20 December



Our house-elf, Calla, and I have been up to our elbows the last few days baking the family’s supply of Christmas goodies. Thank goodness we’re completely done now and because I made several extra batches of cookies just in case we run out, I decide that my luck is good enough to warrant asking my mum if I can have some friends over during the holiday.

So, apron in hand, I knock on my mum’s suite door. She answers it with quill in hand and an ink smudge on her own apron.

“Susan! I wasn’t expecting you until you were cleaned up down there,” Mum exclaims, looking rather delighted. “What brings you up here?”

I feel like a house-elf myself at the moment, but somehow tradition in this house always prevails. Ergh! This little tradition always embarrasses me. “Can I come in? I’ve secured the flour so it won’t coat anything white,” I say, grinning at my own cleverness.

Mum grins back, extending her hand to me. I walk into her suite as she says affectionately, “Yes, I remember that cute ten-year-old who wormed her way into helping Calla in the kitchen that year and then coated the house in white dust from the basement to the second floor as she ran to show her father her latest accomplishment.”

I can feel my neck growing red, but Mum delights in reminding me of that incident from eight years ago and I suppose I’ll be an old mum myself when she finally decides to stop telling that story to my own children some day.

I report Calla’s and my success and Mum says, winking at me, “Now, according to tradition, this is when you ask for permission to have some friends over. You know I approve whole-heartedly, so which evening would you like to terrorize Calla and her kitchen this year?”

“I was thinking the 27th, the day after Boxing Day. It’s my turn to host the Puff Girls’ Night Out and we wouldn’t be having a sleepover like we used to. Hannah’s married and I think Megan wants to share as much time with her family as she can this year,” I say. “We’ll be cleaned up and out making deliveries probably by ten o’clock, back by midnight, I think.”

Mum looks at me with concern. “You’ll be careful?”

“We always are,” I reply.

“Well, then, please wish Megan and Hannah ‘Happy Holidays’ from your father and me,” she says, giving me a hug. She sighs, pushing away from me and picking up a large stack of envelopes that are waiting for her to personalize with our family’s Christmas wishes. “I just wish I was done with my correspondence.”

“You’ll be through in two days, Mum,” I tell her, “you always are.”

She giggles. “I think I say that every year and you respond in kind, Susan. Until next year, then?”

I kiss her cheek. “Until next year, Mum. I’ll go write out my invitations now,” I say and close the door behind me. I Banish my apron to the scullery and head for my suite to write to Megan and Hannah.

We're walking hand in hand down a moonlit path. The wizard I'm walking with stops when we approach a secluded bench surrounded by rose bushes and bids me to stop, too. He gazes into my eyes and I'm lost in the depths of his. After a moment, he leans forward and gently kisses my lips. I sigh happily and allow him to pull me close, deepening the kiss, as my arms snake around his neck...

"Missy Susan, Missy Susan!" Calla calls, "watch what you're doing!"

I look down at the bowl I'm supposed to be supervising and discover that in my daydreams of a certain black haired, blue-eyed wizard, I've completely lost track of how much buttermilk I'm pouring into it and have made a rather large puddle on the kitchen counter. I take out my wand and syphon away the mess (except for the right amount needed for the recipe), but not before I get a good scolding from our family's house-elf.

"Oh, Missy Susan has ruined the bread with her day dreaming!" Calla scolds. "Calla shouldn't let Missy in here if Missy too distracted!"

"I'm sorry, Calla," I tell her sheepishly. "I can't help it if I want to day dream about Mr McMillan! After all, I am making this bread for him."

"And Missy Megan, and Master Justing and Master and Mistress Longbottom," she reminds me with a pointed look.

"Oh, all right! You win. I'll pay better attention to what I'm doing," I say, peering at the recipe to find out how much wheat flour and soaked millet to add to make a stiff dough.

"And if you don't I'll finish the dough and send you out of here!" Calla says with a long-suffering sigh.

No more day dreams. Well, maybe one or two while I'm kneading the dough. Kneading is such a rhythmic activity that one can get lost in it and let the mind wander... and that's exactly what I do...

Ernie has his arms around my waist. There's an eager look on his face, but his eyes look cautious, uncertain about something. I wonder if it has something to do with the tiny wrinkles forming around his eyes, lines that suggest he's not getting enough quality sleep. I reach up and guide his lips to mine.

"Ernie, dearest, is there something I can do to take away your cares?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No, my love, I am only sleepy, but dare not sleep for fear of missing something," He tells me quietly.

I wish for a blanket. Two appear and I pull away long enough to spread one on the grass under a nearby tree. I sit, leaning against the trunk and pat my leg. "You need rest, love. Lay your head upon my leg. I will wake you in a bit."

Ernie lays down with a contented sigh. I begin running my fingers through his hair. He sighs and begins to relax...

"You is squishing the bread, not kneading it!" Calla squeaks at me. "Missy Susan useless in the kitchen! I make bread now! Missy Susan make biscuits instead."

Good to her word, Calla herds me over to another part of the kitchen where she has started a simple dough for rolled biscuits. "No more day dreaming, Missy Susan!"

"No more day dreaming," I mumble. I quickly finish the biscuits and when they are in the oven, I start some pizza dough that's not on Calla's list...only on mine.

"Missy Susan, Missy Susan! What kind of bread dough is that? Pizza dough is not on the list!"

"I know it isn't, Calla, but I want to mtake a pizza to Master Ernie tonight and the dough needs time to rise," I say, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice.

Calla bats her eyelashes at me, making me giggle. "Then, send your owl with a message to him telling him to be ready for you," she says. I love it when she tries to play match-maker. Actually, some of her suggestions are pretty good. As soon as they dough is in the rising cupboard I call Harmony and jot a quick note to Ernie:


Earnie Dear,

I've been baking with Calla all day and have had you on my mind almost constantly. When is your evening meal? I have made dinner and want to share it with you. Can you get away for ten minutes or so?

Love,

Susan



Satisfied, I send Harmony off to St. Mungo's with the parchment clamped firmely in her beak. She comes back five minutes later with Ernie's reply:



Dearest Susan,

I do indeed have ten minutes plus a few more at half six. I look forward to what you are going to bring.

Love Ernie



I smile at Ernie's answer and at twenty minutes past I cover the deep dish pie with several clothes and take the Floo to St. Mungo's.

Ernie looks tired, but truly happy to see me. We eat together in silence and by the end of the meal he looks a little less careworn. "Thank you, Susan," he says, placing a kiss on my cheek. "You've made this wizard very happy. But alas, I must get back to work."

"I'll see you and Brio in the morning?" I ask. When he nods the affirmative, I say, "Until then, my love."

As Ernie leaves the break room I gather up my things and produce a second pizza and some extra plates. I set a sign next to the pie which invites Ernie's fellow healer-trainees to help themselves and wishing them all a happy holiday season. Satisfied with how good this makes me feel, I exit the room and quickly take the Floo back to my parents' kitchen. Calla meets me and together we finish the day's baking: four more batches of Christmas biscuits and four loaves of oatmeal-rye bread.

I arrived early because I have a few delicate things out in the big classroom that need to be spell-protected from climbing cats. Ernie has told me that Brio likes to climb and if she gets her claws in these I can't replace them easily. I am finishing the task when the door opens and Ernie walks in carrying a cat basket and looking rather annoyed. Upon closer inspection I see that he has several unhealed scratches on his hands. He sets the basket down and the cat inside yowls fiercely.

"Brio doesn't enjoy the cat basket at all." He says.

I hunker down next to the basket and conjure a bowl of milk. "Hey there, little one. Are you ready to be let out? I've got a bowl of milk here for you."

Brio cautiously pokes her head out of the basket. She sniffs the air for new smells and creeps out towards me and the bowl of milk.

"Oh, Brio! You're such a pretty kitty!" I exclaim. "Will you let me scratch your ears?"

"It's OK Brio, lass. Susan is a very nice witch. She'll take good care of you while I'm at work," Ernie says.

Ernie picks Brio up and hands her to me. She struggles a little, wanting down.

"Oh, Ernie, she's so soft!" I cuddle the cat gently to me and stroke behind her ears. She is beginning to calm down and soon I feel her begin to purr. My eyes get big as I say, "She's turned her motor on!"

"She's a good kitty, Susan. She just doesn't seem to like to be left alone. She cuddles into me while I'm at my desk and her motor seems to have a calming effect on me."

I can understand that. The way this cat is purring all I want to do all day is sit with her on my lap. However, I know that isn't feasible, not with as many as ten children in a group lesson at one time: I have to keep moving around, helping where help is needed and making sure everyone stays on task. I put Brio down and she moves toward the bowl of milk.

"Shall we find a corner for her cat box?" I ask. I'm thinking of a particular cupboard at the end of the hall. It's nice and dark and private and no one will notice if I leave the door open a little for Brio to have access to her "necessary room." I take Ernie down the hall and show him the cupboard.

