Eric Sable set aside his apron and looked out from his shop window at the shaded morning. Everything was bustling as usual, wizards and witches mulling about getting this thing or that. He sighed; getting the table and chairs through that mess all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron was going to be a real fight, but it would have to be done. His shop didn't pay for itself without customers, after all.
He looked back to the work table with some satisfaction. Ten years of re-assembling other people's cast offs had finally paid off in giving him a marketable skill, allowing him to actually get some decent materials for this year at Hogwarts. It was easy enough to survive last year on the leftover books from other students, but each year that would get harder. Far better to get into the habit of earning his way. Besides, he wasn't going to Hogwarts out of the headmaster's charity. Eventually, he'd have a real bill to pay. Best to keep it as small as possible.
Looking to the back of his shop, Eric mused a bit. There was Mr. Ollivander's end table, the display stands for Quality Quidditch, and the refinished desk for Gringots ( now there's a job that'll pay the rent ). He'd have to close his schedule. The semester was growing closer and he needed time to prepare. It was almost a shame he was becoming a wizard. A fellow could grow rich being the only carpenter on Diagon Alley. For all the abilities magic gave people, they've all but forgotten how to set a joint or drive a dowel. The first week Eric came to find a summer job, his abilities with shelves quickly gave him all the customers he could manage while still taking Sunday off. There were even orders from Knockturn Alley, though he insisted that they pick up their orders.
Loading up his wagon, Eric started up the alley towards the Leaky Cauldron. Passing Mrs. Peal, his landlady, he inquired if there was some way he could close the shop yet keep the space. "Well, young man, there are a number of shopkeepers who would be most distressed if you didn't return next year. I'll see if we can't work some way of keeping your space." Leaving with a wink, she set off for Madam Malkin's. Eric was sure that she would be able to work out some arrangement. She had been very helpful in getting him set up, and even covered for him when the Ministry of Magic checked into whether or not he was breaking the ban on underage wizardry. For himself, Eric never felt he was breaking the rule; just bending it a ways. It was, after all, the only way he could get his lathe spinning fast enough to get the legs for her nightstand carved out properly.
As he pulled his wagon up the street, Eric could see that a few of his fellow students passing by. He doubted that they were getting their supplies this early. More likely that they lived in the area or that their parents had business to attend. He never paid them too much mind; they never said hello, and he didn't make many friends at all. Really, he didn't feel the need. Most of the students were polite enough, and Neville would probably need tutoring again. His own house would probably be more inviting this year, now that he could talk to the first-years as a Ravenclaw, and not as a Slytherin who changed houses.
It was almost as if thinking about his original house conjured bad luck. As Eric turned up the alley on the final leg of the pull, there was Draco Malfoy, the most obnoxious of all the Slytherins in his class, flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle. Eric had dearly hoped that they didn't see him, or perhaps didn't recognize him. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
"Well, well! If it isn't Hogwarts' orphan daughter. Nice ponytail, Erica!" Eric had braided his hair in order to keep it from tangling in his tools. Admittedly, his waist-length hair was unusual for a boy, even in Diagon Alley. However, it was always accepted at Hogwarts, and anybody here found it disturbing, at least nobody was rude enough to mention it.
If it was just a case of words, Eric might not have even bothered with it. Crabbe, however, decided that insults weren't enough. Grabbing onto Eric's braid, he pulled Eric sideways and swung him into the apothecary's. Crabbe's victory was brief, however, before a vicious kick to the back of his knees brought him crashing to the ground. Goyle wasn't much more of a challenge as Eric dodged his lunge, catching his arm and sending him flying across the cobblestones. Both of them took hard strikes to their heads, stunning them for the time being. This left Malfoy, which left Eric with a real puzzle. Draco really wasn't as much a challenge as he thought himself, especially without his muscleheads. Unfortunately, there was the small matter of Draco's family. Even Eric knew that his father, Lucius, was the most influential of Hogwarts' governors – a fact due to a well earned reputation for treachery.
