Leaving Green Sleeves

Chapter eight

The Squib Squad

"It's really late," Sykes muttered sourly, rubbing his eyes. "I have work tomorrow, you know that?" He left the door open for the two Pommeroys and staggered into the flat, dragging his slippers along the floor. He was wearing nothing but a too large dressing gown, which looked like a tent around his big body. He crashed down in his favourite chair in the sitting room and lit a cigarette, then stared up at them with tired eyes. "It's one am in the bloody morning - what do you want?"

Pug shrugged as he parked his arse on the sofa. "I don't know anything; it was him that insisted we should go to your place and talk about something or another."

"What you want to talk about, then?" Sykes barked at Tyke. "The birds and the bees? The coming of the Dark Lord? Speak up, man!"

Sitting down in the other armchair, Tyke raised his hands to calm him. "Just relax. You can call in sick tomorrow; I know I will. Is Trip still here?"

"Yes, he is." There came a squeak from the doorway, and they turned to see Trip York standing there, shrouded in his duvet. On bare feet he padded inside and sat down beside Pug in the sofa, quietly observing Tyke with a mix of curiosity and annoyance. Pug looked down at his bare knees, and Trip covered them with the duvet, blushing slightly.

"I can't call in sick," Sykes moaned. "We're just about to finish the Ilford project! Do you have the faintest idea how much work it takes to draw a shopping centre?"

Tyke waved his objections away with an irritated movement. "Are you a friend of Dung's, or what?" Everyone turned their eyes to him, and suddenly Tyke realised they were all looking at him, expecting him to say something intelligent. His hands started sweating, and discreetly he wiped them on his trousers. Uncertain, he got up from the chair and walked around the sitting room, looking at the framed prints on the wall.

Sykes was apparently starting to fear the worst. "You know I am," he said hesitantly, shaking his head. "What's that got to do with it? What's he done this time - killed someone? Where is he?"

"I think I've found him. Or rather...located him in some way." Tyke scratched his head, wondering how he was supposed to present his theories.

"All right, where is he, then?"

Tyke's brain had obviously decided to retire for the night, because right now he couldn't get it to work at all. "Wait - I have to think."

Trip snorted loudly. "Are we supposed to sit here all night watching you think? Perhaps you'd like us to go and lie down? It's late; you couldn't have done that in the car...?"

"Unfortunately, my brother is unable to think and drive at the same time," Pug said sarcastically, watching the smoking cigarette butt in the ashtray with a gloomy face.

"Oh boy, here it comes," Sykes mumbled and lit a new cigarette.

Tyke felt the old rage return to him as he turned to his brother. "You know who you remind me of sometimes, Pug? You remind me of Mum."

Pug's face turned white with anger, but he seemed to realise that he'd crossed a line somewhere and didn't fight back. Their eyes locked for a long time, shooting daggers at each other, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"Wow. The air in here is so passive-aggressive I could can it and sell it on the open market," Trip muttered. "Not that anyone would be interested in buying." He moved restlessly in the sofa, an uneasy expression on his face. As a result, the duvet fell off of him - stark naked, he had to bend over and pick it up. Everyone laughed, even Pug, and Trip blushed again while sending them ugly glares.

"Thank you, Trip," Sykes said. " That certainly helped. Now, if only young Pommeroy could get his head out of his arse."

"You know what a Time Turner is?" Tyke blurted out. Sykes shook his head, while Pug only glared menacingly at him.

"Yes," Trip said, his voice firmer now that they entered a field he knew. "I had a case a few years ago involving one of them. I guess you've heard about it - the witch who went back in time to get pregnant by her dead husband. You haven't heard of it...? It made the front page of the Prophet!"

"I don't really follow the wizarding media anymore," Pug replied, and Sykes nodded in agreement.

"Me neither, unless it involves family...business." Tyke sat down again, taking out a pen and a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket. "Since you know what they look like, could you draw one for me?"

Sykes snickered. "Could you draw me a sheep?" he said. When the others looked questioningly at him he raised his hands in submission. "Nothing. Now, draw the boy a sheep...I mean, a Time Turner."

While Trip was drawing, Pug looked up at Tyke. "You think Dung has one of the Time things?"

Before he could reply, Trip gave Tyke the piece of paper. He stared at it for a while, then turning the paper on the side to see if from another angle. "So, this is what it looks like, eh?"

"I'm a solicitor, not an artist."

"No, the drawing's fine - it's just that it looks a bit...like an hourglass." Tyke could hear how disappointed his voice sounded like, and sent Trip a quick smile as he gave the paper to Pug. "It's a time machine, after all. I expected something more impressive, something a bit more science fiction."

"Ah! But now you're thinking like a Muggle. Magic doesn't need..."

"Dung has one of these." It was Pug's voice, cutting Trip off. He was sitting back in the sofa, holding the paper in front of him. Slowly, he leaned forward and placed it back on the table, not taking his eyes off it. "He found it in one of Warty's boxes. I swapped it for some silver... It was so small!"

