Before he even cracked open a single book, Dennis debated on whether he should feel bad about misleading his parents. He did not, however, directly lie to them. In fact, he let make their own assumptions and chose not to correct his parents. Despite that nibbling away at the back of his brain, Dennis spent a very pleasant morning with his parents.
"Well, I'm still stunned you found a job, Dennis," his father said, and he dressed for a day of deliveries. His shirt bore the dairy logo and ranked among the cleanest in the man's collection. "Jobs are hard to come by right now."
"Dad, it's a magical job in garbage collection. Don't think there was a line of people beating down the door to get to it. Mr. Odpadki sound relieved someone called and accepted the job," Dennis truthfully informed them.
"Are you dressed right for it?" His mother asked while eyeing his shorts, tee-shirt, and trainers.
Dennis already shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, so he reached back and pulled out his wand. He waggled it a little. His parents always suffered a strange reaction when he or Colin showed them their wands. They seemed to think of the sticks as toys. Seeing their faces, Dennis swallowed his food, pointed the wanted at a stack of magazines, and concentrated.
"Wingardium leviosa," he incanted with an adept swish and flick of his wand.
The magazines floated into the air. Dennis commanded them to move about the room. His parents watched wide-eyed. Their son did not often display his abilities, but they did occasionally need a reminder they gave life to not just one, but two wizards. Dennis set the magazine down in their original location and mentally canceled the spell.
"Well, at least your hands won't get dirty," his father commented first. "That's a right handy little bit of magic there. Denny. Next time you're helping me clean the attic, shed, and crawlspace!"
Duncan Creevey sported strawberry-blonde hair, sallow skin, a patchwork of freckles on his permanently tanned cheeks and nose, and blue-gray eyes. He carried a heavier build than either of his sons, along with a broader and flatter face. If Dennis stood between his parents, it became clear what each contributed to their son. Dennis rolled his eyes at his father and smirked.
"I'm glad you don't show off with all that," his mother commented. "I know how you enjoy it, but it could frighten people, Dennis."
"That's why there's all those secrecy statutes. I don't get in trouble for showing you or dad 'cause… well, 'cause you're you and dad. My parents. Might get into a bit of spot if I showed Grandma and Grandpa or Gran and Dadders," he explained yet again.
"Don't you dare go flashing that in front of them. It'd scare the life out of all of them! They don't have enough years left in them to accept an explanation," Jill Creevey warned her son.
"Yeah, I know."
Dennis did know, but he did not understand. It took all his willpower and constant series of reminders during his first two years at Hogwarts to keep his wand in a pocket. For the first two summers, his parents forced him to relinquish wand, and Dennis resented it. During the third summer he flat-out refused to give it up, and he and Colin explained to his parents asking a witch or wizard for their wand formed a horrible breach of etiquette. Being deprived of his wand made Dennis feel naked and extremely vulnerable, and he told them that as well. Magic scared muggles. Yet, it did not make sense. Aside from the occasional dark or rogue magic user, witches and wizards never harmed muggles. Moreover, it seemed a common practice for the magical to lend secret aid. Once free of age restriction, Dennis felt free to keep muggles from coming to harm. Hence, he did not understand the fear surrounding his abilities.
"I'm not saying what you can do is wrong, Dennis…"
"But normal… I am normal. I am normal wizard, so I guess muggles just don't get it," he rumbled.
He caught his father giving him a stern look. Dennis met it with a cool one of his own. He never forgot his father's general dislike of magic because it robbed him of a son.
"Telling me I can't use magic is only going to drive me away," Dennis continued. "I already starting thinking about where I might live, and it'll probably be in a magical community. I heard there's village up in Hitch Wood I can look into."
His mother took a stuttering breath.
"This is who I am. You've known it since I was eleven… and two years before that you found out about Colin. It's never going to bloody change. I'm always going to be a wizard. I love magic, and you know that, too," he stated in a calmer voice than he thought possible.
"That's not what we're saying, Denny," his father stated in a flat voice.
"Isn't it?"
His father looked away.
"I know it didn't help when you found out I was gay, but… well, that's the way I am, too. I can't change either part of me, and I don't want to. There's nothing wrong with me being gay or a wizard. Either you accept both those facts or just let me go."
"We're trying, Denny," Duncan Creevey said after he whipped his head around. "After that… war…"
"I didn't kill Colin, and neither did magic when you think about it!" Dennis blurted.
