AB: Welcome to The Daily Entrails, all the news you need to know. This is your host Amanita Baneberry, here today with Dark creature expert Ignis McKinnon, to discuss the November 27th attack on Hogsmeade.
IM: Thanks for having me.
AB: Now Ignis, the Werewolf Capture Unit claims that this was a werewolf attack, but we all know that they have a vested interest in making werewolves seem dangerous. So what was it really? Imperiused wolves? Wolf Animagi? Large vicious dogs?
IM: Um. I went to provide what help I could as soon as the wards fell, since I'm fairly competent at first aid, so I saw the Dark injuries with my own eyes. I'm sorry to say the attackers were definitely real werewolves. The Werewolf Capture Unit is right, about this attack at least.
AB: Wait. You're saying you agree with the Werewolf Capture Unit?
IM: Yeah. I mean, just on their assessment of the November 27th attack. We're in complete agreement there. There's no way those injuries could have been caused by anything but werewolves. I've heard the theories about Imperiused wolves and whatnot, and they're all nonsense.
AB: Thank you for joining me today, Ignis. Stay tuned, since after the break, I'll be back with a new guest, Quillana Quirrell, whose new breeds of magical hollyhocks have taken the horticultural world by storm.
IM: Wait, I wanted to talk about— AB: Now it's time for a word from our sponsor, Ariadne's Threads, with a full line of the latest fashions in wolfwear, from warm furry grey cloaks to cozy house slippers decorated with claws…
"Aargh!" exclaimed Hermione as she turned off the wireless. "She handed him good lies and he threw them away!"
"He has a reputation as a Dark creature expert to uphold," said Tom. "He can't afford to squander that."
"But think of all the people who were bitten," said Hermione. "They'll be shunned if they're known as werewolves."
"Ignis said he had a difficult time convincing the victims themselves that they are now werewolves. Most of them insisted they'd been bitten by a large dog or the like. It was all he could do to get them to promise to humor him and lock themselves up for December's full moon. Giving them mixed messages over the wireless could lead to dangerous confusion. I dare say they'll eat their words after Boxing Day. I told Vinter to increase Wolfsbane production for the expected influx of new customers in January." The increase in orders for December's full moon had been disappointingly small, but Tom's sales force had assured him that January orders would be higher. Tom was patient.
"At the new customer discount, right?" asked, or rather demanded, Hermione.
"No need. This new batch of werewolves can afford full price. The business can certainly use the income. We're not yet breaking even. I hope to get the books in the black for at least a few months, until the new customers deplete their savings."
"You vulture!"
"I'm not the one whose interference with the timeline led to all these people being bitten," said Tom. "I assume that in your timeline…" There was no point continuing, for Hermione had stormed out of the room.
Sunday morning, Tommy, Mark, and Tom were passing a happy hour assembling a model train set when the doorbell rang. Tom waited for Fiona to answer it.
She arrived in the nursery eventually. "Mr. Riddle, the squire instructed me to remind you that you are in charge of wizarding business, so dealing with the people at the door is your job."
Tom finished snapping a bit of track into place and said, "Fiona, fetch my mother to look after Tommy."
"Yes Mr. Riddle." She left.
Tom turned to Mark. "When my mother arrives, head to your suite via the servants' stairs to avoid our magical visitors. I don't know if they have any interest in model trains, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious."
"Yes Mr. Riddle." Mark turned to the sound of clattering metal. "Oh Tommy, you dumped the box again."
Tommy hissed and banged some track pieces together enthusiastically.
"I guess it's not surprising that there's a word in Parseltongue for train tracks," mulled Mark. "They're good basking spots, I expect." He hissed something at Tommy.
Tommy replied by shouting "Twain twack!"
Tom stood, straightened his robes, and headed to the front door. He opened it to see a dozen witches and wizards loitering on and around the front steps. They held large signs blazoned with slogans: Werewolves are People, Lou Garou is Real, and the like.
"Can I help you?" asked Tom.
