Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything else you recognize for that matter.
Chapter One: Pistols and Ceiling Fans
Charlotte Harker glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands dictated that it was one-thirty, and almost time for closing. She sighed and went to stand under the fan, for it was abysmally hot inside of the café. Typically, on a night like this, Charlotte may even be feeling a bit chilly, but this summer was hotter than usual. After another moment under the ceiling fan, Charlotte went back behind the counter and started to wipe it down. Then she transferred her efforts to the sandwich toaster. The café was nearly empty, except for Charlotte's late-night regular, Max.
Max was a grungy sort of man with lanky ginger hair, and a slightly toothless smile. Charlotte had the feeling that he was part of the shady, London underworld, but she didn't mind at all. He was always nice to her and always left at closing. He also kept to himself while he sipped his coffee, which was the only thing he ever ordered. She would see him pouring alcohol of some sort into the cup sometimes, but other than that, his routine didn't vary. Charlotte picked up one of the four coffee pots and walked over to Max's table, which was in the left corner.
"Would you like a refill, Max?"
"Always do, m' dear girl," he said, sliding his cup over to her.
"I still can't understand how you drink coffee in this heat," Charlotte stated as she emptied the last of the highland grog roast into his cup. When she stepped back behind the counter, she saw that all of the other coffee pots were nearly empty.
Only twenty-five minutes to go, thought Charlotte hopefully, perhaps if nobody else comes in, I won't have to make any more.
As soon as the thought entered her head, the door opened, admitting a man and woman who were clinging roughly to one another as they stumbled into the café. Charlotte could tell from their slurred speech that they were the garden-variety, over-thirty drunks, and it certainly did not thrill her.
As they fell into the nearest booth, Charlotte rolled her eyes and went to serve them, she could feel Max's old codger eyes following her.
"Hello, welcome to Pete's Café. How can I help you?"
"I'm 'ungry," the woman whined, pawing the man. "I wan' uuh uh san'ich."
"What kind?" Charlotte questioned.
"The one wiv' the chicken."
Charlotte considered asking for specifics, for they had four different chicken sandwiches, but thought better of it. She would just grab the nearest, blandest chicken sandwich, and be done with it.
"And you, sir? Would you like anything to eat?"
"What's your soup of the day?" he asked in a demanding manner.
"It's a Greek soup called margheritsa."
"What's it made of?"
"Lamb."
"Good enough. I'll have that." The man seemed to be taking great pains not to slur his words, and was barely succeeding. The door opened behind her, and a balding, red-haired man wearing a peculiar pin-striped suit entered the café. He sat down at the table beside Max's, placed his brief-case on the floor, and removed his jacket.
Charlotte smiled at him, then got the couple's food and set it down on the table. Immediately, the woman complained about the temperature of her sandwich.
"I wan'ed it hot!" she bleated.
This was certainly not what Charlotte wanted to be dealing with this late at night. She looked at the clock. Twenty 'til two. I'm not going to be able to leave until three-thirty.
"The grill closes down at 1:30, madam, so any sandwiches must be served up cold."
The woman glared at her murderously for a moment, then pouted as she picked up the sandwich and took a bite. Charlotte was relieved.
"All right, so anything to drink tonight? Or have you, as one might imagine, quite satisfied your thirst?" Charlotte asked in a friendly voice. She heard Max snicker and the man immediately swelled.
"Are you making fun of us?"
"Of course not," said Charlotte, stifling a smirk, "I just wondered of you want any tea to go with your soup and sandwich?"
"No," the man snarled. "We're going to leave as soon as we've finished eating, and you won't be getting a tip."
"Well, a tip, as you know, is not a requirement, so it won't bother me," Charlotte retorted cheerfully, then turned around and went back toward Max's table.
"Hello," she said the red-haired business man. "What can I get for you?"
The man set down a newspaper that had seemingly come from nowhere and said kindly, "Just a strong black tea."
Charlotte smiled. "Long night ahead of you?"
"Yes, one might say that."
"All right, I'll be right back with that for you."
As Charlotte took a teabag from one of the boxes behind the shelf and put it in a mug, she saw the suit talking with Max, looking as though he was trying to hide it. She listened hard, trying to discern some words over the buzz of the ceiling fan.
"… late, Mundungus, got held up at the Ministry. There was this horrible instance involving a tea cozy," said the red-haired man.
Why is he calling Max "Mundungus?" Charlotte speculated. And why would a government official be talking with Max? It's probably something to do with drugs…
Charlotte filled the mug with hot water and took it over to the table.
