Chapter 8. The Last of the Prewetts

Early the next morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Burrow dressed in Muggle clothes. They chose a street that would be crowded enough that their sudden appearance would not frighten passing Muggles, then Apparated into an alley and blended seamlessly into the crowd.

"Wouldn't it be easier just to Apparate directly to his office?" Ron groaned. "I'd get more sleep that way."

"How could we Apparate without knowing what to expect? And you slept enough — you snored like a drunken troll last night."

"Fight later, you two — and please allow me to concentrate," grunted Harry. He looked down at his old parchment map of London, his nose almost touching it. "It's hard to find the way with this, but I think we should cross the street and turn around . . ."

Waiting for the light to change, they stood in the crosswalk. Watching the Muggles to his left and right, Harry noticed that without exception, their eyes were glued to their smartphones.

"Things have changed a lot in the last few decades, don't you think, Harry?" Hermione said as if she had noticed Harry's gaze. "I never thought such a device would be so common before I came to Hogwarts."

"I agree. Being back in the Muggle world is as strange as being in Diagon Alley for the first time," said Harry. A closer look showed him that most people, regardless of age, gender, or clothing, were humming songs with something in their ears that looked like white beans.

"What do those people have in their ears?" asked Ron.

"It looks like they're listening to music with them," said Hermione wisely. "I've seen my Muggle relatives use them."

"You're joking, right?" said Ron incredulously, raising his eyebrows. "How do these little things make music unless you can fit a choir of gnomes in them?"

"Hermione's right," said Harry. "I think those white beans are connected to a smartphone in some way."

"Then where do you connect the wire?"

Just as Harry was considering how to overcome Ron's objections, the traffic lights changed. Following the map, they turned a corner onto a boulevard and faced a new challenge. Ahead of them were tall buildings that were not on the map.

"How old is this?" Ron asked as he touched the crumpled and stained edges of the map. "The museum might want to keep it."

"It's definitely older than us. . . . I'll have to ask how to get there," Harry said, looking at the Muggles passing by. Soon it became apparent that others were looking at the three of them in the middle of the street with a large map open as curiously as they had looked at the Muggles who had their eyes glued to their smartphones.

Harry stopped a young blond man in jeans and a shirt by patting him on the arm and asked, "Excuse me, sir. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction?"

"Feel free to ask." The young man looked at Harry and the large map he was holding and grimaced. "Were you trying to find your way with that?"

"Well, his phone broke," Hermione quickly intervened.

"All three of you?" the man said, frowning.

"Exactly. That's a first, isn't it?" Harry pulled the business card out of his pocket and showed him the address. With a few taps of his finger, the man turned his smartphone to show them the screen. There was a small map on the screen with blue arrows and straight lines along with the streets and buildings.

"Follow this avenue for two blocks, then turn left after three blocks, then go three more blocks." The man grimaced again as Hermione began to write his words on a piece of parchment with her quill. "Are you going to an antique shop? I've never seen anyone write with that before. . . ."

"I don't have anything else at the moment." Hermione gave him a faint smile. They followed the man's directions. The crowd on the street thinned and their footsteps accelerated as it neared nine o'clock.

"An antique shop? So I can't openly use a quill anymore," Ron grumbled. "Just think what you could do with that little device of his. Such a handy machine will make our shop's products look outdated."

"Ron, let's take care of this before we worry about your joke shop," said Hermione. "Unless he's mistaken, this building is exactly what we're looking for."

An uncharacteristic three-story house stood between the similar-looking houses where Hermione was pointing. Unlike Grimauld Street, where Harry now lived, the street was free of houses with broken windows or peeling paint; there was also no litter on the clean street, giving the area a luxurious feel.

"Could this be his office?" said Ron doubtfully. "It just looks like a common residence to me."

"The only way to find out is to go inside," said Harry coolly. "Let's hope he's in there."

They slowly approached the house and stood at the front door. Since the curtains were down on all the windows, it was hard to see who was inside. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped up the stairs and knocked on the door. The door swung open as footsteps came from inside. Without saying a word, the man who stepped out looked at the three of them with an angry expression. Due to his unusual attire, Harry could not help but stare at him blankly. He wore a crisp black suit with a tie on his upper body, but underneath he wore loose purple shorts and puffy slippers on his feet.

