A Sirius Situation

Chapter 8

Hermione and her Shopping

Author: Jelsemium

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, JK Rowling does

The name Hel's Forge was rather uninviting. However, the village itself was charming. Nestled in a small valley, beside a swiftly running stream, it managed to balance the charm of its ancient cottages and shops with the brisk efficiency of its newer stores and hotels.

On a clear day, the village looked like the setting of a picture postcard. Even on a cold, rainy July day, it was pleasant to wander through. The Sikes drove the teens to The Forge Mall and dropped them off, arranging to meet them again in five hours time.

The boys headed off to a sporting goods shop. (Hermione couldn't help but think of Ron and Harry and their obsession with Quidditch. Ron thought Muggle sports were dull, but Harry would have probably enjoyed the Muggle shop.

Hermione wasn't sure if Harry had played many sports before Hogwarts. She made a mental note to ask him someday.) Belinda and Tanya went bargain hunting. Hermione instructed Belinda to be sure to get a plain gold cross, and to take it to the chapel to have it blessed. If they were right about the priory being haunted, Hermione suspected that the minister would not be at all surprised at such a request.

Hermione turned up the collar of her coat and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her red coat. She'd worn her warmest outfit, but she hadn't packed any really heavy clothes. Her blue jeans and white turtleneck weren't faring well in the rain and wind. She felt her school scarf in one of her pockets and debated putting in on. She refrained for the moment, feeling uneasy about displaying her school colors in a Muggle village.

Her parents had been quite generous with her spending money, though, so she could buy herself a new scarf, and maybe a new coat, if she really needed it. She window shopped as she looked for a bookshop.

The first bookshop Hermione found was a modern one, laden with the new releases, popular paperbacks and all the current bestsellers. She looked in the window, but nothing on display excited her curiosity. There weren't any books that could teach her anything, so she shook her head and kept walking.

There might be some information about the local area in the modern bookshop, but she doubted there'd be much in the way of useful information about the possibly haunted Priory. Even if there was a book or two that had pertinent information, she'd have to find it herself, and she didn't have the time to do that amount of research.

What she needed was a used bookshop, a library, or maybe an antique shop. Preferably something that was operated by a long time resident of the area. Somebody who was familiar with both the local scuttlebutt and the books. Failing that, she'd try the newspaper office.

As she walked, she started thinking about other alternatives, should her first two ideas fail. She needed someplace where the people were familiar with the history of the area and weren't afraid to talk about it.

The local pub might prove informative. At the very least, there might be some old pensioner who wouldn't mind talking about the good old days to a sympathetic listener. She fingered her purse again.

A sympathetic listener who was willing to buy the next round could usually find somebody with an interesting story. The trick there was finding someone who knew the truth about the Priory, and would be willing to educate an outsider on what might possibly be a local scandal. (Happy people didn't often turn into ghosts.)

Her ruminations came to an end when she walked around a corner onto a narrow street whose sign read "Tote Ally," where most of the shops seemed to be empty. There were only two shops that weren't boarded up. One was "Auntie Macasser's Cafe." The other was "Uncle Badger's Used Books and Other Oddments." The word "oddments" always made her think of Professor Dumbledore, so she grinned and went inside.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the scent of old leather, parchment, and ink that only came from really old books. It smelled like heaven to her. Sometimes she thought that she'd like to own a bookshop. She shook her head. Maybe after she retired. There were a lot of careers she'd like to investigate before she settled down to such an introverted occupation.

She opened her eyes and took in the ambience. The shelves of books reaching the ceiling were to be expected. Interspersed among the books were the "oddments." A goat skull, some trophies, a cricket bat, a cricket cage, a butterfly net filled with tennis balls, a white clay pot with some sort of spiky design around the outside, parts of a stained glass window laid out on billiards table like an oversized jigsaw puzzle, a crystal ball perched jauntily on a moose head, Egyptian Canopic jars and a gumball machine filled black and red balls the size of hen's eggs were among the eclectic collection.

"Dumbledore would love this place," she said. It was certainly her idea of a proper bookstore. It had a lot of objects that were designed to stimulate her imagination, and a lot of books created to satisfy her curiosity. Hermione Heaven in a box.

