Alexandra Sutton and the Nighthawk's Trinket

Alexandra Sutton and the Nighthawk's Trinket

Chapter 6

At six in the evening, Charring Cross Road was packed. But in this part of London, you're still fighting through the crowds at midnight. Even the bookshops didn't close until ten o'clock, the pubs, fast-food places and tourist shops probably didn't bother fitting locks on their doors. It was made even worse by today being one of the last shopping days before Christmas. From overhead, I'm sure it was scarcely possible to see any pavement.

I was lurking across the road from the Leaky Cauldron. A chat with Tom, the barman, earlier in the afternoon, had revealed that Nebulo Cooper came through his pub at about this time every day. I'd already been standing here for nearly an hour, just in case Nebulo went home early that day. I was pretending to be enthralled by one of those free newspapers you pick up outside tube stations and a nearby newspaper seller kept shooting me suspicious glances. He had a hand-made sign pointing the way to all the nearby theatres and landmarks - he must have been driven to distraction by lost tourists over the past twenty years. Standing there was boring enough to make me wonder if it would be fun to put on a bad German accent and ask for directions to the theatre we were standing outside.

But whatever virtues Nebulo lacked, he at least had punctuality. At five past six, he stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and headed up the street. I pulled up the collar of Grandfather's old army greatcoat and set off after him. Charlie stepped away from a shop window, whose contents he'd been busy not admiring, and caught up with me. A short walk took us to Leicester Square underground station.

"That's him, Uncle: bald, gray overcoat, tartan scarf."

"Fine, Alex. But try not to look like some villainous spy in some children's cartoon. People are looking at you."

"Sorry, I've never followed somebody before."

"Let's hope he's never been followed before."

We nearly lost him in the crowd in the station. But soon, we were on a northbound Piccadilly Line train in the carriage behind Cooper's. At each station, one of us would step onto the platform to see if our target was getting off. None of the other passengers paid attention to this odd behaviour. The average London commuter wouldn't look up from his London Evening Standard if a Chimera sat beside him - unless, of course, it lit up a cigarette. The creature would be glared at and somebody would enquire in polite, but icy, tones if it was aware that smoking was not permitted on the Underground.

Finally, Nebulo got out at Finsbury Park. He walked out of the station and for about a mile, we followed him down a series of streets of dilapidated Victorian terraced houses. The street we were on was dark and empty so we picked up the pace and soon overtook him.

"Well hello there, Neb," I said cheerily. "Small world."

"What? Who're..." It took him a second to recognise me. "- you're that girl who-"

"Yep. My colleague and I would like a little chat."

Charlie gave a menacing grin. "We were wondering it you could tell us all about Josiah Mitchell."

"Who?" Nebulo looked nervous.

"Alex, he wants to play games," said Charlie cheerily. He spoke as if he was about to do something he had been looking forward to all week.

"I don't know anybody called Josiah Mitchell," Cooper said - slightly panicky.

"I have to disagree," I said. "Mitchell is that lump you hire for protection. I recognised him. Now for question two: what has he got to do with a wizard called Lambert Lovell?"

"I don't know."

Charlie pulled my wand out of his pocket. I'd lent it to him because I thought Nebulo would be more intimidated if he thought he was dealing with two pissed-off wizards, rather than a schoolgirl and a Muggle.

"I really don't," yelped Cooper. "I only know Lovell because he's been coming to me regularly for years. He must change thousands of pounds a year into Galleons."

That fitted - Lovell needed Galleons, and lots of them, to buy the all the antiques he'd been supplying to Charlie. To repeatedly go to Gringotts for the money would be like marching up and down in front of the Magical Law Enforcement office with a big illuminated sign saying "I'm doing something odd; please investigate me now! "

"That wasn't so bad, Nebulo, was it?" said Charlie. "Now, we're nearly done. The last question is: where do we find Mitchell?"

I ostentatiously looked up and down the dark deserted street. "Look, before we start on you, I'm going to have to cast Silencio to stop your yells attracting attention. So just raise your hand when you feel like talking."

As a Squib, Nebulo had had a lifetime in which to get used to being bullied by wizards. So luckily, I didn't need to carry out my threat. Lucky in the sense that I didn't need to find out if I was capable of going through with it.