"What else do you have to sell? Easter eggs or a bunny doll or something?" The resident of the house spoke in a harsh voice.

"We're not here to sell anything, sir." Hermione took a step forward and said as Harry stood speechless and stunned. "Are you Mr. Faraday Prewett?"

"That's my name, yes. Where the hell did you get that card?" The business card in Harry's hand was swept away by Mr. Prewett in an instant. His thin, pointed chin, large nose and piercing eyes did not resemble Molly Weasley's. However, his thick red hair, despite its faded color and a few gray patches, still showed that he belonged to the Prewett family.

"Our mutual acquaintance provided this," said Harry politely. "We are in need of a qualified accountant, and several factors have led us to believe that you, Mr. Prewett, are the right person for the job."

"Except that I gave up a career in accounting twenty years ago," Mr. Prewett said in an irritated voice. "You can't even read, can you? Here, the title says I'm a stockbroker! Contact my agency if you want me to manage your assets."

Harry stared at the closed door as it slammed shut in front of him. The three of them looked at each other with shocked faces. Ron shook his head in disbelief and said, "Are the Squibs always this bad-tempered? He looked just like Filch with red hair —"

The door opened again to reveal Mr. Prewett before Harry could agree, and Ron staggered back in horror, as if he had just stepped on a spider barefoot. This time the annoyance was gone from Mr. Prewett's face, replaced by curiosity.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?

"Er — right. That's my name," Harry replied, and the next thing he knew, they were shaking hands fervently.

"What an honor — to finally meet you!" His gaze soon shifted to Hermione and Ron, who were standing right behind Harry. "And look who's here — it's Hermione Granger! The Minister of Magic herself has come to my doorstep . . . and you must be Ron Weasley — Harry Potter's faithful assistant — judging by your red hair and freckles."

"I'm his friend, not an assistant," Ron said sulkily as they shook hands.

"Please — come in. I almost chased away the most important guests!" Mr. Prewett chuckled and opened the door wide for them to enter.

They sat around a round table in the living room and listened as Mr. Prewett busied himself making them tea. The dimly lit room looked more like a workplace than a living room: On the large desk was a keyboard and mouse, beneath four monitors that flickered dizzyingly, displaying a variety of charts, graphs, and numbers. On the wall next to it was a bookshelf full of thick books and a collection of delicate electrical gadgets. A tray with teacups and boiling water was brought in by Mr. Prewett a short time later.

"Sorry, I only have instant tea." Prewett poured water into the cups and placed a tea bag in each. "I'd've prepared more if I had known in advance. . . . I'm single, so I don't stock up on groceries."

"Thanks for the tea." Harry took a sip of tea from the toothed mug. "By the way, how did you know it was me?"

"You have a lightning scar there." Mr. Prewett pointed to Harry's forehead as if he had said something too obvious. "And you made no attempt to hide it."

"How did you know a person named Harry Potter had a lightning scar?" said Ron. "My mother told me you've been away from our world for a long time, Mr. Prewett."

"You can just call me Faraday. And your mother is Molly, isn't she? I was at her wedding before you were born," said Faraday. "The next time I saw her and other relatives was last year, so it had been a while indeed. . . . Though I keep no personal contact with wizards or witches, I do receive the Daily Prophet at least twice a month, and your names are mentioned quite often." He pointed to a pile of newspapers stacked on the messy sofa. "And I used to attend the Squib meetings regularly until a decade ago — Harry's fame there is also immense."

"Squibs have a regular meeting? But I've never heard of such a thing!" Hermione said in surprise.

"It's an informal meeting, so it's only natural that you didn't know. Most of the attendees are Squibs, but there also are some Muggles with wizards in their families. There's an old legend, for example, that your Aunt Petunia Dursley was a member of the society a long time ago," Faraday said, nodding at Harry.

"W-What? No way!" Harry coughed, choking on his tea.

"No wonder you didn't know. We are of no interest to anyone in the magical world," said Faraday coolly. "Besides, it's best not to know about these meetings, because there are only miserable losers. My life has been unhappy since I was ten — why didn't an owl come to me then? My life would have been different if I had known how to use magic! Blah blah blah . . . magic, magic, magic! In my opinion, being that pathetic should be considered a kind of magic."

"Then what was your purpose in going to that meeting?" asked Ron.