" I can't picture everything without you in my life. Thank you for everything you do for me." he says, stepping closer. He puts a hand on my waist, drawing me to him and before I can step away, his lips are tentatively seeking mine. I can't resist and slip a hand to the back of his neck, kissing him back.

This kiss is even better than the other few we've exchanged. We're more relaxed around each other and I, at least, am having a tremendous amount of fun seeing how far we are willing to go each time we meet. This is the first time Ernie's spontaneously kissed me without some sort of preamble. I like that.

I pull back only enough to murmur, "You're welcome, Ernie." I lean forward to kiss him again, but jump as something soft and furry brushes against my ankles. Brio is rubbing her head against me. She then pads over to Ernie and begins climbing his robes. When she gets to Ernie's shoulder, she bats him gently on the temple with her paw.

She meows loudly. "Jealous little cat, isn't she?

I laugh as Ernie reaches up and gently scratches her behind the ears. It seems that Brio is genuinely affectionate towards Ernie. I reach up and stroke her side and she leans down and nuzzles my hand with her head.

"Thank you. Susan, I'll be back at 6 p.m. I better leave now or I'd never want to." Brio jumps down as Ernie speaks and goes stalking back to the waiting area, her tail high in the air.

I smile at her dismissal of her owner and give him another quick kiss on the cheek, running my hand through his hair and helping it lie a little neater where Brio caused it to stick up. "I don't want you to leave, either, but you must. I'll keep Brio safe and if all goes well she just might be asked back tomorrow," I tell him. Then I catch a glimpse of the scratches on the backs of his hands. Taking out my wand I heal them gently before saying, "Hurry back. Give me a call on my mobile if something comes up."

We walk to the door hand in hand and instead of opening it, Ernie turns in place and disappears with a pop and I'm left alone with his pet. I pick her up and stroke her ears as she curls up against me and begins purring again. So far, so good.

I put her down and she wanders over to the window and inspects it. I've put a cushioning charm on the sill so it'll be soft for her. She jumps up, turns towards the morning light streaming in and begins setting her fur to rights. Since she looks pretty content, I go into my small class room and set up for my nine o'clock student. That done, I check on Brio as I cross the hall to the large classroom; she's sprawled on her side, her eyes closed and one prim little paw batting at something in her sleep.

At five minutes to nine the door opens admitting my student and his mother. I come out of the small classroom to greet them just in time to see Brio making a break for it down Diagon Alley. I run to the door, whipping out my wand.

"Accio cat!" I yell and to my surprise, it works. Only, it works a little too well. As Brio comes zooming back to me, so do three others, all wearing Magical Menagerie collars. Uh oh. My student and his mother help me catch the other cats and I quickly attach leads to their collars. Then, I gently put Brio back in the window, quickly casting a containment charm, and then set out for the other end of Diagon Alley to apologize for my mistake.

Several minutes later, I return to my studio rather humbled by that apology. The Magical Menagerie sales lady wants me to pay for the damage I did to the wicker baskets I wrecked with my Summoning Spell. I promised her I'd come back at lunch time and reimburse her. I'm just glad that the cats were injury-free.

I glance at the window as I enter my studio to find not only Brio but my piano student sitting in my window. Brio is curled up in his lap and is thoroughly enjoying the petting she's getting from him.

"Are you ready Cyril?" I ask.

He nods and reluctantly puts Brio on the window sill. He stands up and tries to leave the window, but my spell is keeping him contained. "Help!" Cyril says softly.

I flick my wand, bringing down the barrier spell and decide to try a more localized spell on Brio this time. However, instead of putting it on the window, I draw a semi-circle around the door, much like what I saw Professor Dumbledore do all those years ago at the Triwizard Tournament. I saw this spell in an animal management book at the pet shop while I was waiting to give back the cats and although it sounds easy, it isn't. It's really hard to make sure I'm excluding humans while I'm containing Brio. At the moment, though, Brio is sound asleep and I don't think she'll even notice the humans in the room.

I'm wrong. As soon as Cyril begins his warm-up exercises, Brio's eyes fly open and she lets out a yowl that scares both Cyril and me. We giggle at each other's fright and continue with the lesson, accompanied occasionally by the little black cat. At least she stays put while we finish the lesson.

As he leaves, Cyril gives Brio one last pat saying, "You're a noisy one, you know that?"

His mother chuckles and they leave. Brio tries to follow them, but the barrier keeps her in. I guess I did the spell right.

My next student, also a piano student, enters with her mother. "Miss Susan, you've got a cat! I didn't know you had a cat. Can I pet it, can I pet it? Please, please, please?" Leslie pleads, looking both at her mother and at me. We both nod and Leslie's mum hands me her piano books. I give Leslie thirty seconds of petting and then call her over to the piano. This time, Brio only meows loudly at the beginning of every piece. I think it's an improvement.

At ten o'clock I have two Language Arts students scheduled. Their mothers, Mrs Sutton and Mrs Raines, usually bring their knitting and sit and chat while they're supervising their needles. My lesson is going rather well when, all of a sudden I hear, "Stop that, cat!" coming from the waiting area. The three of us come out to see Mrs Sutton disentangling Brio from the loose end of a piece of knitting which, instead of hanging nicely in mid-air, is now laying in a multi-coloured tangle about the little black cat. Brio is happily unraveling the piece from the bottom.

"Bad, kitty!" I exclaim, picking Brio up and casting the containment spell on the window sill before I put Brio down. She gives me a look that says, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"Don't give me that look, cat," I tell her. "You've been naughty, so here you'll stay." Turning to Mrs Sutton I ask, "Can your knitting be repaired?"

She smiles back. "All fixed. If you want to let her out I'll put this away and let her play with some extra yarn."

I'm really relieved Mrs Sutton isn't mad at us. "Thank you. Brio is still very much a kitten and her owner doesn't have much time to play with her," I tell her, canceling the barrier and setting Brio in front of the dangling piece of yarn. "You've gotten a reprieve, little one," I tell her. She looks up at us humans and then picks up a dainty paw and tentatively bats at the end. Smiling, I take my students back to the classroom as the kitty games begin.

At the end of the lesson, Mrs Sutton hands me a six-foot piece of yarn, the end of which is rather frayed. "Miss Susan, you can play with Brio like this." She shows me how to tease the cat so she'll pounce and bat and claw at the end of the yarn. Pretty soon, Brio loses interest and wanders down the hall towards her milk and food bowls which I've put near her cupboard door.

My next piano lesson comes in and I don't see Brio for an hour, nor do I hear her serenading the piano. I go to investigate and discover her curled up in a tight ball on the back of the tall, leather desk chair in my office. How she got in there with the door locked, I don't know. The walls at this end of the hall are completely bare, so climbing is out, and I know I didn't have any children wanting to use the loo during their lessons. Hmmmm... I'll have to ask Ernie about that. I conjure a cat bed and cast a warming charm upon it before levitating the sleeping Brio out the door and onto her new bed. Then, I securely seal the door with Colloportus and leave to settle up with the Magical Menagerie owner and then have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron.

Suddenly, as I'm happily sipping my tea and munching on one of Tom's excellent Forfar Briddies, Harmony comes swooping into the pub and lands in the middle of my table, startling more than just myself. To general cries of "Who let that owl in?" and "Whose ill-mannered owl is that?" I quickly inspect her and finding no note I ask her quietly, "What's that cat gotten into now?"

If an owl could talk Harmony would be that owl. She cocks her head and then begins running back and forth across the table making little musical twitters. Suddenly, I understand. Brio is awake and exploring, probably the pianos since Harmony is awake, and her "music" isn't the least appealing to my musically inclined owl. "I get your point, Harmony," I tell her, laughing. "You want your peace and quiet back, don't you?"

When my owl actually nods her head I know I have to do something. "All right, I'm coming," I tell my impatient bird. I quickly conjure a carry out bag and stuff the rest of my lunch into it. I leave what I owe Tom on the table and follow Harmony as she flies towards the back door. As I leave I hear one of the other patrons comment, "What an odd little witch that one is!" and I resist the urge to go back and put him straight.

Brio is having a wonderful time racing around the studio by herself. I stop just inside the door and watch as she leaps up on one counter, easily jumps the four feet or so between it and the second front counter, runs down its length building up speed so she can sail the longer distance between the counter and the piano that is located against the brick wall, hops over Harmony's perch, landing on the keyboard of my second piano where she makes a terrible racket running from the bass to the treble clefs. Then she's on the floor again, racing down the hall between my classrooms. At the end she turns sharply and comes right back and begins the circuit all over again! Finally, after three such laps, I sternly tell her, "Brio that is ENOUGH! Stop at ONCE!" And to my utter surprise, she skids to a stop along a counter top, bumping into my till.