His father appeared affronted.
"How many times do I got to tell you it's no different than if some ruddy soldier shot him dead in the Falklands. Would you hold all the Argentinians respons… all the Hispanics responsible?"
"It wasn't a bullet, Denny," the man said in a tight voice.
"It's the same difference, Dad. It almost doesn't matter what killed him… he's still dead. It took a person to kill him," Dennis said, and whispered the last part as tears welled in his eyes and rolled over the edges of the lids.
"Dennis," his mother softly spoke his name.
"I loved him, too! He was my best mate, Mum, 'sides being my brother. We did everything together at school. After… without him… nothing seems special anymore," Dennis wept the words. He turned to his father who also wore wet cheeks. "Every time you blame magic for Colin's death, you blame me. You're calling something that's part of me evil… dark… something I love almost as much as I loved him. It's like you hate me for being what I am!"
"I don't hate you, son," his father said in a voice grown rough with emotion. "I'm scared to death for you."
"Why?" Dennis begged.
The elder Creevey male leaned forward, wrapped a calloused hand around his boy's wrist, and said: "Because both of you are… were so fearless. It never scared you. Maybe you were too young… I don't know, Denny, but when you found out what you are… you… a fire got lit in you. Same with Colin. There was nothing your mother and I could do for you, either of you. You landed in a world where we couldn't help."
Dennis felt his mouth slowly fall open. He could not remember the last time his father spoke so honestly and open to him. The blue-gray eyes never left the gray ones.
"Sometimes it feels like we lost you as much as we lost Colin…"
"Dad!"
"Here me out, Denny," his father implored more than commanded. "Your magic… is something we'll never be able to fully understand. Sometimes it's like a bleeding wall you mother and I can't get around or over… it separates you from us… no matter how hard we try to reach you."
A new set of inconceivable circumstances opened before the youngest Creevey. He could not fathom the fact his parents felt separated from him because of magic. Never once did Dennis consider it an impediment to the relationship with the two people sitting at the table with him. He always assumed they reveled in his magic as much as he until the ugly Voldemort war.
"Wasn't 'til you told us you're gay that it began to make sense. Gay we can handle. All people face the same chance of turning out gay. It was just a matter of saying, okay, fine, he's likes blokes, but magic… wizardry? Wasn't 'til Colin told us witches and wizards existed in our family up 'til three hundred years ago that it… well, it helped explained part of you two. Some."
"Then Colin died in the battle," Dennis concluded for him.
"A magic battle," his mother almost needlessly added. "We begged him to stay home safe with you. We knew this Voldy… mort guy was cracked cup and bad all the way 'round. He wouldn't listen. He loved the magic too much… like you do, Dennis."
"And you're afraid it's going to get me killed?"
His parents nodded. Dennis knew better than to bring up the fact that, aside from old age, a fair number of witches and wizards accidentally killed themselves with magic. Not as a form of suicide, but because the insatiable curiosity over magic proved too alluring and compelling. Dennis could sense his desire to experiment grow exponentially after crafting a spell the day before. Magic invited exploration.
"Look, son, we both have to go to work," his father stated without releasing Dennis' arm. "Maybe… perhaps we finally need to seriously talk about all this. What it means to us… as a family. I don't like it one bit to hear something might be driving you away from us."
Dennis nodded. His father made promises in the past that they would talk, but most of those talks never materialized. However, if he based his prediction on the countenance of his father, he would place odds on a future conversation taking place. His father then stood after releasing his arm. As he walked around his son, another magical event happened. Duncan Creevey leaned down and kissed the top of his son's head.
"Don't ever forget I love you, Denny," the man said in a distant and rough voice.
"Love you, too, Dad," Dennis replied in the same manner.
Mother and son sat in silence until the man departed. Dennis glanced at his mother. She continued to stare across the room at the front door.
"Mum?" He asked with her name.
"We were so afraid you were going to get killed," she said without any preamble. "We feared losing you like we lost Colin. Never dreamed we'd lose you 'cause of what we feared."
Then she looked at him with a sad, worn expression. Her hazel eyes appeared darker than ever. For a little over three years Colin's death made the house feel cramped whenever Dennis went home. It began to make more sense to him. In a flash of real insight, Dennis admitted he did not know what it would be like to be a parent and especially after the death of a child. He knew what it meant to lose a beloved brother and a best friend. Somehow, the two types of pain seemed remote from one another.