At these words, Faraday tilted his head in deep thought. "Let's see — I went there out of old habit. . . . Ah yes, my grandfather Lancelot took me there first. He used to be a Healer at St. Mungo's, and he tried to treat my depression when I turned out to be a Squib." Faraday chuckled darkly. "Those sessions were like group therapy. More debilitating than a meeting of the depressed, more empty than a meeting of alcoholics. . . . And can you guess who's the most popular there? It's Argus Filch — I'm sure you know him. The meeting is always packed when Filch speaks, because he has more connections to the Wizarding world than anyone else in our group."

"No kidding — Filch?" exclaimed Harry in amazement.

"Yes, that Filch. The most unpleasant person," said Faraday gloomily. "Have you ever stopped to think what it is that keeps him at Hogwarts, despite all the ill treatment he's getting there? It's his secret desire to observe magic he can't use from afar, and to suppress his inferiority complex by punishing young wizards."

"Well, that explains a lot," Ron said, trying to hold back his laughter. "How come you're not an accountant anymore, Faraday? And why are you wearing such a bizarre outfit?"

"Oh, I forgot what I was wearing," Faraday laughed as he examined the shorts and slippers under his suit. "I'm working as a stockbroker from home now, and sometimes I meet clients via video call . . ." He stood up and returned with his laptop. The screen reflected Faraday's upper body like a mirror when he turned it on. "See? Since only my upper body is visible on the camera, I only dress up on this side."

"Isn't that what they call work at home these days? We've heard of that," said Ron knowingly. Several black pieces of equipment were hanging on the wall and he gestured to the featureless boxes that made a buzzing sound. "And what are these machines for?"

"They are high performance computers that I use to develop mobile applications. To help you easily manage your cryptocurrencies and stocks, I've developed some smartphone apps. We rarely use cash these days, and there's no need to go to the bank in person — a smartphone is all you need."

"How did Muggles come up with such complex ideas?" Hermione asked with an intense, eager expression. A bookshelf full of thick books caught her bright eyes, as if she wanted to get stuck into them at any moment.

"There's no time to be lazy, as we can't use magic." Faraday straightened in his chair and said more seriously. "So we'll just have to use our brains to create our own magic. . . . That's how we came to be able to easily connect with people all over the world with a palm-sized machine, exchange large sums of money with one finger, and listen to any music at any time."

"That's really cool. Even the children of our world are dying to have a smartphone these days," said Harry.

"It's only natural," said Faraday proudly. "I consider myself blessed to have been born a Squib, unlike those poor guys in that damn therapy. I've been able to accomplish things that no wizard could, and I'm proud of it."

Harry's eyes moved to a familiar object on the desk across the room. He pointed to the cage-like box and asked, "You invented that box too, didn't you? I saw my daughter put her mobile phone in it."

"Ah yes, the Faraday cage." Faraday returned with the cage and placed it on the table, a box-like metal frame covered in dense wire mesh. "I didn't actually invent it. First devised a century ago by a scientist called Michael Faraday, these electrically charged iron fences prevent magical electromagnetic waves from damaging the electronics inside. I've taught several shops on Diagon Alley how to make them for a small guarantee, and they sell so well, I'm bathing in gold these days."

"Where do you spend wizard money?" asked Ron enviously.

"Mostly I use it to buy potions." Faraday pointed to the empty vials lying haphazardly on the bookshelf. "If anything, your potions are far more effective than our drugs. Your Pepperup Potion, for example, stops coughing instantly with just one sip — it came in very handy during the pandemic last year." Faraday patted the cage as if in praise. "This thing also gave me a new name — when I was delivering these cages to Diagon Alley, the shopkeepers there started calling me Faraday. I ended up liking it, so I changed my name accordingly." Faraday turned off the computer and returned to the table to join them. "Since I have special guests here, I'm taking the day off. . . . Anything I can do to help?"

Harry exchanged looks with Ron and Hermione. Then, just as they opened their mouths, something tapped on the window. Through the thick black curtain, Harry saw a figure the size of an owl standing on the window pane.

"Sorry, I almost forgot — the paper's coming today!"

A large, tawny owl fluttered into the room just as Faraday drew the curtains and opened the windows. When the owl placed the newspaper on the table, Faraday slipped a bronze coin into the pouch strapped to its leg. However, the owl was still unsatisfied and hooted angrily, flapping its wings while Faraday backed away in bewilderment.

