CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I closed the door to Ollivanders behind us. ''Well that was a waste of time.''
''Och nae.'' Shibley grinned. ''We ken noo 'at Herself is a totty an' 'at yoo're weel in thaur, guid oan ye, yoong laddie.''
''Right. That's all good to know.'' I lead the way down Diagon Alley towards the corner leading to Knockturn Alley. ''Too bad I went in there to ask about wandlore.''
Gerry Ollivander had nearly talked my ear off. Half of it had been memories of dead friends and the other half had been observations about Galilea's arse. On the plus side, at least Gerry was more than willing to talk to me. I'd try to get something useful out of him later.
''Ah miss mah wain,'' said Shibley.
We turned left into the narrow entry to Knockturn Alley. The cobblestones here were rough and set in crumbling mortar. The brick archways and overhanging gables of most of the buildings dated back to at least the early Stuart Era, and I thought some of the narrow wood and stone buildings might be Elizabethan. ''What sort of wand did you have?''
''Blackthorn an' bean nighe finger-bain. It waur buried wi' me.''
Despite the rundown buildings Knockturn Alley was on its way up. There were shops selling consignment clothes, a record shop selling actual vinyl records, grotty looking little restaurants, and more bars than I would have thought could fit into one block. In the midst of this rising tide the notorious old Borgin and Burkes had transformed itself into an antique shop. The crowd on Knockturn was younger than the crowd out on Diagon Alley, and wore different fashions. People in the leather and wool Teddy Rough style mingled with others who wouldn't have looked out of place at a very odd Renaissance Fair. There were some young women in robes and cloaks, but they'd draped their clothes into folds resembling tunics and great kilts.
At the far end of this hipster splendour stood Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, a shop famous both for its goods and for the owner itself. And at the moment its owner stood outside, using his wand to wipe away the glowing red words Squib-Lover and Blood Traitor.
He didn't look too upset. As I approached George Weasley looked up from his work and grinned. ''Well if it isn't my niece's favourite teacher. How are you, Professor Muggle?''
Just as I remembered from first meeting him, George Weasley was a bit of a dick. ''I'm fine, Soulless Ginger. And Rose isn't in any of my classes.''
''That must be why you're the only professor she hasn't complained about yet.''
''Too much classwork?''
''Not enough. Poor girl takes after the wrong side of that family.'' George finished waving his wand at the front of his shop. He tsked. ''Look at that, cleaned away already. When I was a boy I put some effort into my vandalism. You couldn't have cleaned up my graffiti with a simple Finite Incantatem, let me tell you.''
''You're taking this pretty well.''
George turned his head to show the scar ridge where his left ear used to be. ''Having a teacher take a slice off you sort of puts everything else into perspective.'' He tucked his wand away into a little pocket on the side of his jumper. ''Shop doesn't open for another half hour, but I'm always happy to see someone with a wallet full of Galleons. Come in and tell me how I can take your money.''
George held the door open for us. Shibley gave him a quick nod as she entered the shop. ''And who's this?'' George locked the door and grabbed a hideously magenta robe off a display case. ''Don't tell me the rumours are true?''
''Shibley, this is George Weasley. George this is my apprentice, Shibley NicMaeldun. What rumours?''
George pulled the robe over his head. He was grinning again as his head emerged from the ugly shop uniform. ''You hadn't heard? School rumour has it you're secretly a Dark wizard. A necromancer.''
''What?''
''Nae, nae. Necromancy conjures demons fa tak' oan th' seemin' ay th' deid. Master Geoffrey isnae but a cunning-man.''
Now it was George's turn. ''What?''
''It's an old term for a wizard or witch,'' I told him. ''It died out in the Twentieth Century among Muggles, but I think your people stopped using it before that. It also included people who could speak with ghosts and spirits but couldn't use wands.''
George shrugged. ''If you say so. So what can I do for you today, Professor Muggle?''
''For starters, if you want any more of my money you can stop calling me that.''
''Touchy. So what can I do for you today, Mr. Professor Doctor Hunter?''
Dick.
We wandered further back into the shop, past rows of firecrackers and bottle rockets, poisonous candies and booby-trapped wands. Everything was packaged in jarring colours, with flashy moving pictures under logos that glittered and swirled. ''I need some new defensive tricks. Neville and Idris have both told me that the kids are plotting something, so that's at least Slytherin and Gryffindor I have to worry about.''
''How are the Shield-Charmed clothes holding up?''
