Chapter 7: Wandless Magic

The drive over to the hotel before the Remembrance thing for Dr. Eittel was uneventful, as the earlier teasing from Ron about my ex-girlfriend made me think. She said she didn't know anybody and there weren't any seats left, but Ron said from his view in the balcony that there were plenty of seats left. He also said that she leaned fairly close to me at times during the ceremony but I wasn't paying attention and apparently went into my 'stare straight ahead thing' as always during funerals. What was she doing? Would she be at the the house?

Luckily I didn't have long to stew on the enigma that was Christine because Ron turned back into Auror Ron as soon as we met up in the lobby. It was hard to take him seriously, though, as he was...well, he'd stick out like a turd in a punchbowl with what he was wearing. I shook my head and headed down the steps to the spot in front of the window where he looked out at the traffic.

"Uh, Ron? Do you want to borrow some of my stuff?"

"Why? Isn't this ok? Hermione helped me get my...clothes for these kinds of things together. Bit hot, though."

I wasn't surprised he was warm, as he had on wool trousers, a button-down shirt, a Fair Isle sweater vest and a sturdy pair of brogues. Bet he had on wool socks, as well, but I didn't want to ask. "It is ok, but not for a thing in Virginia in April. It's going to be 78 degrees today, getting there already. You're going to bake. Come on."

He followed me up to my room and pulled off the sweater vest. "Bloody hell. Thought it would be too warm, but all I have is the Muggle suit and the Auror kit. And you're too short, not going to work."

I rolled my eyes. "Are you a wizard or what, Ron?"

"Oh. Yeah." He scrunched up his nose a bit. "But I'm a bit crap at the household stuff. Don't tell Mum."

"Don't worry, not a word. And besides, Christine said it's 'our kind of people' so if you fuck it up someone will fix it for you." I dug into my suitcase and pulled out a pair of jeans, a white Polo shirt and my old loafers. The loafers were showing a bit of age, but they were my favorites. I had their replacements on with my jeans and a blue and white checked button-down, so I didn't feel like I was under-dressed. "Here, wizard the shit out of the stuff. Just hope those shoes will take the magic. Hate to lose those."

He held them up and reluctantly sniffed them. "At least they aren't funky. What about socks?"

"It's Virginia. Pretend you went to prep school."

"I did go to prep school."

"Yeah, but going sockless at Hogwarts is a good way to spend time with Madame Pomfrey because you'll catch your death of cold. Scotland and Virginia are totally different, mate."

Reluctantly he waved his wand, got the jeans to work right, then the Polo shirt, and finally the loafers. He didn't bother to go into the bathroom to change or anything, just chucked it all and got dressed and then checked himself out in the mirror. "Not bad. Might have to do this for Hermione. She might like it. Wait, what about now?" He pulled off my sunglasses from the nightstand and put them on. "Bloody hell, you're as blind as Harry."

"Prescription, Ron. Come on, we'll buy you a pair at a convenience store or a pharmacy on the way."

Eventually we made our way to the street that led to Eittel and Lindell's house, after a stop for sunglasses, and when we were almost there I had to check myself. It isn't Eittel's house anymore, it's just Lindell's. That thought was in my head as I made the turn past the taco joint that was a landmark for me, as I have directional issues, and there it was, looking as it always had, the house. Cars lined the street, some with out-of-state plates, and I had to park three blocks away. As we walked over to the house I noticed that the little crappy place that Mike and I had rented that one summer had been torn down, replaced by a duplex. Things definitely change. We made our way up the sidewalk and turned into the walk, trees and hedges lining the way, and there it was, porch still filled with plants, cat in the porch swing. I took the lead, petted the cat for a moment and then opened the door.

It was almost like stepping back into time; I felt as if I would run into Mike and Cori at any moment, that Eittel would come around the corner asking if I'd been into his Bombay Sapphire Gin lately and if I hadn't would I mind fixing him a drink, that some student organization would be fixing food in his kitchen while he was...so many memories, all at once, but jarringly thrown against the scene of people milling about, talking, while music played in the background. There, on the mantel of the fireplace, was a picture of Eittel and Lindell on a beach, probably the Outer Banks, on a boat. The part that got me, though, was the fact that right next to the picture was an urn covered with a gold and green Chinese dragon motif.

