Justin Finch-Fletchley

My Birthday

Mon, 05 May 2008 00:05:54 GMT

I roll over and groan. A wet kiss greets me from the other side of the bed. Susan must have bought some sort of clover perfume …

“Bloody hell!”

At first I think I must have done something to pissed off a mobster or something because there’s a horse head in my bed. Then I see that it’s attached to a horse body. My sigh of relief lasts only a moment as the neighbour from below begins to bellow about a flood.

So that’s what it means to piss like a race horse!

“Scratchy, what are you doing in here?”

I look around for Susan. For once I’m glad she’s not here. I don’t really recall bringing the horse upstairs. I mean, yeah, the blokes and I had rather a lot to drink last night but I think that’s excusable since it was sort of a celebratory evening … Ernie’s birthday, Zach’s pre bachelor party and my early birthday toast.

The last thing I remember, some bloke with a spaghetti moustache punched me in the face and expelled me from the bar. I reach up and touch my face. Yep, split lip. I wish I could say you should see the other guy but somehow I think I lost. The last thing I can remember is something about a glue factory and how it’s against the health and safety regulations to have a horse in a pub.

We didn’t get Zach married off but I remember Ernie joking that he could marry Scratchy while looking for any clauses in the contract that would permit such a union. I think Wayne told Zach that it would be preferable to marrying me. Good times!

Susan’s going to kill me. But desperate times call for desperate measures and those silk pillowcases her maiden aunt sent us as an engagement present stick to my skin and leave silly embroidered flower patterns all over my face for hours after I wake up. And they’re itchy. And pink. And well, if I don’t get a bag over Scratchy’s tail in a minute, the guy downstairs is going to have more than a flood on his hands.

So Scratchy, my very male horse stands in my bedroom with a large pink bag hanging from his tail. And just in time, too. Those pink cases might be ugly, but they’re manure proof at least.

I swipe my hands over my face and focus on a little note on the bedside table.

Dear Justin,

Hannah and I are working late. The hangover potion is in the second cupboard on the left. We need to talk about your new roommate. He ate the shower curtain. And Justin, please, you need to get rid of that book. I know you hoped to sell it but I bumped into Padma the other day and she was worried. And don’t skip out on your appointment with her this afternoon.

Love you, Susan

What? No happy birthday, Justin? No hints like last year of what we’re going to do tonight … Ugh, I think I’ll go and get that hangover potion.

After I take the hangover potion I decide that actually, it was a pretty good present in itself. I feel much better. I don’t want to see Padma today, well, not at the hospital anyway. It’s my birthday for Merlin’s sake. But if I don’t go, Susan’ll know. I mean, I’m a grown up, I can tell my ribs are healed and my brain seems to be in the right place … as right as it’s ever been.

The letter on the table flips itself over and starts to read itself in Susan’s warning tone.

“And Justin, don’t even think of skiving off of your appointment with Padma. Wayne flooed and said you’d been brawling last night when Padma specifically told you not to do anything strenuous with your ribs.

I’m a little insulted. I’d have thought what Susan and I did Wednesday night would have been considered strenuous and she didn’t complain then.

I step into the shower as Scratchy comes into the room. I turn the water on and begin to lather up.

“Whoa! I’ll do that myself!” I say to Scratchy, grabbing the reigns and leading him out of the room as soap pours into my eyes from my hair. I close the door and let the steam wake me up.

I reach for the robe on the railing. Pink Susan’s. That’s odd. She usually wears this out of the loo after her shower. I put it on and open the door.

“Ben!” I yell, completely startled. I draw the robes completely about my body.

“Two-fer!” Ben shouts before shutting himself up by covering his mouth with his hands, his eyes bugging out of his head.

“Two-fer?” I ask, my eyes narrowed.

“Erm, er. Well, you see, it was like this. I needed to use the loo and I didn’t hear anyone home and I just sort of …”

I think my eyes just disappeared into my forehead. It’s going to take a gallon of Botox and a crowbar to get them down. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Okay, Justin, just be calm. It’s not what you think …

“And, you’re a lucky man …” Ben stammers. Well, he stammers but has the audacity to make it seem like a college joke or something by sticking out his hand for me to shake.

RIBBET!

“Ben! I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking!”

Ben looks up at me with his bulging eyes and leaps out of the way of Scratchy’s hooves just in time.

“You arse! I said I was sorry!” Ben yells as he unfolds from the floor. Just because you can turn someone into a frog doesn’t mean you should!”

He’s right. On both accounts. I know Ben wouldn’t purposely try to see Susan naked and I’ve got to stop turning him into a frog every time he acts like a git.

“I’m sorry,” I say, offering my hand this time. He takes it. His hand is still kind of clammy from having been a frog but he gets over it quickly.

“You’re lucky I’m the forgiving sort,” he tells me. He reaches into his rucksack and draws out a package that’s wrapped in Muggle comic newsprint. I open it.

“Wow, Ben.” It’s a mp-3 player. Ben knows I’m not much of a fan of the WW and I’m speechless. I look down, not knowing what else to say. His toes are still sticking out of his trainers and I’m standing here with a brand new mp-3 player.