''Really well. But the kids aren't stupid - Well, some of them are. But even the dumb ones know better than to try and Jinx me directly now.''
George rubbed his palms together. ''Ooh, tricky. You need area defences, but not the stuff I've put together for the Ministry. Something that won't hurt 'em.''
''Oh yeah, about that...'' I noticed Shibley examining a display of brightly coloured boxes, all in Halloween orange and chimney red. I wandered over to see what she was looking at.
''The Weasley Whirling Whiz-Bang Deluxe Kit,'' said George. ''A dozen uncontrollable fiery vortices in every box, or five Sickles back guaranteed.''
I had a look at the price tag: 5 G 5 S. ''They cost five Galleons five,'' I pointed out.
''Of course,'' said George. ''You don't think I'm going to give back all of the money?''
''Are you really selling incendiary munitions to children?''
George grinned again. It seemed to be his default expression. ''Check the fine print.''
I picked up one of the garishly-coloured packages. It took a few seconds to spot, but I finally found the tiny print he meant. There under a picture of a swirling bonfire it said Child-Safe: Flame Guaranteed To Burn At No More Than 50 C.
''They're big, they're bright, they make a fantastic whooshing noise, took me ages to get that sound right, but I'm not a complete madman. I made the first batch for my nephew James when he was five.''
''Great.'' I put the package back on the display. ''Let's just hope my students don't see these and put two and two together.''
George gave me a blank look. He may have been up on Hogwarts gossip but he obviously hadn't heard about my panic attack at the Ministry.
''C'mon, kid. You can find better things to - '' Shibley was gone. I looked around and spotted her in an incredibly pink area of the shop. She was half-in a display, head down in a row of what looked like perfume bottles. She pulled her head out of the display and looked at George.
''Yer draughts want mair saffron,'' she said.
''Nah. Costs too much, and it lowers the shelf life. And I get enough complaints about selling love potions as is. Can you imagine the howlers I'd get if any of my brews lasted more than a day?''
''There's nae sic' beest as a loove potion,'' said Shibley. ''They're aphrodisiacs 'at make ye loost efter th' giver aloyn.''
George rolled his eyes. ''It's marketing. If I sold them as lust potions people wouldn't let their children buy them.''
''You sell date-rape drugs to kids?''
''Muggle-borns,'' George muttered. ''Why is that always the first thing you people think of when you hear about love potions?''
''I don't know, maybe because it's really obvious?''
''And maybe that's why taking advantage of someone under the influence is illegal.'' George sighed dramatically. ''Look, no matter what my sister-in-law says wizards aren't all completely senseless. I sell love potions because they're too damned easy to brew. A clever Fourth Year can do it. So we make it easy for kids to buy cheap love potions, ones that don't last as long as a properly brewed fresh batch, and aren't as strong. Get it?''
''Got it. Sorry. I didn't realize they were so easy to make.''
George shrugged. ''It's not all kids either. Most of our customers are couples looking to spice things up a bit, add a bit of pepper to - Where'd your ghost-girl go?''
Shibley had vanished again. I looked around the shop for a few seconds but couldn't see her in any of the other displays. ''Shibley?''
She streaked out of a back area like a frightened cat, passing right through me with a sensation like a bucket of ice-water being splashed through my chest. She stopped and peered over my shoulder, her eyes wide.
''Och Master, he has those creatures in th' back!''
'''Those creatures'?'' Said George Weasley. ''What 'those creatures'?''
''Them,'' muttered Shibley. ''Th' wee furry fiends. They swatch harmless, but at nicht they feed.''
'''At night they...'?'' George looked puzzled. ''The Puffskeins?''
''Aye, so Ah've heard them called. Foul things.''
George looked over his shoulder, back to the area Shibley had been exploring. ''But they're... Puffskeins.''
Shibley backed away. ''Ah... Ah'll jist be ower haur,'' she said. She floated away from us, never looking away from the back area. She took cover behind a shelf.
''What do you have back there?''
George made gestures indicating something small and round. ''Puffskeins, that's all. I've never seen anyone react like that before. I've never even heard of... I'll show you.''
''Cannie, Master.''
George looked over to Shibley. Then he shrugged his shoulders and gave me a confused look. ''This way.''
George led me over to a small area behind the pink WonderWitch displays. In the back area there was a small display pen, the type you might see filled with hamsters in a pet shop. A soft soothing hum rose up from the pen as we approached. In the pen, humming contentedly, were a half dozen balls of fur...
''Tribbles?'' I asked.
