Leaving Green Sleeves

Once more, Tyke showed up in the Cauldron after work. He was getting tired of this place, where people gave him long glances as he entered, where he had to stand by the door and wait for a friendly witch or wizard to help him through the wall and into Diagon Alley. He was tired of feeling like a leper in a society that was supposed to be his own by right of birth. He shook his head and left when people started to bemoan Voldemort and his ideas about purity of blood; didn't they see that their own treatment of squibs were just as bad? It was the worst sort of hypocrisy - and supported by their Ministry at that.

In addition, he'd had a row with Pug that morning. Pug had seen him pick up Dung's foeglass, and when he asked, Tyke had taken a deep breath and told the truth. After fifteen minutes of arguing, Tyke had slammed the door shut and went off for work. Pug's words still lingered in his mind though, and he had to admit that Pug had a point or two.

Now, he sat in the corner with a cup of steaming hot coffee in front of him and the foeglass resting beside him on the bench. Frowning, he stared at the cup to avoid any attention from the wizards and witches passing by. Incredible - for all their magic, it was difficult to find a wizarding pub that made good coffee. You want tea? No problem. You want coffee? Go out and find a Muggle cafeteria.

Lupin was late, and when he finally showed up Tyke just placed the foeglass on the table without even saying hello. Lupin sent him a quizzical look, then picked it up and studied it up close. After a few minutes he put it down again, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head while he let out a long sigh.

"I don't have the faintest clue who that is, and I know more or less everyone," he muttered.

"Funny," Tyke replied innocently. "That's exactly what Pug said."

Lupin glared at the mention of Tyke's brother, then returned his attention to the foeglass. "There are a few people I could ask, though," he continued. "Now, if only I could borrow this..."

"No," Tyke stated firmly.

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Lupin stared at him as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Don't you understand that this is important?"

"How would I know when you won't tell me?" Tyke snapped back. "I'm sick of being pushed around by you lot! Dung is probably sitting in some random pub, laughing his arse off at us. Oh, I know him better than you do - he'll be delighted to hear that we've run about, trying to find him."

"Now, listen," Lupin replied, sounding as though he was explaining something to a child. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't explain any of this. Just trust me, all right? I have to find him; it's not just me. People are looking for him all over southern England, for Merlin's sake! Now, if you'd..."

"Sod off, Lupin. I don't know what's going on, but as I see it... A," Tyke raised one finger, "none of the people looking for Dung appear to be friends of his - if they were, I'd know about it. Which means he's in trouble, and I don't sell out my friends when they're in a tight spot. Or B," he raised another finger, "this is just a way for you Lupins to get back at the Pommeroys, and you take me for an idiot, falling for a story like that."

Angry, he got up from the bench and picked up the foeglass right in front of Lupin's stunned face. "There is, of course, also the option C: that you are doing this to test my loyalty for some reason or another. If so, you're even bigger jerks than I thought, and you can tell Dung that if he wants this friggin' foeglass he can come and get it himself!"

With this tirade, Tyke turned to leave. Lupin rubbed his eyes with thin fingers, and slowly shaking his head, he began to laugh. "My God, you Pommeroys are all paranoid! If the situation hadn't been so serious, it would've been funny."

Tyke looked at him with a deep frown. Then without a word he walked out of the pub, before the urge to slap Lupin's grinning face became too strong.

*

For a while, he contemplated driving home, but then changed his mind. His stomach made a loud, protesting noise - he could do with something to eat. Unfortunately, his wallet was in a sorry state, and it was a whole week until the next payday.

Slightly hesitant, Tyke drove to his parents' home in Islington, and soon he looked up at the four-storey house. The windows were like matted eyes, reflecting the grey sky, and the pointy spikes in the wrought iron gate seemed less inviting than ever. Sighing, he parked the car in front of the gate, and sat there in deep thoughts.

He brought the foeglass with him. Too much to hope for, of course, but Olive Pommeroy knew more than most witches out there.

He had to stand by the door and wait. Locked with seven seals and spells to ward off everyone but the milkman, the Pommeroy residence wasn't easy to invade. The few burglars who had tried over the years were never to be heard from again, and Olive's home was known among the other witches for the tasteful leather furniture - whitish, soft leather that seemed impossible to find in the shops. Tyke himself hadn't made the connection until he was way into his twenties, and it had taken a bit of time getting used to the thought.

The curtain beside the door shivered and soon it was opened. A tiny house-elf peered up at him. "Good afternoon, Tyke, sir," it whispered and let him in.

"What's the matter, Fussy? Mum in a bad temper?"

"No, sir. Master John is working on his book, sir."

Nothing new about that - Tyke's father had been working on his book for as long as he could remember. Among the Pommeroy-boys it was mockingly referred to as The Book That Will Change Literature As We Know It, though none of them had ever seen it.