"She mended a broken cup?" the red-haired man asked. "Anything else?"
"Well she --- "
"Here's your tea, sir, and Max, would you like anything else?" Charlotte asked politely.
"You know I always 'ave just the coffee, m' dear."
"All right then, I'll be back with the bills. It's near closing time."
Charlotte wondered whom they were talking about, and got the sneaking suspicion that they were talking about her. Just last week, she'd accidentally swiped a few cups off the counter behind her. She could have sworn she'd heard them shatter, and was very worried about it, too, certain they would come out of her pay, or she may be sacked, and her sister would be very disappointed with her. But when she'd turned, they were all just rolling around on the floor. When she'd picked them up and placed them in the sink for washing, she saw Max looking at her with an almost elated expression. He'd left early that night, leaving a large amount of money on the table, apparently unthinkingly, and said, "Thank you, m' dear. You've given me the idea for one of the best bargains I've yet to make," before skipping through the door.
"She mended a cup." I certainly didn't mend them. I was just insanely lucky they didn't break, and I must have been hearing things when they shattered, probably because I was so worried they would…
Charlotte busied herself with writing up the bills, ignoring the shrieking laughter the inebriated woman emitted. As soon as she'd deposited the slips of paper on the occupied table, Charlotte changed the sign in the door from "open" to "closed." She would not lock the door, however, until all the customers were gone. She went back to cleaning the grill, thanking heaven that her manager was the only person allowed to handle the funds, and she would therefore be able to leave sooner.
As she scrubbed at a burnt piece of cheese that was stuck to the metal surface, Charlotte heard the door open again. She looked up and saw that the person who had opened the door was a tall, emaciated man. He was quivering and sweating, and the whites of his eyes were red.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but we're closed," Charlotte told him. He kept walking forward. Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him, realizing that his appearance connoted methamphetamine use, and stepped away from the grill, towards the phone. She glanced at Max and the suit. They both stared, but the drunken couple was still talking, unfettered. The man shook even more horribly and continued forward.
"We're closed," Charlotte repeated.
"G-give me all th-the money!" the man shouted.
Charlotte's eyes grew wide and she grabbed the phone from the receiver. It was an old phone, and she had only been able to dial one number on the circular dialer before the man acted. He pulled out a pistol.
"Hang it up!" he bellowed, aiming the gun at Charlotte. The drunken woman screamed. Charlotte continued to clutch the phone. The man cocked lowered the gun cocked it before pointing it at her again. "D-do it!"
Charlotte slowly lowered the phone and placed it back on the receiver, her eyes flicking to where Max sat, looking as though he were trying to find a safe way out, and where the red-haired suit was, on the edge of his seat, clutching something at his side. She did not have time to find out what it was before she turned her eyes back to the robber.
"Give me all the money!"
Breathing heavily, and shaking a bit, Charlotte said, "This will take a moment."
She pressed random buttons, hoping to stall the robber just a little bit, for what purpose she did not know. Suddenly, someone lunged at the robber. Charlotte realized with great shock that it was the drunken man, apparently bent on heroics. It did not take much for the robber to handle him. The gun fell to the ground with a great thunk the robber seeming to have forgotten it. The robber did not need it, however and knocked the man out with ease. His girlfriend began to scream and sob, thinking irrationally that her intoxicated boyfriend was dead, and the red-haired man had stood up, his hand still at his side. The whole thing was horrific, but Charlotte could not understand how the robber, who was practically decaying, could have possibly been so strong. Before her mind could come up with an answer to this question, he had scrambled for the gun and was pointing it at her again.
There was nothing for it. Charlotte opened the register and pulled out all the money inside, putting it in a brown bag. She set it on the counter.
"H-hand it to me," the robber commanded.
Trembling all the way, Charlotte picked the money back up and leaned over the counter as far as she could. She jumped when the man snatched it and hurried back over the counter.
"Now open the safe," he said.
Charlotte froze. She did not have access to the safe, didn't know the combination.
"I…"
"I didn't ask you to talk. Open the fucking safe!"
"I can't open it!" Charlotte cried. "I don't have the combination."
"Then you better find a way to get it, or I'll fucking shoot you in the bloody brain!" the robber bellowed. The drunk woman continued to sob. "And you shut the hell up, you hag!" She was quiet immediately, having reduced her sobs to hiccups. The other two men in the café still had not said a word.
The intruder raised the gun higher. Charlotte was in a frenzy. She knew she would have to open the safe somehow, or she would die. She also knew that she couldn't open the safe without the manager there, and that she was going to be shot.