***

"It all fits together," Charles said as we sat on the tube train that clattered back into central London. "We know Mitchell is Cooper's hired protection. According to you, he sits there all day, every day watching a steady stream of people come to do business with Cooper. All are people who want to change money and who want to do it very, very discretely, outside of the usual channels.

"Then this Mitchell notices Lambert coming to see Cooper an awful lot. Lambert is regularly changing unusually large amounts of money and, naturally, that attracts Mitchell's attention. He's curious so he starts nosing around and it doesn't take long before he finds out enough to start putting the squeeze on Lambert. I wonder if he's done it before; he's in an ideal position to be a blackmailer."

"What now?" I asked.

"Stick to our original plan - find Mitchell. We have his address so we just hope Cooper didn't lie, the address isn't out of date and Mitchell isn't away visiting his Auntie. Even if he is, that'll only slow us down. Once he sees what we've got on him, he'll have to give in."

I pulled a face. That sounded far too easy.

"Mitchell is a paid bully, so he's likely to be a vicious swine. Also, he lives in Clunch Lane. That's off Knockturn Alley. Have you any idea how dodgy that area is?"

Charles tutted at my objection.

"Dodgy! One day I'll tell you about the time I slipped into Estonia on somebody else's passport to buy the contents of a Viking burial mound with a truckload of smuggled cigarettes. The whole time, I was only one step ahead of the local police and a team of nasty bastards sent by the Getty Museum; I still have the grey hairs. You don't know the meaning of the word dodgy, Alex."

And he didn't know what went on in Knockturn alley. Previously, Charlie's dealings with the wizarding world had been at arm's length. Now, either he wouldn't know what hit him or it wouldn't know what hit it. My only regret was that, whatever happened, I would be there, standing beside him.

***

It wasn't yet eight o'clock when we got back to Leicester Square station. During our muttered conference on the tube train, we had decided we should wait for a few hours before confronting Mitchell. It was best to wait until it was late enough for us to be sure he would be in. Knockturn Alley and its network of adjoining alleyways was not somewhere you hung about, if at all possible. It was certainly somewhere you didn't go after dark, but I tried not to think about that.

We arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron. The anti-Muggle charms must have been unusually effective that day as it was an effort to make Charlie see it.

"It's there."

"Well, I don't see it."

"It's there! It's right there in front of you! Use your eyes!"

"Are you sure this is the right spot? Because I honestly don't see -"

"Look, Foyle's bookshop is there, the music shop is there. It's BETWEEN THEM! "

"Alex, there's nothing - My God, Alex! I see it! I see it now. It's incredible! It's a real-life optical illusion, like that picture of a vase that turns into two faces when somebody points it out to you or, or -"

"- a blank wall that suddenly looks like a grotty pub?"

Strangely, no matter how I tilted my head, squinted or tried to look at it from the corner of my eye, I couldn't not see it. It remained as obvious as a dead mouse floating in your bowl of soup, and about as pleasant.

"It's not grotty, Alex. I think it's got character."

"If you say so. Just don't look like a tourist and please, please, whatever you do, don't offer to buy anything."

Actually, it turned out that Charles appeared quite at home inside the Cauldron. I looked more like a Muggle than he did. His normal style of dress wouldn't have looked much out of place on a wizard and he seemed to possess an easy knack of simply fitting in, no matter where he found himself. But then, I suppose a large part of his job was hanging about in the back-street bars in Istanbul that other people avoid, making deals with Turkish Mafiosi to buy looted Roman statues. Charlie would buy drinks, tell raucous anecdotes in four languages and within half an hour, he'd be everybody's lifelong friend. Anybody else trying that would wind up getting knifed.

The pub wasn't crowded and we had no difficulty in finding a table in a corner. Luckily, I had a couple of Galleons so I bought two mugs of butterbeer and a plate of sandwiches. I plonked then in front of Charles without saying anything. He picked up his pewter mug and examined it carefully. He was about to say something, but stopped himself. We quietly settled down to wait.

"Oh my goodness, Alexandra Sutton! Is that you, Alexandra?" A loud, hearty, female voice rang out across the bar.

What! Somebody knows me!

"Em, yes it is. Hello, Mrs Stebbins."

I had met Ben Stebbins' mother in the summer when I stayed with his family for three weeks during the summer holidays. She was a large cheerful inquisitive woman who was tactfully described as forceful and was a terror to all the men-folk in the family: we had gotten along splendidly. She was looking quite friendly so I guessed Ben hadn't told her we had spectacularly broken up. Or, more likely, he never told her we were an item in the first place. I was flooded with relief that he would be still at Hogwarts.