This problem was solved for him by the growing crowd, which eventually included Draco's father. "I must say, it's hardly fitting for classmates to be brawling in the streets, even if it is with those who have seen fit to leave the finest house in the school." Eric was chilled down his spine as he looked into Lucius Malfoy's face. Whether it was simply the way he held himself or an enchantment, it didn't matter. Eric understood completely why so many people found it simpler, safer, and altogether less worrisome to either stay out of his way or to go along with his wishes.
This being the case, Eric was sure that the crowd was his salvation. Even if Lucius wanted to curse him, he had no cause to. Draco was untouched, and more than a few would vouch that Eric was defending himself. Not waiting to find out if there was anything more, Eric did his best to excuse himself, gather up the ropes to his cart, and finish his trip to the Cauldron. The furniture was undamaged, and there was dinner and payment to look forward to.
Tom the bartender was more than happy to see the table set back. Eric had deliberately darkened the varnish to make sure the set would blend in with all the other tables and not bear a recently-repaired look. Although he liked Tom, when he tried to barter down the ten galleon price tag, Eric didn't budge. One galleon for each chair and four for the table with dinner when the order was done – it was all the quote and that was Tom's signature on the order. If he didn't like it, he could replace the set at three times the cost while Eric was in his rights to confiscate the set and sell it down the street for twice what he was making on the order. As Eric sampled his stew, he smirked with satisfaction. There was nothing quite as satisfying as being the only carpenter on the Alley.
As he delved into his dinner, Eric noted that, in the far corner of the Cauldron's main room, there sat an unusual couple. There was no doubt but that they were muggles; their fashions were far too modern for anything else. The man was easily six and a half feet tall and professionally dressed, his black suit and tie sharply cut and fitted. The woman was over a head shorter than he was, attired in black with white trim and blouse. Both of them wore the appearance of the well-off. Clearly, these were people who were used to be in control of their surroundings, for the man was obviously uncomfortable being so out of place, while the woman appeared to be waiting.
Eric couldn't help but overhear their conversation. He was continually suggesting that "… this ( whatever 'this' may be ) was a bad idea, and hardly the best for their daughter." She responded plainly each time that if what she suspected was true, then they had no options – she would have to be taught for her own good and for those around her. Eric carefully watched them, not wishing to disturb them or to be caught as an eavesdropper. As they spoke to each other, he saw that through his stiff exterior. The man listened and seemed to put thought into everything he heard. He never answered his wife quickly or interrupted her, even though she spoke much more softly than he did. This led Eric to the conclusion that he really did care for his family, even if he did seem a bit aloof.
The answer to this riddle came in the form of Professor Dumbledore, who seemed to just appear from a corner of the room. Sitting across from the man, he was the exact opposite of the gentleman facing him. His clothes were wild in color, his hair was generally unkempt, and he bore an expression of a gentle grandfather about to sit down for evening tea. "Good afternoon Mister Wainwright, and good afternoon to you as well, Dorothy. Your uncle sends his regards."
The woman smiled. "Thank you professor. I trust everything is well at the school?"
"The school is as it has been, and we are all busily preparing for the fall term and the coming year – which brings us to the matter at hand." Dumbledore reached inside his robe. "Even though you never were able to demonstrate an ability in magic, you always had a gift for recognizing it. I believe you are expecting this?" Withdrawing his hand, the Headmaster produced a small letter, the likes of which every Hogwarts student had received at one time or another.
The man seemed less than pleased. "So it's true - she's a witch, like her aunt?"
Dumbledore seemed completely unperturbed. "I do understand what you're going through. There are many among non-magical families who find our traditional terms distressing because of what those words have come to represent. For your sake, let us say that your daughter is unusually gifted, and because of this she needs special education regarding how to control these gifts to the benefit of herself and others."
The man folded his hands, resting his chin in thought before finally speaking. "I've always known that Naomi was special, and I've never denied her anything she's truly needed. If going to your school is what she needs, then that's where she'll go." The woman gave a small smile and took her husband's hand in gratitude.
Dumbledore also seemed pleased. "It is good for the school to take in students with such loving fathers. We will do our very best to make this as easy for you as possible." His head suddenly snapped upward. "Eric, won't you come here please?"
Catching his breath and cursing himself for listening in, Eric left his cooling stew to obey the Headmaster. Dumbledore introduced him to the Wainwrights. "Eric is a resident student at our school, working his summer here to pay his expenses. If you wish, he can make all the necessary purchases for you so that you won't have to navigate our shops until you're more familiar with our customs."
