HAVE WE MET
(Chapter Four)
"Bedknobs, Broomsticks and Wands"
"But take this staff in your hand so you can perform miraculous signs with it."
Exodus 4:17
As Molly refilled Hermione's cup, she warned her, "If you have any notion of uniting all magical folk and building a new civilization here, you've got your work cut out for you."
Before Hermione could ask why, Percy interrupted. "How are you going to round all of them up, for a start? How many of us are out there who have latent powers and don't even know it? There are only a very small percentage of us who have any idea who and what we really are."
"I've got a few ideas for finding them," Hermione answered Percy thoughtfully, "but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"What about the others-that small percentage you mentioned?" asked Harry.
"Scattered about in small groups like us." Molly shook her head sadly. "Isolated, suspicious-"
"Paranoid, you mean," Percy snorted. "Sometimes I think we're more frightened of each other than we are of the `Muggles', as you call them."
"We've always kept to ourselves," Molly said. "It's been that way since The Purge and I don't expect it's going to change overnight."
"`The Purge'?" asked Hermione.
"The great massacre of magic folk during the reign of King Arthur, curse his name!" Molly spat. "You mean to say that you're a witch and you've never heard of it?"
Hermione shook her head. "The History of Magic was required study at Hogwarts. As far as I know, nothing like that ever occurred in my world."
"Of course!" Percy was almost giddy with excitement. "This could very well be the key difference between our two histories-the reason why your magical civilization thrived and ours didn't. If you agreed to help me, I bet I could write a book about this!"
"Why not?" George noted wryly. "Folks are always looking for new ways to cure insomnia."
Harry was having trouble wrapping his head around the concept. "But how could the Muggles-how could they possibly-?"
"That is the Mystery of the Ages, my dear," Molly said grimly. "How could they even hope to survive, let alone prevail over an entire society of magic wielders?" She shook her head and let out a melancholy sigh. "Yet somehow, they did."
"Some say it was Merlin himself who betrayed us," Ginny said in a hushed, conspiratorial whisper.
"Bite your tongue, child!" Molly barked. "I'll not have those sorts of heresies uttered under my roof! You're as bad as your brother!" She turned to glare at Percy. "See what you've started? You and your revisionist claptrap!"
"Grow up, Mum! Who else but Merlin could have given them the knowledge they needed to wipe us out? He saw his fellow wizards becoming ever more corrupt-"
"And that justifies the slaughter of women and children?" Bill snorted.
"But why should Merlin want to destroy his own people?" Hermione asked.
"I honestly don't think he ever intended for things to go that far, but he was blinded by his affection for Arthur," Percy said as if the point were perfectly obvious. "He saw his fellow wizards becoming more and more decadent, and he wanted to prevent them from enslaving the Muggles. Mind you, there are those who claim that he really did it to eliminate potential rivals-"
"There is absolutely no proof-!" Charlie interrupted.
As the discussion continued, Ron lowered his voice so that only Harry and Hermione could hear him. "I've been meaning to ask you. Was your Percy as big a prat as ours?"
Ignoring him, Hermione got to her feet. "I think we're getting a little off track here, folks!" she said as loudly as she could. It was enough to silence the others.
"Hermione's right," Molly agreed. "It's getting late and we have more important business-like getting young Harry a wand of his own." She picked up Ginny's order pad and began writing. "There's a little shop in Kensington just off Portobello Road." She the tore the sheet from the pad and handed it to Hermione. "Tell them Molly sent you."
*******
Later that night, Harry found Hermione standing out on the balcony of the Honeymoon Suite of the Dorchester Hotel, staring up at the stars. "Can't sleep?"
"Feeling a trifle inadequate, I suppose." She leaned back against Harry's chest as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "It's not enough that we're being asked to rebuild Hogwarts and the entire Wizarding World all by ourselves, we're also supposed to play peacemaker to dozens of disparate groups who won't even talk to each other!"
"I thought witches and wizards were accustomed to doing the impossible?"
"Sure! Defy the laws of physics? No problem! Alter time and space? Piece of cake! Convince human beings to put
aside their fears and prejudices and actually communicate with one another…?" She shook her head sadly.
