The Affairs of Wizards

5. Muggle Studies

The next few weeks were difficult. Wizard workplaces are no different from Muggle ones when it comes to gossip, and this one had a very efficient and highly active grapevine. Word quickly went round that the incident in the potions lab had been no accident. After that rumours spread like wildfire. In the space of a couple of weeks I heard that the explosion was a Death Eater assassination attempt on Malfoy, that Malfoy had joined the Death Eaters and sabotaged his own lab to prove his loyalty, that Neville had found out Malfoy was having an affair with his girlfriend and had sabotaged the lab to get at Malfoy, and that Pansy had found out I was having an affair with Malfoy and had sabotaged the lab to get at me. With the last one we'd entered the realms of the truly bizarre.

In the midst of all this rampant speculation we had the difficult task of getting the lab back into production as quickly as possible, while looking over our shoulders and wondering what the hell our saboteur would think of next. Fuses were short and tempers easily lost. Neville and I had to intervene more than once to keep Malfoy from hexing some unfortunate, and I literally had to step between Neville and Malfoy when Neville, in a highly uncharacteristic display of temper, threatened to hex Malfoy if he didn't stop threatening to hex people. I started to feel there was something to be said for the simple fisticuffs of the Muggle world. At least the only risk was a bloody nose, not being turned into a toad or something else equally unpleasant.

Security was heavier than ever. Malfoy and Neville had had a lengthy and bad tempered meeting with Treadwell and his boss, Goyle. Treadwell was now walking on eggs, very much aware that his job was on the line. Malfoy, so Neville told me, had made it very clear that, friendship notwithstanding, Goyle Global was out on its ear if another such incident occurred. Finding the culprit and stopping the sabotage was henceforth Treadwell's top priority.

Still, there were compensations, my developing relationship with Blaise being one. True to his word, he'd invited me out again, and after several more dates we were acknowledged by those around us not just to be going out together but Going Out Together. In fact, we'd reached the stage where I could sense he wanted to take things further but he appeared to be waiting for me to give him some sort of signal of the "do you want to come in for a coffee?" kind. It was frustrating that I wasn't in a position to do this while I was still living at Mum and Dad's. I badly wanted to get my own place, and soon, before Blaise got tired of waiting.

Another bright spot was Elaine Fogworthy, who started work a week after the disaster, and proved to be a god-send. She bought order out of chaos and relieved me of the chore of finding the things Neville lost and getting Malfoy to meetings on time. I watched, amused, as she mothered Neville and flirted with Malfoy. Ditzy, whose nose had been put out of joint at first, became her willing slave. I was relieved that I could now leave office routine in Elaine's capable hands while I concentrated on the product launch.

Things were going better with that, too, since I'd managed to shunt Pansy's mob to one side. O'Neill's, the agency I'd selected, had really come up with the goods. We now had a name - Rememdium, which was simply Latin for "cure" - and a launch campaign tailored to suit our budget, the highlight of which was a lavish launch party to be held in the Manor's long-unused ballroom on the ground floor of the East Wing.

With the launch campaign underway, it was time to start wooing potential customers. For the next few weeks Neville, Malfoy and I were caught up in a continuous series of meetings with prospective customers that all followed the same pattern - initial pitch at their offices, followed by a tour of the facility, followed (hopefully) by an order. It was looking good so far. Most of the big health food chains were interested, and we'd plans to attend some of the major New Age fairs and exhibitions to attract the independents. Emboldened by our success, we started approaching the high street chemists chains.

It was the night before one such meeting that Malfoy made a surprising proposal to me.

***

I was on my way home after a day filled with last minute arrangements for the next day's site tour which had culminated in a shouting match with Treadwell when I had the temerity to ask him to tone down the Goyle presence in the areas we would be visiting. I was tired out and planning an evening filled with nothing more taxing than a long hot soak and bed. I found Malfoy at the table in the main office, hunched over a text book and making notes. He looked almost as tired as I felt.