I’m still not thrilled about Ben seeing Susan naked. Not too thrilled that she didn’t tell me, either, but I’ll get past it. I toss a pair of extra trainers to Ben as I close my bedroom door. We’re about the same size. Neither of us say anything about this. It’s how it’s always been.

Once dressed, I have to start to thinking about what to do with Scratchy.

“Want to go horseback riding?” I ask Ben.

“Susan says we’re not allowed to until you go see Padma,” he tells me.

“Are you serious!” I yell. “Since when does Susan think I need a minder?”

Ben takes a note from his tattered pocket.

“Hm, I guess this morning. It says, Dear Ben, please make sure Justin goes to see Padma this afternoon.

“Dear? Since when does Susan call you dear?” I’m absolutely incredulous.

Ben looks at the letter again as if for an answer. “Well, she wrote it this morning as far as I can recall, this morning would be the first time.”

We really need to get Ben a flat of his own. And the horse. A stable I mean. Yeah, not a flat.

“You win, dear,” I say, looking at picture of Susan, a particularly angelic one of her at her cousin’s wedding in a green dress with lace. I could swear she winked!

I rummage through my closet for something decent to wear to see Padma. I’ve ruined so many clothes lately rummaging in the tunnels with Wayne that it looks like I have some shopping to do. I manage to find a white collared shirt and some black jeans.

“Okay, Ben, I’ll see you later. I’m going to see Padma.”

Ben follows me to the door.

“Alone, Ben.”

Ben unfolds the note and taps it with hand. “Says here I’m to go with you.”

“Then who’s going to watch Scratchy?” I ask.

“Bring him,” says Ben.

By the time we stand outside St Mungo’s, people are gawking at the horse. I’ve always thought it was stupid to have the entrance off of a Muggle thoroughfare. I mean, I could park a damn Hippogriff in the Magical world and no one would care but bring one horse to Muggle London without permit and everyone’s got something to say about it.

So, Ben and I step into the lobby through the ugly shop front window with Scratchy.

“This is not a Care of Magical Creatures Class, young man!” Yells a Mediwitch, shaking her wand with the crossed bones on it at me.

“Well that’s good to know. Scratchy’s not a magical creature,” I reason.

Ben reaches up and winds his fingers around and around his head, indicating that I’m mental. The Mediwitch nods at him and whispers to keep me here in the lobby while she finds some orderlies.

In the meantime Scratchy and I ride the lift to Padma’s floor with Ben. The four other patients in the lift don’t appreciate us much I don’t think. One mumbles from beneath bandages wound around his head while the other three stand with their healer clucking like chickens.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Shite! Weight capacity!

“Unstable passenger on lift number eleven! Lift exceeds capacity!” comes a disembodied voice from the loud speaker.

Yes, these people do seem rather unstable, I agree to myself.

“She means you,” Ben points out.

“Me!” I say, deeply offended. I can’t afford to get into trouble today. If Padma finds out I put a horse on the lift, she’ll tell Susan.

The door screeches open just as I’m about to Confund whoever I find on the other side.

“Padma! How nice to see you!”

“This is going to cost you, Finch-Fletchley,” Padma tells me before turning to the closely pursuing security orderlies and calling them off, telling them she will see to it that I make it to the mental health ward.

“But Padma! It’s my birthday!”

“You did the crime, you do the time, Justin,” Padma smiles at me. “Besides, look how happy the kids look seeing Scratchy here. Some pony rides will be just the thing to brighten their day.”

How can I say no now? Ben starts the kiddie rides while I follow Padma to her office.

Before Padma starts the examination, she picks up some floo powder and calls out the address of Susan’s Floo at the Ministry.

“Right on time, Susan,” Padma calls.

“Pst! Padma, don’t tell her about Scratch …”

“And he’s going to do some community service out of the goodness of his heart after his appointment, too,” Padma adds as I hear Susan thank her for the call and tell me to be good.

What am I five?

Padma tells me to take my shirt off and as I drape it on the exam table, I notice for the first time that she looks tired.

“Padma, what’s up?” I ask.

“I’ll be asking the questions, Justin,” Padma tells me, giving me a tired smile.

My lip mends with one swish of her wand and I’m told to hold my breath as her wand passes over my chest reflecting my ribcage on the wall.

“Your ribs have mended nicely,” she tells me. “I’d tell you that you can resume your normal routine, but I know you’ve already started that.”

Padma fills out some paperwork on my chart and sits down while I put my shirt back on. She swipes her hands over her eyes.

“What’s the matter? Am I going to die?” I joke

A tear slips from Padma’s eye.

“Oh Merlin, Padma I’m sorry! I was joking! You know me!” Damn me!

“It’s not you, Justin,” Padma sniffles. “I’m just tired. A little boy was brought in the other day and well, he … I just couldn’t …”

“Padma, I’m sorry. I’m sure you did everything you could.” I put my hand on her shoulder and we walk out of the room. Curse me for ever complaining about having to spend an afternoon making a child happier.

After Ben and I have given every child at least three rides on Scratchy, the head healer kicks us out and tries to give Padma a hard time for allowing a beast in the hospital. I think that fight was just the thing to give Padma back her fire after her tragic day at work the other day.