I hadn't been there long, though, before I heard my name, and Lindell came over. Gone was the suit, instead it was replaced by a pair of buttery tan linen trousers, loafers and a red shirt. He stuck out his hand and I took it gladly.

"I'm glad you could come, Hank. We'll find some time later on, I have a lot to tell you. He also left something for you, too."

"Thanks, I...man, it's weird being here. I haven't been here in..."

"Years, yes, I know, Bramwell and I tried to figure when it was, the last time you were here, but he couldn't recall."

I put my glasses to the top of my head. "Bramwell? I thought his name was Bill?"

"Oh." Lindell laughed softly. "Bill was his, uh, Muggle name." He caught Ron's eye. "Don't worry, Mr. Weasley, the only Muggle here is Hank."

Ron nodded. "Good to know. Hey, wait a tic, how do you know who I am?"

"Where are my manners?" Lindell held out his hand. "You must be Ron Weasley, if the history texts and the papers are correct. Lindell Worthington. Good to meet you. Now, would you two gentlemen care for a drink? Hank, I believe you remember the rules."

I laughed. "Oh yeah. I remember. 'Would you care for a drink? Great, then fix me one.' I shudder to think how much alcohol has been in this house."

Lindell laughed and leaned over. "Just don't say too much to his sister. Besides, she's not taking it well. Oh, and it's Linda since we're in magical company. She uses Angie for the Muggles. No idea why, even after all these years. I trust you remember where the bar is located." He took a step away and then turned back. "Smoking is now out in the back, one concession I finally got from him a few years ago."

With that he turned to go greet some people who had just entered and left Ron and I alone. I turned to Ron. "Drink?"

"Something cold."

"I can do that." We headed over to the bar and that's when I realized I didn't know anybody else there. It threw me for a minute, but then I realized why, as it was a magicals-only event. How in the hell would I know anybody with magic from here? I fixed Ron and myself two stiff gin and tonics, heavy on the ice for the melting Weasley, and elbowed him. "Come on, let's go out back."

Ron shook his head. "She's gonna kill you, you know."

"Enough about death already, ok?" I gave him an irritated look and made my way through the kitchen and out to the back. The backyard, or the garden as I'd come to call it, was still the massively overgrown but manicured place it always had been, with statues, a birdbath, the trellis, and a little bench area with a few people standing around smoking. I made my way over there, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and reached into my pocket for my wand.

"Here." A tall, rough-looking bald guy in jeans and a t-shirt lit my smoke with his wand.

"Thanks." I took a drag and nodded to him. "I'm Hank."

He nodded as well, his bald head shining in the sunlight. "Rick. So how'd you know Eittel?"

"He was my professor. Went to college here in town." As soon as I said it you could have heard a mouse fart. Thankfully Ron came to my rescue.

"Hopefully some of what you learned paid off for your students at Hogwarts." He took in Rick and the other guy who hadn't introduced himself, then glanced over to me. "Even if you are a crap wizard." As the others laughed Ron nodded. "It's true, he's pants."

"Pants?" The other guy, a much older man, also bald but much heavier than Rick, took a step towards Ron. "Where you from, boy?"

"Boy?" Ron pulled himself up to his full height. "I live in England, mate."

Shit. It was not going well. I had to defuse it somehow. "And I live in Scotland, you know, where Hogwarts is...Ron went there, but he's an Auror now. You'd think he'd like haggis after all that time in Scotland but he still thinks it tastes like shit. House elves can't do barbeque worth a crap, though. Hey, is that place still down on Maple Street, that little joint that's only open for lunch?"

Fat guy exhaled and took another drag off of an unfiltered cigarette with yellowing, nicotine stained fingers. "Dunno, we're up from Mississippi. Lindell's my momma's second nephew or some shit, had to come represent the family.

Rick looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "You're name's Hank and you teach at that Hogwarts school, yeah?"

I nodded and exhaled. "Yeah, been there for a few years now."

Ron stepped a bit closer to me, slightly in front and it made me take a half-step back. "He's written some books, too. Maybe you've read them? Ever heard of My Wand is Useless?"

Rick and the fat dude exchanged glances, Rick threw down his cigarette on the grass, stepped on it and grunted. "Best be on our way." With that they went out the back gate and were gone.

I turned to Ron. "What the fuck was that? You just about knocked me over." It wasn't Ron Weasley, my friend and traveling companion for the last few days, the man who half-emptied an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, it wasn't that Ron who looked at me. Instead it was Auror Weasley, all business and with a look in his eyes that didn't brook argument. "Jesus, Ron, what's wrong?"