Harry gently turned her around to face him. He clearly had something on his mind. "Hermione…" He was
carefully considering his words. "You know how I feel about you…"
"I think I have a pretty good idea," she said with a cockeyed smile.
"I hope you also realize that I will always be there for you, no matter what. If the only thing you had done had been to rescue me from the Dursleys that would still be more than enough to make me your love slave for life. What's the Bible verse? `Whither thou goest, I will go'. Now, I know that building this school of yours isn't going to be easy. It's going to take a lot of hard work-but if that's what you want to do, I'll do it."
She reached up to caress his cheek, uncertain of where he was going with this. "I know that, Harry. I realize--"
"The point, my little sorceress, is that I would support you even if you decided not to do it."
Hermione's eyes grew as big as saucers. "What?"
"You said yourself that it's an awfully big job for two young wizards. It's possible that it could turn out to be more than the two of us can handle. I just want you to know that I wouldn't think any less of you, if you decided not to do it."
Hermione was astonished. "What are you saying, Harry? That we should forget all about magic and just live as Muggles- three kids, a dog, a cat and a home in the suburbs with a white picket fence? Are you really suggesting that we abandon--?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all," Harry said, attempting to calm her. "I never believed that you would renege on your commitment to Professor Dumbledore. To be honest, I think I would have been disappointed if you had. In any case, I'm not sure if a so-called `normal' life is even in the cards for the two of us. I just don't want us going off half-cocked."
"You're saying that we should lower our expectations a little."
"Not at all. I'm simply pointing out that Hogwarts, like Rome, won't be built in a day. This is going to be a long-term project, requiring the commitment of generations of Potters, Weasleys and who knows how many others. There's a good chance we won't even live to see the fruits of our labor. I was thinking of starting on a more realistic scale: we settle down, start a family and concentrate on training our own children first; maybe teach the Weasleys and a few others along the way; then we work our way up, say to some kind of a wizard summer camp or day care center, then to an actual school, and so on."
"I have to admit, it sounds reasonable, but…" Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "Children… There's a scary concept: Hermione Granger reproducing." She ran her fingers through her bushy mane. "Between your mop and mine, what kind of nightmare would we be unleashing on the hairdressers of the world, for a start?"
They both laughed, but Harry could sense that Hermione's apprehension was all too real.
"You sound like you're the one having doubts this time," he said. "You do want children, don't you?"
"You know, up to now I hadn't really given the subject much thought. I guess I'd always assumed that I'd have some kind of a career first. I figured I'd become a Healer, work at St. Mungo's, discover a cure for something, eliminate injustice in inter-magical being relations, that sort of thing-- you know, make a name for myself. I just took it for granted that I'd get around to motherhood sooner or later, but this way makes it seem like some sort of obligation to wizard-kind, as if it's our civic duty to start mass producing little Harry Juniors and mini-Hermiones as quickly as possible."
"Only four or five, if Molly's cards are to be believed."
Hermione rested her head against Harry's chest. "As sacred as my promise is to me, I'm not sure if I could bring a new life into the world simply for the sake of fulfilling an obligation, even one to Dumbledore; but then I stop and remember that they would be our children-yours and mine." She tenderly caressed Harry's face, and then lowered her head, embarrassed. "I just don't know, Harry. More than anything, I think I'm afraid that I wouldn't be a very good mother. Growing up, I was never like my friends: playing with dolls; dressing and undressing them; pushing them around in their little prams. I was always too busy with my books. What kind of a mother could I possibly be?"
"I know what kind of a person you are," Harry told her. "You are warm and kind and gentle. You care passionately about the things you believe in and you're willing to stand up and fight for those beliefs when necessary. As a teacher, you've shown remarkable patience with me. Granted, considering the upbringing I had, I'm not all that qualified to make a comparison-I probably would have picked a mother scorpion over Aunt Petunia-but it seems to me that a kid could do a lot worse than to have you as a mum."
"Thank you, Harry," she said, kissing his cheek. "Between the two of us, they might just turn out all right at that! As far as the school is concerned, I know you're right about building a new Hogwarts, but I'd still like to talk to some of the other magical groups out there- get `the lay of the land' as it were, before we decide on anything definite."