Once back at the flat, Ben tells me he has somewhere to go. I know he’s lying. He knows it’s my birthday and he wants to give Susan and I some alone time. I know he has no money left so I try to give him some.

“Mind if I borrow Scratchy?” Ben asks.

I lend Ben my horse. I will deal with what to do with my mother’s gift tomorrow. I know Ben probably will bring that horse to wherever he brings his winter clothing and spends most of his time when I can’t find him. But I know he’ll take care of him. I toss Ben the spare pink pillowcase.

“Justin!” Susan is at the door as soon as Ben leaves. She pecks me on the cheek, asks me how my appointment with Padma went and goes to shower.

I think she forgot …

A Run in of the Usual Kind

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 01:36:04 GMT

Aside from a few lamps, pretty much everything is back to normal at our flat after the fire. Well, the groceries were pretty much ruined but I just got new ones and shrunk them for now so I can keep looking at the shops for the certain lamp I know Susan is still upset over. I tried a Reparo Charm on it after the water had knocked it off the mantle but it backfired because my wand tip was covered with cranberry sauce still.

As I open the door to the antique shop … yes the lamp that was broken was a rare one, owned previously by Susan’s late Aunt Amelia. I know it won’t replace the one that was broken but it’s the least I can do. It was the look on Susan’s face when she told me things can be replaced, Justin, people can’t, that made me need to find a duplicate.

At the third antique shop I visit, the owner tells me he doesn’t have that particular lamp but that he could get it for me. Sometimes my Muggle upbringing causes me to ask stupid questions like, “how long will it take to ship?”

The old clerk looks at me strangely, goes to a very large, very dusty cabinet, calls the serial number from the broken base I handed him at the beginning of my query and within seconds there is a popping sound and a duplicate of the lamp is sitting on a shelf of the old cabinet as if it had always been there.

“This was the very next one made in the firing days according to the serial number here,” he tells me, wiping away the dust that covers the tiny etching on the brass bottom. The glass will need to be shined up but as I stare at the lamp, I see another carving on it. To A and M It’s the same carving that was on the first lamp!

“These lamps were typically sold in sets of two,” the clerk tells me. I knew that some of Susan’s Aunt’s stuff had been stolen after her death but this is a wonderful coincidence. A better replacement than I could have ever dreamed of.

I pay the clerk the asking price after enquiring about his source. The theft of Amelia’s belongings was so long ago that whoever is selling it now is likely just an innocent proprietor. Still makes me mad though.

The clerk didn’t tell me until after I’d shrunk the lamp that I ought not to have done it. I’m just about having a heart attack when he tells me the lamp will likely be okay if I resize it gently. I only know one reversal for shrinking! And as I told you, it’s the one I used frantically the time Susan was mad at me and … Keep your knickers on, I’ll tell you one day about that fateful night.

As I’m wondering if my life will ever be a quiet one and debating if I’d even like that, I’m answered right away. Hell no, I’m going to kick the hippogriff crap out of that guy! Not thirty feet in front of the shop a woman is struggling with a man who is trying to steal her packages and purse.

“Oi! You there, leave her alone!” I yell but as I approach, the older woman gets the upper hand. My jaw drops and I wonder if I will need to help him.

“How … dare … you!” the woman yells furiously, her purse clunking mercilessly on the bloke’s head with each syllable. The man staggers to his feet and I fear he’s really mad now and will do some lasting harm to the woman so I approach, my wand just under my jacket.

“Ouch! Lady, I’m trying to rescue you!” I shout as I’m clobbered by the surprising heavy small purse too. The robber hits the pavement beside me. Tiny quantities of my shrunken groceries spill out onto the roadway and my clothing. I smell peanut butter. That’s because it’s in my hair. I hear a sickening crunch. Oh no, please not the lamp …

Blue eyes stare down at me and a smile forms on the wrinkled lips.

“Justin Finch-Fletchley is that you?” I can’t quite place this person who seems to know me so well. Strong arms reach down and pull me to my feet while a very spry leg shoots out from beneath a pink skirt and kicks the robber back to the ground as he tries to crawl away. A very nice, muscular leg … Ew, Justin, old lady leg! I shake my head and look back into the twinkling blue eyes that are now fully part of a smiling face.

The leg goes back under the pink skirt and my eyes find their way back to the face that doesn’t match it at all. I pull my shirt away from my body. Tiny particles of egg goo and shell stick to my chest hair. I’m gonna have to shop all over again.

“Well, you seem to have this situation well in control,” I begin to say as Muggle policemen approach rapidly. Before I can say a word, I’m ordered to put my hands on my head and kneel down. I do so and damn me but I can’t help but take another look at those legs.

“Eyes up, pervert!” shouts one of the officers placing his knight stick under my chin causing me to bite my own tongue.

“I wasthn’t looking at her legth! Well I wasth but not … I’m engagthed! Lady, pleasthe tell them I wasth trying to help!” The policemen’s eyes follow a tiny can of pasta sauce as it rolls out of my pocket into a nearby sewer grate. They look at one another puzzled, completely distracted by the tiny groceries all around me.

Thoroughly fed up by now by the fact that the officers have left the purse-snatcher completely unscathed as he tries to get away, the woman pulls a wand!

