Chapter 2: Buyer Beware
Keith stepped out of the fireplace, dusting off his brown cloak. The first thing he noticed was the air smelt like incense, sorta like the chapel his mother made him go to once in awhile on Sunday. He was in some kind of store, selling the weirdest things he'd ever seen. Some looked expensive, like that black polished skull on top of a nearby shelf. Other stuff, like a shelf filled with jars containing body parts seemed to be on sale, buy one get one free. Keith shuddered, wondering why his father had wanted them to end up here.
Keith stepped aside just in time for Jethro's huge frame to squeeze out of the fireplace. Keith bit back a laugh when he compared the large boy to a rotisserie, as he was covered from head to toe with soot. If the location they were in right now was a surprise to him, Jethro's mask of indifference hid it well. Keith decided not to ask - no sense giving Jethro the satisfaction of knowing something Keith didn't.
Finally their father stepped through, the dust fleeing from his cloak without so much as a movement on his part. Not even ash wanted to get on his bad side.
"Come along now," called his father, as he led the two boys between shelves filled with odd and eerie objects. His leather glove was clenched over his cane. He tapped it against the ground every few steps. Keith couldn't help but notice the head of the cane was shaped like a cobra, with two long fangs. Gilded onto the shaft of the cane, in fancy gold script, was the word Slytherin.
At the counter of this strange store, a toothless old witch with green skin and black clothing wheezed at Keith, making him take a step back.
"Ah. Francis." she cackled, in a voice so high-pitched it could shatter glass. "Your son Keith?"
Keith's father smirked, an expression mirroring the one he passed to his son. "This is Keith, Annis."
The hag squinted hard at Keith, as if she couldn't see him. Keith instinctively took another step back. "I'm sure he's a beauty. wish my sister gave me the seeing eye so I could make him out more clearly. want a lollypop?"
Keith shook his head very slowly. "No way."
Francis glanced down irritably at his son. "Don't be rude, Keith," he scolded.
"I mean, sure!" said Keith, smiling artificially. He resisted the urge to throw his elbow into Jethro's stomach as he snickered.
The hag removed a rather impressive candy jar and allowed Keith and Jethro to take their pick. Keith chose a multicolored lollypop while Jethro chose a jawbreaker the size of Keith's fist, though it fit rather snuggly into half of his brother's oversized, flabby mouth.
"What is on sale today, Annis?" asked his father, taking his eyes off his son.
Annis wheezed, giving Mr. Hillsfar her fearsome, toothless smile. "Well, Youth Potions are very popular right now. on sale for one hundred Deluvians apiece, but those are of little use to an Auror like yourself."
Mr. Hillsfar remained silent while the hag checked a lengthy parchment roll behind her desk.
"Oooh, interesting." she hissed, though it was probably supposed to sound like a coo of appreciation. "Yes. interesting."
"Have something for me?" asked Mr. Hillsfar innocently.
"Yes," she crowed, as she hobbled away from the counter and into the back room, parting the beads that hung through the doorway as she went. Her loud, shrill voice was heard, speaking in a strange language to whoever was behind the beads.
"She's a hag, ain't she?" asked Keith, who was hesitantly eying his lollypop but not licking it. Jethro's lower chin was already stained blue from his colored slobber.
"Yes, Keith," replied Francis, as if Keith's question had been concerning the weather, "A covey of three runs this shop. Just call them all Annis. they don't have names."
"Pop, I'm bored," grumbled Jethro, though it was hard to understand him with his cheek swollen to the size of a large softball.
"I'll be done momentarily," answered his father irritably, as three witches emerged from the backroom. They looked identical, with sickly green skin. The only differences were where their moles and warts were on their faces. Keith gasped and resisted the urge to hide behind his father.
The middle hag placed a chest onto the counter. The two in back passed around a glass eye; they each took turns looking through it, "oohing and aahing." Keith couldn't help but notice they were looking at him mostly. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and stared at the chest expectantly.
With a tap of his snake cane, the box opened up for Mr. Hillsfar. From its wake, Keith's father pulled out a glove that looked as through it had been chewed through by a St. Bernard.
"Indeed." commented his father as he turned the glove over a few times, "this is quite the relic. How did you come by it?"
But Keith couldn't stop from laughing, pointing at it. "Pop. I could get two just like it at Walmart for you, brand new."
"Eee hee hee," cackled the middle hag, taking the glass eye from her sister and peering through the lens at Keith. "Pretty little boy. got a whole lotta spirit. You must see, though."
". not everything is as it seems," crowed another, taking the glass eye from her sister and leering at Keith imposingly.
"Yes," nodded Keith's father, as he turned the glove over a few times. "I thought all the Contingency Gloves were destroyed after the Goblin Civil War of 1880."
"That's what most believe," giggled the third hag, snatching the eye from her sister. To Keith, it was like they coordinated their viewings in five-second shifts. "Five hundred thousand Deluvians for most. but for you, Francis the Auror. only fifty."
Francis withdrew a check from his pocket and summoned a quill into his hand. After filling it out, he handed it to the second hag. "An excellent price, thank you, Annis. You can expect to keep a legal franchise due to your. generosity."
The hags began to fight over who got to see the insides of the bag first, but not before looking up. "May it serve you well."
They left the shop moments later; Keith was positively content to leave the strange Dark Arts shop behind.
"Pop," said Jethro, a big wad of slobber falling free from his half- opened mouth. "Whatcha get?"
Keith started sucking on the lollypop. It was indeed quite tasty, every three seconds switching from raspberry to orange to grape and back again.
"It's a Contingency Glove," answered his father aloofly. "Powerful artifact. it will make my job much easier."
Keith's eyes wandered as his father took time to explain the workings of the artifact. Had he been anywhere else, he'd have loved to listen, as such stuff fascinated him. But, nothing could fascinate him like Gartherid's Boulevard. The Boulevard itself was nothing short of a zoo, filled with wizards wearing all colors hustling this way and that. The road itself was divided into two sides, separated by a plush median strip filled with blooming flowers that danced on their own accord, each swaying their own way and changing color every ten seconds. Overhead, the evening sky was raw red, the setting sun going out in a blaze of crimson fury.
"Jethro, I trust you can handle yourself?" asked his father, with an arched, flaxen brow. Keith keenly noted the disgust on his face.
Jethro, to Keith's surprise, shook his head. "I'd really like to stay with y'all, if it's all the same."
Keith's keen senses picked up a laugh above the din of the passing crowd. He turned around slowly to see a group of six boys, all dressed in fiery, magenta robes. They must have been Jethro's age and were pointing at him and laughing. They were standing out in front of Jorna's Jumping Diner. One was so bold as to cry out:
"Hey Piggy! Come on over here! Haven't seen your fat, chunky rear all summer!"
Keith realized why Jethro didn't want to leave. But, brotherly loyalty didn't run very deep; Keith was already cackling as Jethro turned a shade of raw red.
"I'm not going to protect you, Jethro," stated his father in what could only be considered a cold tone. "Stand up for yourself, boy."
Jethro frowned, his voice beginning to sound squeamish. "Pop, please. don't leave me alone. those Order of Fire boys hate me."
"Hey jelly rolls, we told you to roll your fat butt on over here! We're gonna take you out for a big sundae. how can you resist adding more pounds to that ass of yours?" called another.
Keith, by now, was barely keeping his feet while the other boys cackled savagely and slapped each other five.
"They don't hate you," answered his father, staring down at his large son. "They have no respect for you because you have no respect for yourself. Now, Keith and I have business to attend to, and he's never been here before. Handle yourself."
"But, pop!" complained Jethro as Mr. Hillsfar took Keith by the arm and began to lead him away.
"No buts." rebuked his father, not even turning back to see him.
The sound of his brother's whimpers delighted Keith to his very core. After all, it was worth it, wasn't it? Jethro loved to finish his chores earlier and watch while Keith labored for hours doing a task Jethro himself could do in a few seconds with magic. But, he never helped. why would he? He was too lazy.
They left a whimpering Jethro behind. "Keith," spoke out his father, his voice halting his second son in his path. "Don't become like Jethro."
"Pop?" questioned Keith, looking up to his old man.
"A disgrace to our family name," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Us Hillsfars have a lengthy family tradition for perfection: pureblooded and apt at everything we do. Your blood is cleaner than Jethro's. I knew it since the day you were born."
He had never heard his father talk like this. It was all right and good to slam Jethro, but what was he trying to say here?
"But pop. mother is."
". a Muggle, yes, I know," interrupted his father as they walked down the road. "One day when you are older, you will see that love is blind. I love your mother dearly, but take great sorrow in spoiling your pureblood in the process."
Keith listened silently. His mind raced for something intelligent to say. Nothing came up, however.
"You are my greatest hope, Keith," said his father plainly, as they stopped. They were standing in front of a store worn from age. It read: "Pristine Books for the Bookish, since 1595." The building looked ancient, built of rotting wood and held up by some power other than architecture. "Do not speak of it to Jethro, for I still love him and wish not to see him crushed - but at the rate he's going, he won't amount to anything and I have neither the time nor the patience to hold his hand."