Drop the gun, she willed, please just drop it, please, God, please I'm only sixteen…
Suddenly the smell of burning meat reached her nose. The gun suddenly turned a hot shade of orange. The robber cried out and dropped it, and this time when the gun hit the floor, it fired a shot. Charlotte shouted at the noise and dropped behind the counter. The glass in the door broke, and a coffee pot behind her shattered. The bullet, however, seemed to have gone through the ceiling. Charlotte was thankful that there were only warehouses above her. She didn't stop to think about the broken glass objects, just remained behind the counter. The girlfriend had begun to cry again.
"Goddammit!" the robber bellowed. Charlotte stayed behind the counter. "You fucking whore! What the fuck did you do? My hand… it's burnt!"
Charlotte peered around the counter, and saw, to her astonishment, that the man's right hand was red, blistered, and bleeding. She also, upon examining the floor, saw that the gun was only a few feet away from her. She crawled forward as quickly as she could, tried to get at it, but the robber got to her first. He grabbed her long ponytail with his good hand and jerked her upward. Charlotte's face screwed up in pain as she got to her feet. The man let go of her at last, but only so he could land a punch on her cheek. Charlotte gasped. The drunken woman screamed. Charlotte heard the suited man's voice shout something just as she stumbled over the unconscious body on the floor, pulling the robber with her. The woman was suddenly silent.
The robber ignored his injury as he balled his right hand into a fist and landed another punch on her face. Charlotte screamed as the blow locked with her left eye. The walls around her began to shake. The robber grabbed her shoulder.
"Get off of me!" she shouted, pushing him. The suited man yelled something else at that moment, and something red streaked past the robber's nose.
"Get out!" Charlotte screamed, and the man groaned and clapped his hands over his ears.
"GET OUT!!!"
There was a resounding crack. The ceiling fan came loose and fell, landing on top of the robber as he swooned. The room continued to shake, but momentarily calmed down. Charlotte looked up at the ceiling, then at the robber sprawled with the fan lying by his head. There was blood trickling from his ears. The drunk was a few feet away from him, sporting a large black bruise on his temple, his girlfriend slumped in her booth. Then Charlotte turned to the suited man, who stood there holding a long, wooden stick. Max, she saw, was gone.
"Oh God."
Charlotte sunk to the floor, shaking. Her mind was completely blank. Her entire body hurt, but especially her head, and she could barely see out of her left eye. The suited man knelt before her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked her. His words brought her back to her senses a bit. She inhaled and looked up at his kind face, then smiled slightly.
"Like I should have called in sick tonight, wishing I was still on the psychotropics."
The man looked suddenly interested. "Psycho-tro-picks? What are those?"
"You know, medication to make crazy people sane. My parents put me on them when I was five, but I can't remember why…"
"Are they pills?"
"Yes," Charlotte said. She was looking at the man curiously now.
Maybe he should be on them.
"Who are you?" she asked him.
"My name is Arthur Weasley."
"Nice name," Charlotte said hazily. "I'm Charlotte Harker."
"Pleasure to meet you. Tell me, when did you stop taking the pills?"
"About three months ago. Are you a doctor or something?"
"No, I'm a wizard."
Charlotte didn't really hear him, she was looking at the robber. "Oh. Is he dead?"
Mr. Weasley stood and went over to the robber. "Fortunately, no he's not. And neither are any of the other ones. That will make things much easier when your please-men get here."
"What?" Charlotte asked, and then a look of comprehension dawned on her face. "Oh, the police! I have to call them, don't I?"
She stood and went over to the phone.
"Wait for that," said Mr. Weasley kindly. "I'm certain a squad will be arriving anytime now."
"What?" Charlotte said.
Suddenly, three people entered the café, all wearing funny-looking cloaks.
"Who the hell are you?" she asked them. One of them, a rather portly, graying man in his fifties, looked at her briefly, then looked at his surroundings and turned to Mr. Weasley.
"What the devil happened here, Arthur? It looks like someone fired reductos every which way," he stated.
Reductos? Charlotte thought.
"An attempted robbery and a little accidental magic, Perkins," said Mr. Weasley.
Magic?
Charlotte replaced the phone on the receiver. The second cloaked person, a woman in her late twenties, bent over the unconscious robber.
"This one seems to have had his ear drums popped," she announced as the third person, a young man with glasses, wrote things down with a feathered pen.
"Thank you, Rowan. Did you get that down, Justin? Accidental magic, Arthur? From whom, you?" questioned Perkins.