"For individual use, then," Trip nodded. "You get big ones too, for collective use - but only Ministry officials are allowed those. What I don't understand is why Dung's missing." When the other three just stared dumbfounded at him, he continued. "A Time Turner doesn't transport you away completely. It's only one part of you that goes back in time. If he'd done some travelling there should be one version of him back in whatever time he's gone off to, and one right here."

"This is getting a bit too abstract for me," Tyke muttered. "Two versions, eh? All right. Except there's no one here!" Frustrated, he got up again and wandered out into Sykes' kitchen to find a bottle of Coke in the fridge. He stopped to look outside on the street below - a few cars passed, and a woman had stopped under a lamppost to let her dog use the pavement as a lavatory. He resisted the urge to open the window and yell at her to pick it up.

As he entered the sitting room again, he found the other three discussing. Tyke found four wineglasses in the cabinet while listening to the conversation.

"...And since it was broken, we can assume it's malfunctioning."

"In other words, he can be anywhere between tomorrow and the Viking age." Sykes snorted. "I have to go through my history books again tomorrow, see if I can find a reference to an overweight little man with a penchant for silver..."

"Not really, we have the proof right here..."

Tyke sat down and poured Coke into Sykes' expensive wineglasses. "What are you three talking about?"

"The Time Turner was broken. It had a long crack along the side - I remember that," Pug replied, filling him in. "That could be a reason why it didn't work properly and sent him back in time in one piece. If that's what happened, which I'm definitely not convinced of in the first place, then we have no way of finding out where he is."

"And again I repeat, you're wrong." Trip pushed the foeglass toward him. "Find someone who knows this bloke, get a set date if you can, and you'll know. It's not worse than that."

Pug shrugged, and Sykes took a sip of the Coke. "Even if we find out whom and when - what are we going to do about it?" he asked. "Do we tell the Ministry? Dung would kill us if we do, and how do you explain where you got the Time Turner from? "Hello, we happened to steal a Dark Arts artefact, and now we've fucked up?" You'll be facing the Wizengamot before you can say 'mercy'."

The others turned silent. Sykes lit another cigarette, Pug scratched his arm, and Trip hitched up the duvet that threatened to fall down on the floor again. The sound of an angry driver using the horn of his car seeped through the open window.

Then Tyke cleared his throat. "We'll have to go back and find him, then."

*

"He's not coming back," Pug growled. "He always were a spineless sissy."

They were sitting in a Muggle cafeteria, surrounded by elderly women and young couples out walking their offspring, waiting for Trip York to return. He'd given them a quick excuse and gone off into Diagon Alley to pick up something from his office - or possibly put something back, he'd been pretty vague about that - and had been gone for three hours now.

"Let's give him the benefit of the doubt." Tyke didn't quite manage to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Hey, Pug! What do you call fifty briefs on the bottom of the ocean?" Sykes asked, a big grin on his face. He'd just finished his third pint and had stopped fretting about having to call in sick.

Tyke looked out the window again, gritting his teeth. It was with great annoyance that he had to admit that Pug was right. Trip wouldn't be back - they could sit here until moss started growing out of their arses, but they were one man short. One wizard short.

As the others started laughing, getting reproachful glances from the prim and proper people sitting around them, he turned to Pug and Sykes with irritation. "Could you please try to be serious about this? If Trip doesn't come back, we'll have a huge problem, you realise that?"

"Of course we realise that," Pug replied, still grinning. "But I can't really do anything about that, can I? Neither can Sykes. There's got to be someone else we can ask! Us squibs won't be much use unless we find a deranged wizard somewhere to help us out."

"Well, those we know are at work at this time of day, aren't they?" Tyke heard how whiny he sounded. "And again, how do we explain this? We have to do it now - both Sykes and I are busy the rest of the week." He leaned his elbows heavily against the flower-patterned tablecloth, covering his face with his hands.

Sykes leaned over the table and patted his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm certain we'll come up with something," he muttered. "What about this Lupin fellow, for instance?"

"No fucking way!" Pug exclaimed, and the grin on his face disappeared like mist in the sun. The rest of the people in the cafeteria turned around to stare at them. "I'm not going near that bloody animal. I refuse, and that's that."

"But he might be our only shot!" Sykes objected. "If you're Dung's friend, surely you can put your differences aside for one day, just to help him out?"

Tyke rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling very insecure about the whole project. "I don't think you understand, Sykes..."

Sykes slammed his fist in the tabletop, making the coffee mugs jump. "No, it's you who don't get it! Damn it, he's my friend too - don't I get to say anything in this matter? Maybe I should seek out Lupin myself, then! I'm sure we would do much better without you incompetent Pommeroys weighing us down. At least Lupin seems to genuinely care about what's happening."

"Are you insinuating that I don't care?" Pug barked back. If looks could kill, Sykes would be dead as a doornail by now. "What the hell do you think I'm sitting here for?"