She walked toward the counter looking around as she did. Behind the ancient cash register were a set of large mason jars that held preserved animals, including a pickled toad that was, by Merlin, the exact shade of green as Harry's eyes.

There was also a red ball the size of a football, which was tethered to a stuffed badger with a long, knitted scarf. Hermione's eyes narrowed a bit as she noticed that the scarf had alternating stripes of yellow and black. Then a smile blossomed across her face. This was obviously the right bookshop for her purposes.

"Ah, good afternoon, my flower," an elderly man shuffled from a door behind the counter and made his way towards her. There wasn't much of his dust colored hair, and his pale grey eyes were covered by lenses that had to be thicker than Hermione's thumb. He was dressed in clothes that had gone out of fashioned before World War I, which meant they were cutting edge, as far as the wizarding world was concerned.

There was a smile on his face, but not a particularly friendly one. It was the kind of smirk that a person wears when he thinks he knows something that you're too ignorant to understand.

"Good day, sir," Hermione said politely. She took off her coat and draped it over her arm. She could see into the room behind the counter. She could see the flickering light of a fireplace that was giving off enough heat to counter a blustery winter day, which meant it was overwhelming the rainy July afternoon.

"Please, call me Uncle Badger. Everyone else does. So, how can an old codger like me help such a lovely spring flower?" the proprietor smirked. He took her coat and hung it on a coat tree that Hermione was certain had not been standing next to the counter when she walked in the door.

Hermione smirked back. The old wizard liked to tease his Muggle customers, it seemed. "Thank you, Uncle Badger, I'm looking for some books about the Old Priory," she said.

"Really?" the wizard's eyebrows rose. "And what could possibly interest a sweet blossom such as yourself in such a dull piece of property?"

"My mother's cousins are the new owners," Hermione said. "I'm here on a visit."

"Oh, I'd heard that Old Gerald had managed to unload that white elephant of his," Uncle Badger said happily. "Have you been enjoying your stay? The old priory has got some lovely scenery up there."

"I'd enjoy the scenery more if it would stop raining," Hermione admitted. "There's a lovely library that came with the place, though. It's kept me quite entertained."

"And now you've come to town to entertain yourself," Uncle Badger said, half a question and half a challenge.

"Actually, I came to do some research," Hermione said. She wandered around looking at the titles on the spines of the books. They all seemed very innocuous, but Hermione was sure she saw the letters on a few of them scramble to rearrange themselves. "There have been some strange goings-on and I was wondering if there might be some clues in the Priory's past to explain it."

"Ah, so what do you think of Hel's Forge, my flower?" Uncle Badger acted as if he hadn't heard her. "Not a very pleasant name, is it? Did you expect this to be an unpleasant place?"

Hermione tilted her head and studied him. There was a test here, somewhere, and she was determined to pass. "Hel's Forge," she mused. "The name is rather ominous, isn't it? At least, when you say it out loud. On paper, however, there's only one 'l' in the name."

Uncle Badger smiled. "You think, perhaps, that some careless cartographer dropped a letter?"

"I suspect that your careless cartographer dropped a whole syllable," Hermione said. She looked at the Quaffle, and then at the Hufflepuff scarf. "According to Hogwarts, a History, Helga Hufflepuff was a skilled artisan in metals as well as cloth."

Uncle Badger gave a bark of laughter. "A Hogwarts student who actually reads history books," he said in pleased tones. "If I were a gambling man, I'd bet that you were sorted into Ravenclaw."

Hermione casually strolled over to her coat and pulled her scarlet and gold scarf out of the pocket as she spoke. She wrapped in around her shoulders and shot Uncle Badger a challenging look.

"Well, well, it's just as well that I'm not a gambler," Uncle Badger said with a grin. "My beautiful blossom is a dandelion."

"That means Tooth of the Lion, you know" Hermione said in cautioning tones.

"You don't look to be of age yet, my lioness," Uncle Badger said.

Hermione gave him a Fred-and-George grin. "That doesn't mean that provoking is me risk-free," she said. "Magic is a useful too, but not the only one in my repertoire. We Muggles have our own ways getting things done. Sometimes all you need is some cleverness and a bit of… tooth." She grinned wider.