His voice was low and tinged with anger. "Do you know who those bastards are, Hank? It was a decent glamour to hide the tattoos, I'll give 'em that, but I'm an Auror, I've seen better, I know when someone's using a glamour. Hank, who do you know that really hates you here in the UMS? Blokes with no hair? Ring any bells?"

"No hair, lot of people are bald, it...holy fucking shit." The cigarette about dropped out of my hand. "Here?" I took a quick glance at the house to make sure nobody was coming. "The fucking WLF? I figured they'd hate Eittel and Lindell because..."

"No, not the WLF. Knights of the Wand." Ron didn't blink. "That lot doesn't care about people being gay, they just don't see the reason why any Muggle should draw breath if they can help it. That little twat figured it out, too. Fatso wasn't quick enough on the uptake."

Suddenly I felt as if everything was crashing in on me; I was at Eittel's house for his glorified wake thing, I had on a bracelet from some hospital because of some horrible disease that put Astoria Malfoy in a coma, shit was happening with my books and all the crap with the stupid Potter Adventure Series, Eittel had left me something that could possibly be connected with all the damn books, Melody was home with the kids, Draco was possibly going to the dark side like Anakin Skywalker and the fuckfaces that attacked my parents' old house on the Fourth of July all those years ago were still around. Fucking hell.

"Here." Ron's hand smacked me in the chest, opening up to reveal my pack of cigarettes. Apparently I'd dropped it on the ground. "Figure you need one, and for Merlin's sake let me light it. You'll burn your face off."

"Thanks." I fished a smoke out of the pack and leaned forward while Ron held up a flame on the tip of his wand. I took a deep drag and exhaled. "I hate those motherfuckers." As Ron and I stood there a voice broke our silence.

"Still as eloquent as ever, I see." Christine's voice snapped our attention as she let the screen door close with that wheeze and small slam that all screen doors seem to have and began walking towards us.

I almost laughed when I saw her because I remembered her 'alternative girl' clothes from back in the day, and she was definitely not dressed like that. She had on a crisply pressed coral colored button down shirt, but the collar buttons were undone, the sleeves were rolled up and to be honest it wasn't buttoned up that much in the front because I had a feeling if she bent over both me and Weasley would get a look at her boobs. Instead of jeans she had on shorts, with little things embroidered here and there and a pair of cordovan penny loafers. Her hair was tied back loosely and she had on Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. The only thing that looked the same was her smile and a martini glass.

She stood next to us, pushed the aviators onto the top of her head and then gave me a funny look. "Something amusing?"

I shook my head. "You used to make fun of the girls who came into the bar dressed like that. What'd you call them? Preppy cunts?"

Christine shrugged. "People change. I don't think my old Doc Marten's and Bauhaus shirt were appropriate. Not that I have them anymore." She nodded to Ron. "You clean up rather nicely, Mr. Weasley."

Ron pointed a thumb in my direction. "Blame him. Had to borrow from him because I came ready for April at home, not April here." He looked down at her. "And do none of your lot wear socks? Barmy."

She smiled. "Yes, quite a difference in climates. And I'm not surprised you borrowed from Hank; he was always a closet preppie, hiding GQ magazine under his copies of Spin and Rolling Stone."

After that an awkward silence descended upon us; I was busy thinking about how weird it was to be out in Eittel's garden talking to Christine, something I'd done decades ago, but more than that I was thinking about those bald idiots and how Ron had turned into Auror Ron. Eventually, though, Christine broke the silence.

"Can I bum one, Hank? Haven't had one in years, but I think it's appropriate today, of all days."

"Uh, sure." I reached into my pocket, fished out the slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and handed them to her. As soon as she put the end in her mouth I pulled out my wand. "You can see my only trick." Surprisingly the flame was decently controlled and she lit her smoke.

After a good drag she exhaled. "God, I actually missed that." She took a drink, finishing her martini. "And now that I've lit one I need another drink."

Ron took the glass from her. "I'll take care of that. Vodka, shaken, not stirred?" He shrugged. "Hank's showed me the movies. I'll be right back."

So there I was, alone, with Christine. For a while neither of us spoke. A couple of times I went to say something but it simply died in my throat.

"Hank, I do owe you an apology." Christine motioned to the small bench and we both sat down. "I didn't know you had any magical abilities..."

