, of course." Viridis backed away from the door, wondering exactly where he'd left the report. "I'll get it now. If you wouldn't mind waiting here…"
"I'll wait inside," Ridley snapped, casting a suspicious glance at the thorn-filled branches still quivering along the edges of the porch. He stepped into the house and stopped, his eyes widening at the hundreds of photographs hanging along the front wall. Each was a picture of Hogwarts or the surrounding grounds—the castle, the classrooms, the Great Hall, the greenhouses, the lake, the Quidditch field…
Ridley scowled. "What's with all the pictures of the school? Don't tell me you miss the place."
"Of course," said Viridis. "Don't you?"
"Hmmph, I was happy to be done with it after five years."
"Not me." Viridis grinned. "I could have stayed there forever."
Ridley rolled his eyes. "You'll forget about the school soon enough, once you've spent some time away from it. You only graduated, what, two or three years ago?"
Viridis winced. It'd been ten years since he'd graduated from Hogwarts, but with his youthful face and below average height he could still pass as a seventh year. His mother had told him he'd appreciate this trait when he was older, but most days he found it annoying.
Despite his disparaging remarks about Hogwarts, Ridley began examining the photographs in more detail, and Viridis took the opportunity to dash back into the main room. He headed for his desk, assuming that to be the most likely place he would have left the report. Unfortunately, the desk was buried under a mountain of books, papers, and dirty dishes that hadn't fit on the dinner table. He took out his wand and whispered a summoning charm.
"Accio report."
With the sound of ripping paper, the top half of the twenty-page report flew out from beneath a pile of books and into his hand. Viridis gasped. The bottom half of each page was still somewhere on the desk. After a frantic glance at Ridley, who was still occupied with the photographs, Viridis threw himself at the desk and dug through the debris, knocking most of it to the floor as he searched for the rest of the report. When he finally located it, he slapped the two halves of the report together and aimed his wand at them.
"Reparo."
The two halves joined together seamlessly. Viridis grabbed the mended report and hurried back to Ridley, who snatched the papers out of his hand and scanned the first several pages. "Good, good," he murmured, smiling for the first time since his arrival. "The client will be quite satisfied."
Viridis checked his watch, wondering how much time he had before Dawn arrived. Ridley glanced up from the report. "Stop looking at your watch, young man," he growled. "It's rude. It's not as if you have more important things to do."
"Sorry, I'm expecting company."
"Someone from Gringotts, I presume? Here to foreclose on this… house?"
Viridis laughed weakly. "That's a good one, Mr. Ridley."
Ridley's face scrunched up as if he had eaten a Bertie Bott's vinegar-flavored bean.
"It's not good at all. A young man needs to act more responsibly if he plans on making anything of himself. Quite frankly, the only reason I allow you to pay off your debt in this manner is because you do such excellent work, better than anyone I've ever had. But the quality of your work does me no good if I don't receive your reports."
Viridis stared down at the floor and shuffled his feet. "I understand, Mr. Ridley. Really, I do. And I want to tell you again how much I appreciate the opportunity to study your magical antiques."
"Hmmph. Then demonstrate your appreciation by meeting your obligations in a timely manner. If this kind of behavior continues…"
"I promise it won't happen again, sir."
Ridley regarded Viridis skeptically for a moment, then reached into his pocket and produced a small object, a thin metal rod bent into the shape of a figure eight. He handed it to Viridis.
"Your next assignment. I have a buyer who might be very interested in this little trinket, but only if I can tell her exactly what it does. You have one week to answer that question."
"A week? That's not much—"
"One week, Mister Olwyn. Do not disappoint me or I swear this job will be your last. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Viridis answered, bowing slightly.
"Good." Ridley shoved the report back into Viridis's hands. "Send this to Mr. Robert Galbraith by owl immediately. Good day." With that, he turned and stalked out the door, scrambling down the steps past the bushes nipping at his ankles.
As soon as the door closed, Viridis rushed back to his desk, found an empty envelope and stuffed the report inside.
"Orielle, come here. I need you to deliver something."
A large grey owl with black flecks dotting her wings fluttered down from the shadows among the rafters and landed on his desk.