Keith swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt small and completely overwhelmed despite the compliment (if you could even call it that) his father had bestowed upon him. No, as much as Keith liked to see his brother miserable, this was one conversation he'd never tap to get the upper hand on Jethro. For one, he didn't need it, and for two it was too savage, even for him.
His father wore a pained expression upon his pale face; his gray eyes were filled with lament, a cold anger that had been burning for thirteen years. It scared Keith, for he knew the mettle of his father's resolve. He withdrew the glove he had just purchased and held it down to Keith. Keith went over it, his own hazel eyes wide with astonishment.
"Pop, ya don't mean."
"I bought it for you, Keith," he said shortly. He had to bend at his waist to look Keith in the eyes, but he did it anyway. "The hags spent the better part of nine months searching for it and have tailored it specifically to you."
Keith stared at the ratty old glove with surprise. "How?"
"I cannot say - wear it now."
Not questioning his father, Keith took hold of the glove. At once a remarkable change came over it. It turned from a ratty piece of refuge into a well-repaired glove the color of night. He slipped it over his left hand and it fit tightly. It prickled a little bit, as if something inside were attaching itself to his skin like Velcro. Keith panicked a small bit and tried to pull the glove back off. It didn't budge.
"It has bound itself to your hand until you no longer need it," said Mr. Hillsfar calmly. "Come now." He put his arm around Keith and led him into the bookstore.
After purchasing his books, an event that didn't take all too long (they practically waved his father through the line and served him in seconds) they were again on the road. Keith had overcome the awkwardness of before, well, maybe not overcome, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, knowing his father would explain when he was ready.
"Lemme see." he unfolded his ingredients list. "I need. um. a cauldron, potions supplies. I already got a wand."
". no you don't," filled in his father. "You have a stick that is just about as magical as a Muggle washing machine."
"Really?" questioned Keith, looking a bit daunted.
"You will find that magic won't be so difficult once you have a decent wand," continued his father. They stopped in front of another store. Judging by the look of it, it had been erected very recently, with polished marble columns supporting the two-story exterior. A brand new sign flickered with magical illumination. Roxie's Magical Wands 2000.
"Such a hovel," sighed his father, tapping his cane on the ground twice. He always did that whenever he was trying to make a point. "We are loosing our traditional roots." He glanced down to Keith. "Newer is not always better, Keith. The best wands are made in England by Wizarding Families who have over two-thousand years of experience in the business." Francis cackled once, bitterly and mirthlessly. "The best Quidditch brooms were made back a thousand years ago. They make the Firebolt X2 look like the Nimbus 100."
Keith was again a bit baffled by all of the magical talk, but he got the basic gist of what was being said: judge a book by its cover if it wasn't made hundreds of years ago. It was sound advice, he supposed.
He had been to England only once before. Seven years ago, one of his cousins had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Keith was only four at the time and only remembered one thing about the trip. Keith had thought his father's three-story colonial was big, but the manor he had visited was nearly fifty times bigger. The memory he had of the place was getting lost within. It seemed everywhere he turned, he was in the same, green corridor all over again. After what seemed like days, he had slumped against the wall, crying. Moments later, his cousin had found him and, after making a few snappish comments he didn't understand at that time, ("Stupid Mudblood" was said a few times) guided him back to the family. It wasn't what he said that had made Keith so afraid of him, it was how he said it. He couldn't have been older than seventeen or eighteen, but the power and hatred his cousin had put on his voice had served as food for his nightmares, even to this day.
He didn't ever want to go back to that place; he never wanted to see his cousin again.
A bell sounded as Mr. Hillsfar led the way into the wand shop. It was all but empty, and a scraggly looking man as old as his father with long, greasy hair and a five o'clock shadow greeted them. It looked as though he shaved with a vibrating razor, as splotchy hair grew in random patches all along his face.
"Welcome to Roxie's, betcha lookin' fer a wand fer yer little son!" exclaimed the man, skipping over. He was about as tall as Keith and looked him straight in the eyes. He pinched each of his cheeks with his dirty fingers, causing Keith to grunt and take a disgusted step back. "Aw, he's a cutey. high spirited, I gather. Got just the thing for him."
Mr. Hillsfar glowered at the man. "If you ever touch my son again, I will skin you alive and hang you from the cheap chandelier above my head."
"Very high-spirited," clucked the man as he ran down an isle, fumbling through shoeboxes. If he was intimidated at all by his father's threat, he sure didn't show it. "Runs in the family, I see."
The man returned a few minutes later with five different types of wands. To Keith's surprise, they were hardly the wooden wands he thought they would be. In fact, they looked a lot like crystals, ranging from as small as seven inches to over a foot long.
"You don't honestly expect my son to use a crystal wand?" snorted Francis contemptuously, as if the man had suggested hanging a skunk around Keith's neck and sending him to a party. "Put that rubbish back and bring out your wooden stock."
"Wooden wands be a thing of the past, good sir," exclaimed the man, "'course, we'll paint over the crystal to give it a more traditional look, if you so choose."
Keith took hold of a wand from the dirty man's hands. It was a ruby gem shaft a foot long. It shimmered, bending rays of pinkish color all over the store.
"There's a good boy, give it a flick!"
Keith waved the wand. He gasped as a jet of fire shot out from the tip, striking the wand merchant full in the face. Keith gasped, dropping the wand from his hand in shock. The man yelped and staggered back, his face colored indigo. On the plus side, however, his five o'clock shadow had been removed completely, saving him from shaving.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ta." exclaimed Keith, moving over to the man. The man, however, was laughing.
"Woo wee! Yer a pistol, son. hit ya right on the first try. I'm getting good at this!"
Even Mr. Hillsfar had nothing negative to say. "Indeed -- seems the wand has chosen you."
Keith bent over and picked up the wand, turning it over again. The crystalline ruby was about a foot long and barely an inch wide. It was elegant and, he had to admit, looked more impressive than Jethro's.
"Very well," sighed his father with defeat. "I'll take the rubbish. but paint it over brown. I don't wish my son to be seen with such a -- thing."
"S'ok, Pop," said Keith, turning the wand over a few times. "I think it's pretty neat!"
Again, his father sighed with defeat. "Newer doesn't mean better." he grumbled.
Keith nodded, taking his father's lesson to heart. Without so much as a mumble of protest, he handed over his wand to the excited man. The man waved his own wand, and within a minute, the crystalline wand sported a polished wooden finishing. "Even feels like wood, too - should resemble good old fashion Yew on close inspection."
Keith took back the wand and gave it a final look over. The red crystal was now dark brown, resembling his wand back home in all respects.
"It'll do," muttered his father. He paid the man and led Keith out of the store. Keith swished the wand a few times, like he was testing the balance of a sword. "What's next on your list?"
Keith secured his new wand to his belt and unraveled the wrinkled parchment from a fold in his brown cloak. "Um. school robes n'. um. a pet. and potions ingredients and cauldron."
Francis nodded. "Very well, Keith. Why don't you go get measured for your robes? I'll finish the rest of your shopping."
"Right, pop," agreed Keith, "just. not a snake."
"I think I have the perfect thing in mind," said his father. He walked away, leaving Keith in the middle of the road.
Keith shrugged and, having no better ideas, continued walking up the street. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer size and commotion of the boulevard. However, he remembered his father's words about Jethro and kept his chin high.
After browsing the stores, walking straight for about five blocks, he was hopelessly confused. Somehow, he had walked in a circle and was now back in front of the wand store again. He sighed dejectedly and crossed his arms. Having no better ideas, he approached a middle-aged witch. Her hair was hidden beneath the folds of a very large hat, giving her an extra two feet of height. She was leading three identical triplets that appeared to be Keith's age, each with mousy gray hair and bright expressions of their faces.
" 'cuse me, ma'am," said Keith with a hesitant tone. The witch turned him kindly and gave him a warming smile.
"Yes, dear?"
Keith rubbed the back of his head coyly, embarrassed that he had to bother her. "I can't find the robe store. can ya help me?"
The woman nodded with understanding. "First time on the boulevard, love?"
Keith nodded twice, and couldn't help but notice her triplets were chuckling amongst themselves. He felt like he was shrinking with every passing second. "Yes ma'am."
"Oh, poor dear," she said with a weary tone. "Where's your family?"
"Pop's gittin' my pet," replied Keith, glancing nervously toward the brothers who were now laughing outright, pointing at him. He dug his heels into the ground and stopped himself from walking away. "I reckon I just missed it."
The older witch tutted a few times, as if scolding someone who wasn't there. "Going around in circles then?"
"Yes ma'am," said Keith. "I don't get how. been walkin' straight this whole time."
"It's a charm, dear," answered the witch, cheerily, as if anyone could have made that mistake. "If you are under twelve and lost, the old road will return you to where you started. that way, you're easy for your folks to find."
Keith felt a wave of relief wash over his body. It was nice to know that he wasn't stupid.
"Come along with my boys, Michael, Kale and Morgan," invited the witch with a cordial wave. "I was just on my way to get them their robes too. Startin' in Castagloria as a 6th grader, aren't ya?"