I laughed. "Don't feel bad, neither did I."

"Yes, well...you know about the secrecy agreements. We were getting so close, and I had a feeling I knew what was coming next, but that meant so many things, not the least of which was introducing you to my parents. That would have been a nightmare."

"Because I'm a Muggle."

"Yes..." she took a drag off of her cigarette. "But it was more than that. Hank, I'd spent time with you over here, before Eittel met Lindell, and I knew how hard it was for two people to be in a relationship when one is magical and the other isn't. After we broke up I came over here later, in the beginning of Eittel and Lindell's relationship, and I realized that Lindell gave up so much..."

"You mean he went Muggle." I pulled out another cigarette and somehow managed to light it without burning off all my facial hair. "That's what Ron called it, anyway."

"Yes, there was that. It was part of it. I was just starting to get a few photos published in the magical magazines, just starting to build up my portfolio. You never really asked where I was when I went off for a few days, did you?"

"No, I did, you just didn't say very much. Something about family commitments, and I didn't push. To be honest back then I didn't care, I only cared that you would come back."

That made Christine quiet for a while. Eventually she looked over to me and took my hand. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Hank. I was so young, so much was happening and I didn't know if I was ready for what was going to happen next. Am I right in guessing?"

I nodded. After a while I found my voice. "Yeah. You're right. I was going to take you to CBGB's, take the train up, and after the show on the way back down I was going to ask you to marry me."

She squeezed my hand slightly. "Back then I would have loved that, really. Was it a good show?"

"Nah, some thrash-punk band I'd never heard of, but that wasn't important."

"Hank...Henry..."

"Don't." I shook my head rapidly. "Don't call me that."

"Oh." She took her hand away. "Melody calls you Henry, doesn't she?"

"Yeah." I took another drag off of my cigarette, a deep one, letting the smoke fill my lungs. I held it as long as possible then exhaled.

"It wouldn't have worked, really. It wouldn't." She brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "There was just too much difference between us, Hank. My parents were rather traditional. To think of me bringing you home to meet them, dressed like we were back then, with your long hair, and then telling them you're a Muggle...and even though I know now you could handle it there are so many stories about witches falling for Muggles and it all ends badly. So many of them, so many stories. It would have ended in tears and Obliviation."

"Shit, that almost happened anyway. The Obliviation part."

"I know, I read your book. It's a wonderful book, Hank. I always knew you'd be a writer."

"Thanks." I stubbed out the cigarette on the bottom of my shoe and sat it on the bench.

"And look at you now!" She smiled. "A famous author, a Hogwarts professor, no less, and married to a witch with two children. Living in Scotland, God, you must love that. Do you still have a kilt?"

I laughed. "Yeah, two, actually, and a full mask badger sporran with a cranky attitude and a thirst for decent whisky. Boyd and MacDonald tartans. Finally did my genealogy research and figured out why I could never trace my family very far back. They were witches and wizards." Finally I found the words to ask what had been bubbling about in the back of my mind since the first time I saw her at the Forthingsgate party. "So what happened to you? What have you been doing all these years besides becoming a world-renowned photographer?"

She eyed the back door and muttered "Where is that drink?" After a bit she looked over to me. "I suppose I owe you that much, at least. Where to begin?"

"How about after you dumped me?"

Her eyes widened slightly and she gave me an embarrassed smile. "Touche. After we broke up I went back home. I grew up in upstate New York, my family has a large property there. We're an old American wizarding family, Daddy traced our line back to the first wave of magical immigrants. I can hear him now, standing in the library. 'Rowan, you have a duty to your family, a tradition to uphold.' Merlin, he was something else. Daddy was an official in the government, one of the men who ensured the secrecy statue was enforced. He didn't hate Muggles, far from it, but deep down he was afraid of what would happen if Muggles knew what we could do with magic. Mom...God." She rolled her eyes. "Mom was a society woman, one of those types. You're from Virginia, Hank, you know what I mean."

I laughed. "Oh yes. Mom always hated catering their events."

"Now add a sense of entitlement and superiority because of magic, and then you've got Mom. Her goal in life was to marry me off to some man from a 'good, upstanding magical family of the right sort' so you can see how well it would have gone if I would have brought you home with me and said 'Tada! I'm marrying a Muggle.' Not well would be an understatement."