"Fair enough. Whatever you choose to do, you know I'll be there for you."
"I've known that all along. The Harry Potter I know and love wouldn't behave in any other way. Now if I'm not mistaken, I did hear you mention something about a `love slave', did I not?" She leaned in and kissed him. "And, Harry dear, I don't want you going off half-cocked either!"
******
The next morning Harry and Hermione found Ron waiting for them as they emerged from the elevator into the lobby of the Dorchester. "Mum thought one of us ought to tag along with you. Old Miss Price knows us and it might make things go a little smoother." He seemed to be deliberately herding them away from the concierge and the bellboys' station. "You might want to steer clear of the front desk this morning. I don't know exactly what Fred and George are up to, but I have a feeling that whatever it is, we don't want to be around when it goes off."
The twins joined them as they exited through the revolving door, removing their bellhop hats and jackets as they went.
"Feeling a bit peckish, brother Fred?"
"Now that you mention it, brother George, I could go for a little something… Chinese?"
"We had that yesterday… Cajun?"
About halfway down the block, whatever it was finally happened. It wasn't so much an explosion as a sort of grotesque farting noise. Gradually, they all became aware of a terrible stench drifting through the air.
The twins nodded to each other. "Indian."
From somewhere within the lobby of the Dorchester came a voice-at once both plaintive and terrifying.
"WEASLEY!"
Five loud belches signified everyone's satisfaction with the curry. Fred and George bid the others good day, and returned to see whether they still had jobs at the Dorchester Hotel, or had Snape, the concierge, finally succeeded in getting them sacked. As Harry, Ron and Hermione walked on toward the Tube station, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.
"Ron? I noticed that your mother and Ginny were the only ones who drew wands on us last night. Have you and your brothers never shown any signs of magic?"
"Nothing really consistent," he said, shrugging. "Well, you saw how I did in Piccadilly last night. For some reason, in our family at least, it's the girls who get `The Gift'. Why? Was the `other me' a full blown wizard?"
"Meaning no disrespect to your mum," Hermione said, trying to be diplomatic, "it's possible that she simply assumed that you boys had no powers and never really encouraged them to develop."
Ron's eyes lit up. "You think there might still be a chance, then?"
"It's certainly worth looking into. As long as I'm going to be giving lessons to Harry-" Before she could say another word, Ron had scooped her into his arms and, with a loud yell, swung her around in the air. Luckily there were few people on the sidewalk at that moment when he leaned in to kiss her on the mouth, and Hermione's largely instinctive response to his outburst went unnoticed.
"I do beg your pardon, Mrs. Potter," said the large Irish setter as it transfigured back into Ron Weasley. "I did get rather carried away. I most humbly apologize for my inexcusable behavior."
"Apology accepted," said Hermione graciously.
"Just one thing-how much longer will I have the urge to sniff people's arses?"
As they continued to walk, the conversation turned to the strange old man that Harry and Hermione had met the night before.
"You met old Dumbledore, did you?" asked Ron.
"You know him?" Hermione's hand tightened around Harry's.
"We don't go to the football matches together if that's what you mean, but I know him--definitely bonkers. Everyone says it's because of `the war', but I can never quite pin anyone down as to which one. Could have been the War of the Roses for all I know." Ron noted the expectant look in Hermione's eyes and realized that he was talking too much. "Was he a friend of yours from `back home'?"
"A very dear friend and a trusted mentor."
"He's kind of a fixture in Piccadilly," Ron said, choosing his words more carefully. "To be fair, once you get past his little eccentricities, he can be very useful to know. He's helped me to steer clear of some of the more unsavory characters out there."
"Any idea where he lives?"
Ron shook his head. "Not a clue. He's a bit like Schroedinger's Cat. He's neither here nor there."
"Don't worry, darling," said Harry. "We'll find him."
The party eventually arrived at the Tube station and took the Underground to Notting Hill.
"There it is," Ron announced as they emerged from the station into the giant market. As they strolled the crowded streets Ron began singing:
Portobello Road,
Portobello Road,
Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload,
Is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road.