Keith continued to nod, not having anything remarkably creative to say. He didn't like the idea of shopping with those three boys, who were laughing themselves hoarse at the sight of him. They made him feel like an object of ridicule. Nonetheless, Keith walked next to one of them. whether it was Kale, Morgan or Michael, he couldn't tell.
"Hey!" exclaimed the boy maybe Morgan. "Can you. say something?"
Keith cocked his head with confusion. He looked at him with doubting, olive-green eyes. "Somethin'," he replied, not understanding. Again, the boys broke out laughing, as if he had said the funniest joke. "What's so funny?" questioned Keith, his ears blazing over scarlet.
The boy in the middle, maybe Kale, looked over at Keith. "Why do you talk so weird?"
Keith blinked with confusion, considering the boy's strange, lighter accent. "Yer the one talkin' funny."
"Nuh-uh," answered the boy furthest from him, maybe Michael. Nonetheless, the joke seemed to have run its course. No longer were the boys laughing at him. "What's your name?"
"Keith," he answered.
"I'm Morgan Grogan," maybe Michael said, proving Keith's guess wrong.
"I'm Kale Grogan," maybe Kale answered, making him one for two.
"I'm Michael Grogan," maybe Morgan said, tipping the scale toward being wrong.
Keith smiled; now it was his turn to laugh. He remembered the identical hags he had just visited with his father and how they all went by the same name. "Does it matter what yer names are? Can I just call all y'all Kale?"
Kale beamed with pride while the other two made a face.
"I mean really, how do y'all tell each other apart?" asked Keith, trying to hold back a second laugh.
"We just know."
"We just know."
"We just know."
That simultaneous explanation would have to do, for they had stopped in front of a shop. A quick look around really confused Keith. Now, the setting sun was on the opposite side of the road. Somehow, they had crossed over the flower-covered median strip without even realizing it. Keith shook his head, unable to understand, but didn't question it.
"Well, here we are," said Mrs. Grogan. She then shot prying looks back at her boys. "Now, who drew the short straw?"
Kale grumbled and dug his toe into the ground while his brothers on each side pointed to him.
"Don't worry, Michael," said Mrs. Grogan, "I'll get you your favorite ice cream when you get out." She looked back to Keith. "Would you like an ice cream cone, too, after you get your robe?"
"It's Kale."
"Sorry, sweetie," she apologized.
Keith never liked to impose, but was hardly going to turn down ice cream when it was offered freely. "Sure!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Cookies n' Cream would be great."
She grinned ear to ear, as if getting Keith his favorite ice cream would make her week. "Kale, you and Keith go get your school robes, then. Don't forget to have them make two more for your brothers."
"Yeah, I got it," snapped Kale moodily.
With that, Michael, Morgan and Mrs. Grogan left the two boys standing in the road.
Keith glanced up at the store, for the first time reading the subtle, somewhat faded sign. "Madam Maulkin's English Robes." Well, at least his father would definitely approve of this place, he thought. In the windows, he saw robes floating about a large display case, dancing with each other and strutting their stuff, price tags floating behind them.
"This takes forever," groaned Kale, turning to Keith. "Lauren had to do this for her three sisters."
Keith scratched his dirty blonde hair awkwardly. "Why don't y'all get yer own robes?"
"Well, Lauren and her sisters are all the same size, and all my brothers are the same size as me," explained Kale, as they entered the store.
A parrot, which was perched above the door called out after they entered. "Arrrrck, two little munchkins need clothing, Arrrck!"
Keith flinched with irritation, but Kale didn't even bat an eye. A moment later, Keith resumed their conversation. "Wait, yer sisters are all the same size too? How many sisters ya got?"
"Four," the mousy haired boy replied offhandedly. "They're quadruplets. They're goin' into tenth grade."
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Keith, as they passed a few robes and cloaks that beckoned to them, as if pleading to be bought. "How do y'all keep track of each other?"
Kale chuckled, a bright smile crossing his face. "Well, they got lucky. they were each sorted into different orders. easy to tell 'em apart in their school robes. They are all different colors."
"Orders?" asked Keith, his curiosity being perked.
Kale didn't have a chance to answer them before an elevated woman, nearly seven feet tall, approached them. She craned her overly long neck, like a snake of some kind, peering at each of the boys without moving her eyes. Behind her, two girls were standing on different stools and were being worked by an animated spool of thread and about four different needles. They pointed and giggled at Keith and Kale. One was being tailored brown and gold robes, while another deep, ocean blue with teal lacing.
"Good evening boys," she said kindly, in a British accent "School robes?"
Kale and Keith both nodded. "Yeah," answered Kale, with a bored tone, "I'll need three."
The woman bent her neck the other way, surveying both sides of Kale without so much as moving her body. "Ah, a Grogan?"
"Uh-huh," answered Kale coyly.
"Amazing you can tell each other apart," chuckled the lanky witch. "Still remember your mother and her four aunts. They had all insisted on getting their own measurements; you see, they were convinced their other sisters were fatter." Her eyes became glassy for a moment, while Kale chuckled. "Ah, memories." The look of nostalgia faded just as quickly. "So, you dears have Orders yet?"
Kale shook his head, while Keith shrugged with confusion. "No, miss. we've not yet been sorted," answered Kale.
"Righty then," she said happily. "Stand on one of those." She nodded to three stools over in the corner. "I'll be with you shortly."
Kale and Keith complied, each picking one of the three stools. Kale glanced to Keith as he stood up, "You a Muggleborn?"
Keith shook his head, glancing down at the back of his hands, as if looking for something on his fingernails. "Half and half, though I don't know much about Castagloria. Pop went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England."
"I see," remarked Kale, "well, you get sorted into Orders based on what you're like. its all named after the elements: Earth, Fire, Air and Water."
"My brother is -- Air," said Keith, now understanding. "Always wondered what that meant."
A tape measure shot over to Kale and began to measure every angle and every curve of his body. The lanky witch seemed to be speaking with another customer.
"You never asked your brother what it meant?" questioned Kale, seeming most perplexed.
Keith considered that for a moment. He honestly couldn't remember ever asking his brother what The Order of Air meant, or what Castagloria was like. In truth, he didn't talk to his brother about anything outside of how lazy he was, and an occasional insult. Yep, that was just about all he ever wanted to talk to Piggy boy about. Lazy moron.
"Nope, never," said Keith.
"Well, Air's pretty much the Order that you get put in if you have no real talent at anything. they're mostly pretty slow and stupid. That sorta thing."
Keith cackled at that, the left half of his mouth raised in a triumphant smirk. "Fits Jethro like a lasso."
"I'm goin' for Earth," professed Kale with pride, "they are really cool. brave, unyielding. strong. Lauren is in Earth."
Keith considered his Uncle Martin's words, about how he'd be fit for the Order of Water. It made sense, he supposed. He loved swimming more than anything.
"I'm probably going to be Water," considered Keith, though he lost his train of thought for a few seconds. The tape measure flew on over to him and began to take all of his measurements. fingers, nose length, ear diameter -- "Um. oh yeah, my uncle was in Water. guess he went to Castagloria too. I love swimming and such."
"Cool," replied Keith with a respectful nod. "Water's ok too. water's just all about change, I think. Kathleen is in Water, she's got like multiple personalities. she's weird."
The new customer that the lanky seamstress had been talking came over and stood on the third stool, a few feet from Keith and Kale. There was no question that this boy was Muggleborn. He wore a soft leather jacket and had enough moose in his hair to deflect bullets. Sunglasses covered his eyes and he was bobbing his head to the beat of music, which Keith could hear from the boy's headphones. It was some form of rap, with a loud, simple beat. Keith flinched; he hated rap.
Kale groaned. "That's a Fire waiting to happen." He didn't bother to keep his voice down, for he knew that music boy wouldn't overhear him. "They are hot-headed and hate everyone. They suck."
Keith remembered his father telling him about his house at Hogwarts, and how everyone not sorted into it hated it. He couldn't remember the name off the top of his head, but everyone had built up a prejudice against it, for one reason or another.
Keith waved at the boy, trying to get his attention. The boy nearly fell off his stool with surprise, once he noticed Keith waving him down. Kale, however, groaned. "Ugh," he muttered, "he was perfectly content to ignore us."
With trembling hands, the boy removed his headphones. "Um. hey, sorry if you were trying to get my attention before. I like to listen to music really loud. hey, my name is David, what's yours?" He spoke in a high- pitched voice, his words coming out of his mouth a mile a minute. His accent definitely placed him as a New York resident.
Keith blinked with confusion. "Um. Keith, howdy. Uh. "
Kale, meanwhile, scoffed with disbelief. "Whoa, you actually don't have an attitude problem?"
"Pardon?" asked the dark-haired boy, removing his sunglasses and revealing very bright blue eyes.
Kale snorted as the long-necked witch came over to work on him. "Well, anyone dressed like you is obviously trying to say that they are the coolest person in the world."
The boy named David looked hurt, swallowing a nervous lump. "What. what do you mean?" he stammered.
