Susan Bones

A Holiday Get-Together Between Friends

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 06:57:33 GMT

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.

Baking with Calla

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 19:34:51 GMT

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.

A Cat in My Classroom

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 06:06:49 GMT

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."

The Curse Breakers Pay Me a Visit

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 16:42:40 GMT

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.

Creating with Colin

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 03:15:29 GMT

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

A Day with My Photographer

Sat, 29 Sep 2007 03:46:21 GMT

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?”

A New School Year

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 14:19:16 GMT

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.

A Surprise for my Mystery Wizard

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 04:46:04 GMT

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.

Chances the Epilogue

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 03:52:20 GMT

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.

Meeting with Hermione

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 03:48:12 GMT

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.

A 'Puff Girls' Night Out

Fri, 18 May 2007 04:29:38 GMT

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.

An Unexpected Client

Mon, 14 May 2007 05:41:51 GMT

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.”

Answers to an Important Question

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 04:14:28 GMT

“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.

Saturday at Lavender’s

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 05:07:46 GMT

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.

A Meeting with Father

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 19:55:13 GMT

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!

Harry and Ginny's Reception

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 03:46:58 GMT

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.

“What’s in this?” he grunts as he heaves it onto his shoulder stevedore-style.

“A piano and a small satchel of music books,” I tell him with a sly smile.

“I hope it’s not a grand piano,” he grunts. “They have no centre of balance at all!”

“Oh, stand still and let me renew the feather-light charm.” I reach for my wand and tap the box. “There, that should do it, although I thought only witches used that charm.”

“Hey! What do you take me for? A ten stone weakling?”

“Never mind,” I say, laughing. “Where does your mother want me to set up?”

He leads the way and sets my box down with a grateful, if exaggerated, moan. I thank him and take out my music before levitating the shrunken piano and bench into position. A quick spell enlarges my Kohler and Campbell upright to its full length and two-thirds its height, which will allow me to see over the top of the instrument. (I chose this bigger instrument because it’s the better of my two used pianos, even though it’s an American-made instrument. It also holds its tuning better at this size while retaining the tone I love in a bigger piano with longer strings.)

Three quick spells later, I’m satisfied with the sound and begin playing my warm-up pieces. I’m listening carefully to how much the venue echoes and how loudly I’ll need to play to create the right atmosphere when Mr. Weasley wanders over.

“Miss Bones, Arthur Weasley.” He extends his hand and I stop playing to shake it. “Molly said you were here. I’m delighted you wanted to be part of Ginny’s special day.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything, Mr. Weasley, and I’m glad to add a festive air to Harry and Ginny’s party.”

“Molly was concerned that you won’t get any food during the banquet—you know how we Weasleys love to eat!—so she’s invited you to come to the kitchen for a plate before everyone begins arriving.” He looks away. “I’m sorry. That sounded as if we valued you only as hired help instead of one of the guests.”

“That’s all right, Mr. Weasley,” I say, smiling. “No offence taken. Will you please thank Mrs. Weasley for me and tell her I ate before I came? I’m sure I’ll be fine watching everyone else eat.”

He doesn’t seem convinced that I’m content with watching people eat because he says, “I’ll tell the caterers to leave the food out during the first dance so you can grab something then.”

“That will be nice, thank you. Oh, do you think it would be all right if I put some of my business cards on the piano for people to take?” I ask. I cross my fingers behind my back.

He thinks a moment, then says, “I don’t see why not. And no, I don’t think Molly will mind either. I’ll tell her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I appreciate you letting me put them out. Have a good time,” I say, sitting back down. He leaves and I go back to warming up.

The guests begin arriving and soon the receiving line stretches out the door. Mrs. Weasley has positioned my piano so I can see everyone who passes through the line and the first people I recognize are Neville, Hannah and Megan. This is the first time I’ve seen Hannah and Neville together and there’s just something about how close they’re standing that makes my heart a little jealous of their happiness. Megan waves to me as they finish with the receiving line and steers the other two over to my piano.

“Hi, Susan! You really sound great!” she says. “This is the first time I’ve heard you play and the music really adds something special to the reception. Are you taking requests?”

