Chapter Ten: A Name

Now, just because I am a woman of means does not mean I have an unlimited budget. I don't think. Generally, I made about two hundred Galleons a day on new products and repairs, less about forty for materials and such, which left me with about a hundred and sixty Galleons of profit. Now, I divided this in half and deposited eighty into the shop account for the Diagon Alley establishment. This would cover any shop expenses like roof repairs, local property taxes or the like. It was a fairly fat account, needless to say, though it was still recovering from the improvements my great-grandmother had instituted when Ian and I were babies.

Then I split the remaining eighty, my share, rather drastically. I deposited at least three-quarters of it and usually more, leaving me with usually between ten and twenty Galleons for living expenses and miscellaneous. (I write the amounts down, but other than that, I just keep what I expect to need.) Of course, I only went to the bank about one day a week, so the amounts I handled at the time were roughly the above multiplied by seven. So perhaps I really was wealthy at the time after all…it depends on your standard and how aware of money you are. It seems that I'm really not, except in what I need to do with it. Other than expenses and the occasional goal-I-save-up-for, I don't even think about money much.

And yes, I can live quite well on ten Galleons a day. I actually manage it on more like five, closer to three. Doing my own cooking, buying sensible things... I lived very comfortably and almost never spent my whole day's budget –unless, of course, I wound up buying special-project materials or new robes or something. After all, thrifty or not, sometimes a girl just needs to go shopping.

The Sunday after the Death Eater attack on Knockturn Alley was just such a day. I wanted to get a really good roast for dinner, or else chicken or something just…well, something splendid. I also felt like niffling around some shops I hadn't been in each week since I was four and perhaps finding some new ideas. I get those in the very oddest places. So naturally, after depositing the week's take at Gringotts, I asked Griphook to change ten Galleons for me.

Honestly, if a wizard really wanted to make a killing, they'd do it in currency laundering. The exchange rate is really splendid for English Muggle money, and if you turn English Muggle into American and then Egyptian Muggle and back to Galleons, so Bill tells the twins, there is about a twenty percent gain. I think that's how he's financing dates with Fleur.

Armed with fifty pounds (which, incidentally, does not weigh anything close to that, it's paper and lighter than Galleons by a long shot,) and a black umbrella, since I'd gone without robes, I thus headed into Muggle London. It was abysmal weather, which is to say, normal out, and I decided to take an omnibus. I like them.

Well, weirdly enough, I noticed a man from the Ministry two stops after I got on. He was dressed in a suitable suit, I guess, to pass among Muggles, though I wouldn't have chosen lime green, were I on a trip. I might not have noticed him as a wizard if not for the fact that one, his hat still had the water-repelling charm on and was noticeably dry, and two, there was a wand in his vest pocket. 'Really, what a cabbagewit,' I remember thinking. 'That's what a watchband's good for.'

He looked quite uncomfortable on the bus and hastily sat down, only to be joined one stop later by another bowler hat –this one lavender. I don't think Muggles wear bowler hats in colors brighter than blue, but I wouldn't know. Anyway, they were only about two rows ahead of me and the 'bus was near empty, so I could clearly hear what they were on about.

Perhaps it helped that I had chosen to dress in real, authentic Muggle clothes. Uncle Gard left them at the shop after his apprenticeship and he'd said I could have them. I don't think fashion changes much in a decade or two, not for Muggles. I had also let my hair down –well, had to, really as I misplaced the tie for it, and I had a bit of the lipgloss Parvati recommended on.

Maybe that was why the two blokes in the bowler hats completely missed me.

"You're certain Shacklebolt is disloyal, then?" the lavender asked the lime.

What?

"Unquestionably. He and several friends personally attended to the affair. And what's worse –it was Weasleys who called him to."

Words cannot describe what I felt at that moment. Well, then again, maybe words can, but you're going to find said words on page twenty-six of a bad spy novel. I had to get closer.

"Weasleys! Honestly, I wonder how you can keep the father in. The middle son seems alright, but other than that…"

"How can I possibly get rid of him without it looking funny? Especially when he got bit by that great dirty snake a year ago…and he is a hard worker."

