Unsteadily, Charles stood up from the sofa. He must have fallen asleep there again last night. Yawning he went out to the kitchen. Through the window he could see that it was already in the middle of the day. A bit surprised he noted that there were two clean cups in the plate rack. Strange. He rarely used more than one cup, and Charles was a creature of habit. Oh well. Brewing fresh tea and making a sandwich he pondered about the last day. He had been reading, as usual, and he had a nagging feeling that he had come across something interesting. But what it was slipped his mind for the moment. Sitting down at the table and turning on the radio, he reflected sadly that age was creeping up on him. His memory was not what it had been.
The sun was shining through the slightly dirty window, making the dust dance in the rays. He regarded the people walking at Soho square outside his flat. There were a few tourists strolling around, enjoying the sights. A family of Chinese appearance with two little girls who were chasing each other were crossing the square. A man in the official jacket of the city council was picking up trash from the street. The leaves were falling from the trees, coloring the world orange. An old song was on the radio. Charles enjoyed it, but couldn't remember the name of the artist. The tea tasted good, but the bred was a bit stale. He thought about going to the store, but it was not his shopping-day. Charles was a creature of habit, after all.
The song had finished and a newsreader started to tell about the events of the last few days. A strike in France. A meeting in Brussel. A murder in Bristol. The world was keeping in shape, Charles concluded. He was waiting for the weather forecasting, but the newsreader was still talking about the Bristol murder. There seemed to be no clear idea of how the victim had died, and the circumstances were unclear. With rising interest Charles listened to the details about how the room had been locked and the body without marks. There had been signs of a fight. When the news were told (and the weather was forecasted to bring rain) Charles turned off the radio and thoughtfully stood up. This reminded him of something he mused as he cleaned his cup.
With stiff joints he walked into his study and opened his journal, scribbling down the news as well as the date. He also made a note of buying a newspaper to get a written account of the murder. Then he brought down a large clip-book from its shelf and started to go through it. Yes, he remembered correctly. There had been similar cases. No visible sign of violence, no trace of poison. Often hard to explain how the murderer had been able to get to the victim at all, through locked door or past multiple potential witnesses. He started to write down the names and dates, and was surprised about the amount of cases. And many of the events had probably never reached the newspapers, he pondered. Indeed, in many of the articles he had saved the possibility was discussed that some kind of medical problem, such as a heart attack, had caused the death. He regarded his writings and thought. There seemed to have been a peak of these deaths in the beginning of the eighties, and after that they had quite rapidly diminished, even if a few had been heard of after that as well. The eighties? Why then? He flipped the pages of his journals until he reached the notes about the events of November 1981. Oh yes, that had been quite spectacular. Unexplainable fireworks. Shooting stars. All those weird people dancing down the streets. Charles remembered talking to a few of them. Muggle they had called him... Muggle... A word meaning... Nonwizard? Yes, he found the notice about it, just a ramble of a strange person some bored journalist had been publishing in a local paper during the news draught a few years later. Charles had been wondering about that connection before but had dismissed it as some kind of underground culture. Now he wondered though. Were there some connection between the deaths and people calling themselves wizards... or was it possible to believe they did not simply call themselves, but actually were, wizards?
With a beating heart Charles began to flip through the clip-book again. Yes, there were more things connecting the deaths. Many of the victims were considered odd-balls by their neighbors. Dressing funny, not doing anything for their living as far as anyone knew, strange friends. Almost living outside society... or living inside another society? Wizards. Fighting each other probably. He was on to something now. He really was! He knew it!
The doorbell rang. With his thoughts racing Charles tried to get up from the chair, only to realize that he had been sitting at his desk for hours and that his joints were now loudly protesting about the unexpected exercise. A bit dizzy from sudden drop in blood pressure he made it to the door hoping that whoever was outside did not give up waiting. He opened the door and was surprised to see a girl outside. She was in her teens or somewhat older, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with the text "Weird Sisters". Her hair was pink as in an American movie. She smiled friendly at him and extended her hand.
'Hello Mr. Newbury' she said brightly. 'My name is Nymphadora Tonks, but please don't mind the Nymphadora part. I am Tonks for my friends. I work for the ministry. Would you mind me coming in and asking a few questions?'
He tried to sort his thoughts. She seemed to be friendly enough, but right now he did not want visitors. He was on to something big and he very much wanted to write it down and investigate it further before it slipped away. Still, if she was from the government as she said, it would be very rude indeed not to let her in. A thought struck him. He had read in the paper a few weeks ago about criminals tricking their way into elder people's home to rob them. But the girl at his door looked so sweet. He shook her hand and made up his mind.
'Very well, miss... Tonks? But it can't take much time. I am busy, you see.'
'Don't worry Charles. It will be quick.' And he let her in and closed the door. She took of her coat and walked into the kitchen.
'Please sit down and I will make us some tea!' she said and filled the kettle with water. A bit surprised, he sat down in the sofa. Tonks quickly produced two mugs of tea and found his sugar bowl. She seemed to find her ways in his kitchen perfectly, and even produced some cake from her bag. Then she joined him at the table.