“I am,” I tell her. “What would you like to hear?”

She thinks a moment and then says, “How about those two new songs by the Weird Sisters? They played the songs at the New Years Eve concert I reviewed and the audience really liked them. Do you know them?”

“I do, but they’re not memorized yet,” I tell her. Since I’ve got my wand secured to the back of my upper right arm and pointing toward my satchel of music, I non-verbally Summon the music and keep playing the song I’ve been playing. The book gently floats to the music rack and I tell it, “Find ‘This is the Night’ and ‘Magic Works.’” The pages automatically turn to the songs I want and I begin to segue into the first one.

Neville’s eyes get big as the book opens. “How’d you do that?”

Smiling, I say, “Wand’s stuck to my upper arm. As long as you don’t walk behind me, you won’t see it and I don’t have to stop playing to access the music I need.”

“That’s a brilliant idea, Susan!” Hannah says. “Shall we pass the word you’re taking requests?”

“Yes, please. Have a good time,” I say as they leave to go find seats for the feast.

I go back to watching the receiving line again. There are lots of young people I don’t recognize going through the line at the moment; I think they may be in Ginny’s year since she’s giving them all hugs in greeting. A few more adults step through, getting a more enthusiastic greeting from Arthur and Molly than they are from Ginny, Harry, Ron and Hermione.

I finish ‘This is the Night’ and begin ‘Magic Works.’ This song’s a little more complicated because it has a running accompaniment in both hands and it’s hard to pick out the right set of notes to accent so the guests hear the melody. Since I’m having to concentrate so hard on the music, I miss several groups coming through the line. When I finally look up, my heart almost stops. Ernie McMillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley have just greeted Harry and Ginny and are now talking to Ron and Hermione. I haven’t seen either Ernie or Justin since Hogwarts and the full force of my school-girl crushes on both of these wizards hits me like a tonne of bricks. I wonder if they’ll come over to talk to me.

They do and I feel my mouth go dry.

Ernie greets me first. “Susan! It’s really good to see you. It’s been so long!”

I smile at him and say, “I know. Too long, actually. What have you been doing with yourselves?”

He shrugs. “Mostly working. I took a trip to France right after the war ended. Needed to get away for a while.”

“It seems a lot of people needed to do that,” I say looking at Justin. He hasn’t said anything to me yet and I’m wondering whether he will. I look down at my fingers having completely forgotten what song I’m playing. I start a new one that requires music so I don’t have to look at him.

The night I told Justin I wasn’t coming back to Hogwarts, he took it rather hard. We’d been fairly close during our sixth year and I think he thought my father was making me stay home because he didn’t approve of our friendship. That wasn’t the case, but with the limited time I had before my family went into seclusion, I didn’t have the time I needed to reassure Justin that he wasn’t the reason for my father’s decisions.

Suddenly, Justin says so quietly that I nearly don’t hear him, “You played ‘I Will Always Love You’ for me that night.”

Startled, I look at the title of the song I’m playing and discover that I’ve managed to direct my music book to find the song without really thinking. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” I manage to remark as I try to block the memory and keep my voice steady.

Ernie seems to realize how awkward things have become and nudges Justin. “Oi, mate, I see Hannah and Megan have already found a table. Let’s see if they’ve got room for the two of us. Hey, it was nice seeing you, Susan. Will you be joining us later?”

I smile at him and Justin. “Yes, when the dancing starts after the feast.” As much as I want to go home immediately after I finish playing, I can’t. I told Mrs. Weasley when we finalized the plans for my part in the reception that the dance band could use my piano if it wanted, so I’m stuck here until the band finishes playing one way or another. Right now, I don’t know whether I want to find a place to hide from Ernie and Justin or just sit on the sidelines and watch everybody else dance.

Justin smiles at me for the first time. “See you then, then.” He turns and follows Ernie towards the table Hannah and Megan are sitting at with Neville.

I watch him leave as I finish my current song and then turn to study my list of memorized pieces trying to find my place in the list. I find the last song I played before speaking with Ernie and Justin and modulate to the correct key to begin ‘Love Makes the World Go ‘Round.’ I’ve picked that Muggle song just for Mr. Weasley and hope he’ll recognize it. He does and gives me a little wave between guests.