Uncle Badger laughed and he held his hands up in surrender. "Point taken. I am Jed Ione, Hufflepuff, class of '59, at your service." He seemed a lot friendlier now that he had learned that they were from the same world.

Hermione smiled as she held out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, class of '97." She tilted her head at him. "My friends call me Hermione."

Uncle Badger's eyes went wide. "Well, I've never had a celebrity in my humble shop before! I'm certainly glad you did not take offense at my over familiarity, Miss Granger." He gave her hand a firm shake.

Hermione's eyebrows went up and she coughed to hide a bark of laughter. "I'm no celebrity," she said, shaking her head with denial. "I'm surprised you've heard of me."

"I have heard a lot of things," Uncle Badger said with a touch of pride. "I used to be a journalist, and I daresay that I'm better informed than most of the people who currently besmirch the honor of that formerly noble profession."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Hermione said, thinking of the nasty reports that Rita Skeeter had published back in her fourth year.

"You're one of the companions of The Boy Who Lived, are you not?" Uncle Badger continued.

"I'm one of Harry's friends, yes," Hermione said.

"Then a mere malicious spirit shouldn't bother you very much," Uncle Badger teased.

"It's not bothering me at all. It's bothering my cousin."

"Your cousin? I thought you were Muggle born?"

Hermione frowned. "I know. However, I suspect that my cousin may be a Squib. She never got a Hogwarts letter, so she can't be a witch. However, she is seeing this thing."

"The rest of her family?"

Hermione shook her head. "No one except Belinda has seen it. She's scared, too. She thinks it might attempt to… to ravish her," Hermione said with a wince. She hated the stilted way that had come out, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to say 'rape.'

Uncle Badger tilted his head. "I've never heard of poltergeists doing anything like that," he said. "However, she does have a nasty sense of humor."

"She?" Hermione asked. "According to my cousin, it was definitely a 'he' who was making gestures at her in the mirror."

Uncle Badger frowned and pulled at his lower lip. "Then perhaps we aren't speaking about the same spirit," he said doubtfully. "Of course, with a poltergeist, she could have just been trying to scare your cousin." He plucked a small, brown book from a shelf behind him, apparently without even looking at the title.

"And doing a good job of it," Hermione said. "Just hearing about the pranks was enough to alarm me, and I can defend myself."

Uncle Badger's eyes narrowed. "If this isn't a mere poltergeist, your cousin could be in considerable danger. Some spirits can get more aggressive over time. It might be best to contain this one, if we can."

"That's what I'm here for," Hermione said. She looked around and noticed that the titles of several of the books had gone from being bland titles concerning Scottish geography, household hits and local wildlife to being books about wizarding geography, household charms and magical beasts. She began browsing for something on aggressive spirits.

Uncle Badger replaced the brown book, and then pulled a large, thin red book from under a cage of a stuffed parrot. "There must be something here that will help."

Hermione suppressed memories of Monty Python's Flying Circus with some difficulty. "Do you have any information about why the Priory might be haunted?" she suggested. "That might be a good place to start." She started to reach for a book titled Snapdragons for Fun, Profit and Protection, and then she remembered The Monster Book of Monsters and pulled her hand back. She thought the book might have sighed, but she didn't examine it closer to find out for certain.

"Oh, I have several books on that subject," Uncle Badger said. He put the red book on the shelf next to the brown book. Then he moved a couple of bookcases farther into the back of the shop and pulled out a large grey book with a title that Hermione could read: Who Was Who and What Was That

"However, they will do you no good," he said. "What you speak of is definitely not a ghost." He made a wry face. "In fact, the ghosts that used to haunt the Priory have moved on. Gerald and I never understood why. Now, I suspect your hostile spirit persuaded them to leave."

"That can't be good news," Hermione said. "The Bloody Baron can keep Peeves in line, but he can't rid the castle of him. Whatever's there must be very powerful."

"Ah, yes. Interesting observation," Uncle Badger said. "I remember Peeves. However, I think if it was powerful, then Gerald would have noticed… he was in Slytherin, by the way. I think this particular spirit is more like a poltergeist than a ghost, but what could it be? How did it behave?" He gave her a stern look. "Other than 'badly', that is."