'And you are fine?' she asked conversationally and took a sip of her tea. 'Have the health?'
'Why... er... yes, thank you!' He answered and quickly took a sip of his own tea to hide his confusion. She nodded contently.
'That's nice to hear. I'm all right too. A bit too much at work, but I don't mind actually, even if it means extra overtime to come here.' She smiled at him with something playful in her eyes and took a bite of the cake. 'You really keep us busy, Charles. There are those down at the bureau who are really annoyed with your research, but I tell them that you are in your full right to study whatever you want, even if it gives us some extra trouble. Please have some of the cake, by the way.' Automatically he took a piece, but he did not eat it.
'What!' he exclaimed nonplussed. 'How can my research trouble you? I have not published anything in ages. In fact, I have hardly mentioned it to anyone for years. And if you are implying that I am doing something illegal...'
'No, no. Not at all' she said quickly. 'Quite the opposite really. We are interested in your research and what you are finding out. As a matter of fact, that is why I am here. You wouldn't mind showing me, would you?'
'Well... he said hesitantly. I still have to check up on quite a number of facts and sources. It is not really in any state to be presented...'
'Oh, please, Charles. It's not like I am from the newspapers or anything. I am just curious.'
Why not he thought, still very confused about what to believe about this young lady. She is from the government after all. I will have to contact them with this sooner or later.
'Very well, miss' he said and put down his cup, about to raise, but she interrupted him.'
'Oh, please Charles. I don't want to force you through your tea. First we finish the cake, then we can look at the research. And please, call me Tonks.'
'Well, Tonks' he said, taking another sip from his cup. If you like...' they sat silent for a little while, and he suddenly realized that it was actually quite nice with company. That was only to scarce these days. The girl was a bit strange, but who wasn't these days? He took a bite of his cake.
'So what do you do at the ministry?' She took another bit of her cake and shot a glance through the window.
'Nice view you have here... Well, I am mostly in the field. I am just finished with an auror-exam... sort of police-work' she added quickly. 'But right now I work as an obliviator which is more boring, mostly, but usually less dangerous. And I meet some really interesting people.'
'Oh?' Obliviator? He wasn't sure what that was. It stirred some memories, though. Maybe he should ask.
'Oh yes. Like last week the whole department had to go up to Liverpool to sort out a werewolf alert, and then I spent almost the entire day with the night strollers who had seen it. It's the kind of people you never notice normally, but once you get to talk to them you realize that everyone have their own story to tell. Fashinating, really.'
'Sorry, did you say werewolf?' With a jerk, his thoughts were back at his research. That was impossible, wasn't it? But if there really were wizards? And there were some of those cases… The Luton massacre for example. No one had been able to explain that one.
'Well, that's what we call it, obviously...' Charles nodded impatiently and a bit disappointed. A code word. All trades were filled of them. But his thoughts were back on his research now, and his sense of duty was prodding him to go on. She worked at the ministry, after all, and he knew that he should tell them.
'Tonks, I am sorry to interrupt, but there is something of my research that I really should tell you. If you don't mind I would suggest us to take a look at it now.' She sighed and stood up.
'Well, all right Charles. Let's get to business.' She helped him up from the sofa (which embarrassed him slightly) and together they walked to his study. She was curiously looking around.
'Cool place. You have gathered information a long time, I take it?' He nodded, flattered by her attention.
'My whole life, miss. And this is probably my most exciting finding yet.' He picked up the paper he had scribbled on earlier in the day.
'You heard of this, miss?' she glanced at it and her face got serious.
'Oh yes. The Bristol murder. Terrible, but what else to expect. It was a college of mine who took care of it.'
'Oh? Well, I have reasons to believe that the conductor, as well as the victim, is, and was a wizard.' She regarded him a few seconds. She did not seem to be surprised.
'Wizard you say? And how did you come to that conclusion?' He was slightly taken aback, as he had been expecting more of a reaction of any kind, but he started to flip in his clip-book.
'It is not the only crime of its kind, Tonks. I have gathered some of the cases here, and I am sure there are more... Look. Locked room, no poison, no marks. How did they do that? And this one...' He went on, explaining his theory, elaborating it, admitting there was many blank spaces. Tonks listened with interest and made a few short comments. When he talked about the strange events of 1981 she nodded sadly.
'Yes, I remember that. I was not old, but it sort of made impression. The most feared wizards of all times finally beating it. It was like the whole wizard community suddenly started to breathe again.' Her voice was a bit far away, as she was talking to herself and her memories more than to Charles, but her words got through. He slowly turned and stared at her.
'The... wizard community?'
She smiled at him and took her hand from her pocket. She held a piece of wood in it.
'And back to work again, I am afraid. Thank you very much for the chat and the tea, Charles. I am afraid I will have to change a few things in your journal.' And she pointed the stick right towards his head.
'Obliviate'