"BEN!" she called, making sure even Muggles on the Charring Cross road would hear. "Come over here! It's your friend from school, Alexandra."

I smiled pleasantly and swore viciously under my breath.

Ben approached our table carrying several bags and parcels; he looked at me like I was something that had emerged from the bottom of a dog. Well, that is what you get when you let five years of relaxed friendship lead to five weeks of going out with each other and, ultimately, five minutes of screaming abuse.

"Perhaps you should introduce us, Alexandra," said Mrs Stebbins, pointedly, as she smiled at Uncle Charles.

"Yes, this is my uncle-" I stopped myself. What had I told her about my family, back in the summer? She knew I was half-blood and she knew the Muggles were on Father's side of the family. If I gave Charles' real name...

"My uncle, Douglas Boardman. Uncle, this Mrs Stebbins. And Ben Stebbins, a friend of mine from school."

That ought to be safe. Mother's younger brother left the country years ago and those on the wizard side always seemed carefully vague about the exact reason why. He owned a small beach-hotel on one of the Greek islands and he had been struck off quite a few Christmas card lists because he refused to let freeloading relatives stay for nothing.

Charles stood and courteously shook hands with Mrs Stebbins. Ben meanwhile looked at me closely but he said nothing. He had met Uncle Charles twice during the summer and knew he was a Muggle. It was must have been obvious I was up to something; perhaps he was curious about what was going to happen.

"Mr Boardman, you're not related to Stubby Boardman, by any chance?" asked Mrs Stebbins.

He wasn't, but I am. Most people have forgotten Stubby Boardman. But Mother's cousin is my closest association with fame. Luckily, Charles correctly interpreted my kick.

"Distantly, yes. Though I've not seen him for years," he lied, casually. He couldn't have had the faintest idea who Stubby was. "Please, Mrs Stebbins, take a seat. What would you like to drink? Alexandra will get them."

The bastard! He's enjoying this!

"I'll have an elderflower cordial, Alexandra, thank-you. And Ben will have a small butterbeer," said Mrs Stebbins.

"I'll give you a hand," said Ben, coolly. He put down his parcels and followed me to the bar.

***

"What aren't you at Hogwarts, Stebbins? I heard you were planning to go to the Yule Ball with Sarah Fawcett."

Not that I care, of course.

"I've came home for a few days; I'm taking the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts on Christmas Eve. And, if you must know, Mum and I came down to London by Floo powder for some last-minute Christmas shopping. But, Alex, I should be asking what you're doing in here. Especially as your Uncle Charles was a Muggle last time I met him."

"Please explain what that's got to do with you."

"Absolutely nothing. But when I read in the Prophet, sometime after Christmas, that you've been expelled from Hogwarts and given two months in Azkaban for violating the International Statute of Secrecy, I'll be curious to know why."

Oh, that's right - I am now legally old enough to go to prison. Thank you so much for reminding me.

"I bet you'd like that!"

"As I said, it's none of my business. I'm not about to peach, if that's what's worrying you."

"Good. Remember, Stebbins, my problems are my concern so just bloody well keep out of my way."

I ordered the drinks and we returned to the table, both of us with identical forced smiles.

"Alexandra," trilled Mrs Stebbins. "You never told me your uncle went to Beauxbatons. He's been telling me all about it."

First I knew about it.

"That's right, Uncle Douglas. What was the reason for you going there?"

"It was all because of poor great-uncle Stanislous," said Charles, sadly. "He became, well, rather eccentric in his old age. I was always his favourite nephew and he left my parents a bequest on the condition that the money would used to send me to Beauxbatons. He was always keen on all things French and he thought it important that I grow up fluent in both languages."

Boy oh boy, he is good!

"Why Beauxbatons?" I asked Charles later.

"I had to say something," he said. "That woman was one of the nosiest people I've ever met. When she started talking about school, I knew it was a matter of time before she asked me if Doctor Turveydroop had taught me pulling rabbits out of hats, or whatever nonsense they teach you in that place in Scotland. The French school was mentioned in a newspaper you left lying about the flat, so I guessed that if I said I went there, I could make up anything I liked and she would never be the wiser."