William, the oldest of the seven brothers, always claimed that no such book had ever existed, that it was simply their father's way of escaping a reality he no longer could control. Lawrence, number two in the line, said it was merely a cheap excuse to spend more time with his collection of pornographic prints and drawings. Philip, number three, was a dull and boring man without the faintest trace of imagination, so he didn't have an opinion at all and just nodded to everything Will said. Winston had left for America one day and never returned, so what he thought about it Tyke didn't know. Charles, brother number five, just laughed - he laughed at everything - and said that it was the sight of the newborn Pug that had driven the man into the privacy of his study. Pug, on the other hand, never spoke about it, and on the few occasions it would come up in their conversations, he simply let out a vague hum.

Tyke walked quietly pass the door to the study, and stopped in the doorway to the ground floor living room. Sitting on the tip of the leather sofa with her hands in her lap was Olive, staring into the air in front of her with a disapproving look on her face.

He watched her for a while, before coughing and stepping inside. "Mum?"

With the stern expression still on her face she turned to look at him, seemingly taking a few seconds before recognising him. "Terrence, darling! How nice to see you." She got up from the sofa and came toward him to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Hullo, Mum. I was hungry, so I thought I'd stop by and see if you had anything for dinner."

She pushed him away at an arm's length to look closer at him. "Well, more food isn't exactly what you need, is it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, the sarcasm in her voice evident.

Tyke sent her his most disarming smile. "I'm exercising," he lied and looked down at the tip of his shoe. "Besides, a big boy needs his dinner, you know."

"You're lying," she replied, sounding pleased. "I can read you like a book, you know that." Still grinning, she passed him and walked down the corridor to the kitchen. With a last glance at the study, Tyke followed her.

The large kitchen had always been his favourite room. Unlike the rest of the house, it was always warm, and Fussy would always be there, preparing meals, helped by her two children. Fussy was one of the few house-elves that were used in breeding - a dear hobby of Olive's. Fussy's offspring had been sold all over the British Isles, and in recent years Olive had kept two of her daughters, hoping that they would follow in their mother's footsteps now that Fussy was getting old.

Olive sat down on one of the chairs and clapped her hands. Three pairs of elf eyes watched her intently. "Terrence wants something to eat," she said. "Prepare something for him."

Fussy's oldest daughter, Mindy, emerged at his side. "We have some tasty chicken, Tyke sir!" she said in her eager voice.

Olive slammed her hand on the tabletop, making Tyke's heart skip a beat. "What have I said?" she hissed at the terrified house-elf. "You will address my sons with the proper respect! Go and iron your ears, you ungrateful little pest!"

Mindy let out a squeak and scurried off, her face white as a sheet. Sighing, Tyke rubbed his eyes and tried to force his beating heart to calm down. "Really, Mum, it doesn't matter..."

"It matters." Olive sent him a stern look that put an end to the discussion. "Really, it's incredible to see the decline in the quality of today's house-elves - all perky, no thought to their place or their duty."

Silently, Fussy placed a plate in front of Tyke: chicken, salad and fried potatoes. He gave her a little smile, but didn't get one back.

"Look at this."

Olive placed a paper in front of him and, confused, Tyke picked it up to study it closer. "You know I have no interest in that," he muttered and pushed the pedigree back to Olive. The little he'd managed to muster of good will had gone straight to hell - all he wanted now was to finish his plate and get back in his car. Drive away - as far as he could go.

Her face shrivelled up in the usual frown. "You could at least humour your old mother," she said. "She who carried you under her heart for so long."

"Another day, Mum, please," he replied with his mouth full of chicken.

"What is that you're carrying around?" She peered at the foeglass with newfound interest. "A foeglass! What use do you have for one of those?"

"I'm keeping it for a friend," he replied sourly. "Apparently this piece is wanted by half of England these days." He sipped the pumpkin juice Fussy had brought him, and observed the expression on his mother's face as she held it up.

"Ah, good old Warty," she chuckled when she saw the scowling Harris. "He always were a funny man, and such good manners! This foeglass is defunct, by the way."

"Oh? Why do you say that?" There was no genuine interest in his voice. Just the leg of the chicken left and he could leave, go home to his bed where he could bury his head in his pillows and forget that wizards existed.

"Because this man has been dead forty-five years."

"What?" Tyke stared at her with his mouth open, the fork halfway between the plate and his face.

"Close your mouth! You look like an oaf!" Olive hissed, apparently finding his table manners below that of a well-bread pureblood squib.

He shut it tight and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, receiving yet another glare from his mother. "How can he be dead if he's in the foeglass? I didn't think that was possible."