"And a Muggle-lover. His twins are no better. Their shop's practically a headquarters for Potterists."

"Heavens, there's a word for them? It's as bad as all that?"

"And what's worse, they're corrupting the local shopkeepers."

"How do you mean?"

"Malkin's been outsourcing a line of t-shirts for teenagers to them, Fortescue stocks their moving toppings and colour-flavour changing ice cream sauce…and then there's the youngest Tickes. The girl."

"Not quite the youngest, I hear, since Jim remarried. The Tickes are a fine old family, though. They've had their shop since before the War with-"

"I'm thoroughly aware of how far they have fallen, Cornelius. If it wasn't bad enough with Ian Tickes marrying that mad Jamesina Switch, it was the most recent James and that mick Mudblood. What was her name? Siobhan?"

"I don't know, Mutius, I rather liked the McArran girl. And Jim was so happy…it really wasn't fair –what happened…"

"Mudbloods die as Mudbloods live."

It was at this moment, directly after I took the pliers out of my pocket and just prior to what would have been a very creative assassination attempt on the Minister of Magic and his lavender-wearing mate, that the most brilliant witch in a century entered the 'bus.

To her credit, she is also a Muggleborn.

"Why, Minister Fudge!" Hermione cried, in the by-god finest imitation of Percy Weasley I have seen since the prefect himself, shaking Fudge's hand and raising a brow at me. "How splendid to see you here! But I do hope the-" she theatrically scanned for Muggles and I slouched out of sight, "the Floo isn't malfunctioning?"

"Oh-er, no, m'dear. My –er, the Minister of –Bulgaria was interested in seeing the Muggle city. I do believe that is our stop coming up…"

"Dobro ootro," Hermione remarked. Fudge looked startled.

"…What was that?"

"Just wishing the Minister 'good morning.' Ahz neh govoryah mnogo bilgahrskee."

The lavender-hatted fellow nodded and mumbled incoherently for a second before Fudge bundled him off with a nervously cheerful goodbye to Hermione, who watched them go and then snorted.

"Bulgarian Minister my foot. Everyone and their cat knows the Minister of Bulgaria is Vladimir Norochevik and he's only five-foot-two. How stupid do they think I am, Jessie?"

"Those fucking bastards!"

"Ah." Hermione has a distinct way of putting whole paragraphs into her disgusted 'ah's. "What was it, Jess?" I didn't answer. I was too busy pointing my wand at the two men out the bus window. "Jessie! Are you insane? That's the Minister of Magic and-"

"And a sonofabitch"

"What did you do?"

"I stopped both of their watches!" I raved furiously. "They are both going to be very late for…for the rest of their lives!"

I think it was a little unflattering that she burst into giggles then.

"Only you, Jessie. But seriously, what did you overhear?"

I repeated it, still shaking with fury. "Wasn't even sure what my mother's name was before he called her…a mick Mudblood!"

"Your mother was Muggleborn?"

"Yes!"

"I hadn't even heard that. And I thought she was that tallish woman with your Dad at graduation-"

"That's my stepmother. She isn't old enough to be my mother."

"Well, she did seem a bit young…"

"A bit? Try ten years older than me. Not even thirty yet." I breathed and tried to calm down a bit. Hermione sat down with me as the bus moved toward Trafalgar. "She's nice, though, never tried to make Ian and me call her 'Mum' or anything. But my mother…well, she died when I was quite little."

"Wait a moment…was her name-"

"Siobhan McArran Tickes. Yes. That one. Since you up and memorized the whole sodding library, can we please not talk about this?"

"…Okay." Hermione looked at her watch, and, naturally so did I. It was glowing.

"What the living sod is that?"

"Oh. My aunt gave it to me. It's called digital…"

"That is…" she obligingly took it off and let me inspect it, "that is so very odd…"

"I was just about to ask what you're doing on this 'bus…"

"Shopping. There seem to be little crystals with a potion that lights up with the button…"

"Oh, because I just came from my parents' office. They had their ten-thousandth appointment today and got a plaque from the Women's Institute for local business of the year, so I got a pass from McGonagall to go. Thought I'd look about for a few Muggle things while I was in town."