"Miss Charlotte Harker here," Mr. Weasley stated. Charlotte stared at him, her mouth agape.
Perkins only glanced at Charlotte before turning to the intoxicated girlfriend. "What about her? She's clearly been stunned."
"Yes, well, that bit was my fault. The stunning charm was meant for the robber, but he fell out of its way. The same thing happened with that burn on the seat."
Charlotte remembered the red thing streaking past earlier, and glanced at the stick Mr. Weasley still held in his hand. The other two were holding them, too, and each seemed to be of slightly different design.
What are they? Charlotte asked herself.
"Merlin, Arthur! A bit careless, wouldn't you say?" Perkins derided.
"Perhaps, but I believe it would have been more careless not to help a defenseless witch," Arthur Weasley protested.
The man finally paid Charlotte some attention.
"Where was your wand through all of this?"
"My --- my wand? Is that what those things are?" she asked, pointing to the sticks everyone was holding.
Perkins gave Arthur a withering look. "Defenseless witch, Arthur? Defenseless muggle, more like. I've never known you to be this foolish."
"She's a witch, I assure you," said Mr. Weasley.
"We're going to have to modify her memory," said the woman.
"Wait just a moment!" Charlotte ordered. The three wizards looked up at her. "Magic and wands and witches? What kind of people are you? Are you all mad? What the bloody hell is a muggle?"
"A muggle is someone like you, someone who can't do magic," said Perkins, glaring at Arthur.
"Well that goes without saying! Nobody can do magic."
Perkins rolled his eyes.
"Miss Harker," said Mr. Weasley, "when that man had his weapon pointed at you, what happened?"
"It malfunctioned. It got really hot and burned him, so he dropped it," Charlotte answered immediately.
"And when it fired and you screamed, what happened?"
"The glass in the door broke, and one of the coffee pots." Charlotte was annoyed.
"But what was damaged by the gun?" he pressed further.
"The… the ceiling," Charlotte answered, beginning to understand. "I knocked those teacups off the counter last week, I heard them break… but they were fine."
Charlotte sank down behind the counter again and put her hands in the hair at her temples. She heard Justin's pen scratching furiously on his notebook.
I'm going mad, was her first thought, and then, but I know it happened, and it's the only logical explanation for all of this…oh what are you thinking, Charlotte? Logical? If it's magic it's not logical, it's supernatural. Things that are beyond what is natural don't exactly fall into Newton's Three Laws… Oh lord, I'm glad it's the holidays and I don't have school. But magic isn't real! Then again, I popped the man's eardrums. I broke the glass, I fixed those cups --- they were talking about me. I wonder if there's a university for all this magic stuff. It would make sense, wouldn't it? And if they're right and I really am a witch, then I'm sure to be able to go. It wouldn't alter my plans too much…
"Well, Perkins?" said Mr. Weasley.
"Fine, you are possibly correct, but why isn't she at Hogwarts? She's clearly of the age to be there."
"Your guess is as good as mine, Perkins. I would suggest you contact Albus Dumbledore if you really want to know. Now I suggest we clear this up so we can call the muggle law-enforcement and get this man behind bars," Mr. Weasley put forth.
"Yes, you're quite right, I think. Rowan, take care of the girl while Arthur tells me what happened."
"Yes sir," she said, and walked behind the counter, broken glass crunching under her shoes. Charlotte looked up at her.
"My head hurts, and I'm really tired," she said with a warning tone in her voice.
"I… I know, but I need to talk to you a bit."
"About what? Quite frankly, Miss Whoever, I think you should be explaining why there are a bunch of wizards in the café on my shift, and why the bloody hell nobody told me I am one!"
"First of all, my name is Rowan Hembly. Secondly, it has not been proven that you are a witch, and for that reason, there is no way I can be so forthcoming with any of that information," said the young woman, bristling.
"Then you can get out of my café. I'll call the police right now and tell them to take you to the mad house!"
"What purpose would that serve?" said Rowan sternly.
"Plenty," said Charlotte, looking pointedly at the phone.
Rowan stared at her, as if trying to assess the level of desperation the girl possessed. Then she rolled her eyes.
"I suppose he's going to Obliviate you anyway. I was never this batty over my Hogwarts letter…"
"Your what?"
"My Hogwarts letter," Rowan answered with trepidation.
"What's that?"
"I suppose you won't let up until I tell you. It's a letter from a school for magic, and you start there when you're eleven. Most people find out they're wizards or witches then. Some people figure it out for themselves when strange things start happening around them. I was one of those."
