Mr. Bowmann had finally arrived.
The door opened with a bang.
Mr. Bowmann strolled confidently towards the open chest, bringing an army of wizards and witches with him. His—one can say— glorious hair flapped with every step he took, and Mr. Broadmoor had the sudden urge to roll his eyes at a senior Ministry employee.
"Circe," he called to Unspeakable Abbott, "How is it in the Department of Mysteries? Still finding enough time for the mysteries of the day?"
Mr. Broadmoor saw Unspeakable Abbott's face wrinkle. Her jaw was stiff as she replied.
"All is well in the Department of Mysteries, Wilfred. No need to worry."
"I'm pleased to hear that! Merlin knows you've been busy!"
A cough was heard from the vicinity of the portrait. Mr. Broadmoor kept his focus on the singular person. Mr. Bowmann turned to face him.
"And you, Vincent! Little owls told me you were having troubles with some of your interns!" Mr. Bowmann's face was intrigued as he looked at him. He continued, "Not actual owls, of course. But interns! To be that young and start fresh at the Ministry again! I hope nothing is amiss?"
All around him, wizards and witches of all ages were streaming towards their direction, whispering and murmuring most certainly about the large artifact placed in the middle of the room without giving any care to the three figures at the center. Mr. Broadmoor took a deep breath.
"Of course not, Wilfred. Of course not."
"I'm glad to be mistaken! What do we have here?"
His body twisted to take a better look at the artifact—and the portrait sticking out from it.
The portrait raised his arms over his head, his beard twitching as he exclaimed, "Welcome, another stranger! Every time I blink, more people are rushing in! It's as if you are multiplying!"
"Now, that's something to imagine!" replied Mr. Bowmann, "You never know! Anything is possible with magic."
Unspeakable Abbott cleared her throat. "Doubling Charm does not work on actual people, as it goes against the principles of Fundamental Laws of Magic. You cannot duplicate metaphysical entities like souls and minds."
Mr. Bowmann ignored her.
"I suppose introductions are in order! This is Circe Abbott, the Head of the Department of Mysteries!" He gestured towards Unspeakable Abbott, "and this sad man is Vincent Broadmoor, the Head of Magical Artifacts!" He saluted towards him. Mr. Broadmoor's nose flared.
"And lastly, I'm Wifred Bowmann, the Head of the Wizard Resources Office."
He looked at the portrait, which was now staring at them with wide eyes.
"Oh my! I feel so inadequate while around so many important people with such important titles," exclaimed the portrait while an awed expression across his face. Mr. Broadmoor had the impression it was the opposite.
The portrait continued, "What should be done? Take me back to wherever you found my chest and close the lid, will you? Before the shame kills me, at least."
"Do not feel any shame old man! It's only natural to feel that way around distinguished individuals. You wouldn't be the first one and you won't certainly be the last!"
"What a pity! I was actually starting to like that chest. Sitting alone in the dark was certainly better than listening to all of this noise. They are abusing my precious ears!" The portrait closed his ears with his hands.
"You are funny, old man!" Mr. Bowmann said, "How about we make you a little more comfortable?"
Mr. Bowmann pointed his wand and with a simple Wingardium Leviosa , the portrait was levitated out of the chest onto the mid-air, and Mr. Broadmoor finally had a good look at the whole portrait. His hair and beard was long and silver while he was wearing a garment and a pointy hat that would put not just Albus Dumbledore but many old quirky wizards to shame. Moving shooting stars and flickering constellation decorated his purple robe. His extravagant gestures and expressions fit into his character. Now looking at him, Mr. Broadmoor thought, he seemed familiar. But he might simply be projecting.
As the portrait was lifted, the portrait released a bewildered gasp.
"I've never seen more peculiar magic!"
"Quite different from your time, isn't it? Magic has advanced a great deal from your time."
"I didn't tell you it was impressive. Seems a little impractical, needing both a spell and a stick at the same time."