So while Ben and I glared at each other, Charles responded to Mrs Stebbins' curiosity with a brief life history that corkscrewed between the vaguely truthful and the wildly inventive; although, somehow, it was never quite implausible. He managed to give a mostly accurate account of how he earned a living and, despite another kick, he even threw in a hint that she should get in touch if she had any interesting old knick-knacks she wanted rid of (non-magical, preferably; best prices paid.)

After finishing her cordial, Mrs Stebbins thanked Charles and declared they really had to be going. I made a play of looking at my watch and said likewise. I didn't want us to hang about in the Cauldron any longer. The thought of encountering more people who knew me was worrying (and my luck made the bloody Weasley twins practically an inevitability.)

"Send us a letter, Alexandra, if you want to come up to stay for a few days after Christmas," said Mrs Stebbins. "We've got lots of room and we'd all love to have you."

Her youngest son might have disagreed, but he kept silent.

"Thank you, Mrs Stebbins. That sounds wonderful - I'll let you know."

With that, they stepped into the fireplace and vanished.

We got up and I led Charles to the yard at the back of the Cauldron. I tapped the well known brick wall and we went through into Diagon Alley. He looked suspiciously unamazed. If he was preoccupied with his stolen property, that was understandable. It was equally possible he was more familiar with the wizard world than he let on. But this was not the time to pry.

We passed down the narrow cobbled street. The shops were all closed and shuttered and there were few people about. Without the distraction of its daytime bustle, Diagon Alley seemed less remote from the rest of London. Faint wisps of traffic noise sometimes drifted in from the surrounding streets. Looking up, I could see the lights of distant office buildings and an occasional aircraft descending towards Heathrow airport. Not that people here would notice any of those, the mental block that makes Muggles ignore wizard things sometimes works in reverse surprisingly well.

I had only been in Diagon Alley on a handful of occasions; never after dark. Even during the years when my family was in Britain, I had been brought here only occasionally. Mother seemed to have drifted away from the wizarding world over the years and had no interest in coming here without a good reason. So, aside from the August shopping trip for school supplies, the only time we came was the tedious annual ritual of the special Christmas shopping trip for Great Aunt Ursula, who was a miserable old snob and likely to go all sniffy if she was sent a Muggle box of chocolates instead of the Honeydukes equivalent.

Charles morosely clumped along between the small pools of light cast by street lanterns. He was immersed in his thoughts and paid little attention to his surroundings. Were wizards like policemen and priests? Was it against the law to impersonate one? I didn't know. Though by then, I had little fear of being challenged. Charlie seemed naturally at home in his role; it was hard to see him as anything other than a wizard. Anybody looking at him would have placed him as yet another middle-ranking Ministry bureaucrat, probably ex-Ravenclaw, with a family tree as long as your arm and a life-long passion of the Tutshill Tornados.

"I think I remember that Stubby Boardman chap," he said, completely out of the blue.

"What are you talking about?"

"My brother's and your mother's wedding, of course. I was about your age. It was a nice occasion and the reception was the first time I got quite dr- Oh... let's just say your mother's never quite forgiven me. But I do remember him and his band because I remember thinking bagpipes, a hurdy-gurdy player and a girl with a lute was an unusual line-up. But weird folk bands were all the rage in the 70's; whatever happened to them?"

"Don't know, don't care. Look, that's Knockturn Alley, we've got to go this way."

"Oh, the nice bit you talked about?"

"I wasn't kidding, you know! From now on, keep your eyes open and don't walk in the gutter - round here, I don't think sewage disposal has advanced much since 1600!"

"That reminds me of Damascus; I went there last year to buy -"

"Please, Uncle, save the story for a time when I'm not terrified."

***

Like Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley was also mostly empty. But that only served to make us even more painfully conspicuous and make me even more nervous. The street was narrow and the few shops were heavily boarded up. Pools of light spilled from the windows of the Black Dragon pub, but we hurried past that without stopping.