"Get going with yourself, Dennis. You don't want to make your new boss angry on the first day," she said in her mothering way.
"Love you, Mum," he told her.
"You're a good boy there now, aren't you? You mean the world to me, Dennis."
Her response made his chest grow tight. The last fifteen minutes of his life felt distinctly different from the previous three years, and even from the time since he first attended Hogwarts. They did need to talk as a family, Dennis concluded as he stood. He smiled at his mother, but she looked through him to some point he could not see. He walked to the middle of the living room. Dennis then folded into himself a few seconds later after visualizing his destination.
The Ministry of Magic seemed as busy as ever. The line of Flue Network portals vomited bodies every three seconds. The apparating platforms, as well as the disapparting platforms, hissed and popped with regularity. Dennis stood to one side while his apparation wobbles subsided and watched the throng of witches, wizards, and the occasional squib, going to and fro. It all appeared dizzying and yet purposeful at the same. The young man went to the security check point to register his wand and aimed for the lifts. It felt good avoiding the information kiosk since he knew where to go.
"Bullocks!" Dennis half-shouted almost an hour later and got severely shushed by several people as a result.
He discovered magical and muggle bloodlines crisscrossed all over England and the world. Despite the subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle hints some considered crossbreeding distasteful, it happened with regularity. Dennis recalled Séamus Finnigan resulted from a muggle-witch pairing. Séamus always struck him as someone who possessed a lot more unruly magic than anyone suspected. A person could not set a porcelain tea seat afire without a significant source of magic. It puzzled him. Yet what Dennis read regarding the two Thomas Lesters in question made him furious.
"Thomas Lester North, born twelve August seventeen-twenty-nine, died unknown," he read aloud from one page in the book of magical peerage, and then Dennis continued from another page: "Thomas Lester North, born, thirty August seventeen-twenty-nine, died unknown but assumed between seventy-sixty to seventy-sixty-three. Come on! Someone's having a go at me!"
"Young man," a woman's voice shot toward him. "Please keep your voice… oh, Dennis? Dennis Creevey?"
"What? Who?" Dennis burbled as he angrily tore himself away from the page he read.
A slender woman with fairly bushy hair and a bright, wide smile approached him. She dressed in a smart skirt suit with a mid-thigh length robe draped over it and uncommonly practical navy-blue trainers. Dennis wondered if single witches hung around libraries looking for wizards not gone soft in the head from too much quidditch. Before he looked at the woman's face, he noticed a small gold ring set with a ley-azzurrite stone on her left ring finger. It gleamed and twinkled as local stray magic coruscated around the gem, and it impressed Dennis very much. When he glanced up, he got a second surprise.
"My word, it is you!" Hermione Granger gasped at him. "How are you, Dennis? You're finished at Hogwarts now, right?"
Students from Hogwarts came from many sources, but three seemed most prevalent. First, students from pure-blood families who tended to act rather superior. Second, students from normal wizarding families who formed the great mass of attendees. Third, students from a muggle background who often arrived bewildered and confused. Hermione Granger, like the Creevey brothers, sprang from a pure muggle family. Since roughly twenty percent of all witches and wizards claimed a similar lineage, it seemed ridiculous to make being muggle-born an issue, but people did. Some magical families, mostly pure-blood, refused to interact with muggle-born or half-muggles and deemed them a stain on magical kind. Half the wizarding world did not care. All that mattered to them centered on the quality of the magic possessed and wielded. Finally, a fraction of magical folk looked at muggle-born with intense curiosity and seemed to want to make study of them. Hermione Granger came from pure muggle background, and she became the best spell caster in her year and routinely got counted among one of the best witches or wizards to ever graduate from Hogwarts.
Dennis did not care about that. Hermione always treated both he and Colin with extraordinary kindness regardless of their behavior. They also understood one another on an intrinsic level since they shared a similar background. Hermione went on to prove her value and worth in being instrumental in the downfall of Lord Voldemort. She continued to count Harry Potter as one of her closest friends, and gossip claimed he remained romantically involved with Ronald Weasley. He wondered if the ring on her finger indicated it went a step further.
"I'm good, Hermione. You? How've you been getting on these past couple of years?" Dennis politely replied with some real interest.
"Well, I'm here working for the Minister's office. It's good work, and I like it. It means I get to look after the welfare of everyone," she said in a purely Hermione manner as she parked one buttock on the edge of the reading table. The woman carried three thick volumes in her arms.