"How else would you do magic? Silly old man."
Mr. Broadmoor's eyes met with Unspeakable Abbott. Can this man have really forgotten an entire branch of magic?
Unspeakable Abbott chose to interfere.
"While a wand is a useful tool to channel magic, it is not necessary or even helpful in some types of practices. The first wand is believed to be invented around the 2rd century and was used, mostly, as an European invention. Wandless magic continues to be the norm in some parts of the world, today—"
"—Thank you, Circe. That was illuminating."
Mr. Broadmoor couldn't help himself. He continued where Abbott was cut off.
"However, wandless magic is an exceptional form of magic that only wizards with great skill can perform. It requires extraordinary amounts of control and concentration over someone's will and power. Thus, most modern wizards prefer using a wand—"
"—Just as I said, illuminating—"
"—If you please stop interrupting, Bower, this old man can finally learn something!"
All three figures stared at the portrait, which was staring at them with his arms crossed in his chest.
"In my time, there wasn't something called a wand! Perhaps, I am really curious about learning about… about—"
"—Wandlore—"
"—Thank you, dear. Perhaps, I am really curious about learning about Wandlore and want to become a… a—"
"—Wandmaker—"
"—A Wandmaker ! Really? Things are getting ridiculous—"
" Bower ?"
The portrait glanced at Mr. Bowmann but continued talking.
"My point is, Mr. Bower, you shouldn't interrupt someone explaining stuff to others. That's just depriving others from new information. Didn't anybody tell you it is very rude?"
Mr. Bowmann gaped at him. He opened his mouth, then closed again, and then opened again. He swung a finger at the portrait as he retorted, "You aren't even capable of becoming a Wandmaker. That's plain ridiculous! You don't need that kind of information! You are a portrait!"
"Rude, Mr. Bower! Very rude!"
"It's not Mr. Bower. It's Mr. Bowmann!"
"That's what I said!"
"No. It isn't."
"It is."
"It isn't."
"Why would it matter? I'm just a portrait, after all. I can just misname your names if I'd like."
Mr. Bowmann's ears were red and he was looking with such hatred, Mr. Broadmoor had to close his eyes to keep himself from laughing. Mr. Broadmoor glanced at Unspeakable Abbott, who was in a similar state. She was attempting to hide her grin with her hand. He could actually start to like this portrait after all, Mr. Broadmoor thought.
"Misnaming people is—"
"—Rude! Finally, thank you! It is rude as much as interrupting people, wouldn't you agree?"
Mr. Bowmann's shoulders were shaking. His hands were packed tightly into fists as he stared down at the portrait. The portrait appeared unfazed.
"I would assume so," he said after a beat.
"Exactly. You finally got the point I was making, Mr. Broadmoor! Finally!"
Mr. Bowmann twitched.
"I am Mr. Bowmann, not Mr. Broadmoor. He is Mr. Broadmoor." He gestured towards him.
"You are Bowmann and he is Broadmoor." He hummed, as if considering something. "Things are going to get complicated too fast. How about I call you Bower and him Broader? That way I can identify you both easily."
"That's unacceptable!"
"How about Bow and Brothel? It's like the name of a tavern!"
"That's even more unacceptable!"
"You cannot expect me to remember your actual names! I'm really really old, you know. I have terrible memory. And your names are exceptionally weird! Like they are purposefully crafted to confuse people..."
"If you are in the presence of a high level Ministry employee, it is only proper to address them with their actual name and title!"
"I don't! I can just leave!"
"You can?" Disbelief was apparent in Mr. Bowmann's tone.
"Please! As if a single painting can contain me!"
After a pause, Mr. Bowmann retorted, "Why wouldn't you leave before if you could?"
"You amuse me too much, Mr. Brower. And I'm in a desperate need of amusement."
After a particularly heavy sigh, Mr. Broadmoor believed Mr. Bowmann would collapse from frustration, and yet, he did not. Mr. Bowmann was silent as he considered something.
