"And that is all for today Knights," I finish speaking to the group of faithful wizards that form a loose ring around me.
"Abraxas, stay behind," I nod to him as everyone else quickly disperses into small groups and make their way out of the run-down quidditch field that our meeting had been held in.
Abraxas pulls his hood off and painstakingly slowly walks toward me and stops a safe distance of ten feet away.
"What did you find out?" I get straight to the point.
He is quiet for a second before replying. "Her full name is Ginny Evans."
I wait for him to continue, but he remains silent. "That's all? That's all you have discovered in three weeks?"
"She doesn't have a record at the Ministry. Her wand was never registered, and there is no pureblood of English descent with the name of Evans," the words are forced from his mouth, as if he expects to be smited any second. I am tempted, but unfortunately I cannot maim him, at least not permanently.
"So she's a half-blood or mudblood," I confirm.
"Unless she is married," he interjects, "in which case, her husband is either a half-blood or a mudblood."
I mull over this for moment before shaking my head. "No, she can't be much older than eighteen, it doesn't seem likely that she is married."
"If she was married, she probably wouldn't be working for Hepzibah, her husband would be able to support her. Only someone desperate for money would work as a servant for a woman like Hepzibah," Abraxas offers his own input tentatively.
"Not necessarily, the war has hit everyone hard, and if she was married, she would most likely still have to work. Her husband would be working a low-paying job, most likely in the Ministry if he's a half-blood or mudblood, which can't support a human being much less two people," I look pointedly at him when I mention the Ministry and I'm gratified to see a tint of red spreading on his cheeks that signals his humiliation. I know the pitiful amount of money that Abraxas makes at his less than stellar position at the Ministry and if it wasn't for his family's wealth, he would be living on the streets.
"Nevertheless, I doubt that she is a pureblood, so most likely a half-blood or mudblood," I continue on.
"At the very least," he nods, his eyes downcast, afraid to look me in the eyes.
"What about the refugees that have been coming in from other countries? Have you checked wizarding records to see if there's a mention of her?"
"Uh, I have not done that," he murmurs delicately, "but it would be unlikely that she's a refugee, her accent is very much British, or at the very least, Irish."
I nod slowly at his reasoning, a little surprised that he can formulate complicated scenarios in his small, pea-sized brain.
"Her facial features could be Irish," I agree, "but her accent is far too pronounced for her to be anything but British."
"Ask around the Ministry and see if anyone knows of her. We'll meet again in two weeks time, you're dismissed."
He inclines his head gracefully and solemnly walks to the apparation point, trying to seem dignified despite the fact that he looks like he is going to lose control of his bladder.
I turn away from him and gaze out across the field. It looks like I'm going to have to do my own digging, because it doesn't look like Abraxas is going to unearth anything by himself. Hepzibah is due for another visit it seems.
I politely smile at Hepzibah as she continues ranting about some inane party or the other.
"-and then he told me that I might as well put Flobberworms in my tea!" She laughs uproariously at her own joke, her body jiggling as her bosom sought to escape from the constraints of the tight robes that she had forced herself into.
"That does sound like quite a night," I delicately remark, taking another sip of my too sweet tea.
"Now, Tom what really brings you here?" Hepzibah leans over the coffee table and inquires in what she perceives to be a mischievous manner, setting down her tea cup on the coaster with a rattle.
"Well, my dear Hepzibah, you know how much I enjoy visiting you," I peer at her through half-closed eyelids, giving her my best coy look, "but I also wanted to inquire about a different matter, the locket that you have in your possession, the one you believe to be an heirloom of Salazar Slytherin himself."
She looks a little surprised at the request, but then smiles a grotesque grin, stretching her rouged cheeks, "of course, Tom, let me just have Hokey bring it."
She summons Hokey into the room and orders her to get the locket. I watch the wizened elf leave and think of someone else entirely, a little waif with hair the color of blood and eyes the color of mud.
"I haven't seen your other servant, Gemma, her name was?" I inquire disinterestedly, helping myself to another truffle.
Hepzibah snorts unexpectedly, "Ginny? I sent that good for nothing girl to run some errands for me. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm still keeping her on. After the way she disrespected you, I should have let her go," she sniffs, "but don't worry, I still punished her severely. I mean, who does she think she is, talking back to you? Servants should know their place, at the very bottom."
"Of course," I am gratified to know that she was punished for her idiotic actions. "Do you know, by any chance, where this girl is from?"
"A migrant, from some small town or the other on the fringe of England. Her husband was killed in a raid on their village by the Red Hoods and she barely managed to escape to London," Hepzibah comments carelessly, idly twisting a ruby on her chubby fingers.
"How did you meet her?" I ask immediately, interested despite my nonchalant air.
"I was passing by the Leaky Cauldron on my way into Diagon Alley and Burton's wife stopped me to chat. I told her I was looking for a new servant because Hokey is getting up in her years. She recommended Ginny to me."