"And the ring?"
"Oh, well, Ron proposed. I said yes. We're looking at next spring to get married. Ron got into a bit of a huff when Harry proposed to Ginny first. I'm sure you remember Harry and Ginny became an item, and Harry works in the Auror's Office."
"That's in the history books, Hermione. Everything you three did got recorded."
Hermione blushed.
"No, don't go doing that," he chided her. "It's not everyone who gets to say they had a firm hand in taking down Voldemort."
"It took a lot of people to end his mad schemes. Many people made tremendous sacrifices to preserve our freedoms, and your family name is counted among them," she said with solid confidence.
Dennis nodded and hid the stinging feeling in his chest. Then the young woman leaned over and glanced at his work. Hermione and books seemed to go hand-in-hand, and her sudden shift in interest did not surprise him one iota. She hummed for ten seconds as she read over the pages.
"You know we're trying to end the peerage system in magical world. Never heard so many pure-bloods scream bloody murder," Hermione commented as she sat up. "Why are you researching this?"
"A favor to Silent Thom. I'm trying to unravel his past. Seems he got snuffed and cursed by somebody back in the day. He can't talk about what happened to him, and his ghost got banished to Hogwarts. Peeves thought it might be a good idea if I gave it a go for Thomas," he honestly replied, and felt good about telling the truth to someone since Dennis felt he deceived his parents.
"How very kind of you, Dennis. I heard you got on with Peeves for the last couple of years. Amazed more than a few people, I'll tell you that. Say, you, um… well, wouldn't happen to know anything about Peeves? The Department of Mysteries is always keen on poltergeists, and Peeves' has a record."
Dennis simply remained silent and stared at her.
"Ah, I see." the woman mumbled after a few seconds.
"Not my story to tell, Hermione. I'd think you of all people would appreciate that."
"Oh, I'm sorry, and I was just being a busybody. You're absolutely right, but you must admit Peeves is fascinating," she apologized, and then reverted back to form.
"Not as fascinating as Silent Thom. Got a second for me to show you something?" Dennis inquired and looked forward to tapping into the famed brilliance of the woman.
"Of course," Hermione gamely agreed.
Ten minutes later she sat in a chair next to him, her books nearly forgotten, and stared at his notes. Dennis gave her a concise summary of what he knew, and how it led to his current conundrum. She pushed her abundant hair around while listening. It came as an utter shock to him when Hermione appeared completely stumped.
"How… well, this is more than odd. It's improbable, Dennis, is what is. Two men, born within weeks of one another, sharing both a name and family ties. This is a pixie knot in troll hands!" She exclaimed, and Dennis made note no one shushed her.
"Yes, it's weird, but how do I figure out which one is him?"
Hermione continued to look flummoxed and said: "After almost two hundred and fifty years? I'd say you'll have to go to where each man lived and do research there. You're going to need to find living family members and see if they have any records. If the peerage books are uncertain, I'd hazard a guess not much information remains. I'm impressed, Dennis: you happened onto a proper mystery here!"
"Um, thanks, I guess," he said with a shrug.
She smiled at him.
"What?" Dennis inquired when the woman did not elaborate on the expression.
"Oh, it's silly of me, but I was just picturing you as a first year sitting on the Sorting Hat stool, still damp, and… I never saw such pure happiness in anyone. The way you kept glancing at the Gryffindor table and your brother. No one doubted for a second why you got sorted into Gryffindor after we heard about you falling into the lake. You can try to hide it if you want, but I still see that boy in you. Hold onto it, Dennis. I know your life didn't quite follow a normal path, but the best ones seldom do."
Dennis felt himself choke up a little as she spoke. It seemed a lifetime ago when he first arrived at Hogwarts, and she correctly called him out for his brimming excitement and exuberance during those first days. The school turned out better than he imagined. Dennis imagined quite a bit based on two-year's worth of letters and pictures from Colin. Now, nearly eight years later, Hermione Granger once more proved her generosity and kindness. She spoke with genuine warmth, and it touched the younger man.
"I've got to get back to my office, but please do stop by and tell me when you've got Silent Thom all sorted out," Hermione stated as she bent to retrieve the volumes she set aside. "I'm thinking Silent Thom did well in your offer to help him. You're resourceful and persistent, Dennis, and got far more energy than just about anyone I know."
"Thanks," Dennis croaked out the word and smiled at her.
