Harry had assumed that they would exit through the only door in the room and the hallway from which he had initially entered, but instead Maurice drew a wand from his sleeve and used it to gesture casually, with minimal wrist movement, at the wall to Harry's right, causing the bookshelf to slide aside to reveal another Gothic archway etched upon the wall with silver filigree. He flicked the gloved fingers of his non-wand hand at the outline as though he were shaking droplets of water from his fingertips, and the archway briefly pulsed with a pale blue light in time with the motions. After sheathing his wand and clapping his hands together as if to dust them off, Maurice turned an expectant look his way.
"Right then, Harry; it's time you tried your hand at activating these yourself. The best way to learn is by doing, after all!"
Before Harry had a chance to respond a small object was tossed at him, which he caught reflexively. Looking down at his hand, he could see that he was now in possession of a small key that was surprisingly warm to the touch, in much the same way that clothes felt after being subject to a drying charm. In contrast to the silver one that he had seen Rose use earlier in the day, this one seemed to be made from some sort of blue gemstone, though as he ran his fingers over it they failed to detect a single rough spot or seam. He spoke, mostly to himself, "Just needs a key, huh."
Maurice puffed up proudly. "That's right! No fiddling about with that blasted powder that you have to restock on a regular basis, due to the utterly abysmal shelf life. No need to pronounce things just so or Circe only knows just where you might end up. No more horrid spinning about like a demented dreidel, which is an especially lovely experience when hungover, I shall have you know. Our way is superior in every respect."
"So, with any key I can go through any…"
"Gateway, Harry."
"Thank you. So I can go through any gateway to get to any other, just by having a key?"
Maurice made an absent gesture, "Well, yes and no. We have some clients that requested they have a completely private connection; it only connects to points that they wish, and does not link up to our overall network. There are also some clients that have requested varying levels of security, which can be anything from a pass phrase, limits based on time of day, the age of the individual attempting to gain entry, and so on. It's all quite customizable, really, once you know how the magic links together." A shrug, "Rose can explain it better than I. It would be more accurate to say that you can go through any linked gateway to get to any other you have the key for, provided it resides upon the same network. This is a simplification, of course."
Seeing that Harry was about to ask further questions of him, Maurice held up a hand.
"If we do not stop this admittedly enjoyable conversation now I fear that I will keep you here, to myself, for the entire day, and that simply would not do! Poor Rose must be wondering what we're up to in here, keeping her waiting like this. You'd best be on your way; she takes revenge in the form of elaborate pranks, and believe me when I say that she is not one to slight. Go on and press that key into the center of the archway to activate it; I've primed it for you."
Harry suppressed a shiver at the thought of what someone who shared Hogwarts with Fred and George Weasley considered to be an acceptable retaliatory prank, and decided that saving his questions for later may be the wiser course of action for now. Discretion being the better part of valor, and all that.
He took a step forward and, with only a brief hesitation, did as instructed and pressed the key against what appeared to simply be a regular section of wall contained within the bounds of the archway.
Instead of the pale blue light he had been expecting based on past experience, there was instead a bright flash of a brilliant emerald green. He would need to ask about the difference later, but for now he strode through the wall and was gripped once more by that same rushing sensation. This time, he made it a point to force his eyes open against the wind to see if he could actually see anything.
Far from the otherworldly scenes his imagination had conjured up, as far as his senses could tell he was flying through a lightless void, though it was less of an impression of pure darkness as opposed to simply not being able to see anything whatsoever. Perhaps this was what being blind was like? The only sensation aside from the initial feeling of rapid acceleration was that of a strong wind buffeting him as he flew forward through something. The truly disconcerting part, Harry realized, was that while he was quite clearly accelerating at the beginning he never actually decelerated at any point. He simply sped up and then arrived.
Yet another oddity to be filed under his increasingly long list of questions for now. He tucked the key away in his coin pouch for safekeeping.
In the meantime, where exactly was he? Wherever it was, there was no light whatsoever, though unlike before his eyes quite clearly reported that the room was dark, and Harry cursed under his breath as he banged his shin against something solid and pointy. He cursed further when he remembered that he was a Wizard, followed by him drawing his wand and causing a small red light to appear at the tip with a smooth flick of his wrist.