The policemen’s eye seem to slide out of focus for a moment as she discreetly places her wand back in its pink holster at her side just under her jacket. I blink as a small bit of milk flows down into my eyes and the tiny carton lands on my shoe.

“As for you,” the woman tells the robber, let this be a lesson to you that won’t waste mine and the court’s time!” A spark shoots from the newly re emerged wand and the robber’s pants are set ablaze as he screams off down the cobbled street leaping into a snow pile and rolling around screaming. This reminds me of something Susan would do.

A small, unwrinkled hand is offered to me yet again and I take it.

“Thanksth … Msth?”

“Brown,” the lady says.

“Hey! My fianthay and I know a Lav …. Lavender? Is that you?”

“Took you long enough, Justin,” Lavender laughs and now I know why the blue eyes were so familiar to me.

“That was the best Confundment Charm I’ve seen!” I say in real admiration. “These aren’t the drones you’re looking for,” I say in my best Star Wars voice, waiving my hand in front of the officer’s faces. Oops, better stop that, they’re gaining their wits.

Lavender and I hurry off and duck into a pub.

“I’ll have a pint of mead,” I tell the bartender.

“And for your mum?” she says.

“Shesth not my mum,” I slur dismissively, sloshing beer over my poor tongue as Lavender performs a resizing charm on Susan’s lamp while the bartender looks away. I close my eyes until she’s says it’s still intact. The tag from the antique shop is still featured predominantly on the shade.

The bartender’s eyes shoot from the antique tag on the lamp to me. “Ah, okay, whatever.”

I’m just about to retort that Lavender is not my mum again when I realize what the bartender thinks now. I’ll just shut up.

“Now, don’t drink too much mead, son,” Lavender smiles in a wicked sort of way. The clerk stares at me triumphantly.

“You know something, you’re evil Ms. Brown,” I tell her as we clank glasses in a toast.

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she tells me.

“You would anyway,” I retort. “So what are you doing in that get-up?”

“I just felt like some fresh air. I’d just finished a book signing and usually it’s right back home or to a hotel but I really just needed to get out.”

It’s good to hear Lavender say that. For so long after she was attached by Fenrir Greyback, we couldn’t convince her to go out in public, even in disguise. But then no one could really blame her with the werewolf registration still in place. It was a sore issue even for people like Bill Weasley and Lavender who don’t transform on full moons.

“Fancy a bite?” Lavender smiles and her false teeth are slightly pointy. That is not the thing to say to a person who was just thinking of werewolf attacks.

“What … Oh, sure. Yeah, I could uths thsum food,” I say lamely.

“Stick your tongue out,” Lavender orders, still completely amused by my predicament. Just as I do, the bartender shows back up.

“There’s no call for rudeness,” he tells me. “I do have other customers to serve you know. It takes a few minutes.”

“I’m thorry, I wasthn’t thticking …” I begin, but the mead and Lavender’s strawberry margarita is sloshed down onto the table and the bartender stalks away. I’m going to have to leave a huge tip …

In seconds my tongue is good as new and Lavender and I talking are about Susan’s and my wedding while we wait for lunch. Well, that is Lavender is talking about silk versus satin and months for weddings and girl stuff like that. I’m trying to envision my bachelor party. That’s the nice thing about being a guy. Put on a suit, show up on time and it’s all good.

When lunch arrives, Lavender frowns. “Oh, Justin, I ordered extra rare steak, I hope you don’t mind …”

I pick up an onion ring and stuff it in my mouth. “Not at all.” I just won’t watch her cut into it.

Lavender insists on paying for lunch, reminding me that I have to go grocery shopping again. I make her promise not to be a stranger. As she’s doing up the top button of her coat, I can just make out the scars that I remember with a sickening jolt, go all the way down her body. How could I forget? When I picked Lavender up the day it happened to carry her to a safer spot, I seriously worried that she would fall in two in my arms. There was that much blood.

“Justin, are you okay?” Lavender asks me, handing me the lamp and reminding me not to shrink it again.

“Yeah, fine.” I am, too. It’s just that the night the battle happened is never far from anyone’s mind. Without Susan lighting the way with her wand and yelling at me to keep going as we tried to get Lavender some help, we’d have never made it the hospital wing in time. And it was only when we were out of immediate danger that I learned that Susan had been walking on a broken leg the entire time without complaint.

Lavender and I step out into the cold air. We make plans to get together with some old friends soon before she descends the stairs in the opposite direction I need to go. I marvel as her usually impeccable posture becomes bent with age. She sure can play the part. I just wish she could learn to be herself more, too. Her books are fantastic, romantic, full of ideas on how a bloke should … I mean, not that I’ve ever read any of Lavender’s books or anything. I was just tidying up some of Susan’s things on the nightstand and one happened to fall open. Yeah, that’s it.

The Aftermath

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 01:31:03 GMT

I crack one eye open and roll quickly to the side of the bed.

“Ben. Never. Ever. Get in my face in the morning, especially when I’m supposed to be seeing Susan there …”

“Sorry, you were moaning. Blimey you look bad.” Ben’s one of those annoying people who can get up in the morning ready to go. But then again, that’s probably because when he was a kid he wasn’t used to breakfast and Saturday morning cartoons. He hands me a black coffee.