"I'll give Ron and Harry your greetings," she offered.
"Yeah, do that. Ron could be a prat at times…"
"No kidding!
He caught her sly grin and added: "Harry was always nice to me and Colin. He talked to me for a while when my parents and me came to see Colin after he got frozen by the basilisk. He promised me it would all work out."
"And it did," Hermione quietly commented.
"Then, after the battle… when we came to get Colin…"
Dennis quit talking. Hermione gave him a few moments of silence to collect his thoughts. Once more, she proved exceedingly generous.
"Harry always said you were the hardest to talk to after the fight. He couldn't imagine what you went through. Ron had his family to help him cope with Fred's death. Harry said watching you was more like what he saw George going through."
The young man nodded.
"Dennis, not sure how you're going to take this, but… I still miss Colin. We lost something truly special that day. It seemed impossible so much life could exist in one person. He was magic, Dennis. Truly magic," Hermione gently assured him.
Tears streaked down Dennis' face, yet he looked at her and grinned. Many people at Hogwarts gave him lukewarm and simple condolences. Hermione alone said she missed Colin, and then she went a step further in quantifying a part of him. She seemed to honestly understand. His gratitude could not be expressed with words, and he hoped someday he would be able to properly thank her.
"I'll leave you to your research. It's important."
He nodded again. Hermione walked away from the table. After five steps she turned and faced him again. Dennis raised his eyebrows in question.
"I mean this, Dennis: stop by my office anytime you want. If you ever need anything from the Ministry, come and see me first. And I meant it when I said I want to know what you find out about Silent Thom. Okay?"
"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks," he said through a tight throat and with a thick voice.
She smiled at him, bobbed her head once, and spun about on one heel. Dennis watched her disappear into the vastness of the Ministry library. She left him with many intangible gifts that day, the greatest of which came in her fond remembrances of Colin and her elevation of him to hero status. It made Dennis feel less alone and as if his older brother hovered nearby. Following several silent minutes of contemplation, Dennis returned to the reason that brought him to the ministry in the first place.
The last surviving Creevey brother learned little else except where he might find relatives for the Thomas Lester Norths. One family resided in a small homestead in the East Midlands and the other in grander setting in Essex: Norths existed both north and south of London. Regardless, it would take Dennis two separate trips, if not more, in order to speak with the families. Moreover, he needed to craft an introduction so neither family thought him absolutely mental. First things first, Dennis decided he would not tell either family he spoke to their long-deceased relative. He would save that once he got confirmation, if any could be found, regarding where the Thomas Lester he knew fit into either family.
Before heading home later in the afternoon, Dennis spent half an hour trouncing through some garbage in the alleys behind Sackville Street. He wanted to arrive with a smell about him his parents would, despite the oddity of it, appreciate. A sense of guilt built in Dennis when he considered the level of deception he began to plumb in order to continue his investigations into Silent Thom's demise. The desire to see it through wormed its way very deeply into him.
Dennis and his parents did talk again that evening, but the experience did not live up to the expectation. His father returned to the house in a surly mood following a rough day making deliveries. Between the customers and the traffic, it made his job difficult. Secondly, his mother lost track while cooking the supper, and it came out not entirely palatable. Then, during the meal, they asked about Dennis' day at his new job, and he concocted a story about needing to learn new spells to deal with the waste they collected. The casual mention of magic regarding activity as mundane as garbage collection drew annoyed glances from his parents. It did not set a good stage for further conversation. He never got the chance to share what Hermione said to him. In the end, their family talk did not provide any comfort.
The situation did not improve the following morning. Dennis got dressed much as he did the day before. His mother again questioned the wisdom of his attire. His father said he hoped Dennis worked hard and earned his pay. After the elder Creevey male departed, Dennis retrieved his backpack, reviewed the location and pictures for the apparition point, and went to the living room. His mother busied herself with her own preparation since she worked a part-time job three days a week. Dennis disapparated without any further conversation.
"Dennis Crevy?" A stout man asked when Dennis appeared next to a seemingly abandoned building on the western side of the River Colne in Uxbridge.
"Mister Odpadki?" Dennis replied as he strolled forward and held out his hand. "And it's pronounced Creevey… long ee on both sides of the v."
"Right, right," Mr. Odpadki said while accepting the hand with a bone crushing squeeze. "Checked your references with Ministry and at Hogwarts, and got word you're a deft hand with spells. Charms at least, but that's a good start."