I absorb the information, so she is British and with a deceased husband no less. Was the killing of her husband by the Red Hoods a coincidence or was he someone important, important enough for the Red Hoods to kill?
"How old is she?" I school my face into a neutral expression and busy myself with my tea, half-formulated thoughts forming as I begin to paint the bleak brown and barren portrait of the mudblood's life.
"She's-ah, here's Hokey." Hepzibah looks up as Hokey walks into the room holding a jeweled box carefully in her frail hands and sets it down on the coffee table between us. Hepzibah presses her thumb against a grooved part of the box and is silent as a click sounds and a miniature sharp blade pricks her thumb. A bead of blood runs down the blade and into the groove of the box. Another click sounds and the whole box opens up and lying in the center, nestled in a bed of royal blue satin, sits an unremarkable silver locket.
I curl my hands into fists and resist the urge to touch it, my gaze turning murderous. The stupid bint was lying, this piece of scrap metal could never be Salazar Slytherin's locket. Hepzibah, oblivious to my rage, lovingly reaches in and cradles the locket in her fingers.
"You know, Tom," she begins, "When I first saw this in your shop, I didn't think much of it. It doesn't look like much and though Borgin tried to tell me that it was Slytherin's locket, I outright laughed in his face. I don't think he really believed it himself. Nevertheless, I ended up buying it for ten, eleven galleons."
She sighs and presses the edge of the locket. The locket opens up to reveal Hepzibah's portrait, tucked into the edge of one of the sides. I gnash my teeth at the sight, disgusted by the failure. I had been so close.
Hepzibah continues speaking, not aware of the storm brewing in front of her. "After I bought it, I became curious and thought to have it checked by a magical jeweler to see if he could tell me anything about it." She gazes at the portrait fondly and strokes it with the tips of her fingers.
"He was amazed when he examined it. He told me that he was sure without a shadow of a doubt that the locket was indeed what Borgin had claimed." Hepzibah chuckled and continued recounting her story, "he wanted to buy it for himself, offered me 300 gallons. I refused outright of course, I wasn't going to let a priceless treasure like this slip out of my hands."
I internally scoff at her. This locket cannot be authentic, a plain and battered down piece of scrap metal like this could never be the relic of Slytherin himself.
I lean forward to get her attention and quietly inquire, "Are you sure that he hadn't been mistaken? It certainly doesn't look like much."
"Oh, but it is my dear Tom," she quickly responds turning her face towards me, eyes wide with conviction. "Sometimes the plainest of objects have the greatest value."
I have an inkling that she isn't talking so much about the locket as she is about herself. I grace her with a polite smile, while internally seething at my misfortune.
Hepzibah quickly packs the locket back into its case and calls Hockey to take it away. I watch the elf carry the locket out of the room detachedly. I will need to relieve some of this righteous anger soon or I'll will claw off the face of the harpy sitting next to me as she writhes under me. Perhaps I'll go to the whorehouse tonight, I'm certain it will help relieve some tension.
I'm brought back to the present as Hepzibah begins speaking again, "You know the Ministry sent someone the other day." My ears perk up at this news as I realize that Abraxas must have used his Ministry job as a cover to extract information from the little waif.
"I wasn't here when they came, but I'm sure that it's the same reason as last time." Hepzibah beamed delightedly, "They've been begging me for years to let them examine some of the heirlooms that I have inherited, but I'm not going to just hand over my precious heirlooms to them. Oh no, I don't trust them to destroy them in their eagerness to see if they have magical properties."
"Hmm," I noncommittally agree, "well Ms. Smith, it's getting rather late so I should take my leave."
Hepzibah protests profusely at this, but I quickly bid her a good day and start making my way to the door, not caring if I'm being rude. I can't stay here anymore or I'll do something that Hepzibah will regret.
As I gather my robes from the closet and put them on, I hear the thrumming of light footsteps and a childish screech of delight. My hands still as a boy of two or three years with comes barreling through the side entrance and streaks past me, all the while giggling madly. Hokey comes crashing through the entrance a few moments after him, panting as she shrieks at his back to slow down.
"Little Jamie needs to slow down, otherwise Mistress won't be happy!" She desperately yells after him and runs past me.
I'm taken aback by the strange scene and mechanically exit the house, new questions taking shape. Who is he, the boy with jet black hair and the speed of an Olympian? And more importantly, what is he doing in Hepzibah's house? I have half a mind to turn back around and demand the answers from Hepzibah, but I can't take any more of her mindless chatter. It looks like I will need to send a message to Abraxas.
Hey everyone, here's another chapter after a ridiculously long time, but I hope you enjoy and be sure to review if you'd like to see the next chapter soon! I'm very interested in hearing your thoughts and comments and it motivates me to continue writing, so be sure to drop a review. Until next time.