"That's just it - it is impossible. The person must be a threat to your friend right now. So this thing you can tell your friend to throw away." She put it down on the table again, and picked up the scroll once more. "Here you can see that Romlin comes back twice in the fourth generation, thus making..."

"But Warty is there," Tyke objected, cutting her off. "He doesn't look a day younger than when I went to see him earlier..." He could've bit his tongue. That's the thing with you, Tyke, you don't think, he thought to himself as Olive watched him with great interest. He pushed the plate away; he was no longer hungry.

"You've been to see Warty? What for?"

He dismissed the question with a casual wave of his hand. "Nothing. Just looking for a friend, that's all. But who is this bloke, then?"

She pushed the foeglass closer. "His name's Marius Wilkes," she said with a little sigh. " Funny to see him with a beard - that's something he grew only shortly before he died. Oh, he was such a handsome man; tall and dark, the sort we girls used to dream of. Quite well off too, of course."

She giggled, and Tyke had to repress the urge to shake her.

"But you're right," she continued and looked at him, seemingly surprised that Tyke had shows any signs of mental activity. "Warty doesn't look any younger at all, and he's not older than your brother Will. Technically, he shouldn't even be in the mirror, considering that he wasn't even born back then."

"And that means exactly...what?" Tyke would not let the issue rest.

"How would I know?" she replied, annoyed with his stubborn questions. "It's probably a malfunction in the glass. I'm not an expert - you would have to ask Will or Lawrence about that."

Will and Lawrence shared offices in Diagon Alley, in a dingy little house opposite Gambol and Japes. There, they handled the family business that had been handed down in the Osbourne family for two hundred years. Since old Osbourne hadn't been able to produce a son, the responsibility had fallen into Olive's lap, and now she'd handed it over to the four sons she deemed trustworthy.

Tyke groaned. "I'm not going back to Diagon Alley. Not tonight!"

"You won't have to," she replied calmly. "They're coming over later, to discuss business."

*

The knocking on the door woke him up. He sat up in his old bed, for a moment not remembering where he was. Then he recognised the blue wallpaper in his old room, and Will's voice outside the door. He'd decided that since he had to wait, he might as well grab the opportunity to get an hour of sleep. "Come in," he croaked as he rubbed his eyes.

"See you're back on familiar soil again," Will said as he entered the room and closed the doors. "Funny, isn't it, that we Pommeroy boys always end up back at Mum's place, sooner or later."

"Pug isn't here," Tyke protested lamely. "Not Winston either."

"No, but we get by better without those two anyway." Will sat down on the chair next to the bed and crossed his legs. "I understand you have something you wanted to show me?"

Yawning loudly, Tyke pointed at the foeglass on the bedside table. "Mum told you about it?"

Will nodded, and took out the wand he had in a scabbard in his belt. It was willow and unicorn hair, Tyke knew that, but it gave him a strange feeling, seeing his brothers using their wands. With a muttered spell Tyke didn't understand, Will let his wand sweep over the foeglass, from the left to the right, then on the backside... After scanning it over and over, he put it down beside Tyke.

"I certainly can't find anything wrong with it," he muttered. "Either your friend is out doing some time travelling, or Mum is confusing this bloke with someone else. She is getting old, you know." Both of them knew that Olive's head was a s clear as the day she came of age.

"Time travelling?" Tyke echoed, feeling the sting of envy hit him hard. "You can do that?"

"With a Time Turner. They're very rare, and you need permissions from the Ministry stuffed up your arse to get hold of one. So yeah, I've had one myself. How do you think I got through last year's calamities?" He winked at Tyke and got up from the chair.

As Will opened the door, Tyke asked, "Do you still have it?"

The oldest of the Pommeroy brothers shook his head. "No, sold it to Warty. I needed money. Now, are you coming downstairs, or what?"

Tyke let out a vague sound and lay back down on the bed as soon as Will had left. His thoughts were nothing but a chaotic maelstrom, threatening to pull him under. He needed to talk with someone about this, someone with a clear head and a logical mind, which excluded most of the wizards he knew - not that there were many.

He sat up in bed and stared, determined, out into the semi-darkness of his old bedroom. Then he got up and went downstairs to have a cup of Darjeeling tea (which he hated, but his mother insisted upon) before leaving. He had to ring the doorbell again, five minutes later, when he discovered he'd forgotten the foeglass in his room.

He stopped by a phone booth in Islington, and made a call to Sykes Ogden.

"You're staying in tonight, or what? Good. I have a surprise for you - I'm just driving home to pick up Pug, and we'll be over."

"What's all the fuss about?"

"Just stay inside. We'll be there." Tyke put down the telephone, hearing Sykes' confused voice being cut off. He stared at the phone for a moment, trying to find order in his chaotic thoughts. Then he turned around and walked back to the car.