"MEOW!!!"

Laughing, I walk over and scoop her up. "You don't say!" I exclaim, scratching her chin. "Shall I put you in the window or do you want your cat bed somewhere?"

In answer, the cat bed comes floating down the hall. I know I haven't cast the spell, so obviously, this is cat magic! Brio deposits the bed on the counter by my glass armonica and when it's in the place she wants it she jumps lightly from my arms and settles down for a nap.

"Oh, Brio," I say coming over to her, "this is so exciting! You're a magical cat and we didn't know it. Shall we send Harmony with a note to Ernie, or shall we just surprise him?"

In answer, Brio just yawns and I suppose she's leaving that decision up to me. "Well, Brio. I think Ernie needs to see you in action to believe all the wonderful things you can do, so we'll keep your magic to ourselves for the rest of the day."

And so begins a somewhat quiet and very pleasant afternoon. No more racing cats, no more escape attempts, just a lazy little feline who laps up every bit of human attention she gets from my students and their parents.

However, I soon discover that Brio has a knack for finding things. When I misplace my correcting quill during a group lesson I suddenly find it lying on the table in front of me. Twice, I can't remember where I put my wand down and as I begin searching for it I feel something nudge my pocket and there it is. I also lose track of a very important letter that I need to send with Harmony and suddenly I find it on top of a pile of papers I was about to correct. These things are not every-day occurrences, so I know they're the work of a new magical presence in my studio.

She's so helpful! If Ernie asks, I decide as I dismiss my last maths group of the day, I'll be Brio's cat-minder for as long as he needs me.

Before I know it, my clock is chiming six o'clock and I look up as the street door opens once more, this time admitting one very tired looking Healer-in-Training. Brio wakes up from her nap as I pass her basket and together we go to greet Ernie.

In his hands is a brown box. He looks at me with a slightly panicked expression. "Did she destroy anything that couldn't be repaired?" He thrusts a box of chocolates at me. "It's Muggle truffles but I hope they are tasty." he says.

"I'm sure they are. Thank you," I take the chocolates and absently put them on the counter as I pick up my new friend. "Actually, Ernie, we have something to show you," I say, then "Don't we, Brio?" I take out my wand and banish Brio's cat bed down the hall. "Brio," I say quietly, "do you want your bed?"

In answer, Brio repeats her feat from earlier, floating the cat bed back into place. When she's done, she pokes her nose in my ear, sniffing. I giggle and say, "What a lovely magical kitty you are, Brio!"

"By Helga's Garters! It looks like Brio may have chosen me rather than me rescuing her." Ernie says with astonishment.

"I think she did. And she has very good taste, if I say so myself," I tell him. "You're a lucky wizard to have such a special feline in your life. She got on just fine here. Lots of petting and playing, a little singing and serenading and lots of new magic. I'd equate her to an eleven-year-old witch ready for Hogwarts."

"Oh my. No wonder she was so bored when I left her alone. She's still learning about life and her place in it. Without people around her she was just bored and expressed her displeasure." Ernie says.

"Actually, I'm guessing that she was trying to control objects in her environment, practicing as it were," I tell him. "Most likely just as we did those first few months at school. I know she's practiced because of the control she has with the cat bed." Brio squirms and I put her down. She walks daintily over to Ernie and rubs her head against his ankles and shoes.

"She amazed me on more than one occasion. I just wonder what new abilities she will develop?" He asks.

"Whatever they are, they will develop much faster in a stimulating environment," I hint heavily.

Ernie smiles. "Would you like to be my cat sitter while I work, beautiful lady?" He asks.

Yes! Ernie caught my hint! I squeal inwardly. Keeping my dignity I turn to him and reply, "I would love to have her here every day, Ernie. The children love her, so do the parents and I think she's really happy with all the attention." Brio suddenly meows and runs down the hall and as we watch her food and water bowls come floating towards us. They settle at Ernie's feet.

He gapes at the bowls and I snicker, "I think she's hinting at something, Ernie."

"It looks like she is saying 'feed me' doesn't it to you?" He asks.

"Absolutely," I reply as my own stomach rumbles. "Will you be taking her home to feed her?"

"How about if I feed her here and I can go and feed her beautiful minder and we can come back so I can take her home? How does a nice dinner and a walk under the stars sound?" He asks

In answer, I kiss his cheek, murmuring, "I'd like that very much." I pull back just enough to say, "While you're feeding Brio I'll call Mum and let her know I have plans for the evening and tell her not to wait dinner for me."

Ten minutes later, Brio is happily curled up in her cat bed and Ernie and I are strolling through Muggle London in search of the perfect restaurant.

As we approach one with an menu posted outside I remember something. I squeeze Ernie's hand and say, "I don't think I thanked you properly for the chocolates. I'm really going to enjoy them... one delicious piece at a time."

I've decided to do something frivolous today for lunch. I'm not going to eat my sandwich; instead I'm going to go to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and splurge on a three-scoop hot fudge sundae with bananas, pecans and ice mice on top.

As I step into the shop Mr Fortescue greets me and grabs a menu, although he knows exactly what I'm going to order; I order the same kinds of ice cream and toppings every time.

"Miss Susan, welcome! How's business?" he asks. He goes on without letting me answer. "I see your students all the time. I think your business is good for my business, yes?"

I smile at him and sit at the table by the window he shows me to. "Yes, you are absolutely right."

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "The usual?"

"Yes, please."

Three minutes later I'm carefully pulling the magical candies off my sundae and watching them run around the saucer that's under my ice cream dish.

"You don't like the candies Susan Bones?" A feminine, accented voice asks near me.

Startled, I look up to see Nina Poliakov standing by my table. "Nina, would you care to join me?" I ask, blushing. "Oh, by the way, I like to eat my mice one at a time after I finish the rest of the sundae. They make the chilly feeling last a lot longer. Besides, it's fun to watch them run around."

Nina takes off her cloak and hangs it on the hook next to our table.

"Thank you," she says with a smile and sits down. Mr Fortescue comes back over.

"Hello Miss Poliakoff."

"Mr Fortescue. How are you?"

"I am fine. Your usual Chocolate Supreme, my dear?"

Nina's smile widens. "Yes, please."

Mr Fortescue beams and goes to the back to make Nina's request. Nina turns to me.

"How are you doing Susan? I would like to apologize. I had not been able to stop by the Musical Notebook lately to take you up on your offer. Life has been a little hectic lately."

I giggle into my spoon and swallow my bite before I tell her, "You're not the only one with a hectic schedule." I pause as Mr Fortescue comes back with Nina's ice cream. "Would you like to add another event to your calendar?"

Nina takes a bite out of her ice cream, closing her eyes to savor it most likely, and then swallows. "Another event? I think I can spare some time. What sort of event?"

"Well, we Hufflepuff girls call it a 'Puff Girls Night Out'. Megan, Hannah and I get together once in a while to gossip, catch up and eat fruit and cake dipped in chocolate fondue, something we started at Hogwarts. Anyway, it's Hannah's turn to have us over and when she mentioned that she might invite a friend, I decided I wanted to invite you. The party is tomorrow night after work. We're usually done by nine or ten at the latest. Does that sound like something you'd like to come to?"

Nina blinks at me a couple times, obviously taken aback a little. Soon a pleased expression crosses her features, along with a faint blush. "That sounds lovely. Thank you for thinking of me Susan. I certainly never been to anything like your Puff Girls night out, but it sounds fun. I would like to go, thank you."

"We usually get together about half six. Why don't you meet me at my studio at a quarter past six and we can go together?" I say.

"All right. I can let my cousin close up."

"Excellent, Nina," I say smiling broadly. "I think you'll have a great time. Megan and Hannah will be as happy to add you to our group as I am." My watch chimes and I look down at the antique watch pin I'm wearing and sigh. "Lunch time's over, I'm afraid. I've enjoyed talking to you. See you tomorrow after work."

"I'll be there." Nina smiles. "I'll have to finish up my ice cream now." She grins. "Crime to let chocolate, any sort, go to waste."

I know I can spare enough time to let Nina finish. "I don't have to go back immediately, so if you'd like me to stay until you've finished I can," I offer. We haven't had much time for girl-talk since Luna and Colin's party and it's so relaxing by the window that I don't want to leave Nina.

"If it's possible, can you tell me more about Hannah and Megan? And your time at Hogwarts? I never did get the chance to go when Beauxbatons went there for the Triwizard Tournament," Nina asks with a shy smile.

I'm happy to answer all her questions. I hope I can in ten minutes time. I settle back in my chair and begin, "Well, let's see. Hannah and Megan and I were first years together..."

I'm a little nervous as I open my studio this morning. Bill Weasley has made an appointment for later today to go over my glass armonica in search of any curses there might be on it. I have doubted there are from the moment I found this historical instrument, but since I am going to be storing it here at my studio (my father still doesn't know I've 'liberated' it from my family's attic) and it will be around my students, I want to know that it is a safe object to keep here.