"I don't make facetious replies to serious questions," Hermione murmured. "That's Ron's job."

Uncle Badger raised an eyebrow.

"Ron Weasley," she clarified. "If you've heard of me, then you must have heard of him."

"Ah, yes," Uncle Badger said. "I have heard of the Weasley family. Quite a noble family, that."

"So they are," Hermione agreed.

"So, tell me about your malicious spirit," Uncle Badger prompted.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Let's see, it has caused a lot of problems around the priory, but nothing that couldn't be explained away." She made a wry face. "Even I didn't add up the evidence until Belinda asked me for help. However, it has used my cousin's curling wand, her hair dryer, and her mirror to harass her."

She leaned against the counter and tapped her fingers on the dusty surface. She thought over what Belinda had told her while Uncle Badger flipped through a few books. "It may have affected her radio, but the problems with the radio aren't as overtly hostile as the attacks through the other items."

"Mm-hmmm," Uncle Badger said. He exchanged the black book for a shiny yellow and black book whose title looked suspiciously like Evil Spirits for Dummies. Hermione couldn't swear to that, however, because the yellow and black book was quickly replaced with a modern looking blue paperback.

"Oh, yes, she said that she was attacked by her blanket early this morning," Hermione added.

"Ah, here's something in Modern Manifestations," he said, leafing through the book with a satisfied smile. He stopped suddenly and looked startled. "Maybe not," he said as he put the book away.

"What?" Hermione questioned.

"Your spirit was sounding like a gremlin, they are known to be partial to modern Muggle gadgets," he said. "Now I'm not so sure."

Hermione nodded. "That would make sense," she said. "So, why are you ruling out a gremlin?"

"But that doesn't explain the episode with the blanket," Uncle Badger said. "What exactly happened?"

Hermione related Belinda's tale about being attacked by the blanket.

"Blankets don't fall under the category of modern Muggle gadgets," Uncle Badger said. "Unless there's something special about that blanket that you haven't told me about."

Hermione looked at him with a frown as she went over every detail of the attack in her mind. Then she did think of something 'special' about the blanket.

"We have electric blankets," she explained. "I don't use mine, but Belinda probably does. They aren't really a good idea, until they get the generator to stop acting up."

She stopped speaking and got an odd look on her face. "Maybe the only thing wrong with that generator is the gremlin."

Uncle Badger was looking at her like she'd started speaking Parseltongue. "A what? An electric blanket?" he asked in shocked tones. "How can you warm yourself with electricity? Isn't that stuff dangerous?"

Hermione managed to keep from staring. She was surprised, sometimes, at how ignorant wizards were about the Muggle world. She would have thought that Uncle Badger, living among Muggles as he did, would have been savvier about Muggle life. Of course, he did live in the older part of town; he probably wasn't the only one who didn't have electricity.

"Electricity is no more dangerous than magic," Hermione said. "You just have to handle it with respect."

"Oh," Uncle Badger said. "How do these blankets work?"

"Well, electricity flows through wires, copper wires being the most common," Hermione said earnestly. "When it moves through the wires, it causes friction, like when you rub your hands together. The friction causes heat. In light bulb filaments, the heat creates light."

Uncle Badger rubbed his hands together. "That sounds simple the way you explain it, yet you can use that…" he paused to pronounce the word carefully "e-lek-tris-it-ee to warm your beds," he shook his head, and then stopped rubbing his hands together as if he were embarrassed. "Amazing."

"We Muggles are cleverer than the wizarding world gives us credit for," Hermione said darkly.

"Still think of yourself as a Muggle?" Uncle Badger asked.

"I am Muggle-born," Hermione said. "It's just that my repertoire includes, but is not limited to, magic."

Uncle Badger grinned. "I'll have to watch my tongue around my Muggle customers, then. I'd hate to have the likes of you get angry with me."

"You should always be polite to your customers," Hermione said primly. "It's good business sense to stay on your customers good side." She straightened up and noticed, with some dismay, that her blouse was now grimy.

"Allow me," Uncle Badger said. "Scourgify!"

"Thank you," Hermione said.

"Magic does have its uses," Uncle Badger said smugly.

"Of course," Hermione said. "Except when it doesn't work."