"Aren't you hot in that?" asked Kale, staring at David's baggy jeans that could fit someone three times as wide, and his leather jacket. Indeed, the boy was sweating something awful. Keith remained silent, his mind still not made up about the boy.
"Well yeah, but this is how I dress," he answered coyly. "My brother wears this stuff all the time."
Kale looked over while the seamstress worked on his robe, the needles starting at his feet and stitching their way up. "You have got to be kidding me. an actual wizard dresses like that?"
David bit his lip coyly. "No. he's not a wizard."
"Oh geez," snorted Kale, shaking his head. "A pure one-hundred present Muggleborn. You got a gun to go with that outfit," Kale leered at David derisively and added: "Gangsta?"
Keith, however, wasn't so quick to judge. He decided to hold back any comments supporting Kale.
"No." murmured David weakly, his frown turning into a pout. "I don't like guns."
"Yeah right, I hear all Muggles carry them and shoot each other to prove whose cooler," scoffed Kale with contempt. "Especially in New York."
"I'm live in New Jersey," replied David softly.
Keith wasn't about to correct Kale; he had to agree, David looked like such a flake. However, if it was a choice between leather Jacket David or fat, lazy Jethro, it was clear whose image won out.
"Are your parents here?" asked Keith, trying to turn the conversation away from insults.
David shook his head. "No. my aunt and my brother are outside waiting."
"Why your aunt?" asked Kale. Madam Malkeen, or whoever she was, moved on over to Keith and began to work on him. "She a witch?"
"No." he replied, at length.
Keith was beginning to catch on, suspecting that there was a dark reason why his parents weren't here. However, Kale just didn't seem to get it. "What, did you use up all their grease on your hair and force them to go out and buy you more?"
Keith glanced distastefully at Kale, though the triplet didn't seem to look very scornful. He didn't have that malicious glint that he had seen in his cousin's eyes, seven years ago. Instead, it was some other emotion. fear maybe? Keith wondered why he was afraid of this other boy.
David lost any semblance of control he had left and stuck up his middle finger at Kale. "My parents are dead!"
Every head in the store looked at David. Kale, at once, lost his fear and his arrogant expression, frowning deeply. Keith sighed. He had had a feeling that was what it was about and he had wished he had said something to Kale beforehand.
"Sorry," said Kale, flushing red with humiliation and modesty. ". I didn't know."
David's expression also went mild as he lowered his hand. "It's ok."
Keith sighed as an eerie silence fell over the store. The seven-foot tall witch, having heard the whole 'Muggleborn/Pureblood' debate many times had, by now, grown cold to it. She continued working as if nothing had happened. "Keep still there, lads," she coaxed, as she moved over to David and began work. "It'll take a half-hour or so."
David and Kale started over, to Keith's relief. Kale was a pureblood, one of ten children. His three other siblings were younger, and no surprise, were also triplets, though they were fraternal and not identical (and Keith had thought his own family was big). He lived in Connecticut, in what Keith could only picture as five or six birdhouses, linked by rope bridges. Man, did pureblooded families find weird places to live.
Keith already could tell he liked David. He was more modest than Kale and seemed to have a much more interesting past, if not a bit tragic. His parents had died in a car accident when he was nine, and he had moved to New Jersey to live with his twenty-one year old aunt. They must have been poor as poor could be, yet David still managed really nice clothing, if not a bit standoffish of a style. Yet, David didn't seem to show it; he was actually one of the mildest people Keith had ever met. This whole magic thing was still very new to David, and even Keith's talk about his farm and his Uncle Martin had him positively transfixed.
Kale, however, wasn't too impressed. "Yeah, my great-grandfather and great-grandmother's ghosts haunt our attic," explained Kale, "my great- grandfather always begs me to have mom hire an exorcist."
"So he can finally move on?" questioned David, fascinated with the whole idea of ghosts.
Kale shook his head, chuckling giddily. "No, so my great-grandmother can. she's been driving him crazy for two-hundred years."
By the time their black, unadorned school robes were done, it seemed like he, Kale and David had been friends for so much longer than just thirty minutes. They left the store, their robes in a bag. Kale's bag was about three times bigger than David's and Keith's.
Mr. Hillsfar was waiting for Keith by the door. He was conversing plainly with Mrs. Grogan, and constantly shooting glares at a surprisingly young woman, dressed in a very skimpy black skirt and a top that revealed a lot of skin. Michael and Morgan were staring with rapt attention at her, nudging each other. By her side, a boy that didn't look all that younger than her was waiting for David. He looked similar to him, with slick black hair, though he had a dry, emotionless face, a glaring contrast to David's bright expression.
"Pop," exclaimed Keith exuberantly, "this is Kale, and this is David. they are going into sixth grade too."
Mr. Hillsfar nodded politely to Kale, but when his eyes fell on David and ran up and down his attire, his jaw dropped. All he had to do was look at David's jacket, his hair, and his headphones. "Merlin H. Magic. they actually let you into this place? Mudblood isn't even the proper word for you. Mudbody is more like it."
"POP!" exclaimed Keith, his eyes widening with total shock while David took a step back, his eyes watering at the comment.
"Excuse me?" demanded David's aunt, moving quickly over to Mr. Hillsfar, staring at him with unbridled rage. She pushed David behind her protectively. "Oh, no you didn't speak to my nephew like that, Blondy! Want me to whoop your ass?"
Keith bit his lip helplessly, as his father raised his snake headed cane. "I'll speak however I want to your kind, you insolent little brat!"
Mrs. Gorgan was quick to grab Keith and Kale and pull them back, muttering something about pureblooded stupidity. Keith hardly fought; he was too busy staring at his father with disbelief.
He saw it happen in slow motion, as if it was happening on a television set. David's brother shoved Mr. Hillsfar hard on the shoulder, pushing him back and yelling obscenities at him. With unbridled fury, his father's wand shot from his sleeve and into the palm of his ready hand, faster than the eye could blink. Before Keith knew it, the area exploded in green light as a stream of curses shot forth from his father's mouth.
When he was done, both David's aunt and his brother were on the ground, nearly unconscious, having been the victim of at least five curses apiece. Their skin had sprouted vines, their hair had fallen completely out, crickets were leaping out of their clothing, and a purple cord bound each of their legs together. Keith gasped again, his eyes drawn to the expression of cold fury on his father's face. He had seen that look once before; it was the same look of contempt his cousin had held him with, seven years before.
"Rendemaden!" hissed Keith's father, as crimson energy shot forth from the tip of his wand, blanketing David's family with blazing heat, scorching them and making them cry out with agony. It ended a few seconds later; they both blacked out from the pain.
Keith wondered when someone was going to do something. anything. No one was running to get help. Everyone who had been walking down the street had just stopped and was staring, no one moving to stop this. Some were looking contemptuous and disgusted, while others were laughing, and cheering Mr. Hillsfar on.
"That ought to teach you. filthy Muggles." he said, running his hand slyly through his blonde hair.
"Auntie Kimmie! Brian!" cried David. He had backed off, shivering with terror, his wide blue eyes filled with fear.
Mr. Hillsfar turned on David, his cruel expression filled with unsated hostility. He leveled his wand at the terrified boy, who urinated the front of his pants. "Let this be a lesson to you, Mudblood. never speak to my son again!"
Keith had had enough. He pulled free of Mrs. Grogan and rushed between his father and David. He put himself in the path of his father's wand. "POP! What's wrong with you!"
His father stared at his boy, his expression softening only by the most unperceivable amount. Yet his voice remained as chill as ice. "Step aside, Keith."
Keith balled his fists at his side, not that he was going to hit his father, but because it was something he could do to fidget with terror, but still look imposing. "Mom's a Muggle!" shouted Keith, truly at a loss of what to say.
Now, no one was laughing and cheering. An amazing hush had fallen over the gathered wizards; some were whispering to each other, others were staring with wide-eyed expressions, as if to ask how a wizard could be so hypocritical. In the crowd, Keith spotted Jethro, who must have been attracted by the commotion. Keith noticed he was sporting a black eye and the front of his shirt was ripped.
Mr. Hillsfar flipped his wand back under his sleeve with no small amount of practice. His cold fury seemed to check itself with the sobering realization of Keith's words. "Jethro. Keith. we are going." he said, firmly but not angrily.
All Keith could do was look apologetically to David, who had gone white with horror and slumped to his knees. He glanced back to Mrs. Grogan, Kale and his brothers. they too, were ashen with disbelief.
Not a single person opposed Mr. Hillsfar as he pushed through the crowd. Jethro fell into step behind him, but Keith loitered. He couldn't help it. he had too.
He rushed over to David's side, offering him his hand. "I'm so sorry." was all he could say. "I'm so. so. sorry." David, however, stared at Keith's hand like it was the incarnation of the devil.
"Go away." David mumbled, slapping Keith's hand away. "Just go away."
"KEITH!" called his father impatiently.
Keith frowned, his lip trembling. He turned away, leaving David humiliated and his family hexed to unconsciousness as he ran after his father. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere and cry.