When Mr. Broadmoor looked at the portrait again, the old man arched an eyebrow in his direction. Mr. Broadmoor had the sudden thought that he had forgotten something important.
"You shouldn't think I've forgotten the previous conversation we had, Mr. Broadmoor. Not introducing yourself is rude as much as interrupting other people."
It seemed that Unspeakable Abbott was the only person who escaped the portrait's wrath. Or not.
"And you, Ms. Abbott! You shouldn't think I haven't seen you roll your eyes at every little thing these two pot-brained idiots did! Rolling your eyes isn't proper—for anyone really!"
Pot-brain—what did that even mean? Mr. Broadmoor felt that it was better not to question it.
When Mr. Broadmoor looked away, Mr. Bowmann appeared to have finally composed himself and now, was attempting to flatten his glorious hair that had protruded while arguing with the portrait. He cleared his throat and smiled as if he realized something.
"I've got what you are trying to do, old man. You are trying to provoke us!"
"If you say so!"
"These mind games won't work on me anymore. I've finally figured out your trick."
Mr. Bowmann turned towards Mr. Broadmoor and Unspeakable Abbott, who were now standing next to him. Mr. Bowmann had a smile on his face, looking a bit strained, but a smile nonetheless. He started talking.
"With that over with, we can finally continue with this inspection! Can't we?"
He waited but no one replied. The portrait snorted.
"Well, let's start with seeing if this old man is the only artifact that was in the chest. Shall we?"
Mr. Bowmann raised his wand once more and with an Accio Quick-Quotes Quill, they found themselves staring at a levitated quill and piece of parchment.
"Hey Quill! Record everything that comes out of this chest, will you?"
The pen tilted knowingly and Mr. Broadmoor was suddenly worried about its sentience.
"Relax, Vincent!" said Mr. Bowmann quite suddenly, "We will do the portioning after we record everything."
Portioning? A glance at Unspeakable Abbott revealed she, too, was unaware of the fact that they would divide the contents of the chest between two departments, and not just allocate all of them into a single department.
"Then again, you were always a little uptight."
Mr. Broadmoor chose to watch the chest instead of replying. Nameless wizards and witches in the room began to levitate various objects out of the artifact and the portrait started shouting at them. "Be careful with those, you turnip-heads! Those are very precious!"
"Merlin. How on earth all of this stuff fit in there?" asked Unspeakable Abbott, after taking a long look at some of the objects taken out of the closet.
"Huh? Magic, of course!" replied the portrait.
Some of the objects were common items like books— lots of books, poultices, magical amulets and crystals; others were less common. Three wooden staff, two pendants with strange symbols, one crossbow, one cup, and one particularly large red cape were removed from the chest in the end.
Mr. Broadmoor was anxiously waiting. Portioning suddenly didn't feel like a terrible idea. Books alone could fill an entire library. It would take ages to decipher and analyze all of the objects, and sort them into right sub-departments.
A booming voice sliced right through his thoughts.
"May I have your attention! Thank you!" yelled Mr. Bowmann while holding his wand towards his throat. Mr. Broadmoor shouted right back.
"Merlin's beard! You don't need an Amplifying Charm here, Wilfred! We are only what —twenty people?"
"Vincent, I know what I'm doing! Trust me!"
Mr. Broadmoor had to close his ears due to the sudden assault in his direction. Mr. Bowmann was talking directly to his face, without breaking the Amplifying Charm. Honestly. This man(!) was older than both him and Unspeakable Abbott and yet...
"Come on, people! Don't levitate at a Streeler's pace! Here, levitate that crystal to here! Do I have to tell you everything?"