An enthusiastic greeting catches my attention and I see Harry hugging Professor Lupin and then a pretty witch with purple hair. Ginny, Ron and Hermione are just as excited to see them and speak animatedly with the professor and his companions. They are followed by two people; the Weasley brother who hefted my box earlier and a witch who I think was a Slytherin in my year. The Weasley brother gives me a thumbs-up as he finds a seat for the witch and I smile back at him, glad he likes my music.
Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Fred Weasley holding a glass of water. “Mum thought you’d like something to drink,” he says setting the glass down next to the keyboard.

“She’s so thoughtful. Thank you,” I say, taking a big sip and replacing the glass. He leaves as quietly as he came and I go back to people-watching just in time to see Harry and Ginny greeting the teachers from Hogwarts. It’s great to see Professors McGonagall, Hagrid, and Flitwick. There’s another teacher with them, but I don’t know who he is. I strike up the Hogwarts Hymn and Professor McGonagall gives me a big smile as she turns to greet Professor Moody.

I do a double-take when I see who he’s escorting. It’s Madam Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks. I didn’t think Ginny and Harry were that friendly with her. Maybe she was invited by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Well, it’s not my place to speculate about the people on the guest list. And seeing that Professor Moody and Madam Rosmerta are the last of the guests to arrive and the bride and groom are wending their way towards the head table, I switch to my list of feast songs. It is very similar to the one I used for the Ministry’s New Years Eve shindig, employing quite a few jazz arrangements that I have to concentrate on to make them come out right.

The dance band finally arrives and begins setting up their instruments. I think they’re using silencing spells on their equipment, especially the drum set, because I can only see their actions, not hear the usual thumps, rattles and quiet bangs I usually associate with musicians getting ready to play. Within a few minutes, the leader comes over and asks if they could use my piano. I’m agreeable and pack up my music as the band greets the assembled guests. That finished, I make my way over to the buffet table and fill a plate with the delicious-looking food.

Shopping in Diagon Alley

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 17:46:19 GMT

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.

Meeting with Neville

Fri, 16 Mar 2007 20:21:15 GMT

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…

I quit my pacing and go to one of my pianos. Playing Chopin’s loud, bombastic Revolutionary Etude has always calmed my nerves and a good, loud bang seems to be in order at the moment to dispel my nervous energy. I cast a muting spell on the piano (so only I can hear its full volume) before I begin playing. I play from memory and am soon lost in the music.

I feel Neville arrive more than hear him. He comes to stand slightly in back of me and silently watches my fingers fly over the keys. When I’m done he says, “I always thought that piece was louder than that.”

I smile and say, “Muting Spell. Since I’ve positioned the piano on a shared wall, I need to mute the sound going through the wall. My next-door neighbors get rather cross when I’m playing loudly; they don’t seem to like Romantic music.”

Neville smiles and queries, “Was Chopin a wizard like Mozart was?”

I nod. “Most of the renowned musicians and composers were magical. How else could Bach write over a thousand different compositions or Haydn produce more than a hundred symphonies in their lifetimes?

“Anyway, would you like to see the rest of the shop?”

“Yes,” he says, “that would help me determine what your needs are.”

“Come along, then,” I say and, getting up from the piano stool and canceling my spell, I lead the way to my large tutoring room.

I light the room with my wand. “This room and the other one across the hall need something living and green. I think I’d like the plant to hang from the ceiling over in one of the far corners or I might put it on one of the upper shelves of that book case. The only trouble; no windows, just artificial lighting and sporadic light at that. This and the other tutoring room used to be the store room. My office is just as dreary and I often find myself taking my planning books out to the reception room near the front windows just for the natural light and a glimpse of the plants in the apothecary’s window down the street! Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Correspondence

Fri, 16 Mar 2007 06:51:07 GMT

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

Drumming Up Business

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 06:15:58 GMT

It's Saturday and I've been up since the crack of dawn practicing. Last night I wrote a letter to Mr and Mrs Weasley offering my services as a pianist for their party for Harry and Ginny. I'm worried, though, that they may take my offer as either charity or, worse, a ploy for publicity. It's neither. I genuinely want to help make Harry and Ginny's reception something they will always remember and I can think of nothing better than the gift of music. Of course, I'll get the happy couple a proper wedding gift in addition to sharing my music with them and their other guests.