"I used to pretend I had magic powers when I was really young, according to my sister. My parents put a stop to that almost right away," said Charlotte. The witch looked a bit confused.
"How did they do that?" she asked, suddenly looking interested.
"I don't know, told me I couldn't pretend anymore, I suppose. I don't really remember. It's just what my sister said. Stupid, though. Children should be allowed to play pretend…"
Charlotte looked at the woman, who was now smiling a bit sadly.
"You probably weren't pretending."
"Maybe… but why are you here now?" Charlotte demanded.
"There was quite a bit of magic going on in here and since muggles aren't supposed to know we exist, we have to come clean up. Perkins, Justin, and I are part of the Department for Accidental Magic and Catastrophes. Justin comes up with a non-magic explanation, I erase the traces of magic, and Perkins alters muggles' memories when things go wrong."
Charlotte remembered Mr. Weasley saying to Max that he got held up at "the Ministry."
"So there's an entire separate government for you? How many of you are there?"
"Thousands all over the world."
"And you've been hiding how?"
"Well, we can do magic."
"Oh, yes." Charlotte felt a sudden pain in her face. A thought occurred to her. "Hey, if you can do magic, then you can make these bruises go away, right?"
The witch looked slightly remorseful as she said, "Well, no. You still have to talk with the police, and if that burglar remembers hitting you, it would look a bit odd for you not to be sporting bruises."
"You can modify his memory, though, right?"
"We try to do as little alteration as possible," Rowan told Charlotte.
"Oh."
"Hey, Rowan."
Charlotte and Rowan looked up. Perkins was leaning over the counter. The woman and the girl stood up.
"Yes?" said Rowan.
"What I need you to do is repair any broken glass, fix the burn in the seat, mend up that man's burnt hand, and fix his eardrums, removing all blood from the ear canal. Oh, and see to it that the woman gets woken up and then knocked out again. Hit her in the back of the head, and make sure she gets a large bruise. I'll modify their memories," he requested brusquely.
"Aren't you going to modify hers?" Rowan questioned. Perkins looked a bit put upon, and rubbed his left temple.
"No. I'm taking a gamble."
Rowan blinked a bit nervously and went on. "What about the security cameras?" she asked him. He looked a bit perplexed.
"They're broken," Charlotte told the two before they had to worry about it.
"Oh. Good," said Perkins.
Rowan sighed and took out her wand. She pointed it at the broken glass on the ground and said, "Reparo."
The glass came together and formed a coffee pot. Charlotte picked it up and set it back in the coffee-maker, amazed. Rowan did the same with the glass in the window.
"I want to learn how to do that," Charlotte said.
"You very well may," said Mr. Weasley, coming to stand in front of her. "Now listen, the story you are to tell the --- what is it, poleez? --- what you're going to tell them is --- "
The telephone suddenly rang. Charlotte jumped, took a big breath and grabbed it.
"Pete's Café,"
"Charlotte? Charlotte, is that you?" said the voice on the other end. It was Charlotte's sister.
"Yeah, it's me. Hi, Magda."
"Why aren't you home yet? The café closed at two tonight, didn't it?"
Charlotte heard a thump and a feeble cry as the witch knocked the drunk woman out for the second time that night.
"What time is it now?"
"Almost four."
"Oh. Well, there was this thing that happened, sort of like an armed robbery --- "
"WHAT?"
"There was a man with a gun and he tried to take the money --- "
"I know what an armed robbery is, what I mean to ask is if you're all right!"
"Yeah, he's knocked out."
"Did you call the police?"
"Uh…" Charlotte looked at Mr. Weasley. "No, but --- "
"I want to talk to the adult working there."
"I'm the only one working tonight."
"WHAT? Your manager can't do that, it's illegal," Charlotte's sister exclaimed.
"Well, he did."
"I'm calling a cab, and you need to call the police."
"I --- I will."
"And if they get there before I do, stay put."
"Magda --- "
But she had already hung up, it seemed. Charlotte replaced the phone on the receiver, and looked at Mr. Weasley.
I'm going to be fine. I will conduct myself in a mature and stable manner, and for now, I'll just tell myself that I'm a witch and leave doubts for when I've got time for them, Charlotte thought. She took a deep breath.
"That was my sister," she stated, "she's coming here, and I'm supposed to call the police."