''That's what Harry and Hermione call them,'' said George. ''But they're Pygmy Puffskeins. They're harmless...''
From the front of the shop Shibley called out ''Dornt turn yer back tae them, Master!''
''... I think.''
''Huh.'' I stepped back from the display. ''So anyways, about the reason I dropped by...''
I backed out of the Puffskein display and then turned to join Shibley at the front of the shop. George followed.
''Right, I'll have to think about that.'' He glanced back over his shoulder. ''I think I have something I can modify for your needs, but I'll need to look at it. My shop assistant will be here to open, then I can sit down and get to work. I'll Floo you this evening.''
''I'm going to be out,'' I said quickly. ''You could Floo the Headmistress' office and leave a message with one of the portraits.''
''The Headmistress' office?'' George Weasley waggled his eyebrows at me. ''The rumours are right then. So is it true that she's...''
''An accomplished Legilimens and knows every nasty thought that's ever crossed your mind? Yes.''
''You're a braver man than I am, mate.''
''I doubt it. Aren't you the one who pelted Lord Voldemort in the face with snowballs?''
George laughed. ''Me and Fred had a serious brown-trouser moment when we found out about that.''
''Master, main we gang noo?'' Shibley came up close behind me. ''They micht awaken.''
''Er...'' George looked back over his shoulder.
''All right Shibley. I have some other places I need to visit this morning.'' I turned back to George. ''The Shield-Charmed clothes work great, but like I said...''
''Even the dumb ones have figured out not to target you directly. Don't worry, they're up against the Weasley Wonder of the Wizarding World now.''
On that we left George Weasley. When we last saw him he stood staring at the back area of his shop, a worried look on his face.
IOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIOIO
When we left Weasley's shop I saw a dark-haired wizard with a strange box in his hands. I almost ducked back into Weasleys Wizard Wheezes until he raised the box to his face and I realized it was an old-fashioned camera, a flip-top thing that looked like it came from the 1970s. I ignored the photographer and went in search of Jezebel Rosier's group, the Society for the Support of Squibs. The Oakby Centre of the Society for the Support of Squibs was just across the street and a few doors down from George Weasley's shop. As we approached the narrow brick building I asked Shibley about Puffskeins.
She snickered. ''Dae ye hink he feel fur it?''
I paused at the door of the Oakby Centre and gave her a mock glare. ''Brat.''
The ground floor of the Oakby Centre held a narrow reception area, with a few old chairs and a table at the front and a beat-up desk further back. Behind the desk a middle-aged witch looked up as we came in. She watched us carefully and kept her right hand out of sight under the desk.
''Hello, my name is Professor Geoffrey Hunter. I'd like to speak to Ms. Rosier if she's free.''
The witch pulled her hand back from under the desk and tucked her wand away in a robe-pocket. ''I'm not certain she's in today,'' she said. ''I'll just go check.''
Behind the desk there was a stairway leading up and a door leading further back into the ground floor. The witch went into the back area, leaving Shibley and I alone in reception. I wandered over to a rack of pamphlets.
''A coothie boorichie,'' said Shibley.
Even after a few weeks of talking to Shibley every day, I needed a minute to realize she'd called them a friendly bunch. Thank God I'd grown up in contact with my Scottish cousins. ''If George's shop was vandalised, I bet the Centre was too.''
''Och, ay coorse. Ah didne hink ay 'at.''
The pamphlets were obviously cheap. The pictures moved, but they weren't interactive. I poked an image that showed a young man picking up a clunky grey laptop and it just kept going through the same set of motions. The pamphlets covered a range of subjects, from schedules for computer-literacy programs to instructions on how to pay utility bills or open a bank account. I took a handful and stuffed them into my pocket, including one that described the Oakby Centre and its mission. That last one turned out to be identical to the Muggle version, with brief biographies of the leadership and a meaningless 'mission statement'.
The back door opened and Jezebel Rosier and the receptionist came out. Jezebel wore an odd mix of clothes, a sleeveless green jumper that wouldn't look out of place on Charing Cross Road over a blue and gold light witchy gown. She looked briefly at Shibley, then her gaze settled on me. ''Hello Professor Hunter, it's good to see you here. What can I do for you?''
''Hello. Shibley, this is Jezebel Rosier. Ms. Rosier, this is my student Shibley NicMaeldun. Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?''
Jezebel Rosier learned faster than most people. ''Hello, Miss NicMaeldun.'' She nodded politely to Shibley, who returned the gesture. ''We can speak in my office, but I'm afraid I don't have much time. I'm presenting a workshop this morning.''