The color of the light allowed his eyes to quickly adjust, and Harry found himself in what appeared to be a maintenance closet. There was the usual assortment of cleaning supplies, buckets, and self-propelling mops and brooms one would expect. A quick glance over his shoulder showed another archway, this one formed by an unlikely pattern of pipes. As there was little sense in standing around, Harry carefully picked his way through the equipment stacked haphazardly in the closet toward the door, which he then slid open.
Directly in front of him, clearly having been waiting for him, stood Rose, a mischievous expression firmly in place. She raised her eyebrows at the way his wand hand abruptly slashed toward her before stopping suddenly. Harry ran his other hand down his face and let out a shaky breath, grateful beyond words that he had caught his reflex in time. He did his best to ignore the way the adrenaline was causing his heart to pound and blood to sing for action.
"Hello, Rose."
She said, "There you are - finally! Bit jumpy today, aren't we? Good ol' Malveaux talking your ear off, I expect," before stepping aside to let him out. From her posture he guessed she'd been on the way to open the door and look for him just as he appeared. Lucky him.
Harry shot a puff of colored smoke at her in an attempt to distract from the awkwardness before returning his wand to its hiding place, and allowed himself a bit of a smile as she waved it away with a laugh.
Looking into the room, the first thing Harry noticed were the shelves towering far above him that lined the walls and commanded the majority of the floor space. Directly in the center of the room was a cubicle which he could just see inside from this angle. The impression he got was that of a birdlike man perched upon a high stool and bent over an over-sized drafting board that he was using as a desk. It was only an impression since, as he continued writing furiously despite his entrance and subsequent conversation with Rose, the only part of his face visible were his bushy gray eyebrows as they danced erratically in time with scratching sound of the darting quill which was, in turn, moving in time with the beat of waltz playing over hidden speakers. The walls of his cubicle were decorated with a collection of lace doilies in a rainbow of colors. Taken altogether, it made for a very compelling first impression.
Rose shot an amused look at Harry and knocked on the wall of the cubicle in a shave and a haircut pattern, which was promptly met with two thumps from behind the angled desk. She grinned madly as she exclaimed, "Ozzy, you're back! Oh, how I've missed you."
The sounds of scribbling ceased, as did the waltz, and a single brilliant blue eye peeked above the corner of the desk, shortly followed by the rest of the man. While this Ozzy and Maurice shared a hairstyle, so to speak, this particular man's facial hair was limited to a lean pencil mustache incongruously paired with mutton chops, both as resolutely gray as his eyebrows. Harry was relieved to find that his initial impression had been correct, for there was indeed a birdlike quality to the man's movements with a lanky frame to match.
He strode jerkily forward and peered down his nose at Rose.
She crossed her arms, shifted her weight to one leg, and stared right back up at him.
Harry claimed a conveniently placed chair and marveled at how comfortable it was as well as the fact that it afforded him a prime view of the drama unfolding in front of him.
They all remained like this for a short period before Rose snorted, and Ozzy lifted his hands to the sky and flexed in victory. After dancing a celebratory jig in a circle around a now despondent and slumped Rose, he stopped in front of her, resumed his formal regal bearing, and held out one hand imperiously with the other tucked behind his back.
"Aw, c'mon, Ozzy, must I? Have a little heart for your old pal Rose? A dollop of sympathy for your close friend, who you would never demand such things from? Just a touch of tenderness in these most trying times? Surely you have a modicum of mercy to spare?" Her tone was an interesting mix of playful and pleading, and Harry was unsure how he would fare against such a tactic, paired as it was with a delicate moue and eyes held open quite wide, shining innocently in the harsh light of the storeroom.
The man spoke for the first time, his voice gravely and with a hint of sternness to it, "Rose, what is my name?"
Her pout deepened and her voice took on a mock hurt tone, "Why, Ozzy, I'm not sure what you mean."
He crossed his arms to match her pose, but said nothing further as he continued to stare down at her.
Harry continued to watch the byplay in silent amusement from his neutral vantage point perched upon the supremely comfortable armchair. A quick search of his pockets turned up a Bertie Bott's Rotating Flavor Hard Candy, and he gleefully popped it into his mouth. He watched on as he sucked contentedly on the lozenge, which at present tasted rater convincingly of falafel with fresh hummus, but soon turned to candied pecans.