The morning flies by and before I know it the door opens admitting Mr Weasley and his trainee. I immediately recognize her; she was at Hogwarts, on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, I remember, and I find myself rather excited to have her in my studio. I come around the counter and greet them.

"Hello. I'm Susan Bones. It's nice to finally meet both of you," I say smiling.

"Hello Miss Bones, I'm Bill Weasley and this is my associate that I'm training, Miss Katie Bell," he says holding out his hand.

I smile as I recognize Katie. Smiling at her I exclaim, "I remember how much I loved watching you play Quidditch, Miss Bell. You played in some notable games while I was at Hogwarts."

She smiles back, "Good to see you again, Miss Bones."

"Thank you for the information you shared with us on the history of the Glass Armonica. It will do wonders in our quest to remove any wayward magics on the instrument." Bill says. "May I move the instrument out into the center of the room so we can walk around it? If the windows can be darkened it might lessen the curiosity factor of the passers by on the sidewalk." Bill says.

I get out my wand. "Certainly, Mr Weasley. Let me levitate the armonica out into the waiting area. I think it's a big enough area for you to work in," I offer. A quick flick of my wand has the ancient instrument hovering precariously a few inches off the floor. I concentrate hard as it inches between the two counters and out into the middle of the waiting area. I set it down carefully with a muffled clank and keep my fingers crossed that the glass bowls haven't cracked, they're so old and fragile. I then quickly flick my wand at the windows, causing them to look like a Muggle two-way mirror and turn the open sign to "closed". "Will this do?"

"Thank you Miss Bones, I this will work wonderfully."

He walks around the armonica observing it "An interesting construction, after I check it out, will you play something on it?"

"Yes, of course. But only when it is curse-free. I really haven't wanted to practice on it until I knew for certain that nothing would affect me or my students," I tell him.

"Did you feel any physical changes as you moved it here?" He asks.

Frowning, I try to recall anything at all. "No," I say hesitantly. "Not that I know of. I've been too busy to do much practicing on either instrument the last few days and the children who have come in contact with the glass armonica haven't shown any signs of unusual behavior, if that's what you mean."

"Excellent, if the armonica is cursed, it isn't a contact curse that will affect people by touch." He says.

A strange owl is sitting on the awning covering my studio doorway waiting for me when I get to work. I’m surprised to see it because I’m sure he didn’t have much time over the weekend to develop my studio photos with the housewarming party on Saturday. I unlock the studio and call to Harmony to do her inspection. I hold out my arm to the owl as she flies through the studio; there’s a muffled squeak and I know Harmony has found a mouse somewhere in the back, most likely my office.

I turn my attention to the note attached to its leg:

Dear Susan,

I apologize that it has taken me this long, but I have finished developing the pictures. I’ve included two that I thought you might really like. Let me know when you would like to meet so I can show you the rest.

Sincerely,
Colin Creevey

I open the envelope again and pull out the two photographs, gasping at how good they are. The first is a group shot of my morning maths class; the boys are hard at work and I have no idea how Colin captured this moment in time. The second is one of the photos he took during my piano lesson: it looks like a Muggle still photo, but if you know what to look for, you can see Penelope’s fingers moving on the piano keys.

Walking over to the counter, I pick up a quill and write:

Colin,

Shall we meet for lunch either Thursday or Friday?

I love the pictures and am anxious to see the rest. I think I’m going to have a hard time choosing the photos for the brochure.

See you soon,

Susan

I quickly fold up the note and give it to the waiting owl. It hoots once and then flies out the open door.
An hour later the owl comes back.

Susan,

Friday would be the best day for me. As for the pictures, don't worry. I have a few more that I think might help you make your decision. I will see you soon.

-Colin

I quickly write back,

Colin,

If you’re coming Friday, please come early between eight and ten o’clock. No need to reply. I’ll be in my office and will leave the front door unlocked. Just come in when you get here.

Susan

I open the door to my studio at half past seven and stand back to let Harmony swoop in before me. Harmony hates staying in the Owlery at my parents’ house while I am at work, so we meet here every morning. I love to watch as she cruises around the shop, checking out each of my rooms from the air, as is her habit before she settles down on her perch between my pianos for her morning nap. She does this every morning, I think, hoping to find one of the non-existent mice that had taken up residence in my office before she became my friend and personal post carrier. She looks disappointed when she doesn’t find an easy meal, but I couldn’t be happier; my built-in mouser is keeping the infuriating rodents at bay. (Last January, the mice ruined several of my teachers’ manuals beyond the scope of an ordinary Repairing spell and the expensive books took several months reorder from the Ministry. My books have not been bothered since Harmony began her habitual morning cruises! Thank goodness!)

I walk directly to my office and open my lesson planner. Since it’s Friday, September 21st I’ve made it a point to be here extra early. Colin Creevey is coming at ten o’clock to take pictures of my tutoring groups for the advertising brochure I’m having printed and I want to be sure I’m ready for him as well as my students.

I’ve already finalized the wording of my brochure and had Megan check it over. It should be truly eye-catching once the photos have been inserted. I also have the verbiage for my Daily Prophet advert and want to discuss its size and picture placement with Colin over lunch. I’ve reserved one of the smaller meeting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron for our lunch later. I’m hoping to have everything but the picture selection decided upon by the end of lunch.

A glance at my watch tells me that I still have plenty of time to gather my supplies for my two tutoring groups. Quickly I set up for my seven-to-nine maths group (a boisterous group of boys who absolutely love building things with my manipulatives) and then I wander into the smaller of my tutoring rooms and pull out the texts for my two literature students. These children are nine years old and we’re reading an American novel called Where the Red Fern Grows aloud together. It’s one of my very favorite children’s books and as soon as we are finished with it we’ll start on a new, to me, book A Dog Called Perth. Eventually, we’ll compare and contrast these two books and then write a short essay about our findings.

I hear the front door open and realize I’ve been sitting here daydreaming and getting nothing done. The tutoring room clock reads nine o’clock, time for the first of two early-morning piano lessons. I bustle down the hallway and begin my day.

An hour later, I dismiss my second piano student just as the door opens to admit Colin Creevey. He’s nearly bowled over by two of my maths students in their eagerness to greet me.

“I’m sorry, Colin,” I say as I shoo the boys down the hall towards their room. “How are you this morning?”
"I'm doing well," he responds looking around the studio for a few moments. I don't know what he's looking at when he pauses, tilting his head slightly to look at part of the room. When he glances at me, the tips of his ears start to turn red as he shifts his bag, which I assume holds his camera, film and anything else he needs for photographs. "Sorry, I was looking around. Getting ideas. How are you?"
“Eager to show you my studio. Come with me and I’ll give you a quick tour,” I say, turning to lead the way. I lead the way down the short hall to my office, on the way sticking my head in the doorway of my large classroom just to make sure the boys have started on their “wait time” review packets. They are busily concentrating and I heave a small sigh of relief that they have settled down so well.
Colin looks in as he passes, again quickly tilting his head this way and that as I open the opposite door to show him my smaller tutoring room. Finally we come to my office and I go in. Gesturing to one of the extra chairs, I say, “It’s a pretty basic set-up. Do you have any questions before we meet the children?”

It's been nearly two weeks since Hogwarts started and all my eleven-year-olds stepped onto the Hogwarts for the very first time. One family invited me to come with them to see their daughter off and I had a very nice time that morning. However, when I reached home and discovered that I suddenly didn't have quite as many students as I had the previous week, I was saddened and a little scared that I wouldn't be able to make the nice profit I've enjoyed these last few months.

So... here I sit pouring over the layout and wording of my latest brochure and I've just realized that my pamphlet would look so much nicer if it included some pictures of my studio. The only photographer I know of is Colin Creevey, so I've written him a note. I hope he can come soon because I really need to get these brochures out into the community.

I think I know who my Mystery Wizard is. He’s dropped so many hints in his letters and his packages just melt my heart; I really feel loved by this wizard who I think is too shy to reveal himself to me. Besides, Harmony seems to have become very attached to his owl, Noden, and I shudder to think what would happen to her if I didn’t like Noden’s wizard. Oh, I really do hope it’s Ernie!

I’ve been thinking about what to get my Mystery Wizard as a surprise present and I think I know exactly what I’d like to get him. There’s a little shop in Muggle London next to the printer my father uses for his business stationery that sells stationery and fine writing instruments and I think that’s where I want to look for my Mystery Wizard’s surprise.