A young waitress approached them, wringing a dishtowel in her hands and looking like she was nearing a pack of hungry manticores. "I'm sorry, but I will have to ask you to leave," she muttered apologetically. "You're scaring the other customers."

*

They walked up toward Charring Cross Road in the rain. Outside the Leaky Cauldron, Sykes turned to the Pommeroys, white hair hanging wet and miserably down in his eyes. "So," he said, a challenging tone in his voice. "What will it be?"

When none of them replied, he turned and walked into the pub. Sending each other doubtful glances, Pug and Tyke followed him inside. They found a table in the corner, and took off their soaking wet jackets and coats.

Lupin was not present, and Tyke let out his shaking breath in relief. Sykes walked over to the counter where he got a quill and a piece of paper. Carrying them with him, he walked back and sat down next to the brothers. "Now, what do we write?" Sykes muttered, caressing his chin with the feathered end of the quill. "I've got it: 'Have information about DF. Come to the Cauldron immediately, and come alone.' Sounds good, eh? Just like on film."

Sykes leaned back on the bench and sighed with satisfaction. Pug narrowed his eyes and peered at him. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Well, if we're going to do this, we might as well try to enjoy ourselves. 'Signed...a friend'. Now we just have to get this thing owled off to Lupin, wherever he is." Sykes folded the paper and wrote Lupin's name on the side of it, and then looked around the room as though he expected to find owls perching on the chairs. Then he took a deep breath and yelled out across the room. "Hey! Anyone here got an owl?"

Pug made a frustrated sound deep down in his throat, and Tyke started sweating again. "I'm really not sure about this..."

"Rubbish!" Sykes waved his words away. "This is the best solution in my opinion. We need a wizard to get into the Ministry - otherwise we'll get nowhere, and God knows I don't have more time to waste besides today. I've got a bleeding shopping centre to build!"

With those words, he rose from his chair and walked over to the bar to speak with old Tom. Frowning, Pug leaned over to Tyke. "When I see Dung again, I'm going to bloody thump him," he muttered. "This is just too much, fraternising with Lupin like that."

"But maybe Sykes is right," Tyke replied quietly, not quite certain about what he thought about the project any longer. "It's the only chance we've got. Besides, this family feud has more to do with Mum and Will than it has to do with us. Don't you agree?"

"Blood is thicker than water, Tyke. But it's not just about the Osbournes and the Lupins, all right? I have my own reasons." Pug nodded solemnly and did not elaborate.

Sykes brought back a fresh pint and crash-landed on the bench. "Tom is sending it off right now. Actually, I'm a bit excited about this! It'll be a good old-fashioned adventure, don't you think, Tyke?" He nudged Tyke and made him spill coffee on the table.

"Whatever," Tyke growled back as he wiped the coffee away with his handkerchief. "But please, calm down - you're getting a bit hyper again."

"Sorry," Sykes muttered. "I sometimes forget to take that potion my mother buys for me."

"Mum was absolutely certain about the date, then?" Pug asked, changing the subject.

Tyke nodded. "Yep. According to her, it had to be nineteen fifty - because of the bloke's beard or something. September; she was very insistent about that. Apparently, something happened in September that year that made her remember it - she was a bit vague about it, though."

They waited for a long time. No one bothered to watch the clock, but Tyke and Sykes had the opportunity to discuss, rather loudly, the Ministry discrimination of squibs. This made passers-by send them sceptical glances, something that, of course, only made their comments more sarcastic. Pug seemed content with staring at the tabletop with a gloomy expression. In the end, they were all tired of waiting; it seemed that Lupin had written their letter off as a practical joke and had no intention of showing up.

"I'm getting hungry," Pug muttered. "That dog won't bother to show up, so what are we waiting for? I told you the idea was ridiculous. Let's go and find someplace to eat."

"Wait!" Sykes held up his hand, staring at the door into the Diagon Alley gate. "Lupin at twelve o'clock. Don't turn around."

Pug and Tyke immediately turned to stare; by the door, the skinny wizard stood, looking at the bar while running his fingers through his wet hair. Then his head turned and his eyes locked with Pug's - Lupin frowned, and a growling sound came from Pug.

"Talk to him, then!" Sykes hissed as he nudged Tyke's arm. "You go!"

"What am I going to tell him?" Tyke muttered back and stood up.

With a last look at Sykes exited face and Pug's scowl, he turned and approached Lupin. He walked slowly, trying to buy himself more time - time to come up with a way to present their idea that wouldn't make Lupin laugh or write them off as lunatics. Alas, the Cauldron wasn't a large pub and the few yards across the floor disappeared under Tyke's feet with alarming speed. Soon they stood face to face, both staring at the other with reserved curiosity.

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" Tyke croaked.

"It's raining." Lupin's voice was dry as parchment dust, although the rest of him seemed to have been dragged through a small lake. "Where is he?"

"Funny you should ask," Tyke answered, and placed his hand on Lupin's shoulder, pushing him away from the others. "Let's go for a walk, eh?"