"Isn't it time you went home?" Home, for Malfoy, was the first floor of the Manor's East Wing, part of which, so Neville had told me, he'd had remodelled into a self-contained bachelor flat. Living over the office - so to speak - wasn't exactly good for him. He had a tendency to arrive too early and leave too late. "Typical driven bloody Slytherin," was how Neville put it.

Malfoy looked up, and smiled wearily. "I could say the same to you." Our relationship had moved on since that ill-tempered interview. We still sparred, but there was an element of jokiness to it now which made me feel more comfortable with him. I enjoyed my ability to make that freezing reserve crack into an occasional laugh.

"OK, OK, I'm just going. At least take that book back with you and get something to eat while you read."

Malfoy slammed the book shut, and sat back with a heavy sigh. "Damn thing's useless anyway. You're right - might as well call it a day." Curious, I pulled the book towards me and read the title.

"Muggle Life - A Sociological Study. What on earth are you poring over that for? If there's something you want to know about Muggles you can just ask me."

"You were employed to handle our marketing, not act as my personal consultant on Muggle affairs," Malfoy replied stiffly. "You were busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"Keep your hair on. I was only trying to help."

Malfoy relaxed a little. "I know." He drew his wand from his sleeve, and pointed it in the direction of his office. "Accio firewhisky." A silver tray, containing a cut glass decanter full of amber liquid and two matching glasses, zoomed into the office and plonked itself on the table in front of him. "Drink?"

This was the nearest Malfoy would ever get to an apology, so I didn't push my luck. "I was going home - oh, alright, just a small one. I'm driving."

He splashed firewhisky liberally into both glasses and handed one to me. "Not after this, you're not. Leave your car here, and I'll get Nobby to take you back. Tell him what time to pick you up tomorrow." Flying cars, courtesy of the ubiquitous 3W Corporation, were the current craze among the affluent young of the Wizarding World. Malfoy, true to form, owned a top of the range flying Merc, complete with a rather over-enthusiastic house-elf chauffeur.

I took a sip of the stuff. He was right. I hadn't tasted anything so powerful since Uni. Even one would put me over the limit. I stayed quiet, giving him the space to talk if he wanted to. This was the first time Malfoy had been even vaguely close to opening up, and I didn't want to do anything to cause him to retreat back into his shell.

Malfoy stared thoughtfully into his whisky, and admitted, "I was trying to find out why a Muggle apothecary named itself after an item of footwear." It took a lot of self control not to laugh. I told myself sternly that anyone unfamiliar with the company might have made the same mistake, after all.

"The name doesn't have anything to do with the kind of boots you put on your feet. Boot was the family name of the company's founder - Jesse Boot. And they don't refer to themselves as apothecaries these days - they call themselves chemists."

Malfoy threw himself back in his chair with a snort of exasperation. "Of course! Great Salazar's tits, why didn't I think of that? There was a Muggle-born prefect at Hogwarts called Boot, Terry Boot." He took a large draught of whisky and shook his head. "I feel like a centaur in a herd of hippogriffs when we have meetings with Muggles. Longbottom's alright - he did Muggle Studies."

"He still didn't know who Elvis was."

"Who?"

"Never mind. It's not important."

Malfoy shook his head. "But it is. You cannot sell something to people you know nothing about. True?" I nodded. "When we meet these people tomorrow I will not just be selling the product, I will be selling myself. Yet, I know nothing about Muggles - even down to why they would want to buy our product in the first place." He paused, took another slug of whisky, and refilled his glass. "Actually -" He stopped, looking almost diffident, if that were possible for Malfoy. I waited patiently, and he eventually steeled himself to go on. "I've been thinking of asking you this for a while. Will you teach me about Muggles?"

If he'd asked me to fly to the moon with him I couldn't have been more taken aback. "Why me? Surely there must be dozens of Muggle-born wizards and witches you could ask? Or how about Elaine? She'd know a lot more about the differences between the two worlds than I would."

"I am not asking Mrs Fogworthy, I am asking you," Malfoy replied with a return of his usual asperity. "You still live in the Muggle world. I want you to help me understand what it's like." When I still looked uncertain, he added, "I'll pay you for your time, of course." I gave him a sceptical look. "And, yes, I've checked your contract of employment. There's nothing in it that prohibits you entering into a private arrangement of this sort. Think of it as a consultancy fee."

I had to admit the idea was attractive. In return for tutoring Malfoy about the world I lived in I would have the extra money to clear my debts more quickly and get a place of my own.

"How much?"

***

"It's the last thing I would have expected," I confessed to Elaine several days later. We were enjoying a Thank God It's Friday gossip before heading home for the weekend.

Elaine smiled. "Well, I'm just glad he finally asked you. I could see him struggling, poor lad, but he wouldn't ask anyone for help. Too proud."

I eyed her, suspiciously. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

She looked at me with exaggerated innocence. "Now why should you think that?" I continued to stare at her, and she finally admitted, "Well, maybe just a teensy weensy bit. I might have sort of mentioned that you could do with the money right now -"

I folded my arms, torn between amusement and anger. "Elaine Fogworthy, you are - "

" - An interfering old bat?" she finished for me. "So my children constantly tell me."

"I can see what they mean." I smiled, to take the sting out of the words. "Never mind. The money is going to come in useful, and it's nice to have Malfoy at a disadvantage for a change. The real problem is that I have absolutely no idea where to start."

Elaine pursed her lips. "Well, he's a pureblood, so I think its safe to assume he knows absolutely nothing at all about the Muggle world, full stop."

"Obviously, but what I actually meant is where do I start?"

"Take my advice," Elaine said, "and ask your cousin. After all, if memory serves, she wrote the Muggle Studies curriculum for Hogwarts, didn't she?"

"She did?"

"You didn't know?" I shook my head. "That was a few years ago, of course. She's Head of the Muggle Liaison Department now." She caught my bewildered expression. "You didn't know that, either, did you?"

"No," I muttered, somewhat shamefaced. "I never asked." I beat a hasty retreat shortly after, with Elaine's knowing smile following me out of the door.

As it turned out, I didn't have to steel myself to approach Hermione for help as she got in touch with me first. Sunday morning saw me scanning the To Let ads in the Swindon Evening Advertiser trying to decide between 1 bed, ch, dep and refs reqd and studio, ch, grd flr, gdn when Dad, who had been pottering in the garden, stuck his head round the door.

"Vanessa - owl." My parents had become somewhat blasé about the comings and goings of owls. After a couple more unfortunate incidents with our living room chimney in the early days I'd taken Neville's advice and invested in a perch which we put on the patio.

I went outside and found a demented feathered tennis-ball whizzing from one end of the patio to the other with gay abandon. It definitely wasn't one of the Manor owls who were all far too dignified for such antics. It spotted me, alighted on the perch, and stuck its leg out. I relieved it of its burden, and it went back to its aerial acrobatics while I read the letter.

Dear Vanessa,

Sorry I had to owl. We're at Ron's parents for the weekend, and they don't have a phone. Don't mind Pig, he's getting on a bit, and he tends to get over-excited when we actually give him a letter to deliver.

I'm dying to know how you're getting on. I wondered if you fancied coming round early next week. Ron's on a case and I'm on my own. It would be nice to see you.

Love,

Hermione

Quite apart from my need for information, I actually found myself looking forward with pleasure to spending an evening in Hermione's company. I sent the owl back with a "yes" and returned to my adverts.

***

The following Tuesday found me ringing the doorbell of Hermione and Ron's flat on the top floor of an enormous Victorian semi in North London. Hermione opened the door with the tiny hyperactive owl whizzing maniacally around her head.

"Pig, stop it! Perch - now!! Hello, Vanessa. Come on in."

Hermione and Ron's spacious living room was an extraordinary mixture of Muggle and Wizard clutter. A cluster of family photos, some moving some not, hung over the fireplace, by the side of which stood an enormous plasma screen TV. Every available stretch of wall was covered with books - mostly Hermione's, I guessed, as Ron hadn't struck me as much of a reader. A computer, hooked up to one of the 3W black boxes, sat on an untidy desk in the corner, while a CD player emitted the strains of a Mozart symphony from one of the shelves. The furniture was Ikea but the lighting was all wizard - candles everywhere. I wondered what their insurance premiums cost, if they could get anyone to insure them at all, that was.

Hermione shoved an elderly ginger cat off the sofa, and gestured to one of the armchairs. "Make yourself comfortable, and I'll get you a drink." She went though a door into what was obviously the kitchen, judging by the rather enticing smell of cooking wafting from that direction. I sat down and the cat, with the facility demonstrated by felines everywhere for spotting a soft touch, jumped up, settled itself on my lap and purred away contentedly.

I studied the pictures over the mantelpiece, the centrepiece of which was a wizard photo of what had to be Ron's family, judging by the prevalence of red hair and freckles. Sitting in the centre of the group were a motherly looking witch and a balding wizard who waved at me cheerfully, and smiled when I waved back. I spotted a teenage Ron standing behind his parents, with one arm round Hermione's waist and the other over the shoulders of a slim bespectacled young man with dark hair, who had to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself, Harry Potter. Flanking these three were two handsome young men somewhat older than Ron, one sporting a pony-tail and an earring in the shape of a fang. Sprawled on the ground at the front of the group were two stockily-built young men identical in every aspect, down to the evil grins they both wore. Sitting between them was a pretty teenage girl with a shock of red hair. The legend below the photo read, The Burrow, Summer 1996.

Hermione re-emerged carrying two glasses of red wine. "Red alright?"

"Fine. I'm an equal opportunity drinker."

"Dinner'll be ready shortly." She sat on the sofa. "I see you've made friends with Crookshanks."

I scratched the cat behind his ears, and he upped the purr rate. "Cats tend to home in on me. I think I must have MUG tattooed on my forehead in Cat."

Hermione laughed. "I'll bear that in mind next time I want a cat sitter. Genuine mugs are in short supply. Crookshanks is part Kneazle, and he doesn't take to people that easily."

"I'm honoured," I told the cat, who blinked, as if to say, don't let it go to your head.

"How's Ron?"

"Fine, fine, just up to his eyes in it. This case of his is one of those that drag on and on, and get nowhere. Just his luck to get this one the moment he was assigned to the Death Eater Mop-Up Squad." The "Death Eater Mop-Up Squad" was something of a misnomer for the group of Aurors assigned to catch the remnants of Lord Voldemort's dark army, as the remaining Death Eaters had been stubbornly refusing to be mopped-up for the last ten years. A new generation of disgruntled purebloods was carrying the torch, and a low level of activity continued. Like most real wars the wizard one had not ended with a neat victory and a happy ever after.

"Who is it?"

"Lestrange."

"I thought Neville put her in Azkaban for good."

Hermione shook her head. "Not Bellatrix; her daughter, Ariadne. She's the leader of a Death Eater cell operating somewhere in the South East. Ron thinks he's finally got a lead after months of banging his head against a brick wall." She sat back, and took a sip of her wine. "Now, tell me how you're getting on."

I gave her a heavily edited version of my life at Magus so far, leaving out the business of the saboteur, and making out that the incident in the potions lab had been a straightforward accident. Even so, I was surprised that there was so much to tell. Hermione was a good listener, and I found myself basking in the warmth of her attention. Her eyes widened when I mentioned Blaise.

"Blaise Zabini? Goodness! All the girls in Gryffindor fancied him like mad. We used to have long intense conversations after lights out which always started, "I know he's a Slytherin, but -" You lucky girl."

"I can't imagine you gossiping about boys. I always thought you were chained to a library desk for the whole of your schooldays."

"Even the class swot has to have time off sometimes," Hermione replied with injured dignity. "Come on, tell me all about Zabini. Lavender Brown used to say he was sex on legs. Well?"

"I haven't had a chance to find out yet," I retorted, glumly. "Living at home does rather tend to cramp one's style." By this time we had finished dinner, and were relaxing by the fire with coffee and a second bottle of wine. I'd almost forgotten that I wanted to ask a favour of Hermione until that moment. "As a matter of fact -"

I told Hermione about Malfoy's proposal. Her eyes lit up with amusement. "I'm tempted to say it serves him right. He was always horribly snobbish about all things Muggle at school, and now here he is having to ask a Muggle for help. Priceless."

"The trouble is that I need to give the whole thing some structure, and I don't know where on earth to begin."

Hermione picked her wand up from the coffee table. "This might help. Accio Muggle Studies text books, curriculum, lesson plans." The air was suddenly full of flying objects, homing in on the coffee table. Two hefty textbooks arrived from somewhere on the shelves, while a filing cabinet by the desk disgorged a couple of blue folders with the elaborate Hogwarts crest stamped on them in gold. "There you are - textbooks, curriculum outline and lesson plans for the current Muggle Studies course at Hogwarts. I'm sure there's something there you can use." She conjured up a box, put everything in it, and shrank it to a size to fit into my handbag. "Just tap it and say Engorgio when you get home."

"Thanks, I'm really grateful."

"Don't mention it. I'm glad to help."

We spent the rest of the evening in a convivial, if rambling, comparison of our taste in books, plays, films, clothes and men, finding out along the way that we had a lot more in common than either of us had ever been prepared to admit. It gradually dawned on me that if it hadn't been for our mothers Hermione and I might have been friends. It was past midnight when a crack from the hallway signalled Ron's arrival. He came into the living room, pulled off his Auror's uniform cloak and flung it over the back of a chair.

"Any of that wine left? No? Ah well, probably not a good idea at this time of night. Hi Vanessa." He flung himself down beside Hermione on the sofa, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked.

"We were within a hairs-breadth of catching her when that bloody prat Carstairs decides to try some heroics. She Stunned him, and by the time I got there she'd Apparated."

"You'll get her next time," Hermione said firmly.

"Bloody well better," Ron grumbled. "If Carstairs gets in the way again I'll hex him within an inch of his life."

I looked at my watch. "It's late. Time I was going."

"I'll Apparate you back," Ron offered.

"I'll do it," Hermione said. "You're exhausted."

"And you're in no fit state, love," Ron said, firmly. "I can just see the headlines in the Prophet now - Granger in Splinching Incident with Muggle."

"That's rich coming from someone who Apparated back from the Hog's Head one night after sinking a whole bottle of firewhisky with Dung Fletcher."

"Children, children," I interjected, holding up my hand. "It's alright, I'll get the train."

After a bit more arguing, Ron carried his point. Hermione and I wished each other good night, and I told her I'd cook her dinner to celebrate when I found a flat.

"Thanks for the lift," I said to Ron, as we arrived outside Mum and Dad's. "Tell Hermione I had a great time."

"Glad you did." He smiled down at me. "Family's too important to let stupid feuds get in the way." I found myself thinking of the Weasley family photograph I'd seen in their flat. According to Hermione, Ron had lost two brothers and a sister in the Voldemort war, and one of those brothers had been estranged from the family when he died. Had he been instrumental in persuading Hermione to issue tonight's invitation? If so, I was grateful to him.

I smiled back at him. "Yes, it is."

***

The Magus canteen was the Manor's former conservatory. It was a pleasant place to sneak a few moments early in the morning away from the demands of the main office, surrounded by some of Neville's more docile plants and with the sound of the fountain playing in the background. The morning after my visit to Hermione's found me nursing a large coffee and a slight hangover while skimming through one of the textbooks that she had lent me. I looked up as a familiar voice enquired, "Can I join you?" Jocasta Wellbeloved, carrying a cup of coffee and a croissant, was standing over me.

"Of course." I shut the book and placed it on the table. "How are things?"

"Hectic." Jocasta sat down. "We're on double shifts at the moment. Still, it's good news about advance sales, isn't it?" She looked strained and there were dark shadows under her eyes. I made a mental note to ask Neville to try and get Malfoy to ease up on the potions staff. Making up lost production was all very well but we didn't want people going off sick on us because of stress. Jocasta looked round, then lowered her voice. "Has there been anything more about - you know?"

I shook my head. "Not a thing."

"Perhaps they've given up," Jocasta said, hopefully. I doubted that but I let it ride. "What were you reading?" I held the book up so that she could see the title. "Oh, yes. We used that when I did Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. Why would you want to read it, though? Surely it must be rather boring for you?"

Although Malfoy hadn't exactly told me to keep our arrangement to myself, I doubted very much that he would want the staff knowing about it. "Just personal research. I wanted to know how you magical types view us Muggles. See ourselves as others see us and all that."

"Rabbie Burns, " Jocasta said, with a smile. In response to my look of surprise, she added, "My Dad was a Muggle-born. He taught us all about Muggle writers." She paused, and then went on, shyly, "Can I ask you something?"

"Course you can."

"What do you think of us, now you've seen us at close quarters?"

It was an interesting question. "Well," I paused to gather my thoughts, then went on, "you all seem to me to rely far too much on magic to do everything. I mean, how much effort does it take to get up and take a book down from a bookshelf, for God's sake?"

Jocasta laughed. "That's exactly what my Dad used to say. He was very keen on making sure we did things "the normal way" as well as using magic. Mum thought he was mad."

"The other thing I'm not keen on," I continued, warming to my subject, "is the attitude of the magical community as a whole towards Muggles. On the one hand you seem to be scared stiff of us - hence the International Statute of Secrecy and all the nonsense surrounding that - yet on the other you seem to regard us as helpless and in need of protection. You can't have it both ways. We're all human beings, we just have a different way of coping with the challenges life throws at us. Wizards use magic, we use gadgets."

"You sound a lot like my Dad," Jocasta commented. "I don't think he ever really stopped thinking of himself as a Muggle. He was constantly rowing with Mum about her attitude to my Grandma and Grandpa on his side. He was all for it when they repealed the Statute of Secrecy."

"Glad to hear there are wizards like your Dad around. I wish there were more of them."

Jocasta sighed. "Another thing he used to say was that it was madness the way Muggle-borns just had their Hogwarts letters dropped on them out of the blue without any warning. Nowadays they contact the parents when the baby's name goes down in the Book at Hogwarts, and the kids have introductory visits to the magical world as soon as they start showing the signs. I only wish he'd lived to see how much things have changed since he was a child." In response my questioning look, she amplified, "Cancer - the only thing magic can't cure."

On my way back to the main office, still turning over the essentials of the conversation in my mind, I bumped into Neville. When I mentioned my concern for Jocasta he shook his head.

"I'll talk to Draco but I doubt it'll do any good. He's been trying to get her to ease off but she's just doesn't know the meaning of the word, "No". The others take advantage of her because she's streets ahead of anyone else in there. In some ways she reminds me of L - of someone I knew during the War."

I'd often wondered about the photo of the slim girl with straggly blonde hair and an unfocused smile that stood on Neville's desk next to that of his current girlfriend, Tracey Davis, one of Malfoy's Redeemed Slytherins. Now I knew. I wondered how Tracey felt about it. It isn't easy competing with a ghost. But then Tracey was a war veteran, too. Perhaps she understood.

***

I didn't expect Malfoy to be an easy pupil, and I was right. By now I'd had several months practice dealing with him, and I knew he had an unerring ability to home in on any slight weakness and exploit it. It didn't pay to give him any ammunition, and I wasn't going to.

The material Hermione had given me and my conversation with Jocasta had both, in their different ways, been invaluable in helping me work out how to tackle the task ahead of me. The outline of the Hogwarts Muggle Studies course was typical Hermione - everything the average wizard could ever possibly want to know about Muggles crammed into a four-year course with an attention to detail that was positively frightening. Even assuming I could get Malfoy to stand still for it, it would take far too long to work through it in its entirety. Talking to Jocasta had given me inspiration. The essential difference between magician and Muggle was the way we handled the little things of daily life, and that was what I intended to concentrate on.