In theory, if you worked in London, being a wizard gave you a wide choice of places to live as pretty much anywhere was within easy Floo or Apparating reach of the city. Yet not everybody could Apparate and the fact the Floo network was run by the Ministry meant some people has reasons for being circumspect when using it. A lot of wizards lived in Muggle London - which is all very nice if you happened to have inherited some mansion that was made unplotable about two hundred years ago and was long forgotten by Muggles. If you were less lucky, living in London could involve hideous complications. I mean, imagine you're trying to rent a flat. When the rental agency asks for references and proof of income, you can't exactly explain that your job in the Magical Trading Standards Body at the Ministry gives you a steady three thousand Galleons a year, can you? If you think you could always get a loan from Gringotts to buy your own place, then take a squint at the interest rates they charge - that alone should tell you that goblins have never forgotten what wizards did to their chief, Bramkarz the Third, back in 1624.

The last option, was to live in the wizard ghetto. It was crowded, the rent, even for something small, could be hideous, it could be darned dangerous and, during high summer, it was not exactly fragrant. Still, it was the choice of many.

We found the place - number fifteen, Clunch Lane. Like most of the buildings in the wizarding part of London, it was old: a timber-framed building whose enormous black beams were slowly sagging with the weight of centuries. It must have been a relic of the original wizard settlement that had existed here long before it was engulfed by an ever expanding London, The floor shop was dark and had the shutters closed, but from the signboard, it looked like it was used by a tanner who cured dragon skins. That would keep the rent down. Anybody living here would be spending most of their time putting up wards to keep the stink out.

On the upper floor, light peeking between the window shutters showed that somebody was at home. We climbed a rickety outside staircase and came to a door. Charlie had his hands thrust deep into his coat pockets so he nodded at me, indicating that I was to knock.

There was no response so I knocked again, then a third time, it took a while before whoever was inside got the idea that their visitor wasn't going to give up and go away. When the door opened, I put on my least sincere smile

"Good evening. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr Mitchell?" That was a pointless question - I knew who I was speaking to and it wasn't a pleasure. He had only seen me once, in September, and he clearly didn't recognise me.

"Piss off!" He was about to shut the door in my face.

"Now hold on a second, sport. This is Mr Sutton. He's come to have a little chat with you about last night."

That got his attention. He narrowed his eyes, then silently stepped aside and held the door open.

Inside, the room was your usual wizard bachelor pad. There was nothing decorative - bare, whitewashed walls, heavy oak furniture. Most of items were unmatched and gave the impression they had been picked up here and there. Yet the room was neither dirty nor untidy; few wizard households are. Housework spells are so quick and easy that only the laziest slob can't be bothered to use them.

However, there was a distinct shortage of Greek red-figure volute-kraters, Etruscan alabaster funerary urns and Roman glass wine jars. Instead two more men were warming themselves by the fireplace. A bottle of Ogden's and three glasses indicated we had interrupted something.

The two turned to look at what had barged in out of the cold night. One was in his forties. He was round faced and flabby but still looked powerful. He regarded us critically with an unpleasant gaze. The other one couldn't have been more than ten years older than me and was distinctly easy on the eyes. He was bulkier across the shoulders than across the belly. Dark eyes contrasted with neat blonde hair and light freckled skin that would burn in about ten seconds on a sunny day. I might have liked the idea of spending time in his company. But there was a certain something in the way he looked at me that suggested he'd be the sort who'd set fire to his own mother to keep warm.

"Leave us for a bit, lads, there's something I need to discuss in private," said Mitchell. From his relaxed tone, these two were friends rather than underlings, but they nodded and got up anyway. They disappeared into a back room, making sure to take the bottle with them.

As a friendly deterrent to any funny business, I casually folded my arms, with my wand firmly clasped in my right hand. If Mitchell was surprised then he didn't show it. Perhaps he assumed I was only some wand-for-hire who was there to get Charlie in and out of Knockturn Alley in one piece. He picked up his glass and emptied it with a gulp.

"That was quick, Mr Sutton. I'm impressed. But all you've done is save me the effort of calling you. My terms are thirty thousand pounds - take it or leave it. And don't think you can negotiate because I've already got buyers lined up for this stuff."

We were too polite to scoff at the obvious bluff.

"I'll leave it," said Charles, calmly, "because I like my terms better. We have pictures of you taken by my security cameras. If you return my property back right now, I'll forget about what happened. Otherwise, I'll tell the police."

The Metropolitan Police were a nonsensical threat to a wizard. Mitchell looked surprised, then guffawed, which showed he hadn't thought it through. Wearily, Charles had to spell it out.