“I haven’t been drinking, Ben. And where’s Susan? Was she mad when she saw me?” I assume Susan must be at work.

“She wasn’t home last night,” Ben informs me. She sent a message through the fireplace, though, that she wouldn’t be home. Got a break on a case.” Ben holds up a bandaged hand. I’ve told him a million times not to reach into the floo once the green flames are gone and the fireplace resumes its original purpose.

Unwrapping Ben’s hand and doing a healing charm on the burns, I listen as Ben tells me that Susan had come home for a brief minute, changed clothes and then left.

“Thanks,” Ben says, wiggling his fingers as if not believing the pain he must have been in is gone.

I drag myself to the shower and revel in the steam. My ribs are healed but the bruises remain. Wiping the steam from the mirror as I step out, I watch as my pupils grow smaller with the light that filters in through the window. Good, now I don’t have to tell Susan about yesterday.

“Are you leaving already?” Ben calls from around the corner from the kitchen as I dress in the bedroom.

“Yeah, I’m going to take Susan some coffee from the new bakery across the street." And I am going to stop by Terry's and try to get rid of this book.

I toss Ben some Muggle money, which he looks about to protest over, but he pockets it never the less.

“I’ll see you around lunch."

“Oh, okay,” he tells me. He looks around the empty flat and I know I’ve been lousy company lately. Susan and I have been so busy that we haven’t seen each other, in fact, Susan’s been so busy she has barely complained about Ben being here.

“Wanna come?” I ask.

Ben’s got his tattered shoes on in seconds. I grab the satchel that holds the still silent book. That must have been one hell of a charm Padma performed on it.

When We get to Terry’s shop, he’s just opening up. I hadn’t realized I’d spent so much time down there …

“Can I help you?” Terry asks.

I stare at him.

Then I catch a glimpse of myself in the antique mirror on his wall that’s up for sale for fifteen galleons.

“Don’t look so shocked sonny, you look like a street urchin,” the mirror informs me.

Terry puts a sheet over the mirror and turns back to face me.

“Terry, it’s me, Justin,” I point out, wiping my face.

“Oh, I thought you might have been sent by B--- .”

“By Beeeeeee, who’s Beeeee?” I tease back.

“No one,” Terry tells me and I know he’s lying but I really need to go home for a shower and I just want to get rid of this book. Terry knows more about these things than I do.

I reach into the satchel and pull out the book which begins to hiss as soon as the light from the few candles in Terry’s shop illuminate its cover.

Don’t give away glory, bask in it yourself.

The Order Of Things

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 01:12:55 GMT

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.

A not so normal Easter Dinner

Tue, 25 Mar 2008 03:13:59 GMT

I bought one of those pre-stuffed turkeys this morning. I can’t imagine having my arm shoved, elbow deep up a turkey stuffing bread up … Well anyway, gross. I look over to my tofu turkey. I know Susan would have eaten it with me but she likes Easter and it’s only right she should have her favourite Easter meal. I slip them into the oven wondering how in the world someone got tofu to look like a turkey. That must be some spell.

I dump red berries into the pot and within ten minutes they’re popping open, spitting red hot goo all over the stove and walls. Then the smoke begins to spew from underneath the berries. I try to stir the concoction loose from the pot but it just smokes more. I open the window and place the blackened pot on the sill.

Soon the familiar glopping sound of the cylindrical canned cranberries hitting the plates calms me. It’ll be a cantastic Easter.

“You know, people usually put pies on the sill but whatever,” says Ben, stepping into the flat with a basket of rolls. He stares at the still-rising smoke outside the window. “You trying to send smoke signals to Susan at work or something?”

Ben and I run out onto the balcony as someone screams, “fire!”

The old bat upstairs is on the phone, leaning over her balcony watching the plumes of smoke from our balcony rise. The idiot woman is clutching her cat while holding the phone with her other hand. She then dangles Mr Peabody over her balcony and shouts to the pedestrians below to catch him. Within minutes, sirens overtake all normal conversation as I try to yell up to her that there is no fire.

From down below, Muggle firefighters try to tell my mostly deaf neighbour not to drop the cat but now she’s raising her old leg over the railing too!

Okay, I did not need to see that! As the old woman raises her leg over the railing, her bloomers show and the firefighters below scramble for the safety net and continue to yell at her not to jump.

“Gah!” shouts Ben as he’s washed back into the flat in a stream of powerful water. The blackened pot hits the wall near the door missing him by inches and the spray from the stream soaks me and the entire flat.

“Do something, Justin!” gurgles Ben, pawing at the water like a sea lion instead of sidestepping it and taking refuge in the bathroom.

I duck into the kitchen, find my wand buried in the bowl under the now floating salad I’d made earlier and fight my way back out onto the balcony. The firefighters haven’t got the net out yet but old Mrs whats-her-name and Mr. Peabody have taken a swan dive.

“Arresto Momentum!” I shout through gags of water. Mr Peabody leaps out of Mrs Whats-her-name’s arms and runs down the street as she lands unscathed onto the front walk in a large pile of snow that wasn’t there a moment ago. I don’t remember having put that snowbank there …

I squint through the smoke and just make out Susan tucking her wand away and rushing up to So that’s her name!