Viridis sealed the envelope with a wax stamp and held it out to the owl. "Take this to Mr. Robert Galbraith. Fly as fast as you can." Orielle ignored the envelope and tapped the empty bowl on the desk with her beak.
"Sorry, Orielle, but I need you to deliver this now. It's very important. You can have breakfast after you get back."
The owl fixed Viridis with an icy stare and made no attempt to take the envelope.
"I'm serious about this. You can eat later. Don't forget who's the owner here."
With a short, angry hoot, Orielle grabbed the envelope with her beak.
"That's better."
She flew up and perched on the frame of a massive painting of Hogwarts that hung above the fireplace. She leaned out over the edge, holding one corner of the envelope dangerously close to the flame of one of the floating candles.
Viridis gasped. "You wouldn't dare."
The envelope edged closer to the flame.
"All right, all right, you stubborn bird. You can have breakfast first."
Orielle glided back down and spit the envelope onto the desk.
"I'm letting you off easy this time," Viridis said as he opened a box of mouse-flavored owl treats and poured the contents into the bowl. "But don't make this a habit."
Orielle ignored him and ate the treats.
Viridis scowled, then pulled out his wand and continued casting cleaning spells. Whatever this visit was about, it had better be worth all this trouble.
By the time Sean Steed arrived at the village of Pringle Hill, he decided he didn't much care for buses. Professor Murmann had convinced him that using the Muggle mode of transportation would be an adventure, but after becoming lost on the way to the station, boarding the wrong vehicle twice, sitting in a traffic jam for over an hour, and spending the entire trip surrounded by Muggles who kept yammering into their shiny black boxes, Steed was quite sure he never wanted to ride one again.
As Steed exited the bus, he checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror. He was dressed in the same ensemble he always wore when traveling on official Ministry business—black three-piece suit, black tie, black shoes, and matching black bowler hat. His hair was neat and trim, with just enough grey to give him what he considered a distinguished look. Steed wasn't a vain man, but he'd learned that Muggles often paid less attention to him if he appeared well-to-do.
Steed ran a handkerchief across his brow. Despite the coolness of the late September morning, the cloth was already soaked with sweat. There was so much to do in the next few days—invitations to be sent, preparations to be made, along with a slew of minor details he probably hadn't thought of yet—and here he was, stuck out in the middle of nowhere. It didn't help that this trip would likely be a complete waste of time. This Olwyn fellow was almost certainly unqualified. But his name was on the list, therefore Steed was obliged to meet with him.
He shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket. Confound that Murmann. This was all his fault. Why had he waited till now to make the announcement? Why not a month ago? Most inconvenient.
He was consulting a map of the town when a young lady with short blond hair stepped out from behind a crowd of sightseers and approached him. With her white blouse and jeans, she could easily have passed for a Muggle had it not been for the small owl sleeping on her shoulder. Her piercing blue eyes reminded Steed of a hawk.
"Good morning, Minister," she said. "How was the bus?"
With a start, Steed recognized her as the Care of Magical Creatures professor from Hogwarts. Unfortunately, he couldn't recall her name. "Good morning, Miss uh—"
"Mercher," she finished. "Dawn Mercher."
"Oh yes. Forgive me, Miss Mercher. I didn't recognize you without your instructor's robes." He glanced back at the bus and shuddered. "I'd rather not think about the trip, if you don't mind. Dealing with Muggles can be exhausting."
She laughed. "They're not so bad."
"If you say so." Steed watched the bus pull away, then turned back to her. "Were you waiting for me?"
"I heard you were visiting Viridis—I mean, Mr. Olwyn—this morning and I thought I'd tag along. Assuming you don't mind, of course."
He gave her a sharp look. "How did you know I would be coming today?"
"Professor Murmann mentioned it to me."
"I see," Steed said, his eyes narrowing. "But how did you know I'd be taking the bus?"
Mercher smiled. "He might have mentioned that too."
"Hmmm," Steed said, frowning again. "I usually do these interviews on my own."
"I understand, but I thought a familiar face might be helpful."
Steed shifted uneasily. He'd planned on visiting with Mr. Olwyn just long enough to check his name off the list and depart as quickly as possible. With Miss Mercher along, he'd have to stay for the entire interview. "Well… it's not standard procedure."