There were more antiques, bibelots, objets d'art, bric-a-brac and just plain junk for sale in street after street of shops and barrows than Harry and Hermione had ever seen before in their lives. Pushcart peddlers hawked their wares to the passersby.
Rare alabaster, called out one vendor.
Genuine plaster, translated Ron.
A filigreed samovar owned by the czars!
A pen used by Shelley!
A new Botticelli!
The snippers that clipped
old King Edward's cigars!
Harry and Ron would have been happy to spend the day just perusing the wonders of this strange Aladdin's Cave, but as Hermione reminded them, they were on a mission.
Waterford crystal!
Napoleon's pistols!
Society heirlooms
with genuine gems!
Rembrandts, El Grecos,
Toulouse "Lautrec-os"!
Painted last week, Ron noted, on the banks of the Thames
Soon even Hermione entered into the spirit of things and all three sang as they strolled along,
Portobello Road,
Portobello Road,
Street where the riches of ages are stowed.
Anything and everything a chap can unload,
Is sold off the barrow in Portobello Road.
Somewhere near Kensington Park, they finally found the shop that Molly had told them about.
Miss Eglantine Price
&
Professor Emelius Browne
Magic Tricks, Novelties and
Rare Ephemera
An old man stood in the doorway, dressed in a tweed jacket, baggy trousers, spats, waistcoat a scarf and a tatty Homburg hat, which gave him a rather rumpled, Bohemian look. His hair was gray but there was still a dash of color to his neatly trimmed mustache. "Hello, Professor!" Ron called.
Noting Hermione's raised eyebrow, the old man introduced himself. "Professor Emelius Browne, Esquire. Juggler, sword swallower and illusionist extraordinaire!" He produced a bouquet of paper flowers from his sleeve and presented it to Hermione, then took her hand and kissed it. (Interestingly, he provoked none of the revulsion she felt when Draco Malfoy tried it the day before.) For no particular reason Hermione was reminded of The Wizard of Oz. The fellow was definitely a "humbug", but a charming one.
"How do you do, Professor?"
"I do extremely well, my dear," the old man said with a juicy wink, "as any of my lady friends will attest. And what is your name, my child?"
"Mrs. Hermione Potter. This is my husband, Harry."
Without missing a beat, Professor Browne seized Harry's hand and shook it vigorously. "And what a fortunate young man you are to have such a charming bride."
"You'll get no argument there," Harry said.
"And what can we do for your delightful new friends, young Ronald?"
"They're looking for one of Miss Price's specialty items," Ron told him, "if you take my meaning."
The Professor raised an eyebrow. "Are they…?"
Ron nodded.
"Step this way."
As she followed the others into the shop, Hermione spotted something out of the corner of her eye. Sitting just across the street in front of Del Floria's Taylor Shop was a police box. Hermione paused at the doorway and squinted. She could just make out the words "Out of Order" scrawled in chalk across the door. A strange wheezing-groaning noise drifted through the air from its general direction.
"Harry? I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think that police box is following us."
"Pardon?"
"Over there-!" She pointed across the street, but where the box had been, there was now only a patch of empty sidewalk. The wheezing-groaning noise faded. Hermione shook her head. "Never mind."
As she and Harry disappeared into the shop, a silver1964 Aston Martin DB5 pulled into a parking space across the street.
The inside of the shop was Portobello Road in miniature. There were objects of every shape, size and description from a medieval suit of armor and a "penny farthing" bicycle to a turn of the century nickelodeon and a stuffed warthog. The Professor led them through the maze of jumbled goods towards the main counter.
"I trust you've been keeping up with your exercises, my boy?" he said as he ducked to avoid the light fixture of a large floor lamp made from a stuffed alligator.
"I have been practicing, Professor," Ron moaned, "but I'm beginning to think that I'm just not cut out to be a magician."
"Have I taught you nothing, young Ronald?" Mr. Browne led them over to the counter where various magic tricks and novelties were on display. He then pulled a coin from Ron's ear, and then nimbly manipulated it back and forth between his fingers. "The mechanics of the trick itself is only part of what makes a magician successful! The rest is all in the presentation!"
It really doesn't matter what I do,
What I do,
He placed the coin in the palm of his left hand, closed his fingers around it, waved his right hand over his left…
As long as I do it…
…and when he opened his fingers, the coin had disappeared.