"Me, too. Love Muggles. Is there a battery in here somewhere?" That was really a spiffing watch. I'd never seen the like.

"A very little one, yes. It won't work at Hogwarts, but-"

"You could make it work. Take the battery and make a cast of it in plaster, then add just a bit of wax to the negative and the positive, melt it out, add bronze, and you get a little hollow copy. Fill that with a combination of wormwood and mercury, then cast just a tiny Stunning Spell on the thing."

"Jessie…" Hermione looked utterly shocked. "Did you think that up?"

"Sorta. Granddad and I were asked to make a Muggleborn fellow's alarmclock run in magical areas, and eventually we came up with that. Works okay, though you have to keep casting the Stunner about once a month. Why?"

"That's severe Muggle-artifact tampering, for one thing."

"Um…Hermione…we have a way out of that…"

"They haven't given out licenses since-"

"December sixteenth, 1789 is the date on ours."

I didn't find it any more flattering when she cracked up utterly yet again. There was a look somewhere between awe and ecstatic joy on her face, though, so I guessed she was particularly fond of the digital watch. I understood perfectly. I was getting fond of the thing myself.

"Jessie, when does the shop open today?"

"It doesn't. I take the day off every third Sunday of the month."

"Good. Do you think you could come back to Hogwarts with me?"

Okay, that was unexpected.

"I d'know…" I looked at the watch again. As it turned ten o'clock, it let out a happy, charming 'beep.' "Cool!"

"I'll let you play with it the whole way down…"

"Okay!"

Really, sometimes I am too easily bought.

Since I Apparate so badly, we got on the 10:15 train at King's Cross and got to Hogsmeade by about 11:50. Interestingly enough, the Hogwarts Express has great breakfast service. Their bacon is really good. It was noon by the time we trudged up to the Hogwarts gates, and by then I had already taken the watch apart and put it back together. I was somewhat saddened when it blinked out of service on the grounds, but I knew it would go back on as soon as Hermione took it someplace more Mugglefied. Digital watches are very interesting.

Anyway, we headed up to the second floor and stopped in front of this especially wonky-looking statue of a gargoyle. Honestly, the gargoyle looks as if it's having a bad cough, or perhaps gargling, not, you know, being frightening or whatever it is gargoyles are meant to do. Hermione promptly told the gargoyle something, which sounded uncannily like 'canary creams,' and it stepped aside and opened a previously secret door.

"This is Dumbledore's office, isn't it?" I asked in astonishment. "I've only been here once before…what are we doing here?"

"Jessie…there's something quite important we might need your help with. Something serious."

Somehow I knew it wasn't the giant clock.

"…Okay."

Still wondering just what the sod she was thinking, I followed my friend up the corkscrewy staircase. Dumbledore's office is really a splendid place, with portraits all over, the Sorting Hat, a lot of books, and a really magnificent wall clock. The Headmaster's pet bird looked very exotic on its' gold perch. He made a little noise, and I immediately felt better.

"Nice bird," I observed, half to the bird and half to Hermione. "'Sort is he?"

"Fawkes is a phoenix," a friendly voice explained. I turned round and saw the Headmaster himself coming to the bottom of the stairs. "You've come on a good day to see him. His molt just ended and that always puts him in a merry mood. What brings you here today, Miss Tickes?"

"I…well…actually…well, she does." I inclined my head in Hermione's direction and she smiled. I still felt a bit outclassed and didn't know what to do. "Something you might need done?"

"Her family has the last license," Hermione explained.

"Ah, yes. I recall the time one of the James Tickes got out of detention for modifying a Muggle ball-point. Added a feather when he got sick of spilling ink. First-year. Was it the sixth or the seventh? It is hard to keep track of that family, I'm afraid."

"I can never quite manage it, myself," I admitted.

"Yes. Well, the females are quite a bit easier. You are the fourth Jamesina, correct?"

"Yep –well, counting the two who married in. There aren't half so many girls."