Keith stepped out of the fireplace, dusting off his brown cloak. The first thing he noticed was the air smelt like incense, sorta like the chapel his mother made him go to once in awhile on Sunday. He was in some kind of store, selling the weirdest things he'd ever seen. Some looked expensive, like that black polished skull on top of a nearby shelf. Other stuff, like a shelf filled with jars containing body parts seemed to be on sale, buy one get one free. Keith shuddered, wondering why his father had wanted them to end up here.
Keith stepped aside just in time for Jethro's huge frame to squeeze out of the fireplace. Keith bit back a laugh when he compared the large boy to a rotisserie, as he was covered from head to toe with soot. If the location they were in right now was a surprise to him, Jethro's mask of indifference hid it well. Keith decided not to ask - no sense giving Jethro the satisfaction of knowing something Keith didn't.
Finally their father stepped through, the dust fleeing from his cloak without so much as a movement on his part. Not even ash wanted to get on his bad side.
"Come along now," called his father, as he led the two boys between shelves filled with odd and eerie objects. His leather glove was clenched over his cane. He tapped it against the ground every few steps. Keith couldn't help but notice the head of the cane was shaped like a cobra, with two long fangs. Gilded onto the shaft of the cane, in fancy gold script, was the word Slytherin.
At the counter of this strange store, a toothless old witch with green skin and black clothing wheezed at Keith, making him take a step back.
"Ah. Francis." she cackled, in a voice so high-pitched it could shatter glass. "Your son Keith?"
Keith's father smirked, an expression mirroring the one he passed to his son. "This is Keith, Annis."
The hag squinted hard at Keith, as if she couldn't see him. Keith instinctively took another step back. "I'm sure he's a beauty. wish my sister gave me the seeing eye so I could make him out more clearly. want a lollypop?"
Keith shook his head very slowly. "No way."
Francis glanced down irritably at his son. "Don't be rude, Keith," he scolded.
"I mean, sure!" said Keith, smiling artificially. He resisted the urge to throw his elbow into Jethro's stomach as he snickered.
The hag removed a rather impressive candy jar and allowed Keith and Jethro to take their pick. Keith chose a multicolored lollypop while Jethro chose a jawbreaker the size of Keith's fist, though it fit rather snuggly into half of his brother's oversized, flabby mouth.
"What is on sale today, Annis?" asked his father, taking his eyes off his son.
Annis wheezed, giving Mr. Hillsfar her fearsome, toothless smile. "Well, Youth Potions are very popular right now. on sale for one hundred Deluvians apiece, but those are of little use to an Auror like yourself."
Mr. Hillsfar remained silent while the hag checked a lengthy parchment roll behind her desk.
"Oooh, interesting." she hissed, though it was probably supposed to sound like a coo of appreciation. "Yes. interesting."
"Have something for me?" asked Mr. Hillsfar innocently.
"Yes," she crowed, as she hobbled away from the counter and into the back room, parting the beads that hung through the doorway as she went. Her loud, shrill voice was heard, speaking in a strange language to whoever was behind the beads.
"She's a hag, ain't she?" asked Keith, who was hesitantly eying his lollypop but not licking it. Jethro's lower chin was already stained blue from his colored slobber.
"Yes, Keith," replied Francis, as if Keith's question had been concerning the weather, "A covey of three runs this shop. Just call them all Annis. they don't have names."
"Pop, I'm bored," grumbled Jethro, though it was hard to understand him with his cheek swollen to the size of a large softball.
"I'll be done momentarily," answered his father irritably, as three witches emerged from the backroom. They looked identical, with sickly green skin. The only differences were where their moles and warts were on their faces. Keith gasped and resisted the urge to hide behind his father.
The middle hag placed a chest onto the counter. The two in back passed around a glass eye; they each took turns looking through it, "oohing and aahing." Keith couldn't help but notice they were looking at him mostly. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat and stared at the chest expectantly.
With a tap of his snake cane, the box opened up for Mr. Hillsfar. From its wake, Keith's father pulled out a glove that looked as through it had been chewed through by a St. Bernard.
"Indeed." commented his father as he turned the glove over a few times, "this is quite the relic. How did you come by it?"
But Keith couldn't stop from laughing, pointing at it. "Pop. I could get two just like it at Walmart for you, brand new."
"Eee hee hee," cackled the middle hag, taking the glass eye from her sister and peering through the lens at Keith. "Pretty little boy. got a whole lotta spirit. You must see, though."
". not everything is as it seems," crowed another, taking the glass eye from her sister and leering at Keith imposingly.
"Yes," nodded Keith's father, as he turned the glove over a few times. "I thought all the Contingency Gloves were destroyed after the Goblin Civil War of 1880."
"That's what most believe," giggled the third hag, snatching the eye from her sister. To Keith, it was like they coordinated their viewings in five-second shifts. "Five hundred thousand Deluvians for most. but for you, Francis the Auror. only fifty."
Francis withdrew a check from his pocket and summoned a quill into his hand. After filling it out, he handed it to the second hag. "An excellent price, thank you, Annis. You can expect to keep a legal franchise due to your. generosity."
The hags began to fight over who got to see the insides of the bag first, but not before looking up. "May it serve you well."
They left the shop moments later; Keith was positively content to leave the strange Dark Arts shop behind.
"Pop," said Jethro, a big wad of slobber falling free from his half- opened mouth. "Whatcha get?"
Keith started sucking on the lollypop. It was indeed quite tasty, every three seconds switching from raspberry to orange to grape and back again.
"It's a Contingency Glove," answered his father aloofly. "Powerful artifact. it will make my job much easier."
Keith's eyes wandered as his father took time to explain the workings of the artifact. Had he been anywhere else, he'd have loved to listen, as such stuff fascinated him. But, nothing could fascinate him like Gartherid's Boulevard. The Boulevard itself was nothing short of a zoo, filled with wizards wearing all colors hustling this way and that. The road itself was divided into two sides, separated by a plush median strip filled with blooming flowers that danced on their own accord, each swaying their own way and changing color every ten seconds. Overhead, the evening sky was raw red, the setting sun going out in a blaze of crimson fury.
"Jethro, I trust you can handle yourself?" asked his father, with an arched, flaxen brow. Keith keenly noted the disgust on his face.
Jethro, to Keith's surprise, shook his head. "I'd really like to stay with y'all, if it's all the same."
Keith's keen senses picked up a laugh above the din of the passing crowd. He turned around slowly to see a group of six boys, all dressed in fiery, magenta robes. They must have been Jethro's age and were pointing at him and laughing. They were standing out in front of Jorna's Jumping Diner. One was so bold as to cry out:
"Hey Piggy! Come on over here! Haven't seen your fat, chunky rear all summer!"
Keith realized why Jethro didn't want to leave. But, brotherly loyalty didn't run very deep; Keith was already cackling as Jethro turned a shade of raw red.
"I'm not going to protect you, Jethro," stated his father in what could only be considered a cold tone. "Stand up for yourself, boy."
Jethro frowned, his voice beginning to sound squeamish. "Pop, please. don't leave me alone. those Order of Fire boys hate me."
"Hey jelly rolls, we told you to roll your fat butt on over here! We're gonna take you out for a big sundae. how can you resist adding more pounds to that ass of yours?" called another.
Keith, by now, was barely keeping his feet while the other boys cackled savagely and slapped each other five.
"They don't hate you," answered his father, staring down at his large son. "They have no respect for you because you have no respect for yourself. Now, Keith and I have business to attend to, and he's never been here before. Handle yourself."
"But, pop!" complained Jethro as Mr. Hillsfar took Keith by the arm and began to lead him away.
"No buts." rebuked his father, not even turning back to see him.
The sound of his brother's whimpers delighted Keith to his very core. After all, it was worth it, wasn't it? Jethro loved to finish his chores earlier and watch while Keith labored for hours doing a task Jethro himself could do in a few seconds with magic. But, he never helped. why would he? He was too lazy.
They left a whimpering Jethro behind. "Keith," spoke out his father, his voice halting his second son in his path. "Don't become like Jethro."
"Pop?" questioned Keith, looking up to his old man.
"A disgrace to our family name," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Us Hillsfars have a lengthy family tradition for perfection: pureblooded and apt at everything we do. Your blood is cleaner than Jethro's. I knew it since the day you were born."
He had never heard his father talk like this. It was all right and good to slam Jethro, but what was he trying to say here?
"But pop. mother is."
". a Muggle, yes, I know," interrupted his father as they walked down the road. "One day when you are older, you will see that love is blind. I love your mother dearly, but take great sorrow in spoiling your pureblood in the process."
Keith listened silently. His mind raced for something intelligent to say. Nothing came up, however.
"You are my greatest hope, Keith," said his father plainly, as they stopped. They were standing in front of a store worn from age. It read: "Pristine Books for the Bookish, since 1595." The building looked ancient, built of rotting wood and held up by some power other than architecture. "Do not speak of it to Jethro, for I still love him and wish not to see him crushed - but at the rate he's going, he won't amount to anything and I have neither the time nor the patience to hold his hand."