"Why is it behaving like this? I gave her a Knut . . ."

"Er — Faraday. You may not know it, but newspaper prices have gone up as of today," Hermione said as she brushed back her bangs, which had been blown into her face by the owl's flapping.

"Oh, I see. After a century of price freezes, an increase is long overdue." Faraday opened the drawer and handed the owl another coin. But even after the coin was in its beak, the owl stretched out its legs again and gave another dissatisfied hoot. "How much have you raised the price?"

Looking astonished, Faraday put another coin into the sack. But the owl flapped its wings again, as if annoyed, and its posture remained unchanged.

"Unbelievable!"

The owl flew through the open window only after Faraday had paid two more coins. Faraday raised his hand to interrupt Hermione as she tried to explain the situation.

"No need to explain what happened. I think I know why you came . . ." He looked at each of them in turn as he sat back in his chair. "Did you end up losing all your money?"

"That's right. Some Muggles took everything from the Ministry vault at Gringotts," said Hermione. "Did you expect that to happen, then?"

"Of course," said Faraday simply. "If I'm surprised at all, it's because it just happened now."

"Then please enlighten me." Hermione took the Wizarding law book, the Gobbledegook-English dictionary and the Gringotts ledger one by one from her beaded bag and spread them out on the table. "Here is the ledger used by the goblins at Gringotts. We've been studying this all day, but we can't figure out what's wrong!"

Faraday spent some time looking through the books with the round magnifying glasses he had in his front pocket. There were occasional snorts and long sighs from him, though he said nothing.

"Do you know how much a Galleon is worth in British pounds according to your law?" said Faraday at last.

"About four point nine three pounds, though the exchange rate varies," Hermione replied. "But these Muggles were exchanging money at that exact rate, according to this book! The real problem lies elsewhere, I'm sure."

"No, that's where the real problem lies." Faraday took a gold coin from a drawer and weighed it on a scale. "You see — a Galleon from your world weighs about one point six ounces. In Britain, the price of gold remained at four and a half pounds an ounce for more than two hundred years after Sir Isaac Newton had set it at the beginning of the eighteenth century. And as far as I know, the British Ministry of Magic was established in 1707, wasn't it?" Faraday continued as Hermione nodded, "Muggle money was converted at four point nine three pounds per galleon, which contained about one point one ounce of gold, at the time the Ministry of Magic was established, because that was the right price at the time. This policy has continued ever since, and so far it seems reasonable. However, problems have arisen in recent decades: the British government greatly inflated the price of gold after the Second World War in its rush to print the pound. How much do you think gold costs these days in pounds sterling per ounce?

"Let me guess — ten pounds?" Ron's words made Faraday shake his head.

"How about a hundred pounds?" tried Harry.

"Wrong."

"Five hundred pounds, then?" said Hermione.

Faraday shook his head again and pulled his phone out of his pocket. The display showed a red graph, rising steadily over time. "In today's market, gold costs around one thousand five hundred pounds an ounce."

"My goodness," said Harry quietly.

"You're beginning to get it, aren't you?" said Faraday darkly. "Suppose someone exchanged a Galleon for five pounds of Muggle money at Gringotts. Then the Muggle world would give that person about one thousand seven hundred British pounds for selling one point one six ounces of molten gold. At Gringotts, the same amount could be exchanged for three hundred and forty Galleons. . . . With a few repetitions, you can amass an enormous amount of wealth!"

Hermione took the ledger from Faraday and began to examine it herself. Her expression darkened as she read the details of the deposits and withdrawals. Even though Harry wanted to deny that the Ministry's vault had been robbed so easily, seeing Hermione close the book without complaining, it seemed Faraday was right.

"It's still a mystery to me, Faraday," Harry said. "If it was so easy to make money, why hasn't anyone else tried it?"

"He's right!" exclaimed Hermione, her eyes flashing wildly. "My family used to exchange Muggle currency at Gringotts when I was young. How has this never happened before?"

"When something strange happens, a person who can't use magic doesn't just skip over it and try to figure it out," said Faraday calmly. "That is the rational approach, and that is our true strength. And to do that, you must not be afraid to experiment."