...with a flair!
He then picked up a small metal dish and a matching cover. When he removed the cover, there was a bright flash.
What effect a little smoke is,
When the smoke cleared, a live dove was sitting on the dish.
With a dash of Hocus Pocus,
The bird immediately took flight and landed at the door of a large birdcage sitting in a corner on the opposite side of the room, letting itself inside and then closing the door behind it.
And the scent of burning sulfur in the air
Mr. Browne then produced a deck of cards in one hand and spread them out like a fan to show that they were all different.
I'm a fraud, a hoke, charlatan, a joke,
But they love me everywhere
He shuffled the cards and fanned them out again. Now every card in the deck was the Ace of Spades.
It really doesn't matter what I say,
What I say,
He shuffled the deck again. This time when he fanned them out, they were all his own business cards.
As long as I say it with a flair.
He handed one to Hermione and stuffed one each into Harry and Ron's shirt pockets.
First I rattle off a ready stock of gibberish and poppycock
And fix you with my best hypnotic stare.
He covered the deck with both hands and blew on them.
With my moans and groans and soporific tones
They have cheered me everywhere
When he opened his hands, the deck had turned into a scarf
For it really doesn't matter what I do
What I do
A reproduction of the Mona Lisa hung on the wall near the office door. Mr. Browne draped the scarf over the painting until it was completely hidden from view.
As long as I do it...
He yanked the scarf away. The painting had transformed into a huge theatrical poster of a magician dressed in traditional cape and tuxedo, pulling a white rabbit out of his top hat, much to the delight of his shapely assistant. The magician was many years younger with no trace of gray in either his hair or his mustache, but the face was easily recognizable. The headline screamed "THE MAGNIFICENT EMILIUS!"
…with a flair!
"Bill Weasley!" said a woman's voice. "Bless my soul! It's been ages! How is your dear mother?"
"She's fine, Miss Price-Only I'm not Bill, I'm Ron."
"Not little Ronald! He's still in nappies, surely!"
"If it makes you feel any better, my boy," Browne joked, "that would make two of us."
"Very funny, Professor."
"Mr. and Mrs. Potter," Professor Browne said with a flair, "may I present my partner in crime, my best friend and the love of my life, Miss Eglantine Price."
The old woman's cheek's flushed with embarrassment. "Really, Mr. Browne!"
"My dear, may I present Mr. Harry Potter and his good lady, Mrs. Hermione Potter." As they exchanged handshakes, Hermione sized up their hostess. According to Ron, she was well into her eighties, but she could have easily passed for much younger. There were still streaks of blonde among the silver in her hair. Hermione suspected that she'd broken more than a few hearts in her day. She wore a lavender blouse with a large ruffle at the neck, a darker purple vest that matched her skirt and low-heeled purple shoes- along with her bouffant hairstyle, this suggested that her interest in fashion faded during the heyday of Carnaby Street.
"These young people are in need of something from the back room, my dear."
"Harry needs a magic wand," Hermione declared, having grown weary of their rather ludicrous attempts at secrecy. Ron seemed taken aback by her brusqueness, but Miss Price was unfazed.
"You are a rare bird indeed, Mr. Potter," Miss Price observed. "For some reason, at least in my admittedly limited experience, `The Gift' tends to favor the weaker sex. I'd always considered it one of nature's little checks and balances, to keep your gender from getting completely out of hand." She opened the little swinging door to allow them behind the counter. "Come with me."
The first thing that caught Hermione's eye as they entered the little office in the back of the shop, was a framed certificate hanging above Miss Price's desk.
This is to certify that the undersigned has
passed all required tests and certifications and
is now entitled to all rights and
privileges due a graduate of…
"…The Emelius Browne School of Witchcraft?"
"A private joke, my dear," Miss Price said enigmatically. Miss Price took hold of Harry's right hand and examined it. She then took out an old wooden school ruler and began carefully measuring the lengths of his fingers, the width of his earlobes and the distance between the pupils of his eyes.