I’ve had a cancellation right after lunch, so I have an extra hour today. I eat quickly while laying out my teaching materials for my next lesson in my smaller classroom. (This will be a private maths lesson with a ten-year-old girl who is hoping to receive her Hogwarts letter in October. Right now we’re working on simple pre-algebra concepts and she’s doing very well—I think she comes from a family with ties to Ravenclaw which is the house I think she wants the Sorting Hat to put her in!) When I’m ready I lock up my studio and Disapparate to an alley close to the stationer’s.

The bell on the door rings as I enter and a young man with short black hair and piercing black eyes waves at me and comes around the counter. His accent is hard to place as he greets me.

“Hello, miss. How may I be of service?” he asks, his voice reminding me of sultry Spanish evenings and momentarily throwing me off guard.

“I, er, I want to look at your fountain pens,” I manage to say.

He gestures towards a glass case at the back of the shop. “Come this way, please,” he says invitingly. “By the way, I am Jaime.”

I follow him and am immediately am bowled over by the vast array of pens in the case. Jaime takes out his keys and opens the back of the case. The display is divided by country of manufacture with the largest section coming from Germany. The pen makers featured are Montblanc, Pelikan, Faber-Castell, and Rotring. I like what I see in these groups, but some of the prices seem a little high. A French company, Caran d’Arche, has a few very nice pens and their prices are even higher than the ones from Germany. I like a pen from the Italian maker, Montegrappa, but quickly hide my dismay when Jaime tells me that price is three thousand pounds! Finally, I come to the pens from America. The two manufacturers this shop features are Waterman and Cross.

I spend quite a lot of time looking at the Waterman pens. Jaime patiently takes out almost every pen from this company, letting me heft and inspect each one. I like these pens, but again, there is something about their bulky top-heaviness that turns me off.

We next look at the pens from Cross. There are some really nice gift sets as part of the display and I find myself drawn to their sleek shape. The gold plated ball point feels good in my hand, but when I ask Jaime if he has a matching fountain pen in stock, he shakes his head ruefully and tells me sold the last one a week ago yesterday. I keep looking and in the very back corner of the display case, I see a matte black pen and pencil set with gold accents. They look very Hufflepuffish and I excitedly ask to have the set and its matching fountain pen taken from the case.



“You have very good taste, Miss Susan,” Jaime purrs, taking the items from their corner and setting them with a flourish on a gold jeweller’s pad.

“May I?” I enquire, reaching for the fountain pen.

Jaime nods and I pick up the pen. Although it’s a little fatter than the ball point or the pencil, I like the way it feels when I pretend to write with it; it’s not top heavy like some I’ve picked up and the matte finish doesn’t feel slippery to me like some of the plastic barrelled pens did.

I smile excitedly. This is the one! This is the pen I’ve been looking for! And it’s not too expensive, so I don’t feel too guilty about purchasing two pens and the pencil. If my Mystery Wizard really is Ernie Mcmillan, I know he’ll get lots of use out of all three, especially if I purchase enough refills to last at least six months. (I have a feeling Healers-in-training have to write a lot.)

“I’ll take one each of the fountain pen, the ball point and the mechanical pencil,” I tell Jaime.

He smiles at me and scurries off towards the back room after returning the display samples to their corner of the case. Several minutes later, he comes back with three small boxes clutched in his hands. He dumps the lot on the counter and opens them, showing me each instrument with a flourish. I ooh and ahh over each and then say, “Oh, by the way, I’ll need refills to last about a year.” Jaime’s eyes get rather large and he goes back into the store room.

Meanwhile, I pluck my wand from its hiding place and take up the fountain pen. Concentrating on making the engraving beautiful and easily read at the same time, I whisper an engraving spell and then, “Healer MacMillan” while pointing the wand at the pen. The name appears in a legible, flowing script along the shaft of the cap and I quickly repeat the process for the mechanical pencil and the ball point pen. I hear Jaime coming back, so I secret my wand again and close the boxes, making certain that they are lying in exactly the same spots as when Jaime left me.

“Do you want each of these individually gift wrapped?” Jaime asks, looking somewhat nervous. I think he’s hoping he won’t have to spend an hour wrapping each pen and refill individually.

I take pity on him. “No, I don’t think so,” I say, thinking of how tired Harmony would be if she had to make even half a dozen trips across town to St. Mungo’s. “Do you have a box big enough for the lot to go in? One big box will be best, I think... especially if you can gift wrap it.”

Jaime nods and we go over to the till to ring up my purchases. That done, he disappears yet again into the back, leaving me to walk around the shop while he’s wrapping my gift. I find a display of blank-inside greeting cards and find one with the picture of a pair of owls that remind me of Harmony and Noden. I take it up to the counter and hand over two pound notes to the other sales girl for the card and envelope.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m back in my office at The Musical Notebook. Harmony woke from a nap when I came in and she’s now perched on my shoulder, impatiently waiting to take the box to my Mystery Wizard. She nips my ear lightly, trying to hurry me along.

“Just a moment, you silly owl,” I scold with a smile. “I want to get this worded right and I can’t think straight with you playing with my ears!”

Harmony squawks indignantly and flies to the top of my book case. In my best handwriting, I begin to fill out the blank card.

Dearest Noden’s Wizard,

I’ve been thinking of you quite a bit lately and hope you are well. Although I am not as glibly tongued as you are, please know that the sentiments sent with this package come from my heart. I hope you like what’s inside your gift. I saved my galleons carefully and found something for you at one of my favourite shops in Muggle London. Please enjoy using this gift daily. I hope it reminds you of me.

All my love,

Susan

I sit for a moment staring at what I’ve written, knowing that when my Mystery Wizard sees what’s engraved on the pens he’ll know I have guessed who he is. I thought I would be nervous telling him that I suspect who he is, but actually that’s not the case. I’m very calm as I slip the card into the envelope, attach the card to the beautifully wrapped package and finally slip the lot into another box to keep it safe from prying eyes and Harmony’s claws.

“I’m ready for you now, Harmony” I call to my owl. She lights on top of the box and lets me secure the package to both her legs. “Take this to Noden’s Wizard.” I tell her.

She leaps mightily and soars through my office door. I have to run to beat her to the front door. I fling it open just in time for her to swoop through above the heads of my future Ravenclaw student and her mother.

It’s lunch time and after a busy morning I’ve finally found the time to read the note from my Mystery Wizard. (Once a week for the last six weeks either Noden or Harmony has brought me a short note from him and today is this week’s lucky day. I don’t know what my Harmony has been up to lately. I know she goes out hunting each night, but I’ve now started wondering if she goes to meet Noden each night for a shared flight/hunt. I wish I knew…) I make a cup of tea to drink while I eat lunch and read the note. I’m hoping also to do some paper work, but if last week’s missive is any indication of how dreamy I’ll feel after reading this week’s note, I probably won’t be in any condition to concentrate on anything but my Mystery Wizard. He’s so sweet and his notes perk up my week like nothing else will…

I take the tea back to my office and settle down at my desk. Calla has made me a wonderful soup and sandwich combination and I make myself taste both before I dive into the note that’s been burning a hole in my pocket all morning.

Dearest Susan,

Noden surprised me when I met your owl several weeks ago and we’ve become fast friends in the interim. Well, now you know how to contact me using your Long-eared when mine isn't available.

In your return owl, would you please tell me your owl's name?

Till I hear from you again,

Noden's Wizard.

So that’s where Harmony went last night! She did go to see Noden! The little schemers! I bet Noden wanted to make sure Harmony knew exactly who my mystery wizard is and where to find him. I chuckle at their cleverness as I reach for my special parchment and a quill.

Dear Noden’s Wizard,

I am Harmony, Susan’s owl. I had the pleasure of meeting you last evening when Noden brought me to see his perch. if you are now reading this message, I have successfully found my way to you. I must tell you that Susan is definitely distracted by all the attention you have been showering on her; she’s rather shy when it comes to romance and sits in her chair with the cutest bemused look on her face when she thinks I’m not looking. I just hope you will take it upon yourself to put her out of her misery. Otherwise, I think she’ll be too sleepy to teach if this goes on much longer!

I hope to be delivering more mail to you very soon and await your next instruction.

Yours truly,
Harmony the Owl

Well, if Noden’s Wizard can be clever, so can I. I finish my lunch and then call Harmony to me.

“Take this to my Mystery Wizard,” I instruct her as I tie on my message. “If you want to stay, go ahead. I don’t have any more correspondence.” I stroke her belly as I carry her to the door. “I just hope I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” I say as she takes wing… again toward St. Mungo’s.

Hmmm. St. Mungo’s… She always flies in that direction… Could my Mystery Wizard be… No, it can’t be… Could he be? I’m grinning from ear to ear now. I think have known him all my life… Oh, I won’t jinx my good fortune by saying his name yet, but KNOW WHO HE IS! I hug myself as I close the door and lean against it, too happy with my discovery to do little more than grin.