From the cupboard, Faraday took an alcohol lamp, a pair of tongs and a small glass container. Once the lamp was lit, he placed the glass dish on top and heated it. Using the tongs, he picked up a gold coin and placed it on the hot plate. Watching the intense flames emanating from the lamp, they waited for the heat to warm and blur the air around them. Finally, Faraday picked up the gold coin again with his tongs.

"Hold out your hand, Ron."

"Are you mad? This arm's got enough scars already! I once had a flying brain attached to this side when we ventured into the Department of Mysteries —"

"Give it to me, then," said Hermione bravely, offering her hand.

"Stop! Are you mental?" Ron shouted. Despite his protests, Faraday placed the gold coin in her hand.

Hermione flinched for a moment, but then took the Galleon firmly. "It's still cold! What happened?"

"It's likely that the goblin who made the coin used spells to prevent it from melting or being damaged. If the gold coins do not melt, it will be difficult to sell them elsewhere, and even if they succeed, it will be easier to track down the culprit as the serial numbers remain on the coins," said Faraday. "These protective spells could be broken by a powerful Dark wizard, I guess, but I'm ignorant of magic. . . . "

"Are you saying this wasn't just done by Muggles?" Hermione said, looking horrified.

"I think so. Look at me — if I only knew a Dark wizard, I would have robbed Gringots myself a lot sooner, but I couldn't," said Faraday regretfully. "And Muggles with any knowledge of the Wizarding world wouldn't dare, for fear of upsetting the wizards. Besides, I think the powerful Dark wizards think they'd lose face if they robbed Gringotts."

"I knew a wizard who tried that," said Harry. It reminded him of Quirrell, who had tried to steal the Sorcerer's Stone from vault seven hundred and thirteen. "He had no intention of stealing gold, though."

"Up until now, all Dark wizards have never been particularly fond of Muggles," said Hermione indignantly. "Muggles were considered inferior by them; no matter the amount of money, they would never have interacted with Muggles . . ."

When Harry heard these words, a name flashed into his mind: "Eisenbein!"

"What about him?" Ron said, looking confused. "Just because Eisenbein stole your robes doesn't mean he committed all the crimes in the world —"

"Just listen! Markus Dolohov said that Eisenbein also had Muggles and Squibs as his minions!" Harry pointed to the section of the ledger that contained the problematic transactions. "Eisenbein is definitely responsible for what happened. To divide our world, he used the Dark Arts to melt the gold coins taken from Muggles!"

"Let's say that's true — then what?" Hermione said, crossing her arms. "Easter is just around the corner, but Eisenbein is still nowhere to be found."

"We can at least announce to our world that he is responsible for this theft," said Harry. "That will increase our chances of catching him."

"Think about it, Harry — suppose we announced that a certain wizard had conspired with the Muggles to steal gold from the Ministry of Magic. What kind of people would people suspect when anti-Muggle sentiment is so rampant?" said Ron with a frown on his face. "We've long been accused of being blood traitors. . . . People will immediately suspect us, not some random Dark wizard they don't even know well."

"But everything points to Eisenbein —"

"Ron is right, Harry. We need evidence, not presumptions," said Hermione calmly. "Our pact with the goblins has already caused us enough political damage. Let me announce that the shutdown will be lifted tomorrow and that measures will be taken to prevent a repeat of the Gringotts incident. This will alleviate the immediate discontent."

"I suggest you set up a Treasury instead of relying on the goblins' voodoo accounting," Faraday said, his red eyebrows raised. "It should have been done a long time ago."

"I've been thinking about it, Faraday," Hermione said, smiling meaningfully at him, "and I'd like to invite you to be the first Head of the Department of Treasury."

"Me? That's a great honor, but can someone who's never been to Hogwarts work for the Ministry of Magic?"

"The new department does not require magical knowledge. Your skills will be just enough," said Hermione reassuringly. "There is an urgent need. Excuse me, but is it possible for you to come to the Ministry of Magic starting tomorrow?"

"Well, I'm a freelancer, and I've made enough money not to have to worry about that for a while . . ." Faraday said, taking out his phone and checking it. "Working at the Ministry of Magic isn't something a Squib gets to do very often. . . . All right, I accept your offer."