"But there's no rule against it, is there?" she said. "I promise not to get in the way."
She stared into his eyes with an intensity Steed found unsettling, and for a moment, he found himself back in school again, facing an instructor who suspected him of mischief. Had she guessed his intentions? He swallowed and looked away. Steed had been in the Ministry long enough to know that people like Miss Mercher didn't take no for an answer. She would be determined to go with him whether he liked it or not.
"Very well," he said, resigning himself to the loss of the entire morning. "Perhaps you can direct me to where he lives?"
"Up there," she answered, pointing to the top of the hill.
They walked up the road in silence.
"So you're acquainted with Mr. Olwyn, are you?" Steed asked after a while, removing the handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbing at his forehead.
"We were in the same year at Hogwarts."
"I see. And how would you describe him?"
"Smart. And very good with magic. The top student in our year. Did you know he set the record for the highest score ever on the NEWTs?"
"Yes," Steed said, "it was in his records. His academic achievements are most impressive, but there's more to the job than academics."
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a small owl that fluttered down and joined the other owl on Mercher's shoulder. Steed's eyes widened. They were two of the tiniest owls he'd ever seen.
"What breed of owl is that, if I might ask?"
"Elf owl," Mercher answered. "Small, but quick. Excellent for sending messages, though they're not much good with packages."
Steed nodded. He was used to the much larger Ministry owls.
"I always bring an owl or two when I leave Hogwarts," she said. "Never know when I'll need to dash off a quick note."
"Of course." Steed dabbed at his forehead again. Perhaps he could obtain most of the information he needed before they arrived at Olwyn's house. That would speed things up. "How would you describe Mr. Olwyn's personality?"
She pursed her lips. "Hmmm. He has a friendly disposition. Gets along well with others, makes friends easily. He's confident in his abilities. A bit on the quiet side, but he can yell when he needs to. And he loves solving mysteries."
"Is he the responsible sort? Someone you can depend on?"
"Definitely. He never missed an assignment back in school."
"How about his organizational skills?"
Her pause was almost imperceptible. "Excellent. During his years in Hogwarts, he was the head of both the Alchemist Club and the Wizard's Chess Club."
"Any more recent examples?"
She shrugged. "I don't see him as often as I used to."
"Hmmm," Steed murmured. "Keeps his house tidy, I presume? Cleanliness is very important."
Mercher gently stroked one of the owls on her shoulder. "I think you'll find his house in good order when we arrive."
"Sounds promising. A dirty house is a sign of weak character. Anything else I should know about Mr. Olwyn?"
"He was voted most likely to become an instructor at Hogwarts."
"Really?"
She nodded. "And he loves Hogwarts, too. He'd do anything for the school."
"That's good to hear. Very important." Steed took a small book from his pocket and jotted down a few notes. "How often would you say he goes back and visits the school? Maintaining a good relationship with the faculty is vital for this position."
She looked away before answering. "I'm not… entirely sure."
"Well, you've been an instructor at Hogwarts for several years now. Surely, he comes to see you when he visits. How many times have you seen him at Hogwarts in the past few years?"
"Well—I guess—I'm not sure he's ever been back."
Steed's pen froze. "Never?" His eyes narrowed. "I thought you said he cares for the school."
"He does. More than you would believe."
"Everyone I know goes back and visits the school on occasion. Is there some problem I should be made aware of?"
"No," Mercher said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I think he's simply busy with his work. To be honest, I haven't seen Viridis much since we graduated. We mostly keep in touch by owl."
Steed frowned—he didn't care much for mysteries—and said nothing more for several minutes as they continued walking up the hill. The houses along the road were spaced farther apart now, the manicured lawns having given way to thick stands of brush and trees.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another small owl that swooped down and landed on Mercher's other shoulder. "Is that owl yours, too?" he asked hesitantly.
"Oh yes. I often bring more than one. It lets me keep up with what my friends are doing."
"Yes, of course." Steed consulted his notes again. "What does Mr. Olwyn do for a living? I assume a wizard of his talents is lucratively employed."
"He has his own business. He studies antique magical objects and figures out how they work. He's quite good at repairing them too."
"Does he employ others in this business?"
"He works by himself."