Anyway, I digress. I slept badly last night, so as soon as it was light enough to see my music this morning, I went to my piano and began practicing music appropriate for a wedding reception. Calla heard me and popped in to remind me of the instrument muting spells I was supposed to use so that the rest of the house could sleep. (I think she'd alreay charmed my parents' room.)

The other thing I've been doing between pieces is writing down all the places I need to contact about advertising my tutoring services. I have a month before my advertising money from Mum and Dad runs out and I need to get busy coming up with new print ads and new places to advertise. I've managed to save about a hundred Galleons toward publicity and even though it's not as much as I invested in January, I think I've still got a nice amount to play around with. I also have to make an analysis of where people found my ads and how many came from which publication. That way, I'll have an idea of where to invest my money next time my contract ends. I really hope Dad sees my efforts to expose my business as a positive thing...

So here I sit, practicing music I might not need to memorize if I don't get a reply back from Ginny's parents. I'm enjoying myself, though and now, come to think of it, I'm finally becoming sleepy enough to think about going back to bed!

A Letter to Mr and Mrs Weasley

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 05:54:14 GMT

Dear Mr and Mrs Weasley,

My name is Susan Bones. I'm a friend of Harry, Ron and Hermione's from Hufflepuff, having entered Hogwarts the same year they did.

I am writing to you because I want to offer my musical services to you for Harry and Ginny's wedding reception as one of my gifts to the happy couple. I am a professional pianist who has played for several big events, the most recent being the Ministry's New Year's Eve Ball. If you have not contracted with another musican to provide background music at the reception, I am hereby volunteering to provide soft music for the afternoon, to add to the intimate atmosphere of your party.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Susan Bones

Plant Search

Tue, 20 Feb 2007 08:29:27 GMT

The door to my studio opens as I'm scurrying around trying to put away the music I've pulled from my files for a particularly picky student. I look up to see my mother entering, her arms full of packages.

"Hello, Suzy," she says in the voice I've come to associate with her wanting me to do something I'm probably not going to want to do.

"Hi, Mum," I say. "What brings you here at this hour?"

I go back to my cleaning as she says, "Suzy, dear, would you do me the favor of running over to McGregor's Nursery for my flower order, please? I've ordered ten dozen mixed blooms for my party tomorrow. I'd do it myself, but I've got to get this food home so it won't spoil. I don't want to have to send Calla out at the last minute because something isn't right."

I look at my appointment book hoping it's full, but just my luck, I have an hour from two to three free. So, it looks like I'll have to go. Rats!

"I can go early this afternoon. I have a cancellation between two and three. Will that be soon enough?"

Mum regards me with a skeptical expression. "I suppose," she sighs and I know she was hoping I'd drop everything and go now.

"Thanks," I tell her. "I've wanted to go there anyway to see what sort of plants will enhance the atmosphere of my classrooms. Maybe Mr. McGregor will know what species will do best in this light." I wave my hand in a wide arc that encompasses the two side walls and the plate glass window at the front of the shop.

Mum steps forward and gives me a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Suzy. I really appreciate your doing this for me. Ta, ta. Must run. See you at dinner!" she calls as she pulls the door closed.