Keith swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt small and completely overwhelmed despite the compliment (if you could even call it that) his father had bestowed upon him. No, as much as Keith liked to see his brother miserable, this was one conversation he'd never tap to get the upper hand on Jethro. For one, he didn't need it, and for two it was too savage, even for him.
His father wore a pained expression upon his pale face; his gray eyes were filled with lament, a cold anger that had been burning for thirteen years. It scared Keith, for he knew the mettle of his father's resolve. He withdrew the glove he had just purchased and held it down to Keith. Keith went over it, his own hazel eyes wide with astonishment.
"Pop, ya don't mean."
"I bought it for you, Keith," he said shortly. He had to bend at his waist to look Keith in the eyes, but he did it anyway. "The hags spent the better part of nine months searching for it and have tailored it specifically to you."
Keith stared at the ratty old glove with surprise. "How?"
"I cannot say - wear it now."
Not questioning his father, Keith took hold of the glove. At once a remarkable change came over it. It turned from a ratty piece of refuge into a well-repaired glove the color of night. He slipped it over his left hand and it fit tightly. It prickled a little bit, as if something inside were attaching itself to his skin like Velcro. Keith panicked a small bit and tried to pull the glove back off. It didn't budge.
"It has bound itself to your hand until you no longer need it," said Mr. Hillsfar calmly. "Come now." He put his arm around Keith and led him into the bookstore.
After purchasing his books, an event that didn't take all too long (they practically waved his father through the line and served him in seconds) they were again on the road. Keith had overcome the awkwardness of before, well, maybe not overcome, but he had pushed it to the back of his mind, knowing his father would explain when he was ready.
"Lemme see." he unfolded his ingredients list. "I need. um. a cauldron, potions supplies. I already got a wand."
". no you don't," filled in his father. "You have a stick that is just about as magical as a Muggle washing machine."
"Really?" questioned Keith, looking a bit daunted.
"You will find that magic won't be so difficult once you have a decent wand," continued his father. They stopped in front of another store. Judging by the look of it, it had been erected very recently, with polished marble columns supporting the two-story exterior. A brand new sign flickered with magical illumination. Roxie's Magical Wands 2000.
"Such a hovel," sighed his father, tapping his cane on the ground twice. He always did that whenever he was trying to make a point. "We are loosing our traditional roots." He glanced down to Keith. "Newer is not always better, Keith. The best wands are made in England by Wizarding Families who have over two-thousand years of experience in the business." Francis cackled once, bitterly and mirthlessly. "The best Quidditch brooms were made back a thousand years ago. They make the Firebolt X2 look like the Nimbus 100."
Keith was again a bit baffled by all of the magical talk, but he got the basic gist of what was being said: judge a book by its cover if it wasn't made hundreds of years ago. It was sound advice, he supposed.
He had been to England only once before. Seven years ago, one of his cousins had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Keith was only four at the time and only remembered one thing about the trip. Keith had thought his father's three-story colonial was big, but the manor he had visited was nearly fifty times bigger. The memory he had of the place was getting lost within. It seemed everywhere he turned, he was in the same, green corridor all over again. After what seemed like days, he had slumped against the wall, crying. Moments later, his cousin had found him and, after making a few snappish comments he didn't understand at that time, ("Stupid Mudblood" was said a few times) guided him back to the family. It wasn't what he said that had made Keith so afraid of him, it was how he said it. He couldn't have been older than seventeen or eighteen, but the power and hatred his cousin had put on his voice had served as food for his nightmares, even to this day.
He didn't ever want to go back to that place; he never wanted to see his cousin again.
A bell sounded as Mr. Hillsfar led the way into the wand shop. It was all but empty, and a scraggly looking man as old as his father with long, greasy hair and a five o'clock shadow greeted them. It looked as though he shaved with a vibrating razor, as splotchy hair grew in random patches all along his face.
"Welcome to Roxie's, betcha lookin' fer a wand fer yer little son!" exclaimed the man, skipping over. He was about as tall as Keith and looked him straight in the eyes. He pinched each of his cheeks with his dirty fingers, causing Keith to grunt and take a disgusted step back. "Aw, he's a cutey. high spirited, I gather. Got just the thing for him."
Mr. Hillsfar glowered at the man. "If you ever touch my son again, I will skin you alive and hang you from the cheap chandelier above my head."
"Very high-spirited," clucked the man as he ran down an isle, fumbling through shoeboxes. If he was intimidated at all by his father's threat, he sure didn't show it. "Runs in the family, I see."
The man returned a few minutes later with five different types of wands. To Keith's surprise, they were hardly the wooden wands he thought they would be. In fact, they looked a lot like crystals, ranging from as small as seven inches to over a foot long.
"You don't honestly expect my son to use a crystal wand?" snorted Francis contemptuously, as if the man had suggested hanging a skunk around Keith's neck and sending him to a party. "Put that rubbish back and bring out your wooden stock."
"Wooden wands be a thing of the past, good sir," exclaimed the man, "'course, we'll paint over the crystal to give it a more traditional look, if you so choose."
Keith took hold of a wand from the dirty man's hands. It was a ruby gem shaft a foot long. It shimmered, bending rays of pinkish color all over the store.
"There's a good boy, give it a flick!"
Keith waved the wand. He gasped as a jet of fire shot out from the tip, striking the wand merchant full in the face. Keith gasped, dropping the wand from his hand in shock. The man yelped and staggered back, his face colored indigo. On the plus side, however, his five o'clock shadow had been removed completely, saving him from shaving.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean ta." exclaimed Keith, moving over to the man. The man, however, was laughing.
"Woo wee! Yer a pistol, son. hit ya right on the first try. I'm getting good at this!"
Even Mr. Hillsfar had nothing negative to say. "Indeed -- seems the wand has chosen you."
Keith bent over and picked up the wand, turning it over again. The crystalline ruby was about a foot long and barely an inch wide. It was elegant and, he had to admit, looked more impressive than Jethro's.
"Very well," sighed his father with defeat. "I'll take the rubbish. but paint it over brown. I don't wish my son to be seen with such a -- thing."
"S'ok, Pop," said Keith, turning the wand over a few times. "I think it's pretty neat!"
Again, his father sighed with defeat. "Newer doesn't mean better." he grumbled.
Keith nodded, taking his father's lesson to heart. Without so much as a mumble of protest, he handed over his wand to the excited man. The man waved his own wand, and within a minute, the crystalline wand sported a polished wooden finishing. "Even feels like wood, too - should resemble good old fashion Yew on close inspection."
Keith took back the wand and gave it a final look over. The red crystal was now dark brown, resembling his wand back home in all respects.
"It'll do," muttered his father. He paid the man and led Keith out of the store. Keith swished the wand a few times, like he was testing the balance of a sword. "What's next on your list?"
Keith secured his new wand to his belt and unraveled the wrinkled parchment from a fold in his brown cloak. "Um. school robes n'. um. a pet. and potions ingredients and cauldron."
Francis nodded. "Very well, Keith. Why don't you go get measured for your robes? I'll finish the rest of your shopping."
"Right, pop," agreed Keith, "just. not a snake."
"I think I have the perfect thing in mind," said his father. He walked away, leaving Keith in the middle of the road.
Keith shrugged and, having no better ideas, continued walking up the street. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer size and commotion of the boulevard. However, he remembered his father's words about Jethro and kept his chin high.
After browsing the stores, walking straight for about five blocks, he was hopelessly confused. Somehow, he had walked in a circle and was now back in front of the wand store again. He sighed dejectedly and crossed his arms. Having no better ideas, he approached a middle-aged witch. Her hair was hidden beneath the folds of a very large hat, giving her an extra two feet of height. She was leading three identical triplets that appeared to be Keith's age, each with mousy gray hair and bright expressions of their faces.
" 'cuse me, ma'am," said Keith with a hesitant tone. The witch turned him kindly and gave him a warming smile.
"Yes, dear?"
Keith rubbed the back of his head coyly, embarrassed that he had to bother her. "I can't find the robe store. can ya help me?"
The woman nodded with understanding. "First time on the boulevard, love?"
Keith nodded twice, and couldn't help but notice her triplets were chuckling amongst themselves. He felt like he was shrinking with every passing second. "Yes ma'am."
"Oh, poor dear," she said with a weary tone. "Where's your family?"
"Pop's gittin' my pet," replied Keith, glancing nervously toward the brothers who were now laughing outright, pointing at him. He dug his heels into the ground and stopped himself from walking away. "I reckon I just missed it."
The older witch tutted a few times, as if scolding someone who wasn't there. "Going around in circles then?"
"Yes ma'am," said Keith. "I don't get how. been walkin' straight this whole time."
"It's a charm, dear," answered the witch, cheerily, as if anyone could have made that mistake. "If you are under twelve and lost, the old road will return you to where you started. that way, you're easy for your folks to find."
Keith felt a wave of relief wash over his body. It was nice to know that he wasn't stupid.
"Come along with my boys, Michael, Kale and Morgan," invited the witch with a cordial wave. "I was just on my way to get them their robes too. Startin' in Castagloria as a 6th grader, aren't ya?"