Faraday shook hands with Hermione and Ron. When it was Harry's turn to shake hands, Faraday suddenly grabbed his hand and looked at his wrist. "There's something familiar about this watch . . ."

"It once belonged to Mr. Fabian Prewett." After unpacking the watch, Harry handed it to Faraday who began to examine it.

"Yes, now I remember — Fabian used to play with me when I was a kid. He allowed me to look at his watch once," Faraday recalled. His meticulous hand stroked several stars on the gold dial, then turned the watch over. "It's still dented on the back. . . . I tried to take it apart with a screwdriver to find out how it works, but I only ended up with this mark. Fabian just laughed it off." Faraday returned the watch with a smile, but his eyes were filled with tears. "Fabian and Gideon were still nice to me even after I turned out to be a worthless Squib and had to apply to Eton instead of Hogwarts . . . they were truly nice people."

"My mother still misses her brothers very much," said Ron solemnly. "We've all lost loved ones in the recent wars. Fred, my brother, died too."

"That is a tragedy. My sincere thanks go to you, Harry, for avenging the Prewetts by killing that Baldmosh guy."

"It's Voldemort, not Baldmosh," Hermione corrected him.

"No wonder — how am I supposed to get his name right if nobody says it aloud?" Then he pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and handed it to Hermione. "I'll have to remember it this time — here, spell it out."

Mumbling and tapping awkwardly on the screen, Hermione sighed. "Can't I just write it down with a quill?"

"I don't believe it," Faraday clucked disapprovingly. "You know the alphabet, don't you? It's on the keyboard — just press one at a time." When Hermione finished typing and handed the smartphone back, Faraday frowned as he manipulated the screen. "Was Voldemort a Frenchman?"

"What? As far as I know — no," said Harry, bewildered.

"Then why did he name himself in French?"

On the screen that Faraday showed, there was a French-English translation in the table. Below the French phrase, on the left side of the table, was "Voldemort," while on the right side was its English interpretation, "Flight of Death."

"It probably sounded cool to him. Who knows what he was up to," said Hermione flatly. "By the way, can this device translate other languages? The whole family didn't speak French when we were in France last winter, so it was pretty hard to get by . . ."

"Anything you can imagine is possible with this," said Faraday proudly. Suddenly he remembered something and ran to a large drawer in the corner of the living room and pulled out a small object. "Take it, Harry. It's my gift."

Having received the device from Faraday, Harry examined it. Similar to Lily's new phone, the silver smartphone had a fruit mark on the back, but it was thicker and heavier. "No thanks. Our house is full of magic and it'll break down in no time."

"You think I never considered that? It's a specially designed mobile phone: The wires have been replaced with palladium and platinum, and the fragile parts have been modified to use magic as a power source instead of electricity. In your world, magical wireless works in a similar way." Faraday picked up the phone and turned on the screen. "Tech always finds a way, I dare say. . . . Try some magic on it."

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione shouted, pointing her wand. The spell levitated the smartphone from Faraday's hand, but the screen remained on. Harry touched the floating device with his finger and saw the screen move smoothly with it.

"Thanks a lot, Faraday."

"It's the least I can do. On behalf of those unjustly murdered, please accept my gratitude as the last of the Prewetts."

"Can you have them delivered to our shop?" Ron asked, his eyes twinkling at the gadget.

"Oh, I actually made this prototype with the intention of selling it to your world. But it turned out to be too expensive for anyone to afford, so I backed out."

"I see," Ron said, not so successfully hiding his disappointment. "Please let me know if you have any other good items."

"I'd be happy to do that. We're family, after all," Faraday grinned. "And Harry — if the phone's battery goes dead, use magic or whatever to heat the bottom. It will charge then."

"All right. That could come in very handy," Harry said, putting his new smartphone in his pocket.

"Please report to the Ministry of Magic tomorrow," said Hermione briskly. "Once you have had a briefing in my office, you should be able to do the work immediately."

"I'm looking forward to it — just give me the address." Faraday let Hermione pin the exact location on the map of his smartphone with her finger. His eyes widened when, after several trials and errors, she finally got it right. "The Ministry of Magic is in this slum? It must have been really hard for you to make ends meet . . ."

"It's always been there. Not everything in our world is as it seems," said Harry. "A red telephone box will be visible from there. Let's meet tomorrow morning at nine, Faraday — I'll be waiting by it."