I watch her stride briskly down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron, wondering what I've gotten myself into.

~~~~~~~~~~

2:00 P.M.

I finally have a break and sit down to the wilted salad I had Calla fix me this morning when I remember my mother's errand. I eat a few bites and put down my fork. I need the walk to the nursery more than I need food, I decide, and put up the 'Be back at 3:00' sign in my window. It's a cold day, so I grab my cloak as well as my bag and lock the door.

I know it will take less time Apparate, but I really need the walk. I've been out of sorts since I finished that morning piano lesson. Frank, my student, is my age. He didn't go to Hogwarts, but since he's a family friend I know more than I really want to about him. You see, Frank wants to play keyboards in a band and thinks all he has to do is bang away and not pay attention to chord progressions or timing. In addition, he can't carry a tune in a bucket! Today's lesson was particularly aggrivating because I assigned a piece that he thinks is beneath him to play and he whinged so much about it that I had to put a silencing spell on him in order to keep my sanity. The spell helped somewhat, but since I'm still fuming about Frank's behavior, I suppose I've let him get to me after all. If he didn't think he was God's gift to music I would be taking it much more calmly.

"Enough of that," I chide myself. "Think about what qualities you want to display in your studios." Mentally, I tick off my list: magical, low light tolorant, calming effects (Rachel, who doesn't like long division, threw a fit today over fifteen problems and didn't calm down until I went to get her mother). I also want something fairly small to sit on my pianos which likes music. Once my mum made the mistake of putting a pot of honking daffodils on our home piano. They made such a racket when I played poorly that Mum finally banished them to the basement where their honking wouldn't bother the family.

My musings bring me to the nursery faster than I think and all of a sudden, I'm entering the shop.

"Hello, Miss Bones," Mr. McGregor greets me. I've been coming here for years with Mum, so he knows me more than in just passing. "Are you here for your mother's order?"

"Yes, sir," I say, "but there's something else I'd like to check out: your collection of plants I can use in my studio. At least two varieties that I can use in my studio. They have to be low light tolerant because I have no natural light at the back of my shop. Oh, and I'd also like some music-loving plants to put on my pianos."

Mr. McGregor ponders a moment and says, I believe I'll let my assistant, Neville, assist you with that little project."

"Neville?" I squeal. "Neville Longbottom did you say? Is he here?" I'm so excited! Secretly, of all those in Harry Potter's circle of friends, I've hoped he would survive the war and I just can't believe he's living in London. It's been ages since we've seen each other. Hannah's mentioned seeing him within the last few weeks, so I should have known he'd be hiding out in a green house like this one. I wonder if Hannah knows exactly where Neville's working. Hmmmm....

"I'm sorry, Miss Bones. Neville went home for the afternoon. He'll be back tomorrow morning," Mr. McGregor tells me. "I'll pass on your request and see what he recommends. He brought some fine specimens back from South America which might be right for your studio." He makes a few notes on a pad of parchment, then disappears into the back for my mother's flowers. "I'll owl you when Neville can meet with you to set up an appointment."

"Thank you, so much," I say, taking the large bundle of flowers from him. My day is finally looking up. I walk out to the Apperition point and leave the nursery with a quiet 'pop'.

My First Group Lesson Part 2

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 05:36:02 GMT

My first students arrive promptly at ten o'clock: two boys, Ryan Alexander and Steven Carpenter, and two girls, Sadie Lowekamp and Rachael Wagner, each nine years old. I watch them carefully as they come through the door and have to smile. The girls are most eager to try this new learning experience while Ryan's mum has him firmly by the hand. Steven stands sullenly behind his father as introductions are made and watches longingly as the adults take seats in the waiting area.

I stand before the children and give them a big smile. "Welcome to the Musical Notebook," I tell them. "Please come this way."

I lead them to the room I've prepared and take my seat in the "teacher's" chair near the board. They sit as well, the boys on one side of the central table, the girls on the other, with their attention everywhere but on me. I give them a few moments to look around and then get their attention.

"I need to know how much you know about the various processes we use in mathematics," I say. "So the first thing we're going to do today is have a timed addition test." Everyone groans and I have to fight not to giggle. "Sadie, please give everyone one of these test papers, turning them blank side up. Ryan, please pass these pencils. You will have five minutes to do this test. Ready...go!"

Five minutes later I'm holding four completed test papers and my charges are staring at the enchanted race car poster because Rachael beat everyone by a full two minutes and, as far as I can see, got every sum right.