I’ve just dismissed my last study group of the morning when a tiny owl carrying a message swoops in the closing door and begins fluttering madly about the reception area. It’s flying a little too high for me to catch, so I withdraw my wand and Summon it. I drop my wand as the bird zooms towards me and I manage to catch it before it whacks me in the head. I let it go after relieving it of its burden and it immediately rockets away as if doing a happy dance. Harmony eyes the intruder and shifts over to give it a wide birth as it lands on her water dish and takes a long drink.

Chuckling, I unroll the parchment and discover my letter is from Hermione. I remember the owl now. Its name is “Pig” of all things!

Dear Susan,

I was wondering if you would have time to meet this afternoon at the Leaky Cauldron. I am in London doing shopping and I would like to meet with you to discuss the wedding music. Maybe we could meet for lunch.

Hermione

I look at my watch and lesson plan book. I don’t have another lesson for three hours but I really don’t want to close the studio for longer than two, so I quickly write back that I can spare an hour for a long lunch at noon. It will only take me five minutes to get to the Leaky Cauldron, so if the meeting should run long, I won’t have far to go.

Pig seems to know, just as Harmony does, when I’ve finished writing and comes flitting over to me. He extends a leg like a proper Post Owl, but hops around a bit as I tie on my reply. As he flies away I go to my office to gather my supplies for my next lesson and take them to my small tutoring room. I have two private tutoring sessions and four piano lessons on my afternoon schedule and it wouldn’t do to be disorganized.

Lunch time:
I’m so excited I could burst! The last two days have been absolutely mysterious and I’m finding it very hard to concentrate on my teaching. I’m constantly on the look-out for Noden, my mystery wizard’s owl—I found him still in our Owlery this morning sitting very close to Harmony with his head tucked under his wing—since I sent him back with a thank you note. I’ve heard of those things Muggles call mobile phones and really wish I had one right now so I could call up Megan and Hannah and share my good news. However, I have time right now (if I skip lunch) to make a quick trip to both Knightly and Poppington and the Daily Prophet to hand deliver the notes I wrote to Hannah and Megan this morning before I went to bed.
I grab my cloak and bag and after locking the studio speed quickly to Knightly and Poppington where I’ll hopefully get to see Hannah in person.
When I get there, Hannah is just walking down the front steps. I rush up to her calling, “Hannah, do you have a minute? I need to talk with you!”
Hannah turns and smiles when she sees me. “Hi Susan! You sound excited. What’s up?”
“Hannah, we have to have an emergency Puff Girls night tonight!” I exclaim. “I know it’s really short notice, but I’ve got some really great news that I can’t possibly wait any longer! Do you think you can make it?”
I hand her the note I’ve written, keeping my fingers crossed that she doesn’t have plans tonight and that Neville won’t be too put-out with the suddenness of the meeting. I look at Hannah hopefully as she scans the invitation.

I’m relaxing with a cup of tea right before I close the shop when the door opens, startling Harmony out of her light snooze. I look up to see Ernie McMillan standing in the doorway. Just like Justin had done, he looks around appreciatively before stepping all the way in and closing the door behind him.

“Hi Ernie,” I say, putting down my cup. “What can I do for you?”

He comes up to the counter and leans his elbows on it. I notice he’s got on his chartreuse-colored healer’s robes bearing the St. Mungo’s insignia with the white background on the pocket. He looks tired and I think he’s on his way home from a long shift.

“I-I’d like to sign up for piano lessons,” he says, stifling a huge yawn.

I get up and reach under the counter for a clipboard and the proper forms. “Do you want to take these home or fill them out here?” I ask.

“I’ll fill them out here,” he tells me. He fishes a quill from a pocket and takes the forms over to one of my parent chairs. I go back to my tea.

“Here you are,” he says a few minutes later. He hands me the clipboard. I take it, just barely glancing at it. Instead, I hand him the duplicate sheet along with a list of Muggle music stores where he can purchase the proper adult method book and the bill for the first month’s lessons.

I don’t know how familiar he is with Muggle London, so I suggest, “You might want to contact Justin about how to get to the music stores. He knows Muggle London rather well, I should think, since his parents are Muggles. Who knows, he might even want to go with you.”

“I’ll think about that,” Ernie says. He seems distracted and not really focusing on what I’m saying. I hope he won’t be like this in his lessons.

“When do you want to start?” I ask.

“Next Wednesday? The later the better.” He fishes out his money bag and hands over the proper number of galleons which I put in my cash drawer.

I consult my appointment chart. “My last scheduled appointment is at four o’clock. Would it be better for you to come at half-past four or would five o’clock be better?” I ask.

“Five would be best, Susan,” he says. “That’s when I’m the most awake.”

I laugh at how truthful that sounds. “I just hope my stomach won’t growl during your lesson. That’s my last lesson time and it’s really close to when I usually eat dinner,” I say. “So shall I see you next Wednesday?”

Ernie nods and says, “Yes, I'm looking forward to this. My last instrument I learned was the bagpipes.”

“Then you’ll do fine, Ernie. Have a good evening,” I call as he leaves.

I turn to Harmony, “We’ve another piano student, girl, and a handsome one at that. I’m rather happy. Let’s go home and celebrate.”

“You did very well today, Katrina,” I tell the bouncy six-year-old as she hops down from the piano stool and walks over to stroke Harmony’s tummy feathers. My owl wakes up with a startled hoot, then twitters softly at the attention she’s getting. “Please remember to keep your fingers curved and wrists off the key stop. You can’t play fast if you have lazy arms.”

“Yes, Miss Bones,” she says. “Is my mummy here yet?”

I look out the window and see Katrina’s mother hurrying toward my studio. “Yes. Here she comes. Get your cloak and I’ll see you next week,” I say, smiling. As Katrina exits, I notice a wizard leaning against the wall between the two shops across the Alley. He looks familiar, but since I need to gather my things for my next tutoring lesson I don’t pay much attention to him.

A few minutes later, Harmony launches herself from her perch and begins flying in front of the windows of the studio. I look up from my lesson plan book and ask, “What is it, girl?”

The wizard from earlier is now pacing in front of my windows and I recognize him: it’s Justin Finch-Fletchley. My mouth goes dry as Harmony matches her flight pattern to Justin’s pacing. Why is he here? I wonder. And why is he pacing? I wave and beckon him to come in.

It feels very weird to be putting on my better robes on a Saturday. I’m used to Muggle jeans and a t-shirt in mild weather, but since today is my first time playing at the Cuppa Fate Tea Shop I need to look presentable.

I’ve been practicing all week for today. I’ve chosen the music of Felix Mendelssohn for my first afternoon; I’m playing my favorite Songs Without Words which include four different Venetian Boat Songs, four of my favorite Mendelssohn sonatas, a fantasia in c minor, and several capriccios. Not all the music is memorized because the sonatas are quite long and I haven’t had enough time to memorize the new music I learned for today. I sincerely hope Lavender accepts that I can play those pieces better with the music than without them.

My cuckoo clock chimes up, “Time to go! Time to go!” I smile at it and grab my music bag making sure the contract Lavender and I must sign is inside. As soon as it’s signed, I’ll secure it in my bag and then I’ll have Harmony take it to my father at his office.

“I’m on my way,” I call to the house in general.

“Good luck,” Calla calls from the kitchen.

My mother acknowledges my leaving by sticking her head out of her sitting room. “Have a good first day, Susan,” she says. “If it won’t embarrass you, I’ll come and listen between three and four.”

“Thanks, mum. I think you’ll like the shop. See you soon,” I say and I walk briskly towards our aviary where Harmony is sleeping in her cage next to our family owl, Nugget. I wake Harmony. “Meet me at the Cuppa Fate Tea Shop in a few minutes,” I request. “Hopefully by the time you get there I’ll have a very important letter for you to carry.”

Harmony twitters sleepily and tucks her head beneath her wing for a few more minutes of sleep. I know she’ll be where I’ve requested because she’s so reliable. A minute later, I Disapparate and reappear at the Leaky Cauldron. A short, brisk walk later, I open the door to find Lavender bustling about the tea shop chatting with customers and delivering her special brand of happiness.

“Hi Susan,” she calls over her shoulder as she hurries toward the kitchen door. “You’re very early. Something wrong?”

I follow her and locate her desk in a back corner. I set my bag on her chair and take out the contract. “No, nothing’s wrong, thank goodness. I have that contract for you to sign. Do you have a minute to do so?”

Lavender glances out at her customers and comes over quickly. “Yes. I think everyone has what they need,” she says somewhat breathlessly. I hand her the contract which she reads from top to bottom. She signs with a flourish, then says, “Your father plays dirty. Did you see the clause that requires you to pay him five percent a month for the rest of the year? What’s that all about?”

I sigh. “I borrowed the galleons for my start-up costs from him and he as much as told me that he’s my silent partner until my debt to him is paid off. Please don’t get me started ranting about this, Lavender. I need to be calm and focused for your customers and talking about my father will just get me frustrated.”

“Sit down, Susan,” she orders, pushing me into her desk chair—I sit on my music bag. “What you need is some of my Chamomile Comfort blend tea. It should calm your spirit enough for you to be ready at two.” She brings over a pot of tea, lifts the lid, and wafts the scent of the leaves towards me before going out to check on her customers.

I sit and sip, feeling the herbs begin to work as thoughts of my father leave my mind. I wonder vaguely if Lavender has spiked my cup with a few drops of calming draft. I put those thoughts out of my mind as well and begin to concentrate on the melodies I’m going to play this afternoon.

Lavender comes back several minutes later holding Harmony on her arm. “Susan, this lovely owl tried to fly through the kitchen door. Is it yours?”

I extend my own arm to Harmony and she comes to land on my shoulder, gently picking at my hair with her beak. I stroke her chest feathers to distract her and she stops long enough for me to attach the contract to her leg. “Yes, her name’s Harmony. I asked her to meet me here so that I can send the contract to my father,” I tell her. I address my owl next. “Harmony, take the letter to my father. Don’t wait for a reply; there won’t be one. You can go home and resume your nap when you’re done. Thanks, love,” I say opening the back door. Harmony hoots once and takes off.

I go back to my tea. “This is really good, Lavender. It’s really doing the trick. What’s in it?”

“Mostly chamomile and lemon grass, a little licorice, some thyme and a trace amount of valerian. Don’t be alarmed, Susan. The amount of powdered valerian is one tenth of one percent per kilogram, about the same as adding a pinch of salt to a scone recipe. That’s just enough to help you feel calm right away instead of five minutes from now,” she says.

“Is that blend approved by the Health Department? And do your customers know they’re being drugged?” I ask, slightly panicked.

Lavender nods as she puts some scones on a plate. As she leaves the kitchen, she hands me her menu. “Read the tea list. The Chamomile Comfort blend is about half way down on the left side. It’s Madam Puddifoot’s recipe and it has been Ministry approved, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I look and notice that several of the blends she serves have a tiny Ministry of Magic approval seal next to the listing and an explanation of the contents under the names of the blends. I feel a little better and rise to put the menu back on the stack near the door. I finish my cup and gather my music. It’s time to go do my thing.

I’ve been dreading this meeting for a month. Back in December when I was signing all the contracts to lease 82 Diagon Alley, paying for my ministry-approved text books, and negotiating a fair price for my pianos, my father, who was loaning me the start-up galleons, insisted that I give him a quarterly accounting at the end of the first Quarter. Well, here it is the beginning of April and I’m now pacing in front of my father’s secretary’s desk at Throckmorton and Saltsman, Ltd. The door opens and his secretary walks past with her nose in the air.

“You may go in now,” she says dismissively.

My father stands behind his desk and extends his hand to me as he would any other client. “Miss Bones,” he says cordially, “welcome.” We shake and then he points to the chair behind me. “It’s good to see you. Please, sit down.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bones,” I say, feeling very tense in this formal atmosphere. The chair I’m to sit in is very hard, so I perch on the end of it.

My father opens a file and glances briefly at the few sheets of parchment inside. “Well, Miss Bones, I see it is time for your quarterly report. What do you have for me?”

I open my own file and hand him a copy of the report I’ve prepared. I clear my throat and wipe my sweaty palm surreptitiously on my dress robes. “Sir, I officially opened the studio for business on Monday, 4 January 1999 with a total of six paid piano students and four paid tutoring groups of four students each. Each week that month I added at least one piano student and a tutoring group for a total of twelve piano students and eight tutoring groups. Because I was adding students constantly, the profits for each week increased,” I tell him nervously.

“And yet,” my father interrupts, “I see you barely met your rent and other obligations.”

“That may be so, sir, but I did realize a profit of forty galleons when I was expecting much less,” I say defensively.

My father merely grunts and turns to the next page of my report. We go through the balance sheets for February and March with me carefully explaining each disbursement and receipt.

“I see here that you have marked the Cole family as being a month late in their March payment. What steps have you taken to recoup your loss?” my father asks suddenly.

I bristle at his insinuation that Mr. and Mrs. Cole are bad customers. “I’ll have you know that Mrs. Cole paid both her March and April payments yesterday, 6 April 1999, as she told me she would. The family had an unexpected expense at the end of February and Mrs. Cole asked me if she could pay me late for March,” I say in the family’s defence. “I agreed and we were both satisfied with the agreement.”

“Miss Bones, it is not good business practice to let your clients go into arrears in their obligations to you. I assume you charged this Mrs. Cole twenty percent interest on what she owed you,” he says severely.

I squirm uncomfortably and say nothing, knowing I am going to be dressed down for accepting only what Mrs. Cole owed me for the two months.

“Miss Bones, your business will fail if you allow your customers to take advantage of you like this. From this moment I am requiring you to charge delinquent customers twenty percent interest each month they are in arrears. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply equally forcefully. “But whose business is this, yours or mine? Mrs. Cole would have pulled her daughter out of her tutoring groups if I had charged her interest. The family is poor and is making a sacrifice so that the girl gets the education she deserves. I think it makes much better business sense to accept the family’s payment a month late without interest than to lose future income because the parents took their daughter out of her educational groups!”

My father leans back in his chair and folds his hands across his ample stomach. “That may well be, but my request stands: you are to charge interest in the future, Miss Bones.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Your customers will take advantage of your generosity and your business will fail.”

When my father makes pronouncements like that one, I’d love to whip out my wand and hex him to heck and gone. I know he’s wrong; I’ve only had the one family ask about postponing a payment in the three months I’ve been open, so I don’t think there’s a precedent being set here. I glare across the desk, daring my father to look away. He does and turns the page to the record of my professional engagements.

He peruses the page silently, then suddenly turns purple with rage. “Miss Bones,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice, “will you kindly explain the meaning of the ‘gift 0 G’ listing in the receipts column next to the Potter Wedding Reception?”

I smile sweetly, knowing the smile will just aggravate him more. “It’s exactly what I’ve listed. I wrote to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley after I received my invitation offering to provide background music for the reception. I waived the fee and played for free as my gift to Harry and Ginny. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley allowed me to put out my business cards and I’ve booked several parties and a banquet for later in the spring from people I met at the reception.”

The colour in my father’s face has returned to a more normal shade. “I’m glad to hear that,” he tells me. He comes to the end of the parchment and turns the page as if looking for something. “Let’s see...one other item that has me puzzled. You state here that you have contracted with a Miss Lavender Brown of the ‘Cuppa Fortune Tearoom’ to play each Saturday from 2 to 5 in the afternoon. I do not see a contract here, Miss Bones. Have you perchance forgotten to include it here?”

I knew my verbal contract with Lavender was going to cause me trouble! I haven’t even started yet and my father is questioning my playing there. I know I have to explain, so I do. “Lavender sent me an owl about a month ago saying she’d like me to come visit her tea room to talk about the possibilities of me providing music once a week. We talked last week and I start next Saturday.”

“How much will she be paying you?”

“Five galleons per hour,” I answer. “That’s the going rate for the Magical Musicians’ Union I belong to.”

“And the contract?”

“Was verbal, sealed with a handshake.”

“WHAT??? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how shaky such contracts are? Even if you shook, this Miss Brown can easily renege on the contract saying that she never agreed to any of the terms therein!”

“I understand that, sir. We also agreed that the next time I came in I’d have a written contract with me for her to sign. If you’d like to draw it up now, I’ll pay you for your time.”

“I’ll do that,” he tells me reaching for his quill and taking a blank contract form from his desk. “What were the terms again?”

I tell him, squirming a little as I wait for him to write up the contract. I want this review over with and to be back in Diagon Alley where I belong. I’m losing money having to cancel so many appointments to be here. I don’t let on that I’m getting impatient: I sit quietly on the edge of my chair and try to enjoy being in my father’s office. It’s definitely not an easy thing to do.

My father finally looks up and hands me the contract with a flourish. “There you are, Miss Bones. May I keep this copy of your report? Very good. Please see Madam Rockefeller about scheduling your appointment for July. Good day.”

I leave the office, stopping by the secretary’s desk to make the appointment. She tells me that I will be billed for the contract my father drew up. “How much is the fee?” I ask.

“Fifty galleons, Miss,” she says.

I gulp, “Thank you,” and hastily exit the office. There goes my profit for this month! Lavender had better like what I play. I’m going to need every bit of what she pays me to pay for that contract! I hope this day gets better soon!

I arrive early at the reception venue and Mrs. Weasley immediately calls one of her older sons—I’m not sure which one, although I know he’s not Percy or one of the twins— to relieve me of the huge box I’ve levitated inside.