"We're looking for Ignis McKinnon," said a witch. "The exterminator," she added disapprovingly.
"Why?" asked Tom.
"We can't find his house," the witch complained.
"Obviously, but what business do you have with him?"
"We're going to protest in front of his house until he takes back what he said about werewolves!"
"This is about his analysis of the Hogsmeade attack, isn't it?" said Tom.
"Yes! There was no evidence, he just assumed—"
"He may not even be home now. He's very busy with work."
The protesters were disgusted by this admission of Ignis's evildoing. "Probably hunting innocent werewolves," they muttered to one another.
"Have you lot been wandering around Little Hangleton looking for his house?" asked Tom, horrified.
"Yes," said the spokeswitch.
"This is a mixed magical and muggle area," said Tom. "Did any muggles see you?"
The protestors cast some worried glances at one another. The spokeswitch said, "If you just tell us where his house is—"
"Mr. McKinnon does not wish to be found," said Tom. "His defense of Miss Kettleburn at her book signing has been so publicized, he's concerned that the terrorists may come after him."
"Defense of Miss Kettleburn!" scoffed the protesters.
"He was just pretending to be pro-werewolf then, because the book was so popular," explained the spokeswitch. "Now his true loyalties—"
"There's no need to stand outside," interrupted Tom. "Won't you come in and have some tea?"
The spokeswitch's expression got even more contemptuous. "As if we'd take tea with an anti-werewolf bigot!"
"Um," said a witch from behind her sign. "Tom's all right, I think. He was at the book signing."
Tom peered around the witch's sign. "Perdita?"
She lowered her sign, revealing her embarrassed face, free of scars thanks to Tessie's ministrations. "Hello Tom."
"It's good to see you again," said Tom as if it were. "Please come in." He stepped back from the doorway to make room for them and extended an inviting arm.
The protesters huddled together to confer in angry whispers. Finally the spokeswitch delivered the verdict. "All right," she said, "if you can tell us where to find McKinnon," and led the mob in.
Fiona had come back downstairs by now and eyed the guests suspiciously as Tom led them into the parlor. "Bring refreshments," Tom told her, so she hurried away. "Please, sit down," he invited the protesters.
The protesters arranged themselves, setting their signs down by their chairs and settees. "So you know McKinnon?" the spokeswitch demanded of Tom.
"Yes," said Tom. "He's my neighbor, and friend. If you want to protest in front of anyone's house, I wonder why you chose McKinnon rather than, say, Emerett Picardy. Did you see Picardy's opinion piece in the Prophet? He called for the extermination of all werewolves."
"McKinnon's worse than Picardy!" exclaimed a wizard on a settee. "Picardy taught McKinnon everything he knows, anyway. Picardy just writes, but McKinnon acts, actually murdering magical creatures."
"He does relocate rather than kill them whenever possible," Tom pointed out. "Are you offering your home as a sanctuary for displaced doxies?"
There were no volunteers. "Doxies aren't people!" exclaimed a wizard angrily. "Werewolves are people. They're completely different."
Fiona arrived with a tray supporting their largest teapot and many teacups, which she set on a table, then left and returned with a large tray of sandwiches and biscuits.
One of the witches eyed the sandwiches suspiciously. "Is there any magical creature flesh in these? I don't eat any magical creatures."
"None whatsoever!" said Fiona, affronted.
"Thank you Fiona." said Tom. "You may leave us."
Tea and sandwich distribution took a few minutes.
"I admire your dedication to the cause," said Tom to the group. "I completely agree that werewolves are people. So does my friend Ignis. I'm sure that if you simply had a conversation with him, you'd realize that we're all on the same side."
This claim was met with disbelief: "As if an exterminator—"
"Then why did he say—"
"Anyone who'd associate with Picardy—"
Tom opened his mirror. "Ignis."
That shut up the crowd as they stared at Tom intently.
Ignis's face, with a stone bridge and blue sky behind him, appeared in the mirror. "Tom, what's up?"