"Well done, Rachael," I tell her. "Let's continue with this subtraction quiz as well."

Steven gets done first this time, missing only one problem. He gets up and walks over to the poster. "How does it know to move?" he asks.

"The poster and the test papers have been charmed so that the cars move as you record your answers"

"Sweet!" he exclaims. "Can we do another test?"

"Next time you come, I'll be testing you on your multiplication tables," I tell him. "How about taking your seat so we can begin our next activity."

I get out sets of manipulatives (colored blocks labeled with different values--1, 10, 100), and show the children how to use them to find answers when adding three-digit numbers. Pretty soon, the classroom is quiet except for the clack of the blocks and scratching of the children's pencils, for they have twenty-five problems to complete. Suddenly, Ryan sneezes and bumps the table in his hurry to cover his mouth. Blocks scatter everywhere as he exclaims, "Oops!" between sneezes. I can't help but laugh as I wave my wand to help the children clean up.

The children complete this activity without any further mishap and even help me put away the block sets. Then, we get to the activity I really was looking forward to having them do.

"How many of you have been to a grocer's?" I ask as all raise their hands. "Very good. First, we are going to take turns choosing items to purchase and add the sums together on the board. Then, after we've done that, I'll choose someone to be the shopkeeper and you'll each get the chance to buy three or four items. Steven, you'll be the first to choose your items."

The rest of the lesson goes quickly since the children are eager to "purchase" tinned goods, boxes of cereal and bottles of fizzy drinks. The best part of this lesson is the play money I hand out which looks like real Knuts, Sickles and Galleons. Time flies and soon my bird-shaped clock chirps, "It's time to go! Clean up! It's time to go!" We clean up and I take the children back to their parents.

As they walk out the door I hear Steven groan to his father, "I don't want to leave. I've had too much fun!"

I wave to everyone as they go, feeling tired and very satisfied. Steven's comment makes me feel really good and I know that if I can keep up this level of enthusiasm, I can make a go of this tutoring business despite what my father thinks.

First Day of Group Lessons

Tue, 23 Jan 2007 05:19:50 GMT

First Day of Lessons Part 1

I’m nervous and excited as I unlock the door to my shop and flick on the lights. Today’s the big day...my first group lesson is at ten o’clock. This will be a maths tutoring session with my four newest students--I picked up five other children last week whose parents wanted private tutoring sessions rather than group lessons. I have some fun activities for the children. I just hope I’ve planned enough to keep them busy for the entire hour.

After stowing my purse and cloak under the front counter I walk back to the largest tutoring room and open my lesson plan book. I get out four sets of manipulative blocks, the directions to a role playing addition game, make sure I have enough copies of the addition quiz I’ve made up and sit down to take one of the quizzes. I’m doing this to assure myself that the magically enhanced chart on the wall works. The chart has the names of my students written on pictures of Muggle race cars. I write the name “Ryan” at the top of my paper and begin to write my answers. I look up to see that my race car is moving along its line at a nice, steady pace as I write the correct answers. On purpose, I make four errors in a row; the car stops and resumes its headlong charge toward the finish line as soon as my next answer is correct.

I wonder if it would be better to just cue the race to the speed of the children’s answers.

I grab another sheet and then flick my wand at the race chart, muttering “go” as I pick up my quill. I work through the test quickly, not really paying attention to my answers. When I’m done, I set my quill down and look to see how much time has elapsed: three minutes. I correct my paper and see I’ve made seven mistakes. This will do, I tell myself. The children will probably want to know how quickly they can do sums more than whether they got the answers right, I decide. I can tune the race to correct answers another day.

That done, I conjure the items I need for the role playing game. We need small grocery items with the price stamped on them, so I have fun creating tins of vegetables, boxes of Muggle cereals, cooking utensils and even two shopping baskets. I then stack everything in one of my new shelving units and leave the room.

I’ve still got nearly an hour before the children come, so I sit down at my favorite piano and begin to play, daydreaming about how much fun I had the other night with Hannah and Megan. Megan's flat is really nice and I felt at home at once, especially since she greeted me so enthusiastically.