( Read more... )

It’s time I got myself an owl. Postage for my clients and the bills I need to pay as well as other correspondence eats up my profits every time I set foot in the post office. If I’m going to show any profit at my first quarterly review with my father on Tuesday, I’m going to have to find a less expensive way to handle my mail.

As soon as my last morning tutoring group finishes up, I put a sign in my window telling visitors that I will be back in two hours, listing the time. Then, I grab my hand bag and wend my way over to Eyelops Owl Emporium.

I’ve love walking in here since I was a child. The owls seem to sense when one has come for supplies and when one wants to purchase an owl. As I walk in every one of them seems to wake up and puff out its chest as if to say, “I’m the owl for you.”

“May I help you?” a gravelly voice from further back in the shop inquires.

“I’d like to purchase an owl,” I say. “May I have a look around?”

“Certainly. Do you have any distance requirements? What about weight requirements?”

Most of my friends live around London, but several of my clients live much farther north. That rules out the cute little Scops owls and the Little owls which are labeled for local use only.

“My postage needs are generally for letters and small packages going as far as Hogwarts,” I tell the man.

“Then you’ll need a larger bird. Come look at these,” he says leading the way over to the medium-sized owls. “The barn, long-eared, short-eared and eagle owls are good for that distance. They’re native to Britain and know the country quite well. Any greater distance and you’ll need a large species of European or American owl.”

I study the middle distance owls hoping to find a bird I can connect with. My mum always says it’s best to own a bird with your temperament and outlook on life. I smile, remembering Draco Malfoy’s haughty eagle owl and how much I thought it looked like him! And then, there’s Harry Potter’s Snowy owl and how bravely determined she was when she showed up hurt in Binns’ class that time in fifth year. There has to be a bird in here I can connect with! I muse, running my gaze over the tiers of owls.

Suddenly, a long-eared owl flies down and lights on my shoulder. The proprietor chuckles when I startle and makes the introduction saying, “I was wondering if Harmony would like you. She’s such a finicky bird, no one wants her.”

“Has she been here long?” I ask, wondering if this bird is old.

“Just a month, but she’s been returned twice because she didn’t get along with her new owners.”

“Why’s that?”

“She likes music and the homes she was going to weren’t musical, so she provided her own amusement by calling to the wild owls outside. I’d say she lasted for less than twenty-four hours in the second house.” He pauses, squinting at me. “Aren’t you the witch who opened that tutoring service down the Alley?”

“I am.”

“I’ve heard piano music coming from your shop. I think Harmony recognizes you.”

I look at the beautiful bird that is now resting comfortably on my forearm. “I think I’ll take you with me,” I tell her.

“Very good,” the proprietor says. “I think she’ll make you a fine post owl.”

The transaction is quickly completed, leaving my money bag considerably lighter, and I quickly retrace my steps to my shop. Opening the door, I tell Harmony, “Have a look around and find a place to roost.”

She flies quickly around the room and settles high on the partition separating my tutoring rooms from my piano studio. I set up her new perch next to my Kohler and Campbell upright hoping she’ll want to come down, but she all ready has her head tucked under her wing and seems content to take a nap where she is.

Satisfied that my new post owl is happy with her surroundings, I leave the shop and make my way down Diagon Alley toward Madam Malkin’s’. My errand this time is to buy a birthday gift for Hannah whose birthday is today. Megan and I are going to go in on her gift together so that we can get her something really nice. We’ll give it to her the next time the Puff Girls have a get-together.

I remembered Hannah’s birthday quite by accident. I was awakened abruptly at four in the morning from a sound sleep this morning by the raucous screech of my long-forgotten homework planner from sixth year. (I remember the blasted book woke my entire dorm room that year with its pronunciation of “Birthday Reminder! Birthday Reminder!” Needless to say, my room mates nearly hexed me that morning.) Anyway, it took me ten minutes to find it; I had buried the book so deeply in my trunk. By that time it had awakened the entire house and my mother had appeared at my door brandishing her wand. Together we silenced the squawking, changed the reminder spells to the blinking light variety and finally stumbled our way back to bed.

I open the door to the robe shop and look around for the racks of bedroom slippers. I remember buying my bunny slippers here years ago and hope that Madam Malkin still carries a line of animal slippers. To my delight, she does and I walk over to inspect the selection.

My hand is poised over a pair of rather ferocious tiger slippers when I here someone say, “I hope you’re shopping for an older child. Every little witch who looks at those hides behind her mother’s skirts.”

I pick up the slippers and inspect them more closely. They’re perfect for Hannah. “I’ll take these,” I say. “I have an older friend who will really like them.”

“Shall I wrap them up?”

“Yes, please. Also, do you have gift certificates?”

“Yes. What denomination would you like?”

Megan and I have agreed that thirty Galleons is the right sum so that Hannah can get something really nice for herself. I quote the price and Madam Malkin enchants the certificate to reflect the amount. We exchange my coins for my purchases and I quickly leave the shop.

There’s one more place I need to go: the stationery shop. It carries a variety of greeting cards and I need to get a birthday card for Hannah. I spend a few minutes choosing just the right one, then make my way over to the Get Well section. The selection of these is more limited than the birthday section and it takes me a few minutes to find one I think is appropriate. My selection made, I leave the shop and walk back to my studio.

Harmony twitters softly as I enter and turn on the lights.

“It’s good to see you, too,” I tell her. I pull out a quill and quickly compose a note to each of my parents. “I need to introduce you to my mum and dad. Would you take these to my parents, please? I don’t need an answer from Mum, but stick around long enough for her to get a good look at you. However, I do need an answer from Dad, so wait long enough for him to write a reply. OK. Mum’s at home and Dad’s office is in the Heritage Agency building on the fifth floor. It’s a Muggle building, so you’ll have to find the owl entrance on the roof in order to get into the building.”

Harmony twitters in understanding and patiently waits until I’ve tied the notes to her leg. “Good luck, Harmony,” I tell her as I carry her to the door. “See you soon.”

She’s gone in a flurry of wings and I go back inside to prepare for my next piano lesson.

I’m waiting for Neville Longbottom to come look at my studio and for some reason I’m a little nervous about actually seeing him again. It’s odd. We shared the same Herbology greenhouses for six years, I even asked him a few questions about what we were studying over the years and I was comfortable talking to him then. So why do I feel so anxious about consulting with him today? I mean, this is a business meeting for goodness sake! It’s not as if I’m meeting him behind Hannah’s back and trying to steal her boyfriend…she’s bound to worry over something like that I don’t want to give her a reason to get all worked up over nothing…hmm…I wonder if that’s why I’m feeling this way…

A beautiful and unfamiliar owl finds me in my father’s study pouring over his collection of historical reference books. Apparently, Calla let the bird in the kitchen window and it flew around the house looking for me for it wouldn’t let her or my mother relieve it of it’s letter. I just hope my father doesn’t find out how long the owl took to find me! (Anyway, my father is a history fanatic, studying both Muggle and Wizarding history in his spare time, and his collection of non-fiction books is quite extensive. Right now, I’ve chosen several general history books, four tomes addressing just the Middle Ages, and a slim copy of Who’s Who in the United Kingdom.)

The owl alights on my notes, leaving little black footprints all over my parchment, and looks at me expectantly. I relieve it of its burden and quickly peruse the note. It’s a reply from Neville Longbottom to my inquiry about plants for my studio and I’m suddenly rather excited about my decorating plans for the studio. I didn’t have enough Galleons to complete the studio as I really want it and having him come look at my shop is just one step closer to attaining my goal.

I quickly dash off a reply to Neville. I’m really looking forward to seeing him; I want to see if he’s as excited as Hannah is about their new relationship. I’ve heard that newly-romantic couples just glow with happiness and I want to see if Neville smiles as much as Hannah does at the mention of her name.

Enough of that. As much as I’d like to sit here daydreaming about Hannah and Neville’s romance, I’ve got lessons to plan. I have a new British History group starting up on Wednesday and first on my priority list is coming up with a fifty question test that covers fifteen hundred years of invasions, important battles, non-magical beheadings and the all-important which-of-Henry-VIII’s-wives-were-not-magical question. The answer to that one always surprises everyone. I just hope these ten-year-olds are interested in the Muggle version of our country’s history.

The other thing I’ve got to do is contact George Weasley. I walked across the Alley last Friday only to find that both he and Fred were out on a delivery. The shop girl was so busy keeping the under-tens from pilfering the smaller Wheezes boxes that I didn’t even bother to inquire when the twins would be back. It’ll be easier to owl George to ask him to pop in sometime this week. I grab a second piece of parchment and write a note explaining my needs. I just hope he and Fred can do what I want.

Now, back to that test. Let’s start with an easy one…Number one. In 1981 Price Charles married… a. Lady Sarah Ferguson b. Lady Sandra Albright c. Lady Dianna Spencer d. Lady Minerva McGonagall