"I'm having tea with some pro-werewolf activists here at the Riddle House." Tom slowly turned the mirror around to give Ignis a view of the scene. "They were looking for your house but couldn't find it. I wondered if you'd like to join us."
"Join you? Um. I guess I could. I'm just finishing up a river troll job, but I can be there in a few minutes."
"Thank you," said Tom. "I'll open my office Floo for you."
"Um, sure, thanks. See you soon."
Tom closed his mirror and returned it to his pocket, then reached into another pocket to flip the Floo remote switch. Then he returned his attention to the crowd. "Any defenders of river trolls here?"
"Trolls are completely different from werewolves!" exclaimed a witch. "They're beasts!"
"Werewolves are also legally classified as beasts," said Tom.
"The law is wrong!" retorted the witch.
"Yes," agreed Tom. "What's your plan to change it?" He sipped his tea and waited.
The protesters looked at each other. "Change the law, you mean?" said the spokeswitch.
"Yes," said Tom.
"That would take convincing most of the Wizengamot," said a wizard.
"Bribes," said another wizard confidently. "It would take an awful lot of bribes." He looked around the nicely-furnished parlor with renewed interest, then looked at Tom with a relatively friendly expression. "If you really support this cause—"
"It would take really big bribes, though," interrupted Perdita, examining her teacup critically. "I mean, enough money to move the most powerful families in Britain? That's not pocket change. No offense, Tom, but the Riddles aren't quite—"
Dobby popped into the room. "Master, Mr. McKinnon has appeared in your office."
"Convey my invitation to the parlor to him," ordered Tom, flipping the remote switch back.
"Yes Master." Dobby popped away.
Ignis arrived and looked around at the visitors curiously.
"Ignis, I'm glad you could join us," said Tom. "Tea?"
"Thank you." Ignis served himself, then sat near Tom.
Tom explained the situation. "We're developing a plan to convince the Wizengamot to legally reclassify werewolves as people."
Ignis choked on his tea.
The spokeswitch stood. "No we aren't! We came here to protest in front of McKinnon's house until he takes back what he said about werewolves!"
"It's a good idea, though," said a witch, attracting the spokeswitch's ire. "If we could get the Wizengamot—"
"We have McKinnon right here!" yelled the spokeswitch. "Just look at him! He's horrified at the idea of werewolves being legally people. That would hurt his business!"
"Maybe we should protest in front of the Wizengamot," suggested a witch.
The spokeswitch redirected her glare at Tom. "You're just trying to distract us with this ridiculous idea of an exterminator supporting werewolf rights."
"No, I—" protested Ignis, but then he coughed. He tried again. "I support the idea. I'm just surprised. Do you think the Wizengamot would really—"
"They won't," said Perdita. "Not after the damage you've done! The Werewolf Capture Unit is ramping up their efforts. If there is a real Lou Garou out there, he might get caught, and it will all be your fault!"
Ignis paled. "What are they doing?"
"They're planning to ask for a big increase in their budget, to hire a lot more agents," said Perdita. "They have a new plan, a commitment to hunt werewolves to extinction. Just think, if Lou Garou really is out there, he's in danger!"
Ignis set his teacup down on its saucer with a clatter. "I'm sure he's used to danger," he said in an unsuccessful attempt at his usual flippancy.
"Ignis!" Perdita scolded. "This is serious."
"I know, I know," said Ignis.
The spokeswitch berated Ignis. "If you really care about Lou Garou, why did you tell everyone that was a real werewolf attack?"
"Because it was!" exclaimed Ignis. "There are some real, dangerous werewolves out there."
This infuriated the spokeswitch. "But Lou isn't—"
"Don't you understand? Werewolves are just people!" shouted Ignis. "There are good and bad people. Lou is one of the good ones. That attack was organized by one of the bad ones. There are Dark wizards, but that doesn't mean all wizards are Dark. That attack must have been organized by a Dark wizard who happens to be a werewolf."
This news stunned the group.
The spokeswitch regained her voice first. "The Werewolf Capture Unit should be fighting this Dark wizard then."