Dennis nodded and hoped he would not yelp in pain from the handshake. Although the man stood at least two inches shorter, he appeared at least twice as wide and perhaps three time Dennis' weight without looking overly obese. Dennis notice Mr. Odpadki carried biceps bigger around than his thighs. His new employer gave the same impression of solidity as did Rubeus Hagrid. The semi-bald head and beard stubble added to the rough-and-ready impression. After releasing his hand, an appendage Dennis feared he would not be able to properly use for several days, Mr. Odpadki turned and walked toward a small-sized boxed lorry that seemed as muggle as any he ever saw.
"May not look like much," his new overseer said without a backward glance, "but I s'pose you could set off a good size bomb in her hold and she'd not take an ounce of damage. Been tarted up with a spell here and there."
The dual wheels on the back axle indicated it could handle quite a load. Following his father around the dairy and going on the occasional milk run as a child gave Dennis a passing familiarity with lorries and trucks.
"Diesel or standard petrol?" Dennis inquired when the stopped next to the banged up heavy-duty vehicle painted with the company name in several locations.
"Oh, know a thing or two 'bout motors?" Mr. Odpadki asked when he spun around rather gracefully.
"Mum and Dad are muggles, and Dad works for Highfield Farms. He does all sorts of deliveries, and I'd go with him from time to time, so this is nothing new to me."
"Now that will come in right handy!"
Dennis waited for an explanation with a nod.
"Some folk I took on hardly ever saw one 'fore up close, let alone took rides in a lorry. Scared the life of 'em, it did. Some'd quit after the first go. The work isn't all that hard, but tricky… and dealing with Kate here – I calls her Kate since she's as study as me Mum was and 'bout tempered as her, too."
Dennis smirked at the comparison.
"But just as reliable. Mark me, son, she'll outlive any muggle contraption what with I put into her," Mr. Odpadki stated with evident pride.
"She looks sound," Dennis agreed.
"Trust on that!"
The man then looked him over. Dennis felt the scrutiny. He stood still as it seemed he required.
"What you coming in at? Forty-two… forty 'cross the chest and eighty-two on the waist?" The man suddenly inquired.
"Um, close. Forty-four chest and eighty-four waist," he offered the correct dimensions.
His new employer frowned a bit and replied: "Kind of slight, but you look like you can handle your own. Any problems lifting or bending?"
"No, sir," Dennis replied, and he hid the insult he felt at being labeled slight.
"Scare easy, do you?"
He and the man stood eyeing one another while traffic zipped past on Saint John's Road. The ambient electrical field oozing out of the Ivers Substation, as the sign stated, tingled on the periphery of Dennis' senses. It all started to make sense. Mr. Odpadki tested him on many levels. However, Dennis felt he held an ace up his sleeve.
"Well, the sound of cars and that electric buzz don't bother me any," he began. "And don't forget I was at Hogwarts during the whole Voldemort…"
Mr. Odpadki flinched at the name. It seemed some people did not dispel old habits as easily as others. The dropping of the name also appeared to work in his favor.
"He's well and truly dead, Mister Odpadki. Harry killed him… and gave Voldemort what he had coming to him. My brother died in the battle," Dennis flatly laid out the facts.
"Right," the burly man said with a small shake of his head. "I reckon what with you coming from muggle stock and living through that, not much you're going to see on our rounds that'll get to you. Got some coveralls for you. I think my missus can size 'em up for you since your mum can't."
Dennis let the second insult pass. Witches and wizards tended toward casual elitism when it came to dealing with the non-magical. They often viewed muggles as less capable despite the overwhelming evidence muggles ruled over the world and presented a real threat to magical kind. Back in his childhood, their father took Colin and him out on a pheasant hunting trip. They got shown the power of firearms. Given what got broadcast on the television regarding the wars between muggles, Dennis knew the wizarding world would get exterminated in next to no time regardless of some of the powerful witches and wizards.
"Thanks," Dennis muttered after three seconds.
Mr. Odpadki opened the door of the cab and reached inside. He retrieved a dented and scratched aluminium document case. He flipped open the lid and produced a small sheaf of paper. The man motioned for Dennis to walk to him.
"Right. See here? We've got five special collections today if we can get to them all. Mostly we'll be driving from one spot to another, and I can explain how we work," Mr. Odpadki bluntly stated. "I'll be honest, this load here in Stains Moor got me a little worried. We'll go for it first. Set it up that way so you get a good feel for what you're getting into."