The man stood upward, towering over Eric, but with an expression that was far more welcoming than Lucius Malfoy's. "Roger Wainwright; and this is my wife Dorothy. Naomi is our only daughter; I don't want her spoiled, but she also deserves the best."
There was something about Roger's manner, the way that he addressed Eric, that put him at ease. While clearly setting himself in charge of their encounter, Eric didn't feel threatened at all, but rather was filled with a desire to please him. "I've gotten to know the shops rather well, so supplies won't be a problem. Most of the storeowners will already know what she needs, but she'll have to be present to purchase a wand from Ollivander's and Madam Malkin won't sell robes without a proper fitting."
Roger seemed reasonably impressed with Eric, as well. "There's no other way?"
Eric was sure. "Mister Ollivander gives the impression of being disorganized, and he is. However, no one knows how to match a wand better than he does. Madam Malkin is also an expert; to go with anyone else is to accept second-best."
Roger nodded. "That settles it, then. We'll see you here a week from now. I'll leave the exact details with the bartender." The Wainwrights excused themselves, while Dumbledore seemed to disappear into whatever corner he came from ( with Eric wondering if he was wearing any of his special woolen socks from last year ). With all the excitement finished, Eric went back to his stew, still tasty and satisfying, if a bit cooler.
He managed to finish the majority of it before Amiel Blott, the owner of Flourish & Blott's Booksellers, plopped on the bench opposite of him. He was a roundish sort, though not too unfit – it struck Eric as unfortunate that most bookish people could fall into that category ( he'd have to keep active in order to avoid that fate ). "Ah, young man, I've examined your work up and down the street. Marvelous, just marvelous! You're the talk of the Alley these days, did you know that?"
As much as Eric enjoyed appreciation, he disliked open praise; it felt to phony to him, and it always meant the same thing. "Thank you for the complements, sir. Is there something you're looking to have done?"
"Ah, one who gets down to the point – excellent. I've recently had the most exciting news! Gilderoy Lockhart is coming to a special signing at our store a week from now. I expect to be filled beyond capacity, and I need a special set of shelves to display his stock. I'm thinking ten shelves total, five levels with a foot clearance for each, four feet wide broken into two cases. I'll also need a signing table…"
Eric expected that the man would've gone on much longer if he hadn't stopped him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not taking any more orders this year. I have three jobs that need to get done, two of which will now clearly be desired before Mister Lockhart's visit, and I have my own preparations to go through before I may leave for school."
Mister Blott was dumbfounded. "But that's not possible! I don't have anything suitable for the job, and there's no way to acquire anything in a timely manner. Magical sources take too long, and muggles can't deliver here – they ask too many questions, and the Ministry would have a fit if they had to alter memories without a proper reason. You have to help me; I'll pay anything!"
Eric thought on that for a minute. It would mean a swift jolt of three sixteen-hour days to accomplish this and meet his prior orders to Ollivander's and Quality Quidditch. That would be followed by two days of gathering supplies, and one day of collapsed exhaustion. However, there could be something that would make it worth it. "Two sets of shelves: eight inches deep, four feet wide, one foot spacing, five shelves each set. One table, light varnish and gilded. One matching chair, upholstered with gold fabric."
His guest's face brightened considerably. "You can do it – really?"
Eric smiled, for he had the man hooked. "The terms are: you accept responsibility for my shop's rent, payable to Mrs. Peal, for the upcoming months while I am at school. The doors are to be locked and all materials inside are to remain secure and untouched. Heating and ventilation will be unnecessary, but the space is to remain rented in my name."
Amiel's face suddenly turned red. "That's ridiculous!"
Eric remained firm. "The order is ridiculous. The timing is just as ridiculous. A natural result is that the fee will be ridiculous. Please keep in mind that we're talking about a proper display table and shelves, made of thick wood; none of this muggle splinterboard. The set also has to be completed in a few days to allow for varnishing and detailing. Incidentally; this fee covers materials, too." After staring blankly for a second, Amiel sat back and nodded. Eric turned back to his meal. "Come to the store this evening, and I'll have the order ready for you to sign."