It really felt nice to put on my bunny slippers after so long, too. It had taken me nearly an hour to find them. When it was decided that I would not return to Hogwarts I'd just shoved many of my things into my school trunk and had Calla cart it up to the attic, effectively cutting me off from what were turning out to be very painful memories of all the fun I'd had at the school. Last Thursday afternoon, as Calla and I were frantically trying to find my trunk, all my memories came flooding back and it hit me that my parents, particularly my father, had cheated me out of something very important to me, my friendships. He makes me so angry at times with his family proclamations and iron-fisted discipline and one of the things I can't forgive him for is his taking me away from my friends! I can't think about him now, though: it would put me in the wrong frame of mind and I must be cheerful for my new students.

I must admit that I was not a little intimidated when I met Hannah outside Megan's flat. I mean, both she and Megan have successful careers going and are certainly making something of themselves whereas I've just barely started.

I shouldn't have been worried, though. As soon as the slippers and the chocolate fondue appeared, it was as if we were back in the Hufflepuff girls' dormitory dunking our favorite fruit and cake into that delectible sauce and exchanging the latest gossip, especially Hannah's tales of her dates with Neville Longbottom and Megan's experiences with Charlie.

I'm really glad we decided to end the evening with our traditional sharing of the last of our fondue with the "boys" like we used to. It was terrific to meet Charlie and play "doorbell ditch" at Neville's. It made me feel like a fourth year again and I hope we can get together again really soon.

The bell on my door rings as someone enters. It's time to stop daydreaming and be a grown-up again.

Wow! What a Week!

Mon, 08 Jan 2007 06:41:55 GMT

It’s been an eventful first week. I’m so excited! My playing for the New Year’s Eve celebration garnered me seven new students: three beginning piano students and four pre-Hogwarts tutorees. The children start their instruction next week and I’m thrilled about becoming their teacher. My piano students are all seven years old. It’s a really nice age for a child to begin because they’ve had some experience reading, they can sit and concentrate for an extended period of time, and by this age they have expressed a natural interest in the instrument rather than their parents making them do something they don’t want to do. At this early date, all three will come to my studio on Tuesday afternoons for private lessons, so I’m guaranteed two and a quarter hours worth of billable instruction time each week. This is a nice start, but I’d really like more students. My goal is to have twenty hours worth of piano lessons each week when my roster if finally full.

My pre-Hogwarts students are all eight and nine years old. Again, they will come to my shop, this time for group lessons. The parents, like me, feel social interaction in a monitored group setting is just as valuable as the extra academic help I’m providing.

All four students are boys. Their parents want me to reinforce what they are learning at home, so I spent a great deal of time this week planning and making up assessment tests and games designed to make my charges use what they already know, especially in the area of mathematics. (When I was a third year taking beginning Arithmancy it soon became plain which of us had not gone through the Muggle education system. We were the ones struggling with all the computations while the Muggleborn students seemed to breeze through our in-class exercises and homework pages. I remember vowing that if I ever became a parent my children would be made to go to Muggle school just to learn maths! But I digress...) It is my goal to make sure all of my students are proficient in basic maths skills and can apply what they have learned in simple day-to-day situations.

My most enjoyable two hours this week occurred on Thursday afternoon. I was in the midst of creating a subtraction game when Madam Marchbanks stepped through my door. She had learned about my shop from a friend who had been at the New Year’s party and she wanted to see what I had to offer my students.

“I’m very pleased that somebody has finally taken it upon themselves to provide affordable educational help to the youngest students in our community,” she said, smiling, as she took a seat across from me and picked up one of my assessment sheets. “How many students do you have right now, my dear? What subjects are you offering?” she asked, her face now very serious.

I told her my plans and showed her my brochure which stated that I was willing to tutor in the subjects of reading, maths, essay writing, and basic grammar and spelling. She seemed pleased that I was focusing on all the skills necessary to be successful during first year and beyond. We talked at length about my goals and teaching methods (all of which I had covered to a great extent with Mr. Montgomerie), discipline strategies, parental contact, and ministry expectations.

As she left she said, “The single most important idea that you must impress upon all your clients is that you are not a child-minding service. You are a qualified teacher who expects respect and cooperation at all times. This means that no parent will require you to watch their child for more than the agreed upon length of the lesson. And furthermore, if you feel the student or the parents are not meeting your expectations, you must be prepared to drop the family from your register and find someone else as a replacement. Good luck with your learning centre, my dear. Good day to you.”

Needless to say, I was rather stunned and stood gaping gormlessly as she hobