Magical Me
By Publicola
Published: 7-21-12
Evening and Errands
I returned to my flat expecting a quiet and restful evening.
Alas, it was not to be.
I already knew from the book signing that Lockhart was an insanely popular celebrity in the wizarding world. But I had forgotten his obsession with reading and responding to fan mail, and I found that it had accumulated to impressive size, even after two days.
After being fed by a rather insistent Glitzy, I moved to my writing desk to sort through the post. In the first years of my celebrity, I had purchased a charmed mail box to collect my mail, so I would not be swarmed by owls at all hours of the day. Only Ozymandias was exempt. Immensely useful, but the charms work was a bloody nightmare.
Most of my post was fan mail, and thus utterly unextraordinary. Though why Gladys Gudgeon felt the need to write me both before and after my appearance at Flourish & Botts, I would never understand.
Not all of my mail was uninteresting.
Horace Slughorn, true to form, had parleyed my request for his memories into an invitation to join him for a dinner party the following week. Ah, the Slug Club. I should have known I would not get away so easily. I doubt Slughorn expected the unmotivated Quidditch-mad Lockhart would ever add up to anything. His sudden ascent to celebrity must have come as quite a shock, and he must have sought an opportunity to draw him in ever since.
I hastened to write out a grateful acceptance of his invitation. Joining the Slug Club could easily work to my advantage. With luck I might gain not only his memories, but a network of invaluable allies as well. After all, Slughorn was a known commodity.
On that note, I called Glitzy to add crystallized pineapple to my shopping list.
McGonagall's letter was more circumspect. She politely congratulated me on my appointment, along with her regrets: she did not feel entirely comfortable offering her private memories for the perusal of a virtual stranger. It was an entirely reasonable point, especially considering who I was. Minerva had been most unimpressed by Lockhart as a student, and my showboating since that time had done nothing to improve her opinion. She did, however, send an invitation for a discussion of teaching styles over tea.
Again, I wrote out a quick acceptance, suggesting that we meet the day before Slughorn's dinner party. I doubted whether she'd ever be an ally, but who knew but that a collegial relationship might be in the cards?
Flitwick's response was perhaps the most encouraging. He seemed genuinely excited by my proposal, having never heard of such an idea before, and asked if he might be present to observe my progress. He would naturally send along any memories if that were not possible.
I hastened to accept. Flitwick had not been the most approachable Head of House, and in seven years at Hogwarts I had hardly ever interacted with him outside of class. However, he was perhaps the world's leading Charms Master, and I had learned a great deal from him when I was anonymously researching Memory Charms. He had been a delightful correspondent, and his enthusiasm had evidently carried over. I was more eager for this meeting than the other two put together.
Before it grew too late I decided to compose a few letters of my own.
The first was addressed jointly to Mrs. Abbott and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley, the two parents I had met at Flourish & Botts. I pointed out that relatively few parents had the opportunity to interact with their children or teachers during the term. I suggested that if they were to organize meetings for the mothers of Hogwarts students, I would be willing to drop by and perhaps bring along other teachers, and offer what updates I could.
I must confess, I considered this one of my more brilliant schemes. Hufflepuff is the house of loyalty and hard work – who better to organize the first-ever Hogwarts PTA?
And consider the benefits to myself!
First, representing myself as a champion of Hogwarts mothers would preserve and extend my popularity among working mothers. I could slowly incorporate them into my network of allies, if given half a chance. Second, such a group would go a long way in addressing and publicizing the atrocious lack of safety from the original timeline. Third, I could use such meetings to champion education reform, which would subtly align me against Dumbledore. That would, in turn, improve my popularity with Fudge and by extension Malfoy.
No, I hadn't forgotten the damned Blood Purists. However much my attention was fixed for the moment on Dumbledore, I knew Voldemort was waiting just around the corner. But I was not about to show my cards this early in the game, not against someone as powerful as Malfoy.
My objection to Dumbledore wasn't that he was one of those individuals out to destroy society. My objection was that he didn't do anything about those who were. It was a celebrated Muggle who said "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing," but I can't of a more apt description of the British Wizarding World (or epigram for the Harry Potter series) than that quote.
Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard in Britain, if not Europe as a whole. He practically owned Hogwarts, yet did nothing to prevent it from being a breeding ground of Death Eaters. He presided over the Wizengamot, but turned a blind eye to Ministerial corruption. He knew that Voldemort will rise again, and his strategy was to rely on a child.
If Dumbledore wouldn't act, it was time for someone who would.
My plan was to target and gradually marginalize Dumbledore while building up my own influence and network of allies. I would remain publicly neutral until I could acquire a comparable position of power. Even now, I probably had the popularity for public office, but that did not extend to my allies. So I would wait I could bring along key supporters in my ascent, probably after the year was out. I certainly had no intention of hoarding positions of leadership as Dumbledore had done.
I wasn't yet sure how to deal with Dumbledore's base of support among the Old Guard, but I certainly planned to subvert his leadership of the Light. Only then would I be in place to openly oppose Malfoy and his band of petty crooks and terrorists.
Speaking of Malfoy...
I can't believe I'd forgotten. With all my focus on Harry's abuse, I hadn't considered the other reason for sharing that memory. I hadn't even checked the memory to ensure the transfer took place.
I quickly called Glitzy for the pensieve, then dove in without further ado. This time my attention was fixed on Malfoy's movements. Sure enough, after Arthur knocked him into the bookshelf, Malfoy slipped a thin black book from his robes and placed it inside the used Transfiguration book he held.
Armed with this certainty, I left the pensieve and took out a new piece of parchment.
Madame Bones
I am greatly obliged for your time this evening. However, I fear I must try your patience a second time.
My attention wandered for a moment. Wait, did I want to do this? If I told her, she would immediately move to confiscate the diary, and I was not about to trust the Ministry with Voldemort's horcruxes.
On the other hand, this was Amelia. Nothing would prevent me from requiring an ungodly number of secrecy oaths, but I was beginning to suspect she could be trusted.
But before I could tell others about the horcruxes, I needed a plausible excuse to know of them. I wasn't about to invent stories of a side-gig as a part-time necromancer, much less invoke a transdimensional personality shift (already accessorized with fabulous looks and future knowledge!) No, the easiest – and perhaps the only – way was with the diary in hand.
On the other hand, I move on the diary, and there goes my future knowledge for the year.
But what good is future knowledge if I don't do anything with it?
On the other hand, I really wanted to get Dumbledore in hot water this year.
But then, did I really want to let a 1000-year old basilisk loose in the same castle I'd be staying at for the entire year?
What settled it for me was the realization that I just wasn't willing to put Ginny Weasley in danger for anything less than overwhelming necessity. Such nebulous reasons as future knowledge or political advantage was dangerously close to the 'greater good' rubbish I'd learned to associate with Dumbledore.
Heaven help me if I start acting like him.
After a further moment's consideration, I set aside the letter to Ms. Bones and took out two fresh pieces of parchment.
Mr. Weasley,
It was a pleasure meeting you, your wife and family yesterday at Flourish & Botts. I was wondering if I might impinge on your time today to speak with you. I will be meeting Dirk Cresswell this morning; may I drop by your office around noon?
Much obliged,
Gilderoy Lockhart
The next letter I addressed to his wife. I was a bit more florid in my compliments, and begged leave to call on her family later that afternoon.
Sure, I was exploiting my status as a celebrity. But I needed an in, and at least I'd be meeting with Mr. Weasley so it wouldn't be misconstrued.
Lastly, before turning in for the night I wrote a form letter response for my fans. Why Lockhart hadn't done so… well, he either loved the attention or was too stupid to think of the obvious solution. Probably both.
The form letter would briefly convey the news of my new post at Hogwarts and my thanks for their support. The bulk, however, were my regrets that I would not be answering as many letters as before, as I wished to devote more of my time preparing for the term ahead. I encouraged them to keep writing, as it was always refreshing to hear from my fans, but that I could not guarantee that I would have time for personalized responses.
I wasn't particularly looking forward to receiving more fan mail, but I figured it'd be a good way to get news from the outside. Plus it wouldn't be so smart to cut off all ties to my fan base, when retaining their support would help propel me into power. Even if the ties are illusory, every little thing counts.
In researching for my book on household charms (most of my fans were housewives, and it had been a popular request) I had come across a spell replicating the effects of a photocopy machine. I hadn't included it, as few of my readers would need such a specialized charm, but I remembered it and put it to good use here.
And so, with periodic murmurs of Lorem Ipsum and judicious use of dicta-quills, my letters were copied, addressed, and ready for sending.
I changed into silk nightclothes and tucked myself in. "Tempus." It was 9:43pm.
My first stop the next day was in the Alley, to drop off my mail at the Diagon Dispatch. Despite the small storefront, it boasted one of the widest profit margins in the Wizarding World. The Dispatch was a high-volume owlery – a mass mailing service, in other words. Their major clients were the Ministry and the Daily Prophet, but most high-profile wizards had accounts with them. I had given my response to Flitwick to Ozymandias with orders to wait for a response and return to the flat, and I held back the letters for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but the rest I left with the clerk.
My next stop was Gringotts to exchange my money into Muggle currency.
Good grief! It was bad enough having to deal with knuts, sickles, and galleons, but now I had the added headache of pence, shillings, and pounds. For heaven's sake, I was American! I'm used to working in increments of 10 and 100. Admittedly, every other unit of measure we use may be messed up in the head. But at least our money made sense!
Anyway, my galleons exchanged for a handful of bills and coins, I passed through the Leaky Cauldron and entered Muggle London, calling for a cab to take me to Vauxhall Road. It only took about 10 minutes, though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Then I saw it.
It was an old shop, clearly more than a little run down, but the name on the sign was clear and legible: Winstanley's Bookstore and Stationers. This was the store that sold Riddle his diary, and it was here I hoped to buy a duplicate. If push came to shove, I could always use a switching spell.
It's actually rather frightening, just how easy it would be to steal with magic. I'm almost surprised more wizards don't turn to a life of crime. Of course, I'm completely astonished that that they aren't all paranoid schizophrenics, but that's for other reasons entirely.
I asked the man at the front if they carried black diaries, and was shown their selection. I was pleased to find one manufactured in 1953, old enough for the pages to have turned a suitable yellow. I brought it to the front desk and asked to have it embossed.
"T.M. Riddle. It's for a friend, you see."
As I waited, I wandered the other shelves. My usual instincts were to peruse the fiction section, but this would be an invaluable opportunity to learn about this world and how it differed from my own. I picked out a few books on history, both world and recent, along with a few textbooks on physics, chemistry, and mathematics. Most wizards ignore Muggle science, but who knew what might be useful in the end? Grinning to myself, I also purchased two copies of "The Way Things Work" – one for my own reference, the other as a gift for Arthur Weasley.
Anyone can be bought, when you have the right coin.
I paid, picked up the diary and left. Once I found an alley, I called Glitzy to take away my purchases, setting aside the diary and the book for Mr. Weasley. I'd need them later. Then I disapparated to the same lonely street as the day before, and found myself descending into the bowels of the Ministry.
I kept my opinion of the lift voice's sanity to myself.
As I registered my wand, I asked Eric the security desk guy (seriously, did he ever leave?) if he knew how I might get my letter sent to Mr. Weasley while I met with another official. He promised he could take care of it, so I left it with him.
I paid careful attention to the description of each department as I ascended the lift. I was surprised to find no listing for the Department of Magical Education, though I knew it existed, and even Lockhart's memories proved fruitless. I resolved to ask the next chance I got.
My first thought, on reaching Level Four, was to realize just how unbelievably wrong it was that the Goblin Liaison Office was listed under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Even if the goblins were irredeemable bastards, and they were, they were still a sovereign nation.
Huh. I just had an idea.
Currently, the Department was comprised of three divisions: Beast, Being, and Spirit. The Spirit division was mostly off-site: as they were responsible for overseeing the dementor population, they mainly worked out of Azkaban prison. The bulk of the Department worked in the Beast division, which included everything from pest control (Amos Diggory's office) to the disposal of dangerous creatures (Walden Macnair's).
The Being division was by far the smallest of the three, and was comprised of three working groups. There was an Office for House-Elf Relocation, but they hadn't done much for several decades, as freed house elves would invariably take Dumbledore's offer to work at Hogwarts. There was Werewolf Support Services, but by law the Ministry provided no services besides tracking and registration, and those were both the responsibility of the 'Beast' division. The two members of the staff (both recent muggleborn graduates) were making the best of what they had, but it was a lost cause.
Lastly, there was the Goblin Liaison office, five workers strong. The current head, Cuthbert Mockridge, was well into his thirteenth decade, and was reportedly senile. He passed most of the real work to his deputy, the man with whom I was now meeting: Dirk Cresswell.
The meeting began at a glacial pace. Dirk confirmed that last night's dinner with the Edgecombe's had been unpleasant, and that this morning's memos had been largely not worth the parchment. However, under my interested gaze and penetrating questions, Dirk slowly started to open up.
It turns out that fan writers were partially correct. Though the Goblin Nation did not offer nearly the same array of services as some fics would suggest (Gringotts is not an island resort), the goblins did cover anything and everything related to finance, including legacy services. This meant that somewhere in their archives were wills and inheritance charts for nearly all of the families that kept vaults with them. The bloodline charts were current, as the vault doors took small pricks of blood in order to confirm ownership on each visit. However, the knowledge contained by the charts was property of the Goblin Nation, and few wizards had ever been privileged to see them.
Damn, that would be useful. Okay, time to get on the goblins' good side.
I began to mentioning my thoughts on reaching Level Four: how wrong it felt that goblins were treated as magical creatures to regulate and control. I mentioned the legendary vindictiveness of the goblins, and asked rhetorically how they would respond to such a long-standing disparagement of their honor and independence.
Given that the goblins were both sentient and sovereign, wouldn't it make far more sense to have the Liaison Office in the Department of International Magical Cooperation?
In fact, the work of the Beings division as a whole really didn't mesh with the work done by the rest of the department. Why not propose a more extensive reorganization, bringing the entire division under the aegis of Crouch's department? You could even bring along the famously defunct Centaur Liaison Office. After all, that Office was defunct because the centaurs refused to recognize it, and they refused to recognize it because it was in the Beast division.
The beauty of this plan was three-fold. First, such a sign of respect would go a long way in improving relations with the goblins, and credit would be given to Cresswell and (with a bit of prompting) myself. Second, you could promote Mockridge out of the Office and give him a ceremonial "Coordinator" position until his retirement, at which point Cresswell would be elevated as his natural successor.
Third, Bartemius Crouch Sr. was the current head of International Magical Cooperation, and that meant a lot of things. It meant he'd throw his considerable influence behind the reorganization, as he would seize upon any chance to increase his fiefdom. It meant that we'd have a better chance of working with the goblins, as Crouch had a reputation for brutality from the last war that would impress our goblin allies. And it meant that when Crouch was forced to retire (after the Sirius Black scandal, after the Barty Jr. scandal, take your pick), Cresswell would be poised to succeed him.
Yes, it was one of my better ideas.
Even Cresswell was getting excited by the thought. As a muggleborn, he had fewer prejudices than your ordinary wizard, so he was all in favor of treating sentient magical beings with some semblance of parity. We bounced ideas back and forth for the new reorganization, and discussed whether it would likely be ratified. I suspected it would be. Crouch still had his sphere of influence, and even if that wasn't enough, Dumbledore would likely come out for it as well – he had a reputation for supporting the rights of magical sentient beings.
Around this time a paper airplane entered the room and fell to the desk, and with a glance Cresswell passed it to me. Arthur Weasley had written to confirm our meeting for noon.
"Tempus." I had a little less than an hour left.
Then I turned to my original reason for the meeting, and informed Cresswell that I did not feel safe sharing this information without his oath that he would not share it without my consent.
Looking more than a little cowed at the tone of my voice, he complied.
For the next forty-five minutes, I dumped nearly everything on him: my meeting with the goblins, my memory of the book signing, my conversation with Amelia, and my suspicions of Dumbledore. I didn't confirm Voldemort's existence – relying on the same half-truth as I had given Amelia – but by the end he knew enough to be prepared. I gave him permission to pass along the information to others, with the same three conditions as before: letting me know who is 'in,' requiring the same oaths of confidentiality, and ensuring that everyone involved knows Occlumency. I could tell he had rudimentary shields, but nothing that would survive a direct assault, so I suggested several resources for training himself in Occlumency and advised him to avoid Dumbledore in the meanwhile.
Finally, I encouraged him to seek out the goblins and see what information he could find on Harry Potter. I was especially interested in learning about his parents' will, which (if fan-fic clichés are anything to go by) would take a wrecking ball to Dumbledore's plans. With luck, there might even be something in there about Peter Pettigrew. I made sure to have him contact me straight away if he learned anything new.
At five minutes to twelve we shook hands and went our separate ways – he to pick up lunch (and, presumably, pick up the pieces of his life), and I to the lifts to visit Arthur Weasley.
Instead of turning left out of the lift I turned right, and passed a number of small offices and open areas along the way. The Investigation Department was based in this area, headed by Pius Thicknesse, as were the Hit Wizards, the heavy cavalry of the wizarding world, who worked like SWAT teams. I paused by the space with their lockers, and noticed nameplates for Vance and Podmore, two future members of the Order, alongside a locker for Yaxley, a Death Eater.
Wow. That's gotta be awkward.
Down that corridor was Wizengamot Administrative Services, where Dedalus Diggle worked. I knew that Diggle was Dumbledore's lackey – pretty much everyone did – but I also suspected that Diggle was responsible for keeping Harry's placement with the Dursleys under wraps. It's just a little suspect that Harry could recall seeing Diggle from his childhood.
Sure, multiple sightings of the same random wizard who just happens to be a future member of Dumbledore's militia. That's not coincidence at all.
Finally I found the door to Weasley's department, just as it opened to permit his coworker to walk out. The name tag on his chest said Perkins. I glanced inside.
For an office, it was fairly large. For a shared office, it was somewhat more crowded. For a department, it wasn't fit for Thumbelina. The place was a mess, paperwork strewn everywhere. Every so often there'd be a random noise from one of the many muggle objects on the shelves.
But then I looked at Mr. Weasley, and the look on his face made everything else seem less important. He was practically joyous, and I could tell this wasn't a passing thing. He clearly loved his work, and could care less about the state of his office.
He glanced up from the rubber duck he had been prodding with his wand, and his smile wavered. I was expecting that. It'd be too much to expect a man to greet another with equanimity, when the wife of the first behaves like a little girl with a crush around the second.
He waved me inside and pulled out a sandwich. "You don't mind if I eat, do you?"
"No, not at all. May I?"
"Of course."
"Glitzy!" My elf popped in. "Can you bring me lunch, along with my pensieve, if you could?"
Arthur looked at me with surprise. I explained. "After I returned home from the book signing, I was thinking back on the confrontation between yourself and Mr. Malfoy." My elf reappeared with both items. "I hope you won't take it amiss when I say that I wasn't surprised that you would leap to the defense of your family. However, I did find Mr. Malfoy's behavior more than a little strange. If you consider it, I think you'll agree it was significantly out of character for him to be brawling in public."
Arthur's brow had furrowed in concentration. "It is even more out of character for him to so obviously seek out such a public spectacle, provoking you as he did until you reacted." He nodded speculatively. "I reviewed the memory in my pensieve, and it appears my suspicions were confirmed. You know how to use one?"
He nodded sheepishly. "I have access to the one in the Investigation Department, though I've only used it once."
"Well, then, just follow my lead." I extracted the memory and lead him in.
Again, the memory began while I was still at my table, when I first heard noises from the front of the store. By the time I arrived, both Mr. Weasley and myself were already in place. "Pause. Play at half-speed."
I pointed to Mr. Malfoy. "You'll notice how he picks up a book from your daughter's cauldron immediately before his next insult. I believe this was planned." We watched as memory-Arthur pushed Malfoy back into the bookshelves. "Pay attention. He falls into the shelves and books start to fall around him. Now, there, you see? He takes a book out from his robes and puts it inside your daughter's textbook. Pause. Rewind. Play at half-speed."
This time Arthur could follow along, and his face was rapidly purpling.
"Pause. Play at full speed."
Now we saw the aftermath: Malfoy picking himself up, Hagrid's arrival distancing the two men… and Malfoy contemptuously returning the book to Ginny's cauldron.
Arthur's expression was a strange combination of rage and disbelief. "What was that? What did he give her? Mr. Lockhart, thanks for showing me, but I must be getting home!"
I stopped him before he could get far. "Mr. Weasley! I understand your urgency, but there's more here than you think. Before I go on, I'm going to need your oath that you will not speak a word of what I am about to tell you to anyone without my direct consent."
Geez, this is getting old. But it was necessary, especially for Mr. Weasley – he was far too close to some key players for my comfort.
At first he looked at me as though he could not believe I had the gall to stop him, but he reigned himself in and swore the oath. "I spent quite a bit of time yesterday looking at this memory, and can tell you what the object is. Glitzy!" The sound was like a suction cup. "Bring me the diary I purchased."
Arthur looked skeptical. "Diary?"
"Indeed." Pop. "Thank you, Glitzy. This is a near-exact replica of the object Mr. Malfoy gave to your daughter. What do you notice about it?"
Arthur took it and turned it over. "There's a name, and an address."
"The address is a store in Muggle London. The name is more interesting. Are you familiar with the name Tom Marvolo Riddle?"
He shook his head.
I half expected it, but I was still appalled that Dumbledore never told anyone that Voldemort was a half-blood orphan. It made no sense to keep that information close to the chest!
No one ever accused a wizard of being logical.
Moving on. I went straight for the jugular. "Then you wouldn't know that 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' is an anagram for 'I am Lord Voldemort.'"
His face blanched.
"Yes, it looks like Lucius decided to give your daughter one of Voldemort's old school books. I'm not sure what he expected to come of it. It's clear to me that you and he have some sort of rivalry, and it's clear that he planted it on your daughter to hurt you in some way. I doubt he'd go to all this trouble just to get your daughter caught with an old book – that wouldn't be nearly disruptive enough."
I paused. Now to pile on the half-truths.
"I suspect Malfoy enchanted the object. Since it wasn't triggered in the bookstore or when you returned home, it was probably charmed to take effect gradually, though I suspect there will be an additional defensive trigger keyed to yourself or your family. That is why I asked you to wait – I believe it would be unsafe for you to remove the book. I, however," – and here I gave him my cockiest grin – "have considerable experience with the dark curses, and would be unaffected by such a trigger."
At this Arthur looked considerably relieved. Never mind the fact that my books are entirely concerned with dark creatures, an entirely different specialization. I was famous, and therefore competent.
"I'd ask for your permission to drop by your home this afternoon." He nodded almost reflexively. "I do not wish to alarm your family, so I've written a letter giving another excuse. Once there, a quick switching spell with the replica in your hand, and no one will be the wiser. In fact, I don't mean to impose, but I'd ask that you keep this news to yourself – I'm not sure if your wife would handle it well, and I think it would hurt more than help to make an issue of it."
He nodded, frowning briefly at the mention of his wife. What was that?
"Once I have the book in hand, I'll be able to examine it my leisure. Would you like me to let you know what I find?"
He nodded quickly, almost eagerly. I pulled out the letter for Molly. "Glitzy." My elf popped in. "Please bring this letter to Mrs. Weasley and wait for her response."
The elf popped away, and I turned back to Arthur. "Would you mind if I stayed here while I wait?"
He shook his head, and we turned back to our long-forgotten lunches.
Arthur turned out to be an engaging conversationalist, though I found myself constantly amused by his mispronunciation of Muggle terms. We finished lunch, and as Perkins returned our conversation turned to work. That was when I learned what he had been working on when I first came in.
It turns out he and Perkins had a long-standing argument over the true nature and purpose of the rubber ducky.
You have no idea how hard it was not to laugh.
Perkins was of the opinion that said ducky served as a stylized egg timer, while Arthur believed that it was a decorative piece used for formal dining occasions.
Yeah, no kidding.
It took several minutes to regain my self-control, when every instinct was crying out to burst into maniacal laughter. When I was at last able to speak, I told him very calmly that while it was not widely known, I was in fact muggle-born and had a rubber ducky growing up.
The look on his face made me almost lose control. He was practically bouncing as he asked me what it was used for. I was tempted to keep him waiting, but I finally folded.
"It's a bath toy for kids. It floats in water, and gives kids something to play with while taking a bath."
His expression was somewhere between delight at solving the puzzle, and despair that he had been wrong. Delight won out.
The conversation turned and turned. At last, Glitzy returned and passed on a note. Of course I was welcome to drop by the Burrow any time I wanted, and provided the apparition coordinates for a point just outside their wards, on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole.
I nodded to Arthur and took the diary. Before leaving, I turned back. "Incidentally, I purchased the replica from a muggle bookstore. While I was there I picked up a few other books, and there's one I think you might be interested in. Glitzy, can you bring me the other book I gave you?"
A second later he popped back with it. "I imagine you'll get more use out of this than I will. It explains how muggle technology works. Just about any machine you can think of, you'll find it in here."
I left it on the table, the image of Arthur's absolutely ecstatic expression etched in my memory.
Damn do I like making an exit!
A/N: It's been pointed out to me by several reviewers that the UK 'decimalised' sterling in 1971, so their currency should not be so confounding as to give my character fits. Oops. Let's just say that this is one of the innumerable small differences between this world and our own. Thanks to all those who wrote to correct me.