When all objects were laid out in mid-air, all the wizards and witches fell silent and stood motionless. Mr. Broadmoor stared at the faces that had arrived with Mr. Bowmann and was startled. He recognized half of them from his own Magical Artifacts Office. They were his subordinates. Felix, Daisy, Bathsheba, Rosalind, Antioch and Edward. They were quite random in their positions and areas. The other half was wearing the formal Unspeakable uniform. The two groups stood separately in the two corners of the room, preferring to mingle between themselves. Realization of what Mr. Bowmann was attempting came to Mr. Broadmoor as he fought the urge to snort.
Mr. Bowmann leaned on to him and whisper-shouted, "I was assembling a team—that's why I was a little late! I hate tardiness! You know me, Vincent!"
"Of course, Wilfred. Of course."
He leaned back and addressed the whole group.
"I hope you have gotten comfortable," Mr. Bowmann began. A few people laughed. "but we've got a lot of work to do. I expect everyone's best work and attention in the upcoming weeks where we will study and analyze these objects and determine their origins."
He stopped.
"First, we will separate into two groups and play a game—" A game? "—of sorts to portion all of these artifacts between those two groups. Mr. Broadmoor will be the head of one group and Unspeakable Abbott the other. You can choose your group names later." He winked. "We can start now."
Mr. Broadmoor released a breath and began walking towards the group that came from the Magical Artifacts Office. He saw Unspeakable Abbott doing the same thing, strutting towards the group from the Department of Mysteries. Mr. Bowmann stopped both of them in their tracks.
"Oh! But I think you misunderstood me. I meant the opposite groups," he added, "We can do introductions later."
Unspeakable Abbott turned to Mr. Bowmann with her hand in the air.
"What are you— "
"Circe, loosen up! Think of this as a game that will improve the ties between two departments—well one department and one office but technicalities…"
"A game? Is this what this is to you?"
"Well, let's say this is the consequences of what happened between you and Mr. Broadmoor a few days ago."
Mr. Broadmoor felt his blood run cold. This was punishment. He shouldn't have expected that would be forgotten.
"You and Wizard Resources! Damn you!" shouted Unspeakable Abbott.
"We only want the best of all Ministry employees, Circe! I will let that one go as we are equals and all."
Unspeakable Abbott was breathing heavily and Mr. Broadmoor chose this moment to interfere.
"And what exactly are you going to do here, Wifred? You are not from either department and hardly knowledgeable about magical artifacts."
"I'm going to supervise you both, of course!"
The answer he was dreading came.
"Now, don't try to delay the inevitable! Go to your groups!"
Mr. Broadmoor held onto all of the courage he could muster and walked towards the group of Unspeakables. He glanced at all of their faces, which seemed bleak and grim as expected from people who worked for the Department of Mysteries, and nodded. He was content as they caught his eyes and nodded back, until he reached the last person in their small group. Not this douche please. But alas, fate was cruel. Or probably Mr. Bowmann.
"Let's start with the centerpiece of this collection, shall we?"
Mr. Bowmann had started addressing them again. He stood next to the portrait with his arms wide open. The portrait was watching him with deep interest, with his eyes gleaming from time to time.
"First group to find one fact about the identity of the portrait will get the portrait for their own group! Understood?"
Groans and sighs were heard from both groups. It seemed their interaction with the portrait didn't go unnoticed. Mr. Broadmoor felt his cheeks burn, then shook his head. It's probably nothing compared to his exchange with Unspeakable Abbott. Speaking of the devil...
He saw Unspeakable Abbott standing in a circle with people from his office— her group. They were whispering and mumbling to each other. Traitors.
"Do we have… any strategies?" one Unspeakable asked. Mr. Broadmoor turned towards her and paused.
"No— Miss? "
"Jane."
"No, Ms. Jane. Your guess as to how to go forward is as good as mine."
The woman scoffed.
There was an awkward pause.
"Aren't you supposed to be our leader, or something?" asked that boy. Another girl hissed at him, he shrugged her off.
"Well, yes..."