“Mrs. Fairclough, are you okay?” Susan then turns her head up to our balcony. There’s no drying spell invented by man that will dry this mess before she gets up here. I can’t tell if she’s mad …

The Past, Present and Future

Thu, 17 Jan 2008 00:58:44 GMT

I tried to ring my father last night. I have no idea why I would need his permission for something like what I'm about to do. But I do. Not that I got it. Hell, I don't even know how I'm going to say the words, let alone have them come out at all romantic.

My hand wraps protectively around the item in my pocket. I should have got a nice box for it. I'm an idiot. As my fingers play with the ring, I realize how small it is. It stops halfway down my little finger as I slip it on and off. My mouth is dry so I slip into a pub to have a quick drink but I order a soda instead, hearing Susan in my head questioning my need for a drink before I propose to her.

I think of all the times I've tried to do this in the past and ended up chickening out. I've taken two rings back to the store, transfigured one into a bracelet for Susan when I got cold feet and threw one, ashamed of my cowardice, on my way home as I walked through a park. No word on that one. It was eaten by a corgi who was being walked by a professional dog walker and before I could try to explain what had happened, the dog walker and the corgi were in a limousine back to whatever castle they came from. Nice tip for the dog walker or the gardener if they erm, find it.

This ring is different. It seemed to call to me. You see, I didn't buy it, I found it. Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not cheap. I think the four rings mentioned above will attest to that fact. It's just that a regular ring doesn't belong on a person who is anything but ordinary. This ring has four diamonds and a sapphire in the middle to signify devotion and commitment. I had it appraised at Borgin and Burkes. I wouldn't want to find out it was cut glass or something and the corgi got a better one. The stupid thing is, Susan wouldn't care how big the diamonds were or how much it cost or any of the other trappings other girls seem to favour. I've dated those girls. I know. For them, they could have the ring the corgi got, even after he got it...

Wayne and I have been working in the tunnels under London. Not the ones that house the Muggle underground. The ones where the homeless, the rum runners, and the scared and lonely went during the prohibition years and the world war. Not to mention the rats. Big, big rats. Anyway, if you know where to look, there's still artifacts under there. Most of it rubbish, some of it treasure long forgotten. For those tunnels were not just used by Muggles.

Wayne and I have been selling off a cache of old rum that we uncovered during one of our expeditions. We learned of the rum through a good late friend of mine, Mr. Lexington, whose ghost used to reside in the junior boys' dorms at Eton. For a price, I rid the scared chaps of their resident ghost, who was none too pleased to leave anyway. If I would give him the name of his wife's second husband so he could go harass his heirs. So, I got paid a fee from the lads and from Mr. L as I now call him. Seems Mr. Lexington, as most teachers throughout history, was underpaid and got into the rum running racket. We've made a tidy sum from the cache he failed to deliver due to his untimely death at the hands of the man who would become the next Mr. Anna Lexington. Win win if you ask me.

Anyway, underneath one of the old, rotten wood cases, was a piece of material, dusty and threadbare. I kicked it away to place a strengthening charm on the old wood to lift the rum out and heard a metallic item skitter across the floor. Curious, I picked it up and brushed it on my sleeve and saw a slight shine. I knew right away it was the ring for Susan. It didn't feel cold to my touch like metal normally would in these damp, cold tunnels. I slipped it onto the middle knuckle of my smallest finger and felt warmth spread through my body. But something else, too. While I had been about to exclaim to Wayne about my lucky find, something held me back. I'm not a cheater, either. Well, not to friends. While I never told Wayne about the ring I did lie to him about how much I got for rum and gave him half of the appraisal value of the ring along with his cut of the profits.

I drink the soda quickly despite the fact that I'll just be dragging my feet tonight. I'm not romantic. At all. When I Flooed Susan to ask her out tonight, did I ask her out to dinner? A Muggle movie, which she seems to enjoy? Nope. I'm taking her to a Deathday Party! Curse her blind faith in me. Deaf too, must be. I know, I'm a git. I'd made a promise earlier in the week to attend the Deathday Party of Sir Le Duc from Uxbridge, dead for the past four hundred and fifty years. It's a small price considering the payment I got for 'exorcising' him from a restaurant called The Buttery, which used to be his family estate. Personally, I didn't see any harm in what he was doing there. Most of the women customers who complained were wearing really short dresses anyway, so what was a revealing wind gust every now and then really hurting anyone? Okay, he is a bit of a pervert. But I agreed that if he left, I'd be his 'ickle live 'un' at his party as he's never had a living guest. One problem. I haven't told Susan where we're going yet. I merely asked her out. Well, this will be as out as it gets. For good measure, I grab the flowers from the vase on the table on my way out while no one's looking. The flower shops are closed and I can't resurrect the dead flowers that lie beneath the snow like some people can. Neville does that all the time and I've never learned.

The Life of a Finch-Fletchley

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 20:01:01 GMT

My name is Justin Finch-Fletchley, strange for a male name, I know. But not if you’re from a family where both surnames count in old circles and where the class system is alive and well if not hushed publicly. I’ve always said that Muggles aren’t so very different from wizards.