"They won't," said Perdita with absolute certainty. "It's too dangerous for them. They'll go after innocent werewolves instead."
Ignis buried his face in his hands.
"Thank you for the tea, Mr. Riddle," said the spokeswitch. She smiled triumphantly as she stood and looked down at Ignis, who wasn't looking at her. "Mr. McKinnon clearly understands his mistake. I think our work here is done." She led her little band of protesters out, with the obligatory farewells.
Tom waved goodbye, then some of their visitors Apparated away, although others held out their wands, then boarded what Tom assumed was the invisible Knight Bus.
Tom returned to the parlor to sit beside Ignis, who was slumped over his tea.
"Hermione was right," said Ignis.
"Don't tell her," said Tom. "And I'd eat my hat before telling her myself. She'd be even more insufferable." He thought. "Anyway, she wasn't right. The Werewolf Capture Unit would be hunting down innocents whatever you'd said. They don't need your approval. At least this way your reputation as a Dark creature expert remains intact, and the Werewolf Capture Unit has less motivation to destroy it. That was really very clever of you, throwing the Werewolf Capture Unit off your scent like that. I wondered what your plan was to defend yourself from them after you antagonized them so thoroughly during your first Daily Entrails interview."
Ignis groaned.
"Anyway," said Tom. "We received some potentially useful information, if it was true. Do you think Perdita was right about the Werewolf Capture Unit ramping up their efforts?"
"Yeah," muttered Ignis. "Her father works there. I'm sure she got the information from the source."
Hermione slipped silently into the room. "I heard all that. I figured I'd let you deal with them."
"Thank you," said Tom.
She eyed a half-eaten sandwich on a little plate. "They didn't even finish their sandwiches. Wasteful."
"Get a fresh one, please," said Tom, horrified by a vision of Hermione scavenging half-eaten sandwiches. He gestured towards the serving tray.
She did and sat beside Ignis. "You look like you need cheering up."
"Hm," said Ignis.
"It's good to know that public sentiment is still on werewolves' side," said Hermione. "At least some of the public anyway."
"And the idea of sympathetic werewolves has taken on a life of its own," said Tom. "Did you see that announcement in Witch Weekly about the book signing event for A Wolf's Tale, that new werewolf novel by Diadema Vane?"
That got Ignis to rise out of his slump to look at Tom. "You read Witch Weekly?"
"I keep an eye on trends," said Tom hurriedly. "Anyway, Vane's book is obviously terribly derivative, and she must have written it quickly, to capitalize on the werewolf fad and get it out by Boxing Day when people buy themselves what they really wanted for Christmas, but the point is, even if the Werewolf Capture Unit does become more of an enemy to werewolves, at the same time, the populace is becoming more of an ally."
"But how long can people maintain this fancy for werewolves?" cried Ignis. "If Woolsey's pack attacks again—"
"On Boxing Day," said Hermione.
"Yes, that's December's full moon," said Ignis, "and even if we knew where he's planning to attack—"
"Vane's book signing is that afternoon," said Tom, meeting Hermione's eyes, needing no Legilimency to share her thoughts. "Vane must have deemed it fitting the werewolf theme, being the full moon, but it seems tacky, as any of her readers who are actual werewolves will have to leave early, considering how early the full moon rises in December."
Ignis spoke quietly. "I told Woolsey your plan, that you'd hired Kettleburn to make werewolves seem sympathetic, with the ultimate goal of integrating werewolves into society. They targeted Kettleburn's book signing because of me."
"You can't blame yourself," said Hermione.
"I can at least learn from my mistakes," said Ignis. "If no one tells Woolsey about this—"
"He might find out anyway," said Hermione.
"Does Woolsey read Witch Weekly?" asked Ignis.
"His taste in clothing and and decor suggests otherwise," said Tom.
"But now they're looking for targets," said Hermione.
"Merlin's crystal balls," said Ignis.
"We have to count it as a potential target," said Hermione, "If we were to go to this book signing—"
"We?!" repeated Tom.