"Then why are you not doing something? How do you normally direct stuff in the Office of Magical Artifacts, Mr. Broadmoor? "
He didn't answer. Instead, he walked straight towards the portrait, who greeted him with a large bow.
"So soon, Mr. Broadmoor! Have you decided what you want to ask me yet?"
"I've decided the best way to go forward—" he looked at the group of Unspeakables "—is simply to start asking questions."
"That's ingenious, Mr. Broadmoor! Obviously, that hasn't been tried at all before!"
He ignored the portrait.
"The portrait has to give one answer that would hint at his origins or some event in his past."
The Unspeakables replied with various reactions.
"Good enough strategy for me." "So should we just overwhelm the portrait with questions?" "Threatening him while burning his frame would be faster." "I mean I cannot imagine a better way but that doesn't mean—"
The Unspeakable girl from before simply walked at the portrait.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"You have to be more specific. I have many names, you know!"
"How can anyone have more than one name?"
"It's hard not collecting them like candy when you reach my age."
The Unspeakable boy interrupted the Unspeakable girl with his own question.
"What did your mother call you?"
"My little bird, of course!" he paused while stroking his beard. "or demon child. Only when she was particularly angry, however."
"Demo— what?"
"What does anyone's mother call their children?"
Soon enough all of the Unspeakables in his group started questioning the portrait with their own question. However, the answers they got were all vague and hollow, which deepened their frustration.
"Where did you grow up?"
"In the edge of a forest."
"Does the forest have a name?"
"Not a name her mother gave."
"What was your profession when you were alive?"
"..."
"Your clothes suggest you worked in astronomy?.."
The portrait snorted. "My clothes don't suggest anything. I don't even like purple! It's such a prat-ish colour!"
"Then why are you wearing it?"
"Some sacrifices had to be made after losing a bet."
"What is your favorite food?"
"Kidney Pie"
"Well… That gave in nothing."
"On a scale of 1 to 10, how funny would you say you are?"
"Pfft… Twelve."
The Unspeakable girl faced the Unspeakable boy and said, "That wasn't even a proper question. It has no use to learn about the portrait's identity!"
"We have to try somehow! He's not answering any of the questions properly."
"Of course, he wouldn't if they are not proper questions!"
The portrait interrupted them. "Calm down, young warlocks. I will answer all of your questions! You don't have to worry!"
Mr. Broadmoor watched as the Unspeakable girl and Unspeakable boy ignored the portrait and continued to quibble.
A frustrated expression clouded the portrait's face. His pale eyebrows twitched and he glared at Mr. Broadmoor. What did I do now? he wondered.
"Ahem…"
"I can't believe we are having this argument right now, Jonathan!"
"Well, Jane, we are having this argument because of you right now!
"If you allow me to—"
"Me? You are the troublemaker of this team!"
"Now, you can't even accept any criticisms, can you?
"Can you please be silent for a moment!"
The Unspeakable girl and Unspeakable boy both closed their mouths and glared at each other.
"What's with the arguments between wizards today? Did all of you eat something wrong today?" the portrait wondered aloud.
"That sounds nonsensical," retorted the Unspeakable boy. The portrait stroked his beard.
"Do not antagonize the portrait, Jonathan!"
"Shut up, Jane."
"Young man, as your companion notably pointed out, you shouldn't try to alienate the folk you try to get something from—"
"Companion?"
"—you will always sell yourself short that way. And always be respectful towards your teammates. You are being awfully rude right now!"
The Unspeakable boy— Jonathan frowned and retorted, "What are you going to do about it?
"You have no idea."
"Show me."
The old portrait sighed.
"I'm here to amuse myself, not to amuse others. Wasn't that clear in my answers before?"
"It wasn't."
"I didn't expect a reply."
"Then why did you ask?
"There is something called a rhetorical question. Honestly. What do they even teach you in apprenticeships these days? Soon enough, you will start taking every word that comes out of my mouth seriously!"