The war’s been over for almost ten years but the same sort of whispers of superiority are still heard. For the Muggles, you’re no one unless your name counts and for the wizards it’s still all about blood no matter what they may say. It doesn’t take a gun or a wand or a threat of a psychotic killer to keep the mindset alive and well. It’s human nature. That’s why I don’t like many humans. Sticks and stones may break the bones and names may never hurt, but the pen is still mightier than the sword and the old ways live on quietly.

When I was petrified in my second year at Hogwarts, my mother couldn’t understand why something like that would happen to a minor royal. Yes, I’m a bizillion places removed from the throne, but names like mine, Rhys, Spenser and others still carry weight in the Muggle society circles. I couldn’t believe that was the first question my mother asked me when I awoke. I remember asking her if it would have been okay if someone with a different name had been petrified instead of me. I bitterly tried to explain that our name counted for nothing here and I had been a target for no other reason than my blood status. I wanted her to understand. To be different.

I remember sitting in Dumbledore’s office when my mother was yelling about removing me from the school and sending me to Eton. Dumbledore listened patiently while I cringed as she tossed about names like a Pureblood would toss out blood status. When it came down to it, Dumbledore had explained that we are all just humans. Victims and perpetrators. It was the first time my mother ever ended up sitting down by the end of a meeting, silent and actually listening. How much got through to her, I don’t know, but I got to stay at Hogwarts if I agreed to ‘improve myself’ by spending a year at Eton once I got my NEWTS, which according to my mother would count for nothing in any chamber or commerce or social circle. At least this way, when people, meaning grandmother and grandfather asked where I was educated, I would be able to truthfully tell them I’d been to Eton.

I spent the better part of my seventh year holed up with the rest of the so called mudbloods and some DA members at Hogwarts, hiding because of my blood status and fighting back because I didn’t agree with the system. There was no separation of girl’s and boy’s dorms where we hid. We were lucky to have had anywhere to hide at all. Many a night I would spend huddled with Susan Bones, both of us telling ourselves we were only holding each other for comfort. That was true, but there was more. So much more.

It was as though the school could sense, even in our little hideaway, that males and females must have a barrier. Many nights I would find myself flying through the air, having been ejected from our makeshift bed when I would become too fascinated by watching Susan sleep. The gentle rise and fall of her chest mesmerized me and I’d find myself daydreaming only to be rudely awoken when I’d hit a wall opposite the bed. Even the slides in the girl’s dorms were more gentle than that for Merlin’s sake!

The war isn’t something I like to talk about much but it has forged friendships with people I’d have never guessed would give me the time of day. People from all houses, when I’d been prejudiced to a degree since my second year against them and their houses. One day I’d love to get back in touch with some of those people but life took us to different places.

Eton wasn’t so very different from Hogwarts, actually. Well, except for the magic. But the old stone walls built in 1442 were just as full of ghosts and poltergeists as the place I’d just left. The place I had longed to stay and help rebuild. But a promise made is a promise kept. Even if keeping it caused me to lose the best thing in my life.

I remember Susan standing at King’s Cross, this time in the regular Muggle queues with me. We joked that Eton was an all boy’s school so my head would be on my studies and her only. My parents were there to see me off as well. My mother had met Susan in my second year because Susan had barely left my bedside when she wasn’t in class even though the Matron told her there was no way I would know she was there. I remember smiling and introducing her to my mother and my mother mouthing the name ‘Bones’ over and over to see if she could confirm nobility or the lack thereof in that name. I told mum that if Bones was a predominantly Muggle name, it would be among those of great war heroes. She didn’t seem impressed. Seemed to think Susan was a passing fancy. I can’t tell you how much I hated going to an all boy’s school and more than once I thought about ringing old mum up and telling her I was engaged to a boy.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some nice chaps at Eton, but I was like a fish out of water there for the most part. Games like Polo were beyond me. The horses could sense I’d never played the game and it felt like they had as much pride in winning as their riders. I was thrown so many times I felt like a rodeo clown. I’d play Quidditch any day, much safer than trifling with horses with names Prince Stephano or Norrington. Anyway, I ended up breaking my coccyx which sounded not so much painful as funny to Wayne when I told him during winter break when I went home limping and sitting on a sponge ring.

Well that was the only laugh any of us got that year. Susan came to have dinner with my family and dad tried to get mum to stop talking about my potential after Eton and how the right girl can make or break a man. I could see Susan was uncomfortable and tried changing the subject a thousand times. It seems once mum found out that the books she’d read on wizards by Lockhart were all forgeries, she stopped seeing any promise in having a wizard around the house. She wanted me to forget that I was a wizard as if that would even be possible. It would be like going deaf and blind at the same time.

“And what is it you do?” mum asked Susan without preamble. Usually mum asks what a person’s parents do first, where they live, where they summer, that sort of thing.

Susan cleared her throat and looked mum straight in the eyes. She simply told mum that she was thinking of joining the Magical Law Enforcement squad.

“You mean like a … a Bobby?” mum stuttered. Of course, mum always hired off-duty bobbies to patrol her exclusive parties but to have one sitting at her table … and a female one yet.