"I know of several wizarding families which have been primarily comprised of boys for years. Fortunately the female population is well on the increase since the last century. It likely explains the improvements in fashion and politics." Dumbledore opened a covered dish and held it out to us. "Lemon drop?"

"Thanks." I've always been fond of lemon drops. Hermione declined. Her parents are dentists, poor kid. "You need some Muggle stuff modified, is that it? I can certainly-"

"Miss Tickes, if you don't mind, when was the last time you voted?"

"Voted?" I thought for a good half minute. "Three weeks ago at the Chamber of Commerce. We were picking the color of next year's 'Welcome to Diagon Alley!' banner for the back-to-school season."

"Oh." I got the nasty impression both the Headmaster and Head Girl were trying not to laugh. "And which did you favor?"

"I liked black letters on a white background with a sparkly border of red, green, blue and gold. That way, you get all the House colors and noone's offended. That, and the red-on-green one last year wound up staying hung 'til Christmas. Looked a right mess by Boxing Day."

"Very sensible. What about elections?"

"I haven't voted in a Ministry one yet, since I was underage last time, but I voted for Luna Lovegood as bulletin-board manager in seventh year." Hermione really did crack up just then. "What? Might as well get something interesting to read for once…"

"You have no political inclinations?" Dumbledore inquired. I scratched my head for a second.

"Well, I can't say I care much for Fudge. I didn't like his Knockturn Alley policy before, and since this afternoon, I'm right inclined to vote against him in anything. Wouldn't put him in the Department of Centaur Relations, let alone Minister."

"Fudge was talking to someone dodgy on a Muggle bus this morning. Jessie overheard everything."

Suddenly, Dumbledore seemed a lot more serious.

"Miss Tickes, exactly what was discussed, if you can tell me?"

I repeated everything as best I could. Dumbledore's calm face went to stern in moments and he strode quickly over to the desk. In moments he had written a note. The handsome phoenix hurried over and took it, flying out the window at a remarkable speed. "This is of decided importance, Miss Tickes."

"Please, sir, you can call me Jessie."

"Thank you. The incident at Knockturn Alley –what do you know of it?"

I spilled my guts again. You just can't help but trust Dumbledore. The only bit I left out was the fact that I had been on a date with Charlie before we wound up at Redfern's. Still, it didn't do much to improve the mood.

"Really, sir, Fudge's policy on Knockturn Alley was bad before. It's dead likely he'd let the Death Eaters wreck the place. Any excuse to improve his own image."

"Jessie, are you aware of the last war against Voldemort? You were quite a young child then."

I straightened and set my teeth.

"All I know is the Tickes broke neutrality for the first time since Grindelwald."

Tickes neutrality is something along the lines of Weasley mischief or Malfoy snobbery. See, the James Tickes who founded the shop was the grandson of an immigrant. Johannes Montreschmitt von Bern was a Swiss who fled one or the other Hapsburg wars and eventually wound up in America.

Now, American immigration procedure back then was not so great, and the fact that my illustrious ancestor had just had a tooth pulled on board the ship did not improve the state of communications. The name Montreschmitt is actually a Swiss combination of the French for 'watch' and the German for 'maker,' and Johannes was anxious to keep the name. It must have made business cards quite simple.

At any rate, the fellow at the office could not understand my ancestor at all. He managed to write down first 'monster' and then 'myren' for 'montre' and finally Johannes lost his temper and pulled out his watch, pointing at it and yelling in German. The man at the office assumed that this angry fellow was referring to the sound the watch made and not the watch itself, and promptly wrote down 'Myren Tikks' on the immigration record. This so offended my ancestor that he took his slip, turned around, and got back on the ship. America could go sod itself, in his opinion.

He unfortunately got on the wrong ship and wound up in London with no identification in English except the slip of paper. The London customs officials were no better, but after he repaired the watch of a high immigration official on the spot, they granted him citizenship under the new name of 'Myron Tickes.' It was at this point that he more or less gave up in disgust. Noone could pronounce 'Montreschmitt' properly anyway, and it was a bit of a beast to spell.

One of the secretaries at the Immigration Office was a woman, surprising for the time, and she made a casual remark to Johannes that she liked the name. Interestingly enough, he liked her. He offered ten shillings a week for her to teach him English, which she gratefully accepted, being a widow with a young son called Ian. At the end of two years he was fluent in English, married to the secretary, and in the process of adopting the six-year-old Ian Gardner. By the tenth year, the secretary, Fiona Gardner Tickes, had given birth to two more sons, who were called James and John, since she was not all that creative in terms of names. ('Ian' is the Gaelic form of 'John,' you know.)

James was a more or less ordinary fellow, but John was extremely and profoundly unusual. While his brother managed to join the British Army at sixteen by lying about his age, John had been invited at eleven to what looked like higher education. Both brothers returned on holidays to demonstrate new and horrible things to their shocked parents. At seventeen, James had a fiendish new kind of musket that could hit a man perfectly at a hundred yards, and at twelve John had a weird little wooden stick that could make the musket shoot daffodils and tulips. Switzerland is very near Holland, and this impiety to tulips made Myron very suspicious. Ian, however, was fond of his younger half-brothers and listened closely to their tales of life in the army and away at school. Myron dismissed John's tales as imagination, but Ian believed and was invited as his half-brother's guest when the seventeen-year-old competed in what we now know as a Triwizard tournament.

It was this same year that the twenty-two-year-old Sergeant James Tickes was sent to America to help in a war they were having. Myron eagerly embraced the cause for which his favorite son had gone to fight. The Union Jack was hung prominently above a portrait of the King. He read newspapers so voraciously that his English actually improved farther and went every other Saturday at four in the morning to wait on the docks for the soldiers' mail from the Colonies.

One sad day he staggered home to his wife and stepson from the docks. John had just arrived home from school and Mrs. Tickes was making roast chicken to celebrate. Myron walked in, set down his toolbag, and retrieved a hammer. Slowly and with perfect deliberation, he pulled the nails from the wall that had been holding the flag. He folded it into a triangle and shoved it in a drawer. Then he took the hammer and broke the glass that covered the portrait of George III. He removed the small painting and with perfect calm set it on the fire.

"I am left with two sons and no country. Let no son of mine ever again take sides with a nation against another, and I will be contented."

And this is why, with few exceptions, the Tickes have never broken our Swiss-heritage neutrality. John's son James founded the shop, and we have been as we are ever since. During the War of 1812 we supplied watches to anyone who asked, whether a British officer or a French pirate who sold goods to the Americas. In the French Revolution we bought jewels from displaced nobles and sold watches to Robespierre's men. But we never took sides.

This is possibly why there has never been a Tickes in Gryffindor or Slytherin. We're cowardly enough to keep out and clever enough to profit. Rotten of us, I know, but it's in the line of tradition and custom and such.

There have been times when we never needed to take sides. After all, with the shops in London and Hogsmeade, it was dreadfully hard for the Kaiser's soldiers to order watches from us, and the Nazis couldn't exactly get in touch to inquire after clock repairs. So we left well enough alone, sold watches to the side of whatever was closest, and there it was. The simplest decision was not to decide. The conflict with Ireland and England was a little trickier. We solved the problem when James the fourth accidentally exploded a glassblowing project and lost most of his hearing. With the inability to determine a spoken accent, we were able to maintain impartiality.

The Grindelwald war, however, was the first time we Tickes really broke our neutrality, and did we ever. Most people had a vague idea that we like to keep out of scuffles, but it was in the early forties that another James finally out and out declared us neutral, which, naturally, caused a bit of kerfuffle. Severe Light and Dark supporters alike boycotted, and the people who were on the fence frequented the shop, sometimes more for a place to hear talk about something besides war than to buy watches. Of course, eventually Light and Dark alike wound up needing clocks, and it was here that my granduncle was killed. He had a customer needing a watch fixed very late at night, and he noticed there was blood on the man's robe as well as hex damage to the watch. Murder can be viewed as a civil crime as well as an act of war, so he owled the Aurors, solving the problem with a technicality. As the Dark wizard was being bundled off, however, he managed to get off one hex, which missed my granduncle, but shattered a clock and sent a shard of glass directly into his neck.

Great-grandmother Jamesina was now left with one surviving son and a sick husband. Great-grandfather had been ill before and his eldest son's death simply did him in. I don't think he lasted the year. My grandfather Myron was only about sixteen, but he came home from school to help run the shop. Since Great-grandmother Jamesina had been a Switch before she was a Tickes, she wasn't as loyal to the neutrality idea, not to mention she had lost a son, and my grandfather was so angry at the loss of his brother that together they formally sided with the Light, unbeknownst to the incapacitated husband and father they carefully misinformed.

Every soul on the side of the Light found their prices slashed, their repair bills reduced or 'misplaced,' (if we lose the bill, we don't charge,) and funny sales began to appear. Dumbledore's brother Aberforth found himself subject to the Fifty Percent Off for Wizards Wearing Maroon discount, which has only been used twice in our history, (Ron wanted that Snitch for Harry, remember?) and a pretty seventh-year got the Cat Hairs on Robes discount, which I recently revived. Two years later, Grindelwald was defeated, and we resumed our neutral attitude toward everyone.

We also sided against Voldemort, for similar reasons.

"There is another such war brewing, Miss Tickes." Dumbledore looked sterner than I'd ever seen him. "I know there were circumstances that brought your family into the last. I don't expect the same situation now, but it is the same evil, and this time the need is even greater."

I didn't need to think. Those 'circumstances' were enough to have me fuming on a bus; they were more than enough to get a few watches out of me. Besides, this was a civil matter, almost personal compared to the clashes of nations Myron the first had declared us out of.

"You've got yourself a clocksmith. What needs fixed around here?"

Really, I had to hand it to Hermione and the other Muggle-borns. The ideas they had! Why, that old snake You-Know –Voldemort would never see it coming. And all they needed me to do was crank out a few hundred batteries…it was practically cake! Even if Grandfather or Dad disapproved, I could keep a little thing like potion batteries under the hat a bit.

But somehow, I doubted they'd disapprove. Circumstances, you know.

We finished up in Dumbledore's office near the end of lunchtime, and I was generously invited to my first Hogwarts meal since I'd graduated. I'm not so bad a cook, but the elves are really great. Besides, it was sandwiches and a soup I've always liked, which suited the rotten weather perfectly. Alumni are allowed to eat…wherever, I guess. It'd have been rather weird sitting at the Head Table, though I got the impression I was quite welcome to sit with Professors Flitwick and Sinistra. As it was, I wound up with a pack of girls, all of whom wanted to know not what I was doing there, not what I had been discussing with Dumbledore and Hermione, but how my date with Charlie went!

I am entirely disgusted with my gender sometimes. But you knew that already.

I admonished them to keep the whole thing quiet. After all, if the twins found out, there'd be an end to it before there was an 'it,' just out of sheer older-brotheryness. They all agreed, Ginny especially, and then proceeded to press me for more and better details. I told them about the Knockturn Alley raid instead. I didn't quite feel like telling the whole slew of them, Lavender and Parvati as well as Padma, who I knew better, Luna, whom I liked, for all she was three years younger, like Ginny, and Hermione, who had gotten to be a sort of friend in my seventh year. I'd have been perfectly fine telling Ginny, if a bit blushy, and after all, he is her brother. Hermione is also cool. Luna I've always trusted implicitly –mostly because she's unlikely to gossip about anyone's love life unless it involves escaped convicts and at least four cases of mistaken identity. Padma is mostly fine, but I don't know her all that well…and her twin plus Lavender equal a small broadcasting company, so I kept the more personal aspect of the past few days under the hat.

I didn't realize they would be so fascinated with the politics of the Alleys. But then, the Alleys are places to shop, and shopping always kind of struck me as the national sport of gossipy teenage girls, so there was logic there. I described the arrival of the Aurors and the use of Eggs, which cracked them up a bit. Perhaps I was a little colorful at that point. When I got to the bit about Crabbe and Goyle senior being arrested, though, with the random cousin, things got a bit shifty.

We were, incidentally, at the Ravenclaw table, and the Great Hall was near empty. I think there was maybe one teacher left at the Head Table, and if there was, it would have to have been Snape, judging by what happened then.

Lavender and Parvati were making nasty remarks about Crabbe and Goyle, as is their wont, being slightly tactless creatures, and I don't think they even realized that the big lumps –I mean, Slytherins in question were actually present and listening. Their "Lord and Master, Dragon-boy Burnt-butt," (Ginny's immortal words, not mine,) was also eavesdropping closely. I sometimes wonder if they really do get lost without him to keep them from wandering into walls.

It was just as Lavender finished a particularly venomous supposition regarding the combined intellects of Crabbe and Goyle in comparison to that of a garden snail that a particularly foul word echoed through the Hall.

Now, I had just heard that word applied to my mother, who died before I was old enough to walk, let alone remember her. This event sent my father into deep mourning until I could fix a movement unassisted, which left me to be raised by my then-teenaged uncle and elderly grandfather. This was a word I also heard applied to my friend Hermione, who personally tutored an 'E' Potions N.E.W.T. out of me, and a number of other people whom I held in high esteem.

I must also point out that this was not a good time of the month to be messing with me, and also the fact that the 'no magic in the halls' rule applies exclusively to Hogwarts students, with no mention whatsoever of alumni, however recent.

But I am dreadfully sorry to say that I did not hex either Slytherin in the cods.

Ginny and Luna beat me to it with a double-shot of the Bat-Bogeys.

A moment later, we had Professor Snape breathing down our collective necks. I made some very transparent excuse, apologized, claimed to have done it, (I'd had my wand out, and it was possible if I had suddenly been Ginny for ten seconds,) and chose that moment to deliver his new watch.

"Commissioned by your…erm…employer," I explained, looking away. I meant to imply Dumbledore, but Malfoy must have taken it the wrong way, because his eyebrow arched –or that might have been an errant Bogey-Bat. "Note the crystals…er…sparkly…"

"Miss Tickes, the past seven months of business have not improved your articulation in the slightest. In the seven years you were my student, I don't believe I heard a complete sentence." Well. Snape. "On the other hand, this watch is a marked improvement on your previous, fanciful designs, and since you seem to have finally produced an object of function, I believe I can overlook your involvement in this unfortunate matter. You and your…hostesses –are free to leave."

That is Snape-code for 'run like hell, you silly girls.'

Outside, near the stairwell, I remembered something.

"He doesn't know about the…the you-know-what!" Hermione was calm as ever.

"Yes, he does."

"He does…oh." I must have looked fairly gobsmacked. Lavender and Parvati had sprinted off, Ginny had left with Luna, and Padma looked to be library-bound again. I looked again at Hermione, who seemed just a little too…well, Hermione, than was appropriate. Calm, collected, strangely knowing… "You know, you had that look right before you came up with 'spew,' I bet…"

"Possibly," she agreed absently. "Don't worry. Sev-"

The look of perfect Hermione-calm disintegrated into the best look of 'oh, crap' blushing 'I-screwed-up' I had ever seen. My eyebrows shot off my forehead for a second and I clearly felt my jaw bouncing on the stone.

"Wha' was that?"

She grinned and poked me.

"Gotcha."

"Drat you, yeh Gryffindor! Don't scare me like that! …do it to Fred sometime?"

"Of course!"

"Crazy nit…liable to blow a mainspring in my aorta or summat…good prank, though. After the twins, takes a good bit to get jumps on me."

"I figured you'd appreciate it. Nice of you to take blame for the Bat-Bogeys."

"Ginny an' Luna just beat me to a Severing Charm on th' nether bits."

"Jessie!"

"Wha'? S'one of the best charms I can do. George suggested it if a date got too fresh."

"That is disgusting…"

I left soon after, but it was halfway to London on the train that I realized, people don't breathe like that out of suppressed laughter at a prank. Maybe she has allergies like my stepmother.

At any rate, it was back to the shop to get started on a messload of batteries.