"With just one night of practice a month, my wolf form's still clumsy on Wolfsbane," said Ignis. "I hope you're not counting on me to be any use in a fight."
Hermione was not deterred. "If I were to go, then they'd be trapped in there with me, so I could—"
"No!" said Ignis and Tom in unison.
"But if I prepared, and spent most of the time up out of their reach on my broom—"
"No!" they repeated.
"We can jump!" added Ignis. "At least they can."
Tom tried a different tack. "Hermione, Tommy is depending on you. You're the only mother he's ever known. Think how he'd feel if—"
"Oh all right," she conceded. "But we've got to do something. Where's this book signing being held, anyway?"
"At Under Covers," said Tom. At Ignis's quizzical look, he added, "That's a bookshop in Knockturn Alley. They specialize in…" He cleared his throat. "…romance novels."
"Oh!" said Ignis in alarm. "Well. But anyway, I suppose even the readers of such things don't deserve to be bitten by werewolves. We need to warn them, tell them to cancel the event."
"Why would they believe us?" asked Hermione.
"Right, they might think such a warning was a pretext from anti-werewolf bigots opposed to the book," agreed Ignis. "What if we make it seem like they're finding out accidentally, somehow? We need a Slytherin for this." He looked at Tom expectantly.
"If we succeed in warning Vane and the venue, so they announce that the event is canceled," observed Tom, "then Woolsey would pick a different target, and we'd be back to trying to figure out which at the last minute. We'd be even less able to defend it. Besides, think of the publicity. Assuming that Vane's book is as pro-werewolf as Kettleburn's, and it must be, as she's copying a winning formula, an attack on her book signing guarantees that her book is a similar success. That's what we want, popular pro-werewolf books. I didn't even have to fund this one. We'll notify the Werewolf Capture Unit before the attack of course, so they'll make use of their new funding by defending the event, keeping non-werewolf casualties to a minimum, which should prevent the werewolf brand from getting too tarnished. In fact if the Werewolf Capture Unit does their job thoroughly enough, they'll be criticized for excessive use of force, which again works in our favor. They'll be accused of harassing innocent werewolves who were merely trying to attend a book signing, and had every intention of leaving before the moon rose. The more brutally the Werewolf Capture Unit prevents the attack, the more sympathy werewolves gain from the public."
Ignis seemed to have second thoughts about looking to the Slytherin for strategy. He looked at Hermione instead.
Hermione was looking at Tom, baring her perfect teeth in a smile, making the whole room, the whole situation, seem brighter. "Ignis is right. I thought I'd eat my hat before saying this, but it's useful to keep a Slytherin around. We'll go with Tom's plan."
Tommy's and Mark's interest in trains suggested a Christmas gift of an additional set, which was well received. They also appreciated their new jumpers, courtesy of Tom's mother.
Tom gave a beef roast to each of his werewolf employees for their Yule dinner, but it was no consolation for their worry over what might happen on Boxing Day. Tom didn't like having to ask them to work on what should have been a festive day, but needs must. They monitored multiple possible targets as they had the previous month, in case they were mistaken about Woolsey targeting the book signing.
On the afternoon of Boxing Day, Hermione and Tom were at their stations in his office, awaiting news.
A disturbance in the air attracted Tom's attention to a shimmer in the center of the room, but not as fast as it attracted Hermione's attention, for her wand was aimed at the shimmer in an instant.
"It's just us!" exclaimed Ignis's voice. "Finite Incantatem." Ignis and Eric appeared, a black feather clasped between their hands.
Eric wrestled his hand out of Ignis's grip. "I was just about to figure out—"
"They were just about to figure out that you were snooping around their runes," said Ignis. He turned to Tom. "They're gathering around Under Covers all right."
Eric protested, "If I could go back and read those—"
"No!" said Hermione, Ignis, and Tom.
"If they notice you reading their runes, they will kill you," said Ignis slowly. "Understand?"
"But they were inscribing some really interesting—"
"They will kill you, and then you won't be able to read any more runes because you'll be dead," explained Ignis.