Keith continued to nod, not having anything remarkably creative to say. He didn't like the idea of shopping with those three boys, who were laughing themselves hoarse at the sight of him. They made him feel like an object of ridicule. Nonetheless, Keith walked next to one of them. whether it was Kale, Morgan or Michael, he couldn't tell.
"Hey!" exclaimed the boy maybe Morgan. "Can you. say something?"
Keith cocked his head with confusion. He looked at him with doubting, olive-green eyes. "Somethin'," he replied, not understanding. Again, the boys broke out laughing, as if he had said the funniest joke. "What's so funny?" questioned Keith, his ears blazing over scarlet.
The boy in the middle, maybe Kale, looked over at Keith. "Why do you talk so weird?"
Keith blinked with confusion, considering the boy's strange, lighter accent. "Yer the one talkin' funny."
"Nuh-uh," answered the boy furthest from him, maybe Michael. Nonetheless, the joke seemed to have run its course. No longer were the boys laughing at him. "What's your name?"
"Keith," he answered.
"I'm Morgan Grogan," maybe Michael said, proving Keith's guess wrong.
"I'm Kale Grogan," maybe Kale answered, making him one for two.
"I'm Michael Grogan," maybe Morgan said, tipping the scale toward being wrong.
Keith smiled; now it was his turn to laugh. He remembered the identical hags he had just visited with his father and how they all went by the same name. "Does it matter what yer names are? Can I just call all y'all Kale?"
Kale beamed with pride while the other two made a face.
"I mean really, how do y'all tell each other apart?" asked Keith, trying to hold back a second laugh.
"We just know."
"We just know."
"We just know."
That simultaneous explanation would have to do, for they had stopped in front of a shop. A quick look around really confused Keith. Now, the setting sun was on the opposite side of the road. Somehow, they had crossed over the flower-covered median strip without even realizing it. Keith shook his head, unable to understand, but didn't question it.
"Well, here we are," said Mrs. Grogan. She then shot prying looks back at her boys. "Now, who drew the short straw?"
Kale grumbled and dug his toe into the ground while his brothers on each side pointed to him.
"Don't worry, Michael," said Mrs. Grogan, "I'll get you your favorite ice cream when you get out." She looked back to Keith. "Would you like an ice cream cone, too, after you get your robe?"
"It's Kale."
"Sorry, sweetie," she apologized.
Keith never liked to impose, but was hardly going to turn down ice cream when it was offered freely. "Sure!" he exclaimed, delighted. "Cookies n' Cream would be great."
She grinned ear to ear, as if getting Keith his favorite ice cream would make her week. "Kale, you and Keith go get your school robes, then. Don't forget to have them make two more for your brothers."
"Yeah, I got it," snapped Kale moodily.
With that, Michael, Morgan and Mrs. Grogan left the two boys standing in the road.
Keith glanced up at the store, for the first time reading the subtle, somewhat faded sign. "Madam Maulkin's English Robes." Well, at least his father would definitely approve of this place, he thought. In the windows, he saw robes floating about a large display case, dancing with each other and strutting their stuff, price tags floating behind them.
"This takes forever," groaned Kale, turning to Keith. "Lauren had to do this for her three sisters."
Keith scratched his dirty blonde hair awkwardly. "Why don't y'all get yer own robes?"
"Well, Lauren and her sisters are all the same size, and all my brothers are the same size as me," explained Kale, as they entered the store.
A parrot, which was perched above the door called out after they entered. "Arrrrck, two little munchkins need clothing, Arrrck!"
Keith flinched with irritation, but Kale didn't even bat an eye. A moment later, Keith resumed their conversation. "Wait, yer sisters are all the same size too? How many sisters ya got?"
"Four," the mousy haired boy replied offhandedly. "They're quadruplets. They're goin' into tenth grade."
"Merlin H. Magic!" exclaimed Keith, as they passed a few robes and cloaks that beckoned to them, as if pleading to be bought. "How do y'all keep track of each other?"
Kale chuckled, a bright smile crossing his face. "Well, they got lucky. they were each sorted into different orders. easy to tell 'em apart in their school robes. They are all different colors."
"Orders?" asked Keith, his curiosity being perked.
Kale didn't have a chance to answer them before an elevated woman, nearly seven feet tall, approached them. She craned her overly long neck, like a snake of some kind, peering at each of the boys without moving her eyes. Behind her, two girls were standing on different stools and were being worked by an animated spool of thread and about four different needles. They pointed and giggled at Keith and Kale. One was being tailored brown and gold robes, while another deep, ocean blue with teal lacing.
"Good evening boys," she said kindly, in a British accent "School robes?"
Kale and Keith both nodded. "Yeah," answered Kale, with a bored tone, "I'll need three."
The woman bent her neck the other way, surveying both sides of Kale without so much as moving her body. "Ah, a Grogan?"
"Uh-huh," answered Kale coyly.
"Amazing you can tell each other apart," chuckled the lanky witch. "Still remember your mother and her four aunts. They had all insisted on getting their own measurements; you see, they were convinced their other sisters were fatter." Her eyes became glassy for a moment, while Kale chuckled. "Ah, memories." The look of nostalgia faded just as quickly. "So, you dears have Orders yet?"
Kale shook his head, while Keith shrugged with confusion. "No, miss. we've not yet been sorted," answered Kale.
"Righty then," she said happily. "Stand on one of those." She nodded to three stools over in the corner. "I'll be with you shortly."
Kale and Keith complied, each picking one of the three stools. Kale glanced to Keith as he stood up, "You a Muggleborn?"
Keith shook his head, glancing down at the back of his hands, as if looking for something on his fingernails. "Half and half, though I don't know much about Castagloria. Pop went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in England."
"I see," remarked Kale, "well, you get sorted into Orders based on what you're like. its all named after the elements: Earth, Fire, Air and Water."
"My brother is -- Air," said Keith, now understanding. "Always wondered what that meant."
A tape measure shot over to Kale and began to measure every angle and every curve of his body. The lanky witch seemed to be speaking with another customer.
"You never asked your brother what it meant?" questioned Kale, seeming most perplexed.
Keith considered that for a moment. He honestly couldn't remember ever asking his brother what The Order of Air meant, or what Castagloria was like. In truth, he didn't talk to his brother about anything outside of how lazy he was, and an occasional insult. Yep, that was just about all he ever wanted to talk to Piggy boy about. Lazy moron.
"Nope, never," said Keith.
"Well, Air's pretty much the Order that you get put in if you have no real talent at anything. they're mostly pretty slow and stupid. That sorta thing."
Keith cackled at that, the left half of his mouth raised in a triumphant smirk. "Fits Jethro like a lasso."
"I'm goin' for Earth," professed Kale with pride, "they are really cool. brave, unyielding. strong. Lauren is in Earth."
Keith considered his Uncle Martin's words, about how he'd be fit for the Order of Water. It made sense, he supposed. He loved swimming more than anything.
"I'm probably going to be Water," considered Keith, though he lost his train of thought for a few seconds. The tape measure flew on over to him and began to take all of his measurements. fingers, nose length, ear diameter -- "Um. oh yeah, my uncle was in Water. guess he went to Castagloria too. I love swimming and such."
"Cool," replied Keith with a respectful nod. "Water's ok too. water's just all about change, I think. Kathleen is in Water, she's got like multiple personalities. she's weird."
The new customer that the lanky seamstress had been talking came over and stood on the third stool, a few feet from Keith and Kale. There was no question that this boy was Muggleborn. He wore a soft leather jacket and had enough moose in his hair to deflect bullets. Sunglasses covered his eyes and he was bobbing his head to the beat of music, which Keith could hear from the boy's headphones. It was some form of rap, with a loud, simple beat. Keith flinched; he hated rap.
Kale groaned. "That's a Fire waiting to happen." He didn't bother to keep his voice down, for he knew that music boy wouldn't overhear him. "They are hot-headed and hate everyone. They suck."
Keith remembered his father telling him about his house at Hogwarts, and how everyone not sorted into it hated it. He couldn't remember the name off the top of his head, but everyone had built up a prejudice against it, for one reason or another.
Keith waved at the boy, trying to get his attention. The boy nearly fell off his stool with surprise, once he noticed Keith waving him down. Kale, however, groaned. "Ugh," he muttered, "he was perfectly content to ignore us."
With trembling hands, the boy removed his headphones. "Um. hey, sorry if you were trying to get my attention before. I like to listen to music really loud. hey, my name is David, what's yours?" He spoke in a high- pitched voice, his words coming out of his mouth a mile a minute. His accent definitely placed him as a New York resident.
Keith blinked with confusion. "Um. Keith, howdy. Uh. "
Kale, meanwhile, scoffed with disbelief. "Whoa, you actually don't have an attitude problem?"
"Pardon?" asked the dark-haired boy, removing his sunglasses and revealing very bright blue eyes.
Kale snorted as the long-necked witch came over to work on him. "Well, anyone dressed like you is obviously trying to say that they are the coolest person in the world."
The boy named David looked hurt, swallowing a nervous lump. "What. what do you mean?" he stammered.