"All right, let's get the story straight before they arrive. Everything that happened is the same up to a point. When the intruder told that woman to be quiet, he hit her in the back of the head with the gun and knocked her out. On his way back to you, he tripped over her boyfriend and dropped the gun, which fired into the ceiling loosened the propeller thing. You tried to get the gun, and there was a squabble, during which he hit you twice, just like what really happened. You shoved him to get him away from you, and the fan fell down, of 'natural causes' and landed on his head, rendering him unconscious. I'm only a witness to the affair. Can you remember all that?"
"Yes, and I'm a good liar, too, so it should work out fine."
"You'll have to tell your sister this too."
"But --- "
"You may be able to tell her about the rest of it later."
Charlotte thought about it. She really wanted to tell her sister now, and maybe get some help from her with making sense of it all.
But what if she thinks I'm mad?
Charlotte sighed. "All right."
"Go call the please-men. Or whatever they're called."
"They're going to wonder why we didn't call them immediately after he got knocked out," she said.
"You were incredibly upset and I had to calm you down first."
Charlotte smiled and picked up the phone. "Fantastic. Oh, and it's po-lice men, and that propeller thing on the ceiling is called a ceiling fan."
Charlotte dialed, assumed the shaky, upset voice she had long since lost, and said, "I need to report an attempted burglary." She continued to talk to the emergency specialist as Arthur Weasley approached Rowan the memory modifier.
"I told her about Hogwarts," she admitted sheepishly, "and I don't think Perkins is going to be very happy about it. I thought we would be Obliviating her."
"Actually, that's good that she knows about it. I'm almost certain she'll be admitted after tonight's events."
"But how? She's no eleven year-old," the wizard called Justin asked.
"Dumbledore is the headmaster. I'm sure he has something in a drawer somewhere that will work for her."
"Oh, yeah."
"Listen, try to get Perkins not to tell the ministry about her just yet. This is a rather unique case, and it would be better if --- "
"Professor Dumbledore looked into it first. Now that you mention it, I completely agree. I'll try, but Perkins tends to do whatever he wants, you know?" said Rowan.
"Plus, he's one of the people most against Dumbledore's thoughts on You-Know-Who's return."
Mr. Weasley nodded and said, "Thank you, though."
Charlotte finished her phone call just as Perkins finished modifying memories, and both came to stand with Mr. Weasley and Rowan.
"Well, that's finished," said Perkins.
"Time to go then?" asked Rowan.
"Yes."
"Goodbye, then, and good luck to you," said Rowan to Charlotte.
With a loud pop, the witch and wizards disappeared.
"Too weird," Charlotte remarked. "I suppose they went back to the Ministry or whatever it is. I listen to customers' conversations sometimes. Speaking of which, where did Max go off to?"
"I believe he disapparated at the slightest sign of trouble," said Mr. Weasley bitterly. "His real name is Mundungus Fletcher, and he's bit of a scalawag."
What does it mean "he disapparated?" It sounds sort of like disappear.
"Is that what the three magic-government officials did?"
Mr. Weasley looked a bit shocked, and then impressed. "Yes, that's what they did."
"This is fascinating. Oh, my head hurts. I need some coffee," said Charlotte, putting one of the pots under the tap. "Would you like some?"
"Uh… yes, actually. You're handling all of this remarkably well."
Not really. I'm half mad with all this information and I still don't really know if I'm not imagining it… Keep your head on, Charlotte. Answer his questions, don't let him know you're upset… my head aches!
Charlotte smiled wryly. "Believe me, my head isn't, and I don't even want to look in a mirror. It's probably adrenaline. It's fascinating how the body operates sometimes, isn't it?"
"Yes. Tell me, how does that contraption work?" asked Mr. Weasley.
"The coffeemaker? Well you pour the water into the receptacle at the back, and there's a thing in it that heats up the water, and then there's a tube that sucks it up and sprays it through the coffee grounds. Makes coffee, and it's going to make my head feel better. I wonder if I have some pain-killers."
Mr. Weasley stared at the coffeemaker with acute fascination at Charlotte went to the back room and got her purse.
"Thank the lord," she said, then poured a cup of coffee and chased three pills with it. Just as she was setting the bottle back in her purse, a cab pulled up to the café.
Mr. Weasley turned around and looked at the short-haired, sweat-pant clad, brunette woman paying the driver.
"That's my sister. She's a public defender --- a lawyer --- so don't be surprised if she interrogates you upon entering."
"Is she your guardian?"
"Yes, she's twelve years older than I am."
"Where are your parents?" Arthur Weasley questioned.
Charlotte never answered, for just then, Magda entered the shop, looking only at Charlotte.