"Wait," said Mr. Broadmoor, "Apprenticeships?"
The portrait nodded.
"So you didn't go to a magic school."
"There wasn't any in my time."
Mr. Broadmoor looked at the portrait's face again. The old man had a long beard and twinkling eyes, purple robes and a pointy hat. All facts point to a single direction but which direction? Just who are you?
Unspeakable Abbott interrupted his thoughts, "We already aware this artifact originated from a lot of time ago. Clearly, he lived in a time before Hogwarts."
Mr. Broadmoor noticed how Unspeakable Abbott and her team had gathered around them. They were watching their interaction with the portrait, like he and his team were a group of charlatans doing the hard work for them. Well… that cannot continue.
"However, Unspeakable Abbott, you ignore one thing," he said.
He faced towards the portrait one more time and asked, "Were you apprenticed under anyone?"
"Not by someone you know."
Mr. Broadmoor hesitated. What if the old man was telling the truth? What if he was apprenticed under someone who isn't known in the Wizarding World currently?
"How did they teach you magic?"
"They didn't need to! Everyone can do magic."
"So your mentor didn't teach you magic?"
"I didn't tell you they didn't."
"You didn't tell us they did either."
"I don't understand your point, Mr. Broadmoor." The twinkling eyes of the portrait told another story. "I didn't or I did. What difference would it make? I thought my meaning was transparent enough."
"Crystal clear," said Mr. Broadmoor, "Then how did you learn magic?"
"I didn't."
"I don't mean that. How did you study magic? Learn spells? Do enchantments?"
"There are many books of magic one can learn from to improve their knowledge. You should open one sometimes if you are curious."
"You are self-taught then," said the Unspeakable boy— Jonathan, "A self-taught wizard."
"A wizard that didn't apprentice anyone," continued the Unspeakable girl— Jane.
"In a time where there weren't any magic schools," said another Unspeakable.
Mr. Broadmoor was missing the big picture. Why would a wizard be self-taught? he thought, No. Not that. Why would a wizard be self-taught if there were other wizards to learn from? Being completely independent in your magic education was unheard of even in the early Wizarding history. And Mr. Broadmoor, despite countless claims by his adversaries, wasn't exactly unintelligent. There was an inconsistency. Or was there? Could this portrait be from that era?
A mysterious and unknown era of their history. Not a lot of artifacts survived from that time. The archives that survived describe scenes more horrifying and brutal than the witch hunts of the 16th century. A time when being a magic user didn't just get you killed but had your whole family shunned as well.
"You lived during the Purge," he declared.
All eyes focused on the portrait, who was staring back at them straight back. He sighed and closed his eyes.
"I did..."
Mr. Bowmann clapped his hands together and said, "Congratulations to Mr. Broadmoor and his team! You get the portrait."
Indignant shrieks were heard.
"That doesn't tell anything about his identity! That doesn't count!" shouted Unspeakable Abbott.
"It counts if I say so!" replied Mr. Bowmann, "We also wasted a lot of time and I don't want waste any more."
Mr. Broadmoor gave a relieved sigh and nodded towards his team. His team of Unspeakables returned his nod with their own. The portrait was levitated towards their side of the room. The old man winked at Mr. Broadmoor and Mr. Broadmoor averted his eyes.
"With that over with, we can continue with the rest of the artifacts!" exclaimed Mr. Bowmann.
Groans from the spectators were heard. This would certainly take a long time to sort.
A/N: I'm not a native English speaker so pointing out any mistakes would be appreciated. I also realized I used the spelling of British-English and American-English interchangeably. Do any of you have a preference for either one of them? Does it throw you off from the narrative? Both Merlin and Harry Potter are set in Britain so should I use British-English?
Your guidance would be welcome for my poor soul.
Thank you for reading! ^_^
Also thank you for your lovely review Emily!
Next chapter: Inspection (might take a while to post, unfortunately :( )