"My fortunes took a bit of a downward turn during the war," Professor Browne explained while Miss Price worked, "forcing me to devise ever more creative ways of keeping body and soul together. In fact, that was how Miss Price and I first became acquainted. She had enrolled in my correspondence school of witchcraft-"
"-only to discover," Miss Price interrupted, "that he had plagiarized the entire curriculum from an ancient book called The Spells of Asteroth, which he'd bought off a barrow not three blocks from here-and to make matters worse he'd only managed to secure half of the book."
"If I had thought to bring it with me, Miss Price," Hermione chuckled, "I would have gladly given you my copy. I don't know how many times I fell asleep trying to wade through some of his more long-winded passages."
"Old Asteroth did have a tendency to continue beating the horse long after its demise. Why use one word when five or six will do? Even so, I did find his spell for Substitutiary Locomotion most useful on at least one occasion." She finished measuring Harry and then began hunting through the various packing crates, boxes and file cabinets scattered around the room. "Mr. Browne, has the latest shipment of wands come in from Cornwall?"
"I don't recall unpacking them. They may still be in the storeroom with that load of plastic vomit and the fake dog droppings we got in last week."
"Better have a look." She disappeared through the back door, while Mr. Browne continued to search the office.
After she disappeared, Hermione started chuckling to herself. "The Spells of Asteroth! She spent all that time and energy searching for The Spells of Asteroth!"
Ron shook his head. "I don't understand."
"I didn't want to embarrass Miss Price, " Hermione said, once she'd recovered, " but back at Hogwarts, Asteroth's spells are considered to be the most basic, and elementary of magic. It's the wizard equivalent of Green Eggs and Ham!"
Mr. Browne chuckled. "I'd always regarded the whole thing as a load of rubbish to begin with. To be honest, I looked upon it merely as a way to make a few quid in a hurry. I had no idea that there was anyone out there who could actually make use of the information that I was peddling!"
"You're not one of us, then, Mr. Browne?" asked Harry.
"Heavens, no! Would that I had thus been blessed!" Mr. Browne sighed wistfully. "Imagine me reposing on the deck of my yacht as we sailed down the French Rivera! Marilyn Monroe and Brigit Bardot lighting my most expensive Cuban cigars with hundred pound notes!"
He led them back out into the main shop. "I tried to talk Miss Price into joining my magic act, you know." He sighed as he regarded the old poster of himself. "It was a marvelous dream …a magician with an assistant who could do real magic! Can you imagine the feats we could have accomplished-the miracles we could have performed?"
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and shook her head sadly. Professor Emelius Browne had obviously gone round the bend. Harry, however, was smiling to himself. Hermione could almost hear the wheels turning inside her lover's head.
"I remember the night as if it were yesterday!" Mr. Browne said breathlessly. He seized Hermione's hands and gazed earnestly into her eyes. "My dear lady, have you ever considered entering what some of us call, `show business'? The theatre! Pantomimes! Village fairs! The seaside! Brighton! Blackpool! Follies on the Prom! We could make a packet!" Hermione got the distinct impression that Professor Emelius Browne was no longer simply reminiscing, but actually reliving the night in question. Just like back in the old days, he was going into his patter:
As the words sell the tune
And the moon beams the moon
All you need to succeed in your plan
Is a champion rare
With a flourish
And a flair!
And I'm your man
Mr. Browne then swept Hermione into his arms and began dancing her around the room and singing with remarkable gusto.
Eglantine, Eglantine,
Oh, how you'll shine!
Your lot and my lot have got to combine!
Eglantine, Eglantine,
Hark to the stars!
Destiny calls us!
The future is ours!
Releasing Hermione, Mr. Browne scooped up the wax fruit from a bowl on one of the tables and began deftly juggling it over his head.
As the shine sells the boot
And the blossoms the fruit
All you need to succeed in your plan
Is the proper ally
Upon whom to rely
And I'm your man
He retrieved a dusty old top hat from hat rack in the corner and held it out, catching the artificial produce one by one. He turned the hat over to demonstrate that it was now completely empty, then reached in and pulled out a live white rabbit.