"If I call the Muggle police to investigate my burglary, they'll never solve the case. But that's not the point. Sooner or later, the Muggle newspapers will find out; believe me, I have enough journalist contacts to make sure of that. A story of a thief who can walk through walls will be a sensation and your picture will be on every front page in the country. The Ministry of Magic will find themselves dealing with the worst violation of magic secrecy in years and they'll certainly not be happy. When they inevitably find you, they're likely to take out all their vexations by chucking you in Azkaban so fast it'll make your head spin. It goes without saying that it'll never occur to them that I, a mere Muggle, had anything to do with it."

I've never seen a person's expression change so fast, from amusement to, well... the opposite. It looked to me like we had Mitchell in a vice. The twit would recognise he had no choice but to do as he was told. This was turning out to be fun; I was so confident we held all the cards that I let myself relax. Unfortunately, Mitchell decided there was another option open to him. With a single fluid motion, he whisked his wand from a fold in his robe.

"IMPEDIMENTA! "

Oh, fudge!

I tried to jump out of the way, but instead went crashing to the floor as my legs felt like they'd became two lengths of wood. My wand flew out of my hand and the impact knocked the breath out of me.

However, as a typical wizard, Mitchell thought I was the only threat - Charlie was a Muggle and hence irrelevant. That was a bad mistake; Charles leapt forward and delivered a crunching uppercut to Mitchell's chin that would have made me wince if I wasn't busy dragging myself forward to get to my wand. A vicious looking knuckle-duster explained why Charlie had kept his hand in his pocket. Knowing him, an old, rare and valuable one that had been featured on the cover of Brass Knuckle Collector's Monthly, but that's beside the point. By this time, the message had finally gotten through to the two brain-boxes next door that something was up. The door was flung open and they both tumbled into the room, just as my fingers reached my wand.

"STUPIFY! "

My stunner hit moustache man square in the chest and he went down with a lumbering crash that made the floorboards shake. His blond chum couldn't stop himself, tripped over him and went down as well. Meanwhile, Charlie had got an arm around Mitchell's neck and was jabbing a thumb into one of his eyes. The kind of dirty move only known to people who were brought up in the worst slums or who went to one of the better English private schools.

Blondie had disentangled himself from his unconscious companion and was up. I shot another stunner but, awkwardly aimed from where I was on the floor, the flash of red light went wide and only resulted in a round singed patch on the wall. There was no chance for a third. He kicked my wand out of my hand. Then, almost as afterthought, he decided to make sure I would give no more trouble. I had a momentary glimpse of a heavy boot before it hit me. For a second after it struck my face, I felt no pain, just the whiplash as the blow knocked my head back. Then a second kick; my glasses had been dislodged so I had no warning - the first I knew about it was the agonising impact on my face. My mouth filled with blood that I spat out stop myself from choking. I was surprised by a handful of loose hard lumpy things that seemed to have come from nowhere. I was now short of several front teeth.

The room was now a blur. Loud shouts, crashes and crackling flashes of light showed somebody was flinging hexes. I guessed this was my attacker taking down Charles with stunners. What was going to happen next? Mitchell was obviously going to demand our evidence and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. And even if we agreed to hand the tapes over straight away, this bunch would still want to pay us back, with interest, for their injuries.

My stomach tightened. If they were half the scum I thought they were, I knew it was likely I would also be receiving a personal and intimate demonstration of the fact they had won and they reckoned themselves to be completely in control of the situation.

Whatever. I only wanted it to be over.

"Oh bloody hell, Alex. You're a mess," said a blur.

Ben?

***

Strong hands grasped my shoulders and pulled me up into a sitting position against a wall. I heard Ben muttering Reparo and my glasses were gently replaced. My broken nose had swollen so much they would scarcely fit and their delicate weight felt agonising. But it was worth it to see what was going on.

The three men were lying unconscious in strange contorted positions on the floor. Charles squatted in front of me so I could see him.

"Are you all right, Alex?"

"Mwuahh!"

With my lip split open, my mouth mangled up and my face feeling like it was on fire, I was unable to voice viciously frank opinions of him, his devious scams, his damned antique pots, his idiotic plans and his bloody stupid questions. All I could do was stare balefully at him for a few seconds then spit out another tooth.

Very theatrical, I know. But I think I made the point; I was perversely happy to see his appalled look.

"I found the stuff, Alex" he said sheepishly. "That magic sack was in a cupboard."