"What's auto… no mouse radiant resin?" Dennis asked and got a chuckle from the man.
"Autonomous radiant resin is what some craftsman use who make toys and whatnot. This fella here makes them knee-high puppets what can move and dance on their own…"
"Yeah, we had some of those come through Hogsmeade every spring carnival. Thought it was just a locomotor spell that made them go."
"Could be, but this stuff here keeps 'em going without having to constantly wave a wand around. They make varnishes or shellacs… or paints from it. From what I know, they can lay a whole performance on a puppet coated with it, but… well, when we come in to get the cast off, and it's not always friendly like," Mr. Odpadki told him and his voice dropped down. "Let it go too long, and it gets downright mean."
Dennis raised his eyebrows.
"Tell you what, we'll discuss it as we head on down. I'm curious to hear what ideas you might come up with to deal with it. Got some tricks I used in the past, but never hurts to hear what other people think."
Following a nod and a shrug, Dennis got instructed to climb into the passenger side while Mr. Odpadki walked around to the driver side. The lorry rumbled to life a few moments later, and it became quite obvious to Dennis the man tinkered with the engine. It did not sound entirely like a normal muggle motor. It growled in fashion that would likely worry his father. Mr. Odpadki, however, seemed pleased as he slipped the machine into first gear. Dennis could hear the tires biting into the gravel that formed the skirt of the road. Mr. Odpadki turned onto Saint John's Road and aimed for the M25.
After twenty-five minutes of being ferried to Stains Moor, and Dennis privately confessed Mr. Odpadki really knew how to manage traffic, they then turned on what looked like a utility road. Mr. Odpadki did not stop to remove the chain hanging between two posts barring their way. They passed through it. Dennis realized someone placed a very well-crafted glamour spell to deceive the casual observer. When they turned left, the lorry entered a cul-du-sac with three houses huddled together at the roundabout. It counted as the smallest magical village Dennis ever saw, not that he saw very many.
"See there? The yellow place with the shed out back? That's where we're going," Mr. Odpadki pointed out. He seemed very familiar with the place. "You'll see the pit out there."
Dennis did see the pit when the pulled up alongside the house, and it scared him. He sat in the lorry staring in horror at the multi-colored gelatinous blob heaving back and forth in a brick-lined pit in the ground. A tall, wiry man with a protruding potbelly and long, gray hair tied into a ponytail stood some three meters away from the edge. A once formal and proper dark suit of clothes adorned the man, but it wore so many patches of color and dark stains as to make the jacket and pants a parody. Mr. Odpadki walked up to him, and the men exchanged a handshake. Tendril of the goop reached up and outward as if to seize the waste hauler at the first opportunity. However, the two remained well outside of its reach. Without thinking, Dennis climbed out of the lorry cab and walked toward the mini-monstrosity. His horror got laced with an odd fascination.
"Not too close there, boy," the apparent owner of the place yelled at him. "It'll snatch you right up and drown you."
"Why?" Dennis called back without hesitation.
"Well… kind of alive and kind of thinking. The base sap comes from a variety of sapient dracaena tree. Gets willful after a while when different batches are mixed together. Can't let it go too long or it'll get murderous," the man explained as if taking to a toddler that went soft in the head.
"Okay. That tells me what it is, but not why it gets murderous. What'd you do to it?" Dennis returned fire with his question.
Both the man and Mr. Odpadki gave him a sour look. However, Dennis could see he asked a relevant question. He waited patiently to be talked down to again. After a half a minute, Mr. Odpadki waved him over. Dennis joined the men.
"What are you getting at, boy?" The owner of the malign sludge inquired.
"Well, seems to me you put spells on this stuff before you apply it to… whatever you're applying it to. Ever think maybe the different spells conflict with each other when you mix 'em all together like this?" Dennis spelled out his thinking and pointed at the pond of goo that seemed to coil as if to strike.
"Hmm, good point," Mr. Odpadki hummed without sounding too annoyed.
"Maybe he does got one, Mariusz, but can't just leave this stuff lying 'round workshop, now can we? We'd have cans and bottles and cups dancing and hopping from one end t'other. Bad 'nough what it does to brushes. Why the bloody hell do you think we call you t'come take care of it?"
"So, Dennis, if you was going to tackle this knotty problem, how'd you do it?" Mr. Odpadki asked in a slightly supercilious manner instead of answering his customer.