With my expert pantomiming
The proper taste and timing
I'll introduce you in the manner grand
I'll whet their appetite for you
I'll set the scene so right for you
We'll have the beggars eating out of your hand
"Come back to the present, Mr. Browne!" Miss Price appeared in the doorway carrying an armful of long, narrow objects wrapped in tissue paper. "Must we go through this every time one of us walks into the shop? In any case, I doubt Mrs. Potter would want to play the stooge for you any more than I did."
"Stooge indeed!" Mr. Browne huffed. "You wound me, mademoiselle! As if I would treat anyone with so rare a talent as an underling; as if I could regard such a person as a mere dupe!"
"Did he offer you thirty-five percent or did he go all the way to forty?"
"You can't blame a chap for trying," Mr. Brown grumbled petulantly. "It's easy for you to be Miss `High-and-Mighty' when you've got the power!"
As they continued to argue, Hermione noticed Harry looking at her with a mischievous smile on his face. "What are you grinning about?"
"I was trying to picture you as Mr. Browne's assistant."
"Honestly! Can you really see me parading around on stage in nothing but a handful of rhinestones and a few feathers?"
If anything, Harry's grin got bigger. "Not on stage, perhaps…"
From his expression, Ron was forming a few mental pictures of his own, but Harry was merciful enough to elbow his friend in the ribs and whisper, "Better watch it. Remember what happened to you this morning."
"Leave a chap his fantasies, Harry." Ron sighed. "I have a feeling that's all I'm going to get out of this."
"Whatever you say, mate. I just hope you develop a taste for Mighty Dog."
"I warn you," Mr. Browne continued, "if I am forced to wait much longer, there may yet come a day when I'll be too old to appreciate a Swedish massage from Anita Ekbert!"
"Too old, Mr. Browne? You?" Miss Price smiled indulgently, then walked over and kissed him on the cheek. "That day shall never come." She summoned Harry over to the counter, where she had unwrapped several magic wands and set them out in a row.
"May I?" asked Hermione. She picked one up and examined it closely.
"Lovingly crafted by hand, each and every one!" Miss Price boasted.
Though it appeared to be a good, serviceable design and did indeed show a high degree of craftsmanship, to Hermione's eye, it lacked some of the polish of an Ollivanders® wand. Even so, she thought, beggars can't be choosers.
At Miss Price's urging, Harry picked up each wand in turn and waved it with varying results. The first wand did absolutely nothing. The second wand yielded a couple of gold sparks. The fifth caused the doves in the cage across the room to become unsettled and flutter their wings nervously. The seventh gave Harry's hand a slight electrical shock.
"Definitely not!" Miss Price handed the rejected candidates to Hermione and Ron, who re-wrapped them in tissue paper.
"Hang on!" cried Ron as he picked up the last one. "My arm's tingling!"
"Indeed!" Miss Price took the wand and examined it closely. "Maple and dragon heart string… Ten inches…strong but flexible… Like mother, like son?" She handed it back to Ron. "Give it a wave, my boy."
Ron pointed it at an old rugby ball sitting across the room. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The ball leapt into the air, hovered for a moment, then sailed straight into an elaborately decorated Chinese vase.
"Bless my soul!" gasped Miss Price.
"You were right, Hermione!" Ron squealed with joy. "Wait until Mum finds out!"
"Wait until she gets the bill for that vase," Mr. Browne muttered.
"Allow me." Hermione took out her own wand. "Reparo!" The vase reassembled itself.
"A pity you weren't around when I was four years old and I broke Mum's best teapot." Ron grinned.
"You have extraordinary power, Mrs. Potter." Miss Price seemed genuinely impressed. "Do you give lessons?"
"Why don't we talk about that after we've found Harry a wand?"
Miss Price disappeared into the back of the shop once more and emerged a few minutes later carrying another load of wands. The results were much the same as before. Either nothing happened, or the reaction was insignificant.
"What is that?" There was a tapping sound coming from somewhere nearby. In one of the display cases sat a large velvet pillow displaying several old, worn magic wands. One of them appeared to be moving on its own, slowly inching its way off of the pillow toward Harry.