''That's fine,'' I said as Jezebel lead us into the back. Beyond the door was a long narrow hallway with doors along the left. We followed Jezebel to the third door, which turned out to be a cramped office with a tiny desk and a couple of chairs. I took the worn-out chair Jezebel offered me and waited for her to sit behind her desk.
''I apologize for being brusque earlier,'' she said. ''I've had an extremely hectic morning.''
''Did the Centre get vandalised this morning?''
''Yes. Nothing serious this time, but it's always frustrating.'' Jezebel scowled and shook her head. ''That's done with. What brings you here today, Professor Hunter?''
''I have a bank account at Gringotts.''
Jezebel was silent for a second. ''Do you have a wand?''
''No.'' I leaned forward. ''I can't discuss the details under threat of Obliviation, but I've looked over my contract a couple of times now. There's nothing to stop me from telling you that I have an account, or that the representatives who signed for Gringotts are named Gaff and Groundstob. I never saw them though, they worked through a human named Bill Weasley. And the person who started the whole thing rolling is Galilea Grimward.''
Jezebel grabbed a quill and started sorting through the papers on her desk. Finally she found a clean sheet and wrote the names down. ''Is there anything else you can tell me?''
''No. Believe me, the contract is thorough.'' I laughed a bit. ''I like Gringotts. The goblins might be brutal when it comes to contract enforcement, but they give you more than fair warning.''
''I think you're the first person I've ever heard to use the words 'goblins' and 'fair' in the same sentence.''
I shrugged that off. So far as I could tell wizards and witches had a bad habit of making deals with goblins without paying attention to the details, and then assuming those details should work in their favour.
Jezebel put her quill back in the pot and tapped the sheet of paper with her fingers. ''Do you know how many times we've appealed to Gringotts to open accounts for Squibs?''
''No, but I'm sure it's a lot. I have a friend who estimates over twenty percent of Wizarding society is actually Squibs.''
Jezebel shook her head. ''That seems a bit high to me. Although since there's no good definition of Squib even within the Ministry's Opportunities Office, your friend may not be too far off.'' She gave me a speculative look. ''Your friend wouldn't happen to be Professor Longbottom, would he? There are rumours...''
''I've seen Neville Transfigure a pint mug into a fork. He didn't have the best grades in school, but he's no Squib.''
''Mm. Shame about that. It would have been useful to have him.'' She folded the paper into a neat square and stuck it into a desk drawer. ''Professor Hunter, I'm sorry to cut this short...''
''I understand, believe me. I used to work eighty-hour weeks when I was teaching at the Muggle university.''
I stood and let Jezebel lead Shibley and I back to the reception area. There were a half-dozen kids in the front, all in Muggle clothes. One of them held up a shoe box when Jezebel came into the room.
''Miss Rosier, my trainers don't fit anymore. Can you help? I need someone to cast a Stretching Charm on them.''
''Good morning, Martin. I'm well, thank you. How are you today?''
I waved good-bye to Jezebel and she waved back while the kid apologized.
Back on Knockturn Alley I had a look around for the photographer, but he seemed to have left. I found a bar that hadn't opened yet and stepped into its doorway, getting out of the way of the people on the street. I fished around in my pocket until I found the pamphlet about the Oakby Centre.
''Let me have a look at this, then we can finish up and get back to Hogwarts.'' Shibley watched while I read the pamphlet. Finally I held it up for her. ''Here's a list of the directors at the Centre. Look at the little biographies there, and then tell me what you see.''
Shibley read the pamphlet carefully while I held it. She scowled and then shook her head. ''Aa'm sorry master, Ah jist see their names an' schoolin'.''
''What about their schooling?''
Shibley looked again. ''Weel, they aw hae NEWTs, but... Och! Nary a body ay them is a Squib!''
''Good eye,'' I said. I put the pamphlet back in my pocket. ''Neither is Jezebel, or the witch at the desk. When we have more time I'll explain the modern concept of privilege to you. But in the meantime let's get back to Diagon Alley. I need to pick up some bread for Billy Blin and the others, and find a flower shop.''
''Ah hink Herself lochs daisies.''
''Yeah. But I need to get flowers for someone else too.''
''Fa, Master?''
''Severus Snape. I need his help, and since I can't bribe him with money I'll bribe him with small favours.''
Shibley rolled her eyes. ''Ye coods try simply askin' heem.''
''Where's the fun in that?''