The moment she said 'I'm marrying a Muggle' made me think instantly of Melody's first column in Witch Weekly and I needed Ron to bring over a drink ASAP. Where was that ginger bastard?

Taking my silence as attention to her story, Christine continued. "So I went home with my tail between my legs, only gave them the barest of details of my living in the Muggle world, and Dad pulled some strings and got me on as a photographer to a minor magazine. It was crap at first, taking pictures of stupid things like the opening of a new Portkey office, things like that, but I met a few photographers at other magazines along the way and somehow lucked into a job at Bonum Investit, one of the fashion magazines for witches. My career started taking off and that's when I met Matthew. I didn't date much after we broke up, just a few things here and there, nothing serious or anything that led to a second date, but Matthew...he was an editor. Things progressed as they always do, and then when he found out I was pregnant he quickly took a job in France and I never saw him again. He sends Piper things for her birthday, and will write letters, but I've never seen him face to face since then."

"Piper...you have a daughter? How old?"

"She's five now, a little fiery thing. Let me show you." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a very thin wallet which, after a tap of her wand, expanded into a larger purse-looking thing. After a few minutes she pulled out a picture and handed it to me. "She gets her coloring from her father. Definitely her hair and her eyes."

"Your nose and mouth, though." I smiled as a little girl walked through the hallway in Christine's heels, tons of clothing and jewelry on her arms and neck, and smiled brightly. "Looks like she raided your closet."

"Oh yes, she convinced Dilly, our house elf, that it was a surprise for me. She's quite the charmer."

I wanted to say 'like her mother' but thought better of it. "So where is she now?" Christine bit her lip slightly, a sign I knew from a long time ago. Some things never change. "Did you marry..."

"No." Christine shook her head. "Bob and I decided we didn't need a piece of paper from the UMS saying we were married to make things official. I think that's what did Dad in, if I'm honest. He died not too long after Bob and I got together. Bob's a good man, he's a furniture maker, the things he can do with wood and magic..." She sighed. "Mom is still around, though, being Mom. I'm never doing the right thing, according to her. She did find out about you, though, one night when I found her looking through my diary. She also found some of those mixtapes you made me. I had to come clean, then, as I was living with her and she was taking care of Piper. She hates Matt, has come to tolerate Bob and calls you the 'Muggle Mistake.' She brings you up when she wants to fight dirty."

"Jesus, Chris. Sorry about that." I reached for the pack of cigarettes and noticed the number of coffin nails was dwindling rapidly. After I lit one I looked over to the house. "Do you think Ron got lost?" She didn't say anything; instead she stared at a bird that had landed on the trellis and was singing brightly. I stood up and offered her my hand. "Come on, I need another drink." She took my hand, stood up, and after I let go of her hand we walked towards the house. As I opened the door for her I couldn't help myself. "And next time your Mom wants to fight dirty tell her your 'Muggle Mistake' teaches at Hogwarts. That ought to shut her up."

She smiled. "Maybe I'll send her your books."

"Nah." I shook my head. "Give me her address, I'll send her signed copies."

-ooo-

As soon as we hit the house I understood why Ron hadn't rejoined us in the garden as he was surrounded by people. He sat on the couch, empty glasses on the coffee table that were probably meant for me and Christine, while people stood and crowded around, sitting on the edges of tables, chairs, you name it. I wondered why for a moment and then I realized; he's Ron Weasley, one of the most famous wizards in the world along with Harry and Hermione, and in front of a captive audience that wanted to know everything about everything. I noticed Lindell at the edge of the crowd and he motioned me over.

"Sorry about that, they found out he really is Ron Weasley and, well, they just sort of attacked him. Politely, of course. I think those Potter Adventure Series books are read by more than schoolchildren."

"Shit." I sighed. I looked over at Ron and it seemed like he would do just about anything, including tell Molly about all the things he and Hermione did in The Burrow before they were married while Molly wasn't there, he'd rather do that than sit politely in front of a bunch of American witches and wizards and dispute those horrible stories. "I'll have to make it up to him."

Lindell nodded. "Yes, but it does give us an opportunity." He turned to Christine. "Rowan, be a dear and make sure things don't get out of hand, please?"

After she agreed I followed Lindell upstairs to Eittel's old office. It looked pretty much like it always had in my memory; papers everywhere, a few posters for Polish films, books jammed tightly in bookcases...I felt that at any moment he would walk in, flop down in that ancient chair of his, kick off his shoes and light up a smoke before telling me about some wonderful new author that I just had to read. But that wasn't going to happen; he was gone.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Lindell looked over to me. "I know I should clean in here, but I just can't."