"How very interesting." Miss Price unlocked the display case. "I picked these up as part of a collection of magical artifacts." Wary of the reaction she might provoke, she carefully scooted the agitated wand back onto the cushion, touching it as little as possible. She then carried the whole thing over to Harry. "Generally, I don't deal in `previously owned' wands," she explained. "As a rule, after a lifetime of service to a single owner, a wand won't even consider another, but there are exceptions. They do say that the wand chooses the wizard. Hmm…"
Harry summoned his courage, reached out and picked up the wand. The handle grew warm in his hand. His arm tingled. Red and gold sparks flew from the tip. A huge grin spread across his face as Harry stood up. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
A stuffed Noddy doll got to its feet and began to hop around the table. A marionette of Mike Mercury from Supercar stood up and invited the marionette of Lady Penelope from the Thunderbirds to dance, their controls floating in the air above them, manipulated by invisible puppeteers.
"You are a remarkable bird indeed, Harry Potter."
"I wonder…" Harry said to himself. He took the top hat from Mr. Browne and waved the wand over it. He pulled out a white rabbit, then a second and a third. He waved his wand over them and they disappeared. He conjured up a deck of cards, fanned them out to show that they were all different, and then passed his hand over them. This time when he fanned them out, they were all the same-the Ace of Hearts, then the King of Clubs, then the Queen of Spades, etc. "What do you think, Professor? Could I make it as a stage magician?"
"Why of course, my dear boy! Who needs an assistant when one can do the magic for himself?" Mr. Browne began singing:
Let us strike a bargain.
You possess a gift
but I can speak the jargon
that can give your gift the needed lift!
You possess the `know-how'
but I command the `show-how'
Oh, how successful you could be…
…with me!
"You do the magic and I'll teach you how to dress it up and present it to an audience" Mr. Browne could barely contain his enthusiasm. He wrapped the old magician's cape around Harry's shoulders and popped the old top hat onto his head. "-for a small percentage, of course."
"You've got a deal, Mr. Brown." They shook hands. "I may not be able to promise you that Swedish massage from Anita Ekbert," Harry said, "but if this works, I'll guarantee that you and Miss Price will never have to worry about money again."
Hermione was not amused, particularly as she pictured herself being sawn in half. "You can't be serious, Harry! Using your genuine talent for magic to prance about on stage producing scarves from your sleeves and pulling rabbits out of hats? It just seems so …I don't know …childish! "
"So are the Muppets," Ron pointed out, "but Jim Henson could have bought his own planet."
"There are more important things than money, Ron-!"
"True enough," Harry conceded, "but even with all our Hocus Pocus, building that school of yours isn't going to come cheap. Besides, what better way to disguise what we're doing? Didn't you ever hear of `hiding in plain sight'? As a magician, I can use my magic right out in the open and no one will give it a second thought!"
"I don't know…"
"Consider this, then-we have to locate our fellow wizards and witches, right? What better excuse to travel the world? Fame is about more than ego gratification. It can also open doors. As a world-famous magician, I could go places that they'd never allow me if I was some little nobody from Surrey!"
"Harry!"
"Well, if she's not interested, then how about you, Miss Price?" Just as Mr. Browne had with Hermione, Harry swept Miss Price into his arms and danced her around the shop.
Eglantine, Eglantine!
Oh, how you'll shine!
Your lot and my lot have got to combine!
Eglantine, Eglantine!
Hark to the stars!
Destiny calls us!
The future is ours!
Once she had caught her breath, she threw back her head and laughed, then grabbed Harry by the cheeks and kissed him right on the mouth. "When do we start?"
"Not so fast there, `Houdini'!" Hermione pried the two apart and forcefully inserted herself between them. "If you're bound and determined to make a complete ass of yourself, I suppose I'd better come along to keep an eye on you-if only for the sake of those four or five children Molly predicted for us."
"For the children, then!" Harry drew her into a passionate embrace.
As soon as Harry and Hermione came up for air, Mr. Browne took Harry by the arm and mimed escorting him over to the main counter as if he were leading him out onto the stage of the London Palladium. "Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies and gentlemen! It is my great pleasure to introduce to you, a young man who has dazzled the crowned heads of Europe with his incomparable feats of legerdemain! Direct from his sold out tour of the five continents, may I present, the one, the only, the amazing … HARRY POTTER!"
(to be continued)
END OF CHAPTER FOUR
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