"Money," I announced at the beginning of our first session. We were seated opposite each other at the table in the main office after Elaine had left for the day. The choice of venue had been a matter of some debate. Malfoy had wanted us to use the living room of his flat but I preferred neutral territory, and after some sulking on his part I carried my point.

Malfoy raised an elegant eyebrow. "What of it?" He made it sound as if money was something he never thought about at all, which was probably true.

"That's the subject of the first lesson." I flipped open one of Hermione's textbooks, and read, "One of the essential keys to understanding any society is to comprehend the way it handles money."

Malfoy was off and running. "I fail to see the relevance. All societies have money, yes. That is all that really matters. Any differences in the way money is handled are purely cosmetic."

I'd been prepared for this one. "Show me your money."

"Pardon?"

"Show me your money." For a moment I thought he was going to protest but I'd got him intrigued now, so he played along. He drew a small bag from one of the pockets of his robe, enlarged it, and emptied it on to the table. A mound of golden Galleons and silver Sickles spilled across its surface. There were, I was amused to note, no bronze Knuts - such small change was below the notice of a Malfoy.

"So what we've got here is coins, gold and silver coins, right?" He nodded. I took my purse out of my handbag and emptied it out on the table in the same fashion - coins, notes, credit cards, the lot. "So here we are." I held up one of the coins. "This is money, Muggle money. But," I picked up one of the notes, "so is this - and this." I picked up one of the credit cards and handed it to him. He studied it dubiously. "So, here we already have an essential difference in how money is handled which goes way beyond the "purely cosmetic" as you put it. Wizard society has stayed with gold as a medium of exchange because by using magic you can manage to carry around large amounts of it without giving yourselves a hernia or getting mugged. Muggles, on the other hand, have adopted substitutes which stand for gold, such as paper, and that plastic card you're holding. See my point?"

He nodded again, still turning the card over in his hands. "How does it work?" I grinned inwardly. I'd got him. After that, things went fairly smoothly for the rest of the lesson. We covered the differences between wizard and Muggle banking practices, the role of credit in Muggle life, Muggle financial instruments such as insurance and mortgages, and finished off with a spirited argument about whether the economic structure of the Wizarding World was more stable than the Muggle one.

"Now, homework," I announced at the end of the lesson. Malfoy groaned.

"Merlin! You'll be telling me you want a three foot essay on Muggle money by Friday, next. Have mercy woman, I'm a busy man."

"No, this is practical, and I venture to say you might even enjoy it. I want you to find a Muggle bank, open a bank account, get yourself a credit card, and use it to buy something in a Muggle shop. OK?"

Malfoy grumbled but I could see his curiosity was engaged. While I didn't expect subsequent lessons to be plain sailing, I congratulated myself that the worst bit was over.

***

"You realise what you've done, don't you?" Blaise teased me the following week. We had just come out of the theatre, where we'd been watching Ken Branagh do his award-winning Macbeth to a packed house. I had no idea how Blaise had managed to get hold of the tickets, and I wasn't going to ask.

"No. What have I done?"

"Only let the biggest shopaholic ever to attend Hogwarts loose on the Muggle world, that's what."

"I'm sure his bank balance will stand the strain."

"Yes, but will the Muggle World? Better alert the Misuse of Magic Office. I dread to think of the consequences the first time some unknowing Muggle shop assistant tells Draco the exact colour he wants is out of stock."

I smiled, to cover my nerves. My stomach was full of clog-dancing butterflies, and I was barely listening to his banter. I had plans for tonight. The previous Saturday I'd moved into a cosy little garden flat in Swindon's Old Town. I drew a deep breath.

"Fancy a nightcap?" I could see that Blaise had got my message straight away, and his face lit up.

"Your place or mine?"

I smiled. "Oh, mine, I think."

***

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