Eric sighed.
"Thank you both for your excellent work," said Tom. "Now I've taken up enough of your time on a full moon day already, so don't let me keep you from your secure transformation rooms any longer. My Floo is available to you." He flipped the switch and gestured to it graciously, for he had no desire to watch another werewolf transform.
"Er," said Eric. "I think I'll Apparate, if that's all right with you."
"Whatever you prefer," said Tom.
Eric disappeared with a crack.
"He did go home, right?" asked Hermione worriedly. "Not back to Knockturn Alley?"
"Yeah, I think I got through to him," said Ignis. "He just didn't want to say his home Floo address where humans could overhear it." He looked at the clock. "Actually I have plenty of time to walk home from here. Good luck tonight."
"And to you," said Tom.
"I hope your transformation isn't too agonizing," said Hermione.
Ignis paused on his way out the door. "Well, at least my left hand won't hurt." He left.
Hermione started mirror-calling the rest of their werewolves, telling them to leave their stations and go home.
Tom gulped down a vial of Polyjuice and suffered through the transformation. This time, he shrank slightly, particularly across the shoulders, and sprouted a mustache. He was concerned that his shoes would fall off, so he tightened the laces. Good enough. He looked at his greying image in the mirror. A mustache like that required wax to style it properly, but Tom lacked the requisite product, time, and experience, so he'd just have to tolerate its untidy bristling. He didn't bother asking Dobby to raise the hem of his robes an inch. He extended a hand to the shimmer in the corner. "Apparate me to the Pickled Salamander."
This was quickly done. Tom told the barkeep, "I need to use your Floo," and threw a pinch of Floo powder in the fire. "Werewolf Capture Unit," he called, and stuck his head in the green flames.
No one greeted him. He peered through the sparks at a sign, reading:
Our office is closed for the holidays. We reopen January 2. Happy New Year!
"Bloody hell." Tom withdrew his head from the flames. Feeling like he was trapped in a recurring nightmare, he threw another pinch of Floo powder in the fire and called, "Auror Department."
"Is this an emergency?" asked the dispatcher.
"Yes! I was just in Knockturn Alley, and I overheard some people talking about attacking the book signing at Under Covers this afternoon. I think they may be the same terrorists that attacked the book signing at Flourish and Blotts on Halloween."
The dispatcher smiled, glanced to the side, then flipped open a mirror. "Knockturn Alley special unit. Confirming initial bite on Project Honeymoon." She closed the mirror and looked back to Tom. "Thank you. Would you like to step through and make a statement?"
"Sorry, I've got no time for that."
"If you could give us a description of the people you overheard—"
"They may have been disguised anyway, so there would be no point."
"If you could even tell us how many people, and if they were witches or wizards—"
"Look, time is of the essence," said Tom. "They may be setting up their wards now."
"Rest assured that we have cursebreakers in the area already, sir. Could you please answer a few questions through the Floo then?"
"I already told—"
"I just need to confirm, you think the people who attacked Flourish and Blotts on Halloween will attack Under Covers today?"
"Yes!"
The dispatcher glanced to the side, then back to Tom. "And you know this because you happened to overhear the attackers discussing this today?"
"Yes."
The dispatcher's glance to the side was very quick this time. "Would you like some information about our witness protection program?"
"What?"
"Informants need not fear retribution from the criminals they've—"
"Look, I've said what I have to say. It's in your hands now. Goodbye."
"If there's anything else you can tell us—"
"You seem to have a handle on the situation. Just…" They shouldn't need this reminder, right? "You're aware that tonight is the full moon, right?"
"Yes of course, the other terrorist attack was werewolf-themed, so—"
"And you must know about the Hogsmeade attack on last month's full moon."
"Yes, but that was werewolves. The Halloween attack—"
"It's the same group. Both attacks were by the same people."
The dispatcher's good mood vanished. "What? Say that again." She looked to the side again.
"The Halloween terrorist attack and the full moon werewolf attack were perpetrated by the same people," said Tom slowly as the dispatcher's expression changed to horror.