"No, don't clean. It wouldn't be right."

Lindell leaned against the door frame. "I feel like I'd be destroying everything he took so long to put together. Some of those books are quite rare, and he had them organized in his own fashion. Makes no sense to me, but he could find anything in a second or two."

I reached over and pulled Lindell into a hug. "I'm so sorry. I am, I...fuck, I'm so sorry."

He hugged me for a moment and then when we broke apart he took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes for a few seconds and then returned his glasses to their rightful place. "Thank you, Hank. I know we don't know each other that well, you were leaving when Bramwell and I first started really seeing each other, plus you were in the midst of..."

"Yeah, the breakup with Christine." I focused on the poster from some Polish film that looked like a cross between Salvador Dali and Andy Warhol. "She said she stopped by to talk to you guys afterwards."

"That was when you left to do your graduate work. She really cared for you, you know, but with her parents, and how young you both were..." He sighed. "I always held out hope for you two, Bram called me a 'hopeless romantic' but I think he knew it was for the best. And now, the way your life has turned out, would you change things?"

Would I change things? I'd emptied many a bottle and many a pack of cigarettes over the same question all those years ago, but now, with Melody and the kids and Hogwarts and... "No. I don't think I would."

Lindell smiled. "That's why Bram and I worked so well. He balanced me out. He knew you'd be better off." He clapped his hands together suddenly. "So, now for the balance of your bequest. I think you'll find this very interesting, and so will your Auror friends." He walked over to one of the bookshelves, bent down and picked up a medium-sized box. "You can probably guess what's in here, can't you?"

"Books." I nodded. "Potter Adventure Series?"

"Yes, and more." He sat the box on Eittel's old chair. "You know about the Knights of the Wand from what we read in your book, and I'm sure you know about the WLF."

"Those fuckers? Oh yeah." I nodded. For some reason my eye was drawn to the elaborate old dragon ashtray that Eittel always kept on his desk. When you put the cigarette down the smoke was drawn through the neck of the dragon and came out of its mouth. I noticed Lindell looking at me. "Sorry, I just remember that ashtray. I asked him how it worked and he said it was an old Japanese secret. Guess it must have been magic, huh?"

Lindell chuckled. "Yes, it's charmed. He sent off for it by mail. I know he said he made his peace about being a squib years ago, but I don't think the hurt ever really went away." For a moment Lindell stood still, his eyes moving as if he was thinking of something, and then without warning he went over to the window and opened it wide. "I think it's appropriate, Hank. Feel free to use the ashtray."

I laughed, reached into my pocket and pulled out a smoke. After I lit it, took a drag and exhaled, I put the cigarette in the ashtray. For a few seconds nothing happened and then, like always, smoke began trickling out of the dragon's mouth.

Lindell sat on the corner of the desk. "Hank, you know that the magical world here in the UMS is much more accepting of marriages like the one Bram and I had, the Muggle world not so much. He was a squib, and always felt like an outsider except in the Muggle world. I think that's why he devoted so much of his energy to gay rights. He did not suffer injustice, regardless of who the perpetrators were, be that bigoted Muggles or bigoted magicals. For him it was a replay of the run up to Nazi Germany, even though I tried to tell him it was different he just didn't listen. I think being partly Jewish made it more keen for him."

"He was Jewish? But he went to church for all those years..."

"Partially Jewish, his grandmother was Jewish, non-practicing, of course. But it was in his history. When he started hearing about the anti-Muggle movements he dived into it like one of his research projects, pulling sources, finding...you know how he was with a project. To him it was personal. Since he was a squib, a gay squib, he felt the stings deeper than others would. He understood the outsider's perspective. And after Rowan came by, after your breakup, at night after Bram and I had gone to bed we'd lay there and out of the blue he'd say 'think about it, Hank and Rowan might've had a chance if it wasn't for all the pureblood, anti-Muggle shit.' He thought about you quite a bit, you know."

And there in the library my stomach began to churn into knots. I should've kept up correspondence with Eittel. I wrote him occasionally, called him a couple of times from grad school when I was stuck on a class, but after that I eventually just drifted off. I was a shitty friend to someone I considered a mentor. More than that, someone I considered a friend. "Fucking hell. I should have..."