“Yeah, there’s still a lot of Death Eater activity and we need to get that under control before we can really restore order for good,” Susan explained good naturedly and I was impressed that she didn’t try to dumb things down.

Mum simply bristled and took a sip of her wine and went on about how a proper young lady would compliment her husband and choose family duties or simply volunteer at some snooty fund raisers to raise her name higher in status.

I choked on my wine. “Er, mum we’re not engaged … not that I wouldn’t love to be …” Oh, for the love of Merlin! I’m such a git.

When I walked Susan out into the garden to say goodbye, I was going to apologise for my mother’s behaviour. Susan shook it off but there was a rift there. She was hurt. I should have said something. While I stood there stammering words that I can’t remember, my mother slipped past us in the garden, knocked on the chauffeurs door and left. I looked back toward the house and the dining hall lights went out. I saw my dad shuffling up the stairs. Their marriage was ended. I couldn’t say I was surprised. But I was surprised that Susan and I were also finished. The poison of my mother’s words had tainted everything.

I went back to Eton. More to get away than anything. I knew how to talk to the ghosts and wasn’t afraid of them like everyone else, whether they admitted it or not or even acknowledged that they knew of them. It wasn’t long before my parent’s divorce ended up in frozen bank accounts and unpaid tuition. I began to charge my fellow students money to ‘get rid of ghosts’ for them. Good money. Most of the ghosts liked me and simply moved to another dormitory or I’d have to run errands for them, such as looking up what became of their ancestors or friends or enemies in the history books. I was sorry to see the founder of Eton, King Henry VI leave but he wanted to see the first Headless Hunt since the rebuilding of Hogwarts. That was more fitting for a King’s ghost than hiding Eton first years’ underwear in the kitchen soup pots, he’d told me. Hm, even King’s ghosts seem to think they’re better than their peers. Will it never end?

By the time I was finished Eton, the castle I grew up in had been sold. Mum and dad were both still loaded but neither wanted the memories. I didn’t know how to take that. Memories of me? Had my being a wizard caused all of this? Dad assured me that this was not the case, that it was my mother’s constant status seeking. But there had to have been something both of them had loved, Right? I sat for an entire night in front of the old castle which had been my home until a large rottweiller owned by the new tenants convinced me it was time to leave. It was a good thing I still had that stupid sponge ring. He was very convincing.

So me and my sponge ring went to a pub. Of all the gin joints … okay, I’m not going there, although I do so love a good old Muggle movie. You may have guessed by now that Susan was at that pub. Sponge ring, meet Susan, the only girl I’ve ever cared about. Sponge ring and Justin, meet Susan and ?

“Lance. So good to meet you.”

A huge hand shot out to grip mine and all I could say was, “SusansogoodtoseeyouI’mseeingsomeonetoo … Butshe’satwork.”

Susan smiled at me. There was none of the bitterness that had been in her eyes the night we broke up. She looked so beautiful. So happy. Damn it. We made small talk. Well, my mouth made small talk while my brain screamed for Lance to suddenly grow bean sprouts from his ears and nose hair and for Susan to hear my thoughts instead of my awkward words.

“It’s been so good to see you again, Susan.” I had said, while sticking my hand out to shake hers and every nerve in my body shivered when she leaned in instead to hug me. I just closed my eyes and in that micro second I breathed her in entirely. It was funny, in that moment, I almost expected to be thrown across the room by that invisible force in our hiding spot at Hogwarts. But it was a very visible force that brought me back to the present. Lance.

I shook Lance’s hand and this time my nerves were not tingling, they were taut, rigid in jealousy that I had no right to feel. He probably treated her better. Stuck up for her when someone put her down. Why hadn’t I done that? Well, I can do that now. She’s happy. I can pretend to be happy for her. I stood up, aiming my wand just in time to make the sponge ring disappear. It was raining when I left but I turned my face into the downpour just to feel something besides the emptiness. The image of Susan had lived in my mind, happy but single. Waiting for me to learn words, or to take back words, or something. Not with Lance.

A few days later, I turned nineteen. Imagine my surprise when Wayne Hopkins from Hogwarts rang me up on the telephone, which I only keep to talk to my parents. It had been nearly a year since I’d seen him and I swear he was a foot taller when we met up in a pub in Diagon Alley. I don’t know what either of us expected, I mean looking back on that time now, it seemed foolish to have thought that a year would have brought either of us instant success, marriage to a beautiful woman or some other notoriety. It took only a few minutes for us both to relax and admit that neither of us had any of those things yet. It was okay. We were young. And drunk. Very drunk.

After we were done at that pub, well, kicked out is more like it, Wayne and I Apparated over to an old pub near Eton where some of the ghosts hang out in the basement. Wayne held his nose as we descended the old stone steps to the smell of rotting food and some seriously old rum. Ghosts opened their mouths tasting the rotting eggs and sipping unsuccessfully, though smacking their transparent mouths in appreciation from four hundred year old scotch. We woke up the next morning on the cold, stone floor still drunk out of our faces, the ghost long since gone, some of them having run for class, thinking they were still students of Eton.

A lot has changed since then, but not everything.