"So there could be real werewolves at the bookshop today?"
"There will be!"
Her glance to the side was horrified. She hurriedly opened her mirror. "Knockturn Alley special unit. Abort Project Honeymoon!" she shouted. "There will be real werewolves there, not just smoke-wolves! Notify the Werewolf Capture Unit."
Tom couldn't quite make out the hubbub from the dispatcher's mirror.
She closed her mirror and turned to Tom. "Are you the wizard who called last month about the Hogsmeade attack?"
"What? No, I had nothing to do with that, I just happened to overhear—"
"Thank you," said the dispatcher after another glance to the side. "I told you last month that you should have called the Werewolf Capture Unit instead of us. They're in charge of werewolves."
"I called them first!" exclaimed Tom angrily. "They did nothing!"
"Hm," said the dispatcher, glancing to the side. She opened her mirror and listened to a muffled voice. "What? Bloody hell. Excuse me." She looked back to Tom. "You're right. The Werewolf Capture Unit is closed for the holidays."
"So who's going to save the people of Knockturn Alley?" demanded Tom.
The dispatcher blinked. "Well we obviously can't do it. This requires Dark creature experts. Who's that famous one who fought the terrorists at Flourish and Blotts? Ignis McKinnon wasn't it? We could call him—"
Tom withdrew from the Floo and staggered to his feet. This was an arduous task for his current body, requiring him to push against the floor with his hands. Once upright, he drew his mirror from his pocket. He was briefly startled by his own greying reflection as he opened it. "Ignis," he called.
Ignis answered in a moment. "Hello? Who is this?" There was fading daylight behind him.
"Your upstairs neighbor," said Tom hurriedly. "I'm calling from the Pickled Salamander. I Apparated here to use their Floo."
"Oh. Right. They have good sausage rolls," said Ignis. "Sorry I didn't recognize you with your new haircut."
"The Auror department will contact you soon."
"What?!"
"They're desperate for an expert available tonight, and the department they need is on holiday until January second."
"Merlin's crooked wand. And there goes the Floo!"
"A pity you're not available to answer it."
"Right. Thanks." Ignis closed his mirror, so Tom did as well.
"Excuse me sir," said the barkeep. "You planning on ordering anything?"
"Yes, I'll have six sausage rolls to go, please," said Tom. These were soon provided in a reinforced bag. The contents left dark grease tracks on the brown paper as they rolled around inside. Tom paid, then "Apparated" home with Dobby's help.
Tom set the bag in front of Hermione. "Care for a sausage roll?"
"But how did it go?" demanded Hermione, shifting her suspicious gaze from the rustling bag to Tom. "Is anyone coming to help?"
"No." Tom described the outing's various frustrations as the appetizing scent of sausage rolls filled the air.
"The dispatcher must have been looking at a Secrecy Sensor."
"That's now she could tell when I was lying? Clever."
"They're not foolproof. You could have overcome it with Occlumency."
"The truth is generally a harder sell than lies. Catching my lies must have convinced her that the device was functioning properly, which worked to my advantage. Knowing she believed at least some of what I said, I made a point of saying my more outrageous truths when she was eyeing that device. That helped me get the important points across."
Inside the paper bag, the sausage rolls must have all happened to roll in the same direction at once, for they toppled the bag onto its side. Two escaped, leaving greasy trails across his desk and, when the fell, the floor.
"Dobby, catch those," said Tom, hastily righting the bag.
Dobby chased after the sausage rolls as they dashed under furniture.
Hermione looked thoughtful, undoubtedly forming justifications for defending the book signing in person, so Tom enacted his plan to distract her. "We might as well eat these while they're fresh," he said, proffering the open bag at an angle. She caught a sausage roll as it rolled out and looked at it confusedly, which meant she wasn't attempting to fight a werewolf pack on her own.
Tom caught one from the bag as well and attempted to take a bite of it. Puff pastry shattered and immediately imbedded itself in his unkempt mustache. Perhaps he could have thought this through better.