"Aren't you hot in that?" asked Kale, staring at David's baggy jeans that could fit someone three times as wide, and his leather jacket. Indeed, the boy was sweating something awful. Keith remained silent, his mind still not made up about the boy.
"Well yeah, but this is how I dress," he answered coyly. "My brother wears this stuff all the time."
Kale looked over while the seamstress worked on his robe, the needles starting at his feet and stitching their way up. "You have got to be kidding me. an actual wizard dresses like that?"
David bit his lip coyly. "No. he's not a wizard."
"Oh geez," snorted Kale, shaking his head. "A pure one-hundred present Muggleborn. You got a gun to go with that outfit," Kale leered at David derisively and added: "Gangsta?"
Keith, however, wasn't so quick to judge. He decided to hold back any comments supporting Kale.
"No." murmured David weakly, his frown turning into a pout. "I don't like guns."
"Yeah right, I hear all Muggles carry them and shoot each other to prove whose cooler," scoffed Kale with contempt. "Especially in New York."
"I'm live in New Jersey," replied David softly.
Keith wasn't about to correct Kale; he had to agree, David looked like such a flake. However, if it was a choice between leather Jacket David or fat, lazy Jethro, it was clear whose image won out.
"Are your parents here?" asked Keith, trying to turn the conversation away from insults.
David shook his head. "No. my aunt and my brother are outside waiting."
"Why your aunt?" asked Kale. Madam Malkeen, or whoever she was, moved on over to Keith and began to work on him. "She a witch?"
"No." he replied, at length.
Keith was beginning to catch on, suspecting that there was a dark reason why his parents weren't here. However, Kale just didn't seem to get it. "What, did you use up all their grease on your hair and force them to go out and buy you more?"
Keith glanced distastefully at Kale, though the triplet didn't seem to look very scornful. He didn't have that malicious glint that he had seen in his cousin's eyes, seven years ago. Instead, it was some other emotion. fear maybe? Keith wondered why he was afraid of this other boy.
David lost any semblance of control he had left and stuck up his middle finger at Kale. "My parents are dead!"
Every head in the store looked at David. Kale, at once, lost his fear and his arrogant expression, frowning deeply. Keith sighed. He had had a feeling that was what it was about and he had wished he had said something to Kale beforehand.
"Sorry," said Kale, flushing red with humiliation and modesty. ". I didn't know."
David's expression also went mild as he lowered his hand. "It's ok."
Keith sighed as an eerie silence fell over the store. The seven-foot tall witch, having heard the whole 'Muggleborn/Pureblood' debate many times had, by now, grown cold to it. She continued working as if nothing had happened. "Keep still there, lads," she coaxed, as she moved over to David and began work. "It'll take a half-hour or so."
David and Kale started over, to Keith's relief. Kale was a pureblood, one of ten children. His three other siblings were younger, and no surprise, were also triplets, though they were fraternal and not identical (and Keith had thought his own family was big). He lived in Connecticut, in what Keith could only picture as five or six birdhouses, linked by rope bridges. Man, did pureblooded families find weird places to live.
Keith already could tell he liked David. He was more modest than Kale and seemed to have a much more interesting past, if not a bit tragic. His parents had died in a car accident when he was nine, and he had moved to New Jersey to live with his twenty-one year old aunt. They must have been poor as poor could be, yet David still managed really nice clothing, if not a bit standoffish of a style. Yet, David didn't seem to show it; he was actually one of the mildest people Keith had ever met. This whole magic thing was still very new to David, and even Keith's talk about his farm and his Uncle Martin had him positively transfixed.
Kale, however, wasn't too impressed. "Yeah, my great-grandfather and great-grandmother's ghosts haunt our attic," explained Kale, "my great- grandfather always begs me to have mom hire an exorcist."
"So he can finally move on?" questioned David, fascinated with the whole idea of ghosts.
Kale shook his head, chuckling giddily. "No, so my great-grandmother can. she's been driving him crazy for two-hundred years."
By the time their black, unadorned school robes were done, it seemed like he, Kale and David had been friends for so much longer than just thirty minutes. They left the store, their robes in a bag. Kale's bag was about three times bigger than David's and Keith's.
Mr. Hillsfar was waiting for Keith by the door. He was conversing plainly with Mrs. Grogan, and constantly shooting glares at a surprisingly young woman, dressed in a very skimpy black skirt and a top that revealed a lot of skin. Michael and Morgan were staring with rapt attention at her, nudging each other. By her side, a boy that didn't look all that younger than her was waiting for David. He looked similar to him, with slick black hair, though he had a dry, emotionless face, a glaring contrast to David's bright expression.
"Pop," exclaimed Keith exuberantly, "this is Kale, and this is David. they are going into sixth grade too."
Mr. Hillsfar nodded politely to Kale, but when his eyes fell on David and ran up and down his attire, his jaw dropped. All he had to do was look at David's jacket, his hair, and his headphones. "Merlin H. Magic. they actually let you into this place? Mudblood isn't even the proper word for you. Mudbody is more like it."
"POP!" exclaimed Keith, his eyes widening with total shock while David took a step back, his eyes watering at the comment.
"Excuse me?" demanded David's aunt, moving quickly over to Mr. Hillsfar, staring at him with unbridled rage. She pushed David behind her protectively. "Oh, no you didn't speak to my nephew like that, Blondy! Want me to whoop your ass?"
Keith bit his lip helplessly, as his father raised his snake headed cane. "I'll speak however I want to your kind, you insolent little brat!"
Mrs. Gorgan was quick to grab Keith and Kale and pull them back, muttering something about pureblooded stupidity. Keith hardly fought; he was too busy staring at his father with disbelief.
He saw it happen in slow motion, as if it was happening on a television set. David's brother shoved Mr. Hillsfar hard on the shoulder, pushing him back and yelling obscenities at him. With unbridled fury, his father's wand shot from his sleeve and into the palm of his ready hand, faster than the eye could blink. Before Keith knew it, the area exploded in green light as a stream of curses shot forth from his father's mouth.
When he was done, both David's aunt and his brother were on the ground, nearly unconscious, having been the victim of at least five curses apiece. Their skin had sprouted vines, their hair had fallen completely out, crickets were leaping out of their clothing, and a purple cord bound each of their legs together. Keith gasped again, his eyes drawn to the expression of cold fury on his father's face. He had seen that look once before; it was the same look of contempt his cousin had held him with, seven years before.
"Rendemaden!" hissed Keith's father, as crimson energy shot forth from the tip of his wand, blanketing David's family with blazing heat, scorching them and making them cry out with agony. It ended a few seconds later; they both blacked out from the pain.
Keith wondered when someone was going to do something. anything. No one was running to get help. Everyone who had been walking down the street had just stopped and was staring, no one moving to stop this. Some were looking contemptuous and disgusted, while others were laughing, and cheering Mr. Hillsfar on.
"That ought to teach you. filthy Muggles." he said, running his hand slyly through his blonde hair.
"Auntie Kimmie! Brian!" cried David. He had backed off, shivering with terror, his wide blue eyes filled with fear.
Mr. Hillsfar turned on David, his cruel expression filled with unsated hostility. He leveled his wand at the terrified boy, who urinated the front of his pants. "Let this be a lesson to you, Mudblood. never speak to my son again!"
Keith had had enough. He pulled free of Mrs. Grogan and rushed between his father and David. He put himself in the path of his father's wand. "POP! What's wrong with you!"
His father stared at his boy, his expression softening only by the most unperceivable amount. Yet his voice remained as chill as ice. "Step aside, Keith."
Keith balled his fists at his side, not that he was going to hit his father, but because it was something he could do to fidget with terror, but still look imposing. "Mom's a Muggle!" shouted Keith, truly at a loss of what to say.
Now, no one was laughing and cheering. An amazing hush had fallen over the gathered wizards; some were whispering to each other, others were staring with wide-eyed expressions, as if to ask how a wizard could be so hypocritical. In the crowd, Keith spotted Jethro, who must have been attracted by the commotion. Keith noticed he was sporting a black eye and the front of his shirt was ripped.
Mr. Hillsfar flipped his wand back under his sleeve with no small amount of practice. His cold fury seemed to check itself with the sobering realization of Keith's words. "Jethro. Keith. we are going." he said, firmly but not angrily.
All Keith could do was look apologetically to David, who had gone white with horror and slumped to his knees. He glanced back to Mrs. Grogan, Kale and his brothers. they too, were ashen with disbelief.
Not a single person opposed Mr. Hillsfar as he pushed through the crowd. Jethro fell into step behind him, but Keith loitered. He couldn't help it. he had too.
He rushed over to David's side, offering him his hand. "I'm so sorry." was all he could say. "I'm so. so. sorry." David, however, stared at Keith's hand like it was the incarnation of the devil.
"Go away." David mumbled, slapping Keith's hand away. "Just go away."
"KEITH!" called his father impatiently.
Keith frowned, his lip trembling. He turned away, leaving David humiliated and his family hexed to unconsciousness as he ran after his father. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole somewhere and cry.