"Water under the bridge, Hank, especially now. I can't tell you how happy he was when he found out you were at Hogwarts, and with a little bit of magic. I think he was jealous for a short time, but after he read your first book I think, more than anything, he was proud of you."

I took a drag off of the cigarette and replaced it; the dragon continued its charmed breath. As I stood there I stared at the box on the chair. "So, this box, then..."

"I believe you'll find all the Potter Adventure Series books with his notes. He used to stay up reading and marking them, all hours, actually, I'd find him downstairs in his robe in that ratty old leather chair with a drink at three in the morning, notes all over the margins of the books. But beyond that there are files, clippings from papers, and books from other authors. I gather you've already come to one of the same conclusions that he did."

"Different authors."

"Exactly." Lindell nodded. "And a name that I'm sure you're familiar with, Rita Skeeter."

"Goddamn I hate that bitch." I picked up my cigarette and took a quick drag. "She's the worst kind of writer, just makes shit up, doesn't care about who it will hurt as long as she gets readers. She did a quick stint in Azkaban but it didn't help, just made her worse. Well, that's what Hermione told me. Hermione is..."

"Ron's wife, I know. You do run in very select circles, Hank."

I waved him off. "Yeah, but they're just regular people."

"We all are, but some don't realize that." Lindell looked at his watch. "I think we've left the Order of Merlin First Class winner down there long enough by himself. I'll go save him, so why don't you take the time to look in the box? I know about the books and the papers, but he said there was something else he wanted to leave you, but he wouldn't say exactly what it was. I'll leave you to it, then." Lindell started for the door but stopped and turned. "I'll be spreading his ashes in the garden soon. Please stay until then."

"Of course." I watched him leave and then turned to the box. "Ok, Dr. Eittel, what mysteries did you leave me?"

I opened the flaps of the box carefully, and on top rested the Potter Adventure Series books, all of them with the exception of the ones I'd already received with his notes. Underneath that were multiple file folders stuffed with newspaper clippings, legal pads with his notes and several other books that I'd never heard of, all of them wizarding books. Some were novels, others were history, and all of them seemed unconnected to the Potter Adventure series. I put those on the desk and reached in for something stuck in the corner of the box, taking up one side. It was a thin wooden case with a gold clasp. I pulled it out, flicked the latch and opened it.

There, on a bed of black velvet, was a wand wrapped with a piece of paper. I took out the wand but felt nothing happen. After carefully peeling away the cellophane tape that bound the paper around the wand I unrolled it and began reading.

Henry Aaron MacDonald Boyd,

I present to you a memento, a reminder. I bought this wand in my youth in hopes that someday I might finally get my magic, but it was not to be. I am a squib. I have no magic. For years it was hidden in my office, but I knew it was there, and it haunted me at times. But then I met Lindell, a man who taught me love and understanding, and to be honest I didn't think of it for years.

But when cancer came calling I began to look back on my life, as those nearing Death's door often do, and I remembered it one day. I took it out and looked at it, and all those years of wishing I could use it melted away. What is a wand but a little stick? A wand does not make a man, for many have wielded wands that could not even fathom what it truly means to be a man. For me the wand became a symbol for what I have overcome, for how much I've grown, as it means that I am not defined by what I am not, but what I choose to be. I have chosen to be an educator, a mentor, a lover, a friend, a soldier in the campaign against injustice, and in my heart of hearts I hope that I have been a good man.

I hope that you will take this wand, compare it with your own, and realize that even if you cannot wield magic as others it makes you no less a man. As for being less of a wizard, who is to say what truly makes a wizard? You know from countless volumes of literature that magic exists all around us, if we only take the time to see it, to notice it.

Remember the magic in your life every day, Henry Aaron MacDonald Boyd, even if it never comes from a wand.

I moved the box off and sat in Eittel's old chair, squeaking as it always had, and read the letter a second time. Afterwards I lit another cigarette and watched the smoke pour out of the dragon's mouth. He'd given me another project, one to work on the Potter Adventure series authors, those secretive bastards, but he gave me so much more. I let his wand roll around in the palm of my hand and it was simply a nicely crafted stick. I put my wand alongside it, much darker than his, and felt the slight tingle that always happened when I really thought about my wand. My wand had changed my life in so many ways. Looking down at Eittel's wand I realized that his wand had done the exact same thing.