"Has he ever been in charge of anyone?"
"Not that I know of."
"Has he ever taught a class?"
"No."
"Hmmm," Steed said, placing the book back into his jacket pocket.
Her face clouded. "Is there a problem?"
"I'll be honest with you, Miss Mercher. I am not optimistic about this meeting."
She stepped in front of Steed, forcing him to an abrupt stop. Her eyes blazed with blue fire. "But you haven't even spoken to him yet!"
Steed resisted the urge to back away. "Yes, but experience is an important qualification for this position, and he appears to have little of it." He spread his hands in apology. "Were he twenty years older, I'd be more encouraged."
"But it's unfair to make your decision before you meet him." Her face reminded Steed of an approaching thunderstorm.
"Of course, Miss Mercher, of course," Steed said in a placating voice while doing his best to avoid eye contact. "I will withhold judgment until I meet him face to face. And I'll give him every opportunity to demonstrate his worth."
"And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her. Her eyes bored into his.
"Well, I—" he faltered under her fierce glare. It wasn't his fault Olwyn had no experience. How could he be expected to— A sudden flash of inspiration struck him. "A test," he sputtered. "I'll give him a test."
"What kind of test?"
"A simple one. An object in need of repair. If he's as good as you say, he should have no trouble fixing it."
"And if he does?"
"Then he will be invited."
Mercher smiled and stepped back, and Steed felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He removed his hat and mopped the river of sweat rolling down his face, grateful he hadn't had Miss Mercher as an instructor. He patted the object resting in his pocket, thankful he had had the foresight to bring it along. If he was lucky, he could eliminate Olwyn from consideration and be on his way back to the office in less than thirty minutes.
Pleased with his handling of the situation, Steed looked up just in time to see a fourth owl land on Miss Mercher's head. His mouth dropped open. Where were all these owls coming from? He considered asking Miss Mercher how many more she might be expecting, but worried the question would sound rude, so he settled for keeping a close watch for more owls.
Busy watching the sky, Steed didn't notice the tower until they were nearly upon it. His first impression was that it was abandoned—the remnants of an old keep from the distant past. Pockmarks and cracks marred the stone walls in many places, and the crenulations along the top were in shambles. A thick growth of ivy hid much of the building, the vines rising all the way to the top in some cases. The surrounding yard was a mass of weeds and tall grass.
Then he spotted the flag flapping in the breeze high above the building. In each of the flag's corners was an animal—a bird, a lion, a snake, and a badger.
Steed stopped. "Isn't that the Hogwarts flag?" he asked, pointing.
"Yes," she said.
Steed turned to stare at her. "This can't be where he lives?"
Mercher nodded, her cheeks turning pink.
Steed ran his handkerchief across his forehead. "This is most… unexpected. I would have thought a wizard of his abilities would live in something a bit grander. His house looks like a fortification that has seen too many battles. You're sure he's employed?"
"Quite sure," she said, her face now a bright red. "Don't judge him by his house, Minister. I'm sure Viridis chose to live here because it reminds him of Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?" Steed considered the building again. The tower did resemble a castle in a shabby sort of way. Dense woods bordered one side of the house while on the other lay a small, murky pond. A large willow tree dominated the front yard. An iron fence surrounded the property and the pillars on either side of the front gate were adorned with winged boars.
"Hmmm. Well, I suppose I do see a certain resemblance," he said. "Still, I find it difficult to believe someone would choose to live here."
They followed the path leading to the front door, passing several weed-filled plots of dirt along the way. "Doesn't take good care of his garden," Steed grumbled. "You can tell a lot about a person by his garden."
A series of steps led to a massive oak door with an iron doorknocker fashioned in the shape of an eagle. Steed stepped forward to climb the stairs, but Mercher grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. She pointed her wand toward the surrounding bushes, the branches already stretching towards them.
"Immobulus." The bushes froze.
"Thank you, Miss Mercher," Steed said as they continued up the stairs, "but I ask that you not mention the reason for our visit. Should Mr. Olwyn turn out to be unqualified, I'd rather he knew nothing about it."
"I'm certain he'll pass your test," she said firmly.
I hope not, Steed thought as he knocked on the door. The Board would never forgive me.