I hold my wand ahead of me, ducking low to go through yet another support beam opening. I can’t believe this was all made by Muggles. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t entirely Muggle-made. I mean if it had been, it would never have survived the Blitz. Sure, the major grunt-work was done by Muggles; toting cart after cart of yellow bricks, mole-like, into the dark chasms of the earth on some crazy roller coaster-like contraption, mortaring them together while fighting off the ever-present fear of cave-ins. But oddly enough, it was Gellert Grindelwald who cast the Support Charms on the tunnels during World War Two. Otherwise, London would have been a much different city.

Now of course, don’t get me wrong. Grindelwald was no philanthropist. Truth is, he planned to turn the tunnels into prisons. Any Muggle who wouldn’t become subservient to Wizarding kind, would walk under his feet figuratively as well as literally. I remember Binns droning on and on about this and about how the Ministry of Magic would one day replace the Support Charms put in place by the old dark lord, but it seems, they have held up and despite his plans that never came to fruition, Gellert actually saved the Muggles and the Ministry tons of money. Like Voldemort, he was terrible, but great.

I’m hoping to find some evidence of Grindelwald’s presence here in the tunnels someday, other than the Support Charms that the Ministry Engineers found forty years ago. But for today I can only hope to find some jewellery like the earrings I sold to Terry several days ago.

Some of the tunnels are rather peaceful, still others I can’t imagine anyone finding solace or peace in. Yet they were all home to someone desperate during the years of war. It’s noisy as I turn a corner, bumping head-first into a dead end and listening in fascination as my cusses echo throughout the tunnels as I hold my throbbing nose. At first, I think the hissing sound is in my head from the knock I just took. But as the cusses echo dies down, I hear it.

The hissing first sounds like the normal noises down here. Sewer pipes, steam engines, modern trains, the odd teenager skiving off school talking in low whispers as if anyone would catch them down here. It reminds me of the restricted section of the library. The sound is so familiar, only now it’s not mixed with the shouts of other books rattling the bonds of their chains.

My pulse quickens which only serves to make my nose bleed faster. I really should have paid more attention in first aid when I was volunteered by Susan to be the crash test dummy for their required field medic training. But as I was the dummy and not an MLE trainee, I can hardly be blamed. Tissues in the nose it is.

I don’t want to risk a cave-in so I drill a small hole in the wall from which the sound is coming and use an endoscopic telescope to peer through. I’ll tell you where I got that later …

Anyway, I can clearly make out a rectangular shape that upon further inspection turns out to be a book. Like so many from the restricted section of the library at school, this book is magical and of course comes with its own security features.

I wish Wayne was here. He’s better with his wand than he lets on. Well, he tells the ladies that his wand … but yeah, that’s another story for later. So I end up carefully blasting a hole just big enough to wiggle through to get to the book. Breathing through my mouth inhaling huge quantities of ancient rat droppings, I set my mind on the gold that this book will bring.

I blow the dust off the cover and in surprise take a deep breath. I cough and splutter almost dropping my wand and the book as the tissues fly out of my nose. When I grasp it tightly to prevent it from falling from my shaking hands, part of the cover crumbles, joining the dust that is as much as part of this place as the bricks and tiles themselves. I steady the book, my eyes streaming, blinking the sooty dirt out sending it tickling down my cheeks.

The book is still hissing. It sounds like words, some of which I can make out. I can’t open the book but the initials on what’s left of the cover, engraved in gold relief against faded green leather, are an intertwined GG. If I’m right, Susan’s and my wedding will be paid for. We’ll have a new house. Anything we want. She can quit the MLE.

She can quit the MLE. Where did that come from? Susan wouldn’t quit the MLE if she won the Wizarding lottery. She loves her job.

I shake my head, trying to keep perspective. It’s hard when holding this book. Just looking at it, listening to the quiet hum. Perspective on so many things in my life seems to come into focus.

But women shouldn’t really be in law enforcent …

I release the grip on the book. With one hand. The other hand grips it like a friend dangling from a bridge.

The man should rule house and home.

I take off my cloak and wrap it gingerly around the book as it were a child. Knowledge spills from its very cover, seeping into my brain though I reject it as best I can.

Finally I break the grip the book has on me, and shove it, cloak and all into a satchel. The hissing stops.