As before, Rose broke first, with much dramatic sighing and flailing of arms.
"Right, right, yes, of course, as you wish; Oswald, all right?" She spoke the word as though the very act forming the sounds of the syllables in that particular order caused her to suffer great physical pain.
"Very good, Rose. I am quite proud of your progress." It was only then that the man appeared to notice Harry's seated form. "Ah, a visitor! Here to pick up equipment?" He took a step closer, and leaned forward slightly to examine Harry closer, "Do you have a bomb?"
"I certainly hope not."
Oswald let out a world-weary sigh before turning to Rose. Harry couldn't see his face anymore, but his movements carried an air of exasperation. Rose raised her hands up and made a defensive shrug, "It's his trial run, Ozz…" she trailed off and took a centering breath before continuing, "Oswald. I've got the BOM right here." A small scroll of parchment bound with a green ribbon was retrieved from one of her innumerable pockets, handed over, and promptly studied.
While the scroll was inspected as Oswald absently walked over toward some of the shelves, Rose said, for Harry's benefit, "A BOM is a bill of materials. Basically a list of things we'll need for a given job. Makes the numbers people happy, and lets our King of Stuff here," she jerked a thumb at Oswald, who was now rummaging through a series of shelves on the other end of the room, "make sure we have the stuff we need when we need it."
Harry made a considering noise, "These things sounds pretty important. Who makes them?"
She beamed at him, "They are! Can't install stuff we don't have, and this one's mine. More of a maintenance than anything, just some issues I spotted when watching the tree last week. Seeing how stuff breaks and how to fix it is really important!"
As Oswald began making his way back with a box cradled in his exceptionally long arms, Harry said, "Why the wait?"
She held her hand parallel to the floor and waggled it back and forth a bit, "It's only kinda broken. Not enough to affect things but it might if left like this long enough. We'll move folks to the backup while we work on it, don't worry." Rose seemed to sense that a lot of this was going straight over his head, and said, "It'll make more sense later, once you've got your hands on things."
As if on cue, Oswald took this moment to fling a pair of gloves at him that were a match for the ones he'd seen Rose and Maurice wearing. As he inspected them, though, "these are much too large for me."
"Ah, yes, you may not have encountered the retroactive tailoring enchantment applied in such a way."
"Sorry, retroactive tailoring? How does that work?"
As the man launched into an explanation on what makes an item truly magical, he was interrupted as Rose groaned and leaned back in her chair before throwing her head back and draping her arm across her eyes, "Why would you enable him like that, Harry; we'll be stuck here for ages at this rate."
Oswald flicked his fingers at her in annoyance, "Rose, must you persist in telling such outlandish tales about me? New hires often look upon me with such trepidation; I shudder to think what you may have led them to believe."
While maintaining her dramatic pose, she said, "Oh, alright, it's possible I might have been joking around with them a bit, but c'mon, Ozz-" Rose broke off and sat up straight, and Harry thought he heard a faint growl as she shed her pose, before she continued, "Oswald. Surely nobody could take those things I said seriously!"
Oswald shrugged at her, "Seems one of them - I forget the name; the tall one with all the metal on his face - takes things rather literally. On top of that, he's a gossip as well; quite the dangerous combination, if I do say so myself. It led to an amusing misunderstanding once Maurice caught wind of things." A dry chuckle escaped the man, "Our ensuing conversation was, shall we say, enlightening."
This back and forth was interrupted when an exceptionally witchy-looking witch whose hairstyle and makeup gave the impression of a chaste Elvira stalked into the room to say, "Rose, your window starts in ten." She made a shooing motion, "Get going already."
The box was unceremoniously shoved in Harry's arms and he looked uncertainly at Rose as Oswald wandered back over to his desk and the mystery witch turned on her heel to leave as soon as she saw them move to comply.
Rose pulled out her watch and then cursed under her breath. "Right, let's go!"
Harry dutifully followed, box in gloved hands, as Rose made her way back into the maintenance closet he'd entered from. This time she managed to find the key in the seventh pocket she tried, and the little tarnished copper key was triumphantly produced and then pressed into the center of the archway. There was another flash of green and then Rose hopped through the gateway, and Harry soon followed her through.
As he journeyed once more through the void Harry idly wondered what further insanity this day would bring.