Dennis returned his attention to the puddle of angry sludge. He could hear Zistrigan, a twelfth-century witch who devised some of the most complex potions ever imagined, and her constant mantra emanating from her portrait: "Focus on the whole thing, child, and not just the outside." Dennis did just that and considered the problem from the inside out. The spells created the situation. He thought about the nature of the spells and what they would do. However, he only got a cursory explanation. Dennis turned to the client.
"I know you think this is a waste of time, but it isn't. Maybe you got it written down somewhere, but I think we need to know all of the spells at work here. I think a solution is somewhere in there," he told the man.
"Trade secrets, boy, and worth more than my hide if I go spilling those out," the man spat out the words.
"I'll agree to a confidentially binding as long as it's not lethal."
"That's fair. Isn't it, Silas?"
Twenty minutes later a binding curse wormed around in his brain. Should he break his word during Silas Youngman's lifetime, Dennis would suffer a year of non-stop hiccupping. The conditions pleased the man, so then he pulled out a book in which he wrote every spell he ever used when creating his paints and varnishes. He pointed out the most commonly used incantations. Dennis found the array both clever and fascinating. He immediately thought of Professor Flitwick, who would enjoy such finely crafted spells. Then he felt the curse slither through his brain as a reminder of what he would face should Dennis leak word of this to his favorite teacher. The curse, however, did not stop the youngest man of the three from memorizing some of the choicest spells. Dennis appreciated good charms work.
"All right, fancy lad, what'll you do now?" Mr. Youngman burped at him.
Dennis stayed his initial reaction. The man certainly did not know his sexuality, as Mr. Odpadki did not. He pushed his reaction to the side and took a deep breath.
"Um, Mister Odpadki, how would you normally transport this… stuff?" Dennis asked his boss.
"Oh, got some tanks in the lorry, and we'd siphon it into those once we tired it out," the sturdy man replied.
"Can we open the tops?"
Mr. Odpadki nodded and narrowed his eyes at the same time.
"Good. We'll use the charms in place to get this mix to dance its way into tanks."
The two men glanced at each other. Then they looked at Dennis. Mr. Odpadki shrugged.
"Go get them coveralls on, Dennis, and we'll give it a try"
Dennis raced back to the lorry, slipped into the voluminous gray suit of clothes, and darted back. Mr. Odpadki, in the meanwhile, open the cargo doors. Three large tanks rested inside. The fine level of control the man displayed in levitating the tanks out of the lorry impressed Dennis. The clearly older and thick wand, chipped and nicked in places, performed without flaw. Once the tanks rested on the ground and the lids gently lifted away, the wand disappeared into a pocket. Dennis and Mr. Odpadki returned to Mr. Youngman.
"Okay, sir, you get to lead the way. They're your spells after all," Dennis said to Mr. Youngman.
Mr. Youngman produced one of the longest, thinnest wands Dennis ever encountered. It stood as the polar opposite of Mr. Odpadki's wand. The older man waved it about in an uncertain manner while muttering spells. Dennis feared for the worst while the gloop in the pit began to respond. The response slowly transmogrified into open resistance, and it made complete sense to Dennis. Each of the various spells imbued in the mix tried to simultaneously activate. Dennis could never figure out why spells seemed so ready to spring into action. Spells could jump from potential to kinetic with barely a thought. It could also lead to surprising results, and the magic pond of waste proved no different.
"What the bloody…" Mr. Youngman began to complain as he struggled to maintain control.
"Too much! Too much!" Dennis yelled as the goo began to inflate into a giant bubble. "It'll pop!"
The last two words got Mr. Youngman to desist. He cut off the flow of magic from his wand, and the now highly agitated pit of sludge began to deflate. The three men stood to one side and waited for it to resume something closer to its normal moody state.
"Can't say as that worked out very well at all," the proprietor of the workshop complained.
Dennis scrubbed his face with one hand before saying: "Look, you're activating some two dozen spells at one time, so 'course it's all going 'round the bend. Try it slow."
"Since you're such a high and might know-it-all, why don't you give a try?"
The naked hostility in Mr. Youngman's voice did not go unnoticed by Mr. Odpadki. He gave Dennis a warning glance that spoke volumes. The expression primarily told him his employment would end if this one job got any worse. A small snort escaped from Dennis as his nerves grew tight.
"Okay, slowly," Dennis said aloud to himself as a reminder and not an instruction.