They would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for us pesky -

"Mr Sutton," said Ben, earnestly. "I know we must get Alex to a hospital, but you must tell me what was going on. So we can decide what to do with these three..."

Charles quickly explained most of it. The end result was that Ben agreed to carry out memory charms on the three men so they wouldn't bother us again. If he was a little inexperienced and clumsy with the charms, and wiped out Mitchell's memories of the last six months or so, then I wasn't going to loose any sleep. The leg lock curse was removed from my legs and I was conducted back to the Leaky Cauldron where the fireplace would take me to Saint Mungo's.

***

They fixed my nose, but made me stay overnight so the potion to grow new teeth could have a chance to work. Not that I slept a wink - I was finding out exactly why babies cry so much when they're teething. In the morning, I was given a final perfunctory check-over and discharged. As I passed through the waiting area, on the way out, I saw a familiar face. His clothing was rumpled and he was in need of a shave.

"Oh damn it all, Ben! You didn't stay here all night?"

He shrugged and looked awkward. He tried to give the impression that spending the night in an uncomfortable chair in a public waiting room was something he often did as a hobby and he had happened to like the look of this one.

"You'd better telephone your uncle, Alex. He was quite frantic last night but it was impossible for him to come with us to St. Mungo's so I promised to make sure you were all right."

"Um... okay, I'll do that." It was hard to say which of us was more embarrassed. Slytherin teaches rigid self-reliance and continuous, low-level paranoia. But that does mean you're a bit off-balance and confused when somebody is genuinely concerned with your wellbeing; it's such a novelty.

We passed through the St Mungo's peculiar window-display entrance (what's wrong with a door? I swear, I'll never understand wizards) and out onto Clerkenwell Road. It was one of those cold bright winter mornings that make London such a contrast to the miserable damp of Scotland. At this time of the morning, the shops were just opening and there were few pedestrians. But the morning rush-hour was still in full flow and the traffic noise was almost unbearable after the calm silence inside. I quickly found a phone-box and shouted into the mouthpiece to Charles that I was fine, I would be on my way home as soon as I found a taxi and there were no permanent scars which my parents might blame him for.

"Do you want to come back to Charlie's place, Ben?" An approaching taxi was slowing in response to my frantic waves.

"Sorry, I can't. I owled the folks after they took you up to the ward last night. I told them you'd had an accident and they were keeping you overnight. Mum said I could stay as long as I didn't leave St Mungo's, but she wanted me home first thing."

"The least I can do is take you as far as the Cauldron. Hi there, mate...can you take us to Foyle's on the Charring Cross Road?"

***

At the Cauldron, I told the taxi to wait. To hell with the ticking meter! Charlie would pay - I'd make sure of that.

"One question, Ben. How did you manage, so superbly, to be at the right place at the right time last night?

He grinned, not showing a shred of modesty. "I followed you out of the Cauldron. I told Mum you two were planning dinner at a Chinese restaurant in Soho and you had invited me along. Mum said okay. Don't laugh, but she likes you and I think she could even have you filed away as a possible future daughter-in-law."

"I'm not laughing - dear God, that's bizarre!"

"Isn't it just. Anyway, I dropped the shopping at home and Flooed straight back, just in time to catch you leaving. I trailed you all the way to that place in Knockturn Alley. A minute after you went in, the ruckus started so I came in after you. The rest you know. "

"I was lying about the one question. Why did you do it?"

Now he really did look embarrassed. "Oh...let's just say, Alex, I've known you long enough not to be fooled by your bluster. I thought you looked worried, and not just because you were taking a stupid risk by bringing a Muggle relative into the Cauldron. As you once said yourself, you don't break rules without a good reason so it was obvious something was badly wrong and I suppose, well... life's been dull since we've been not speaking to each other."

As good a reason as any...

"Are we friends again?"

"Friends."

"Then I'll see you at King's Cross in January. Enjoy the Yule Ball."

He sighed. "You've known Sarah Fawcett as long as I have - an eleven year old boy with the body of a seventeen year old girl. We're only going to the ball together because neither of us could get a partner. I think in her case, all the blokes were put off by the thought they might get Bulbadox powder poured down the back of their dress robes during a slow dance."

And with an air of glum imminent martyrdom, he walked through the door into the Leaky Cauldron.

Oh there's still a chance there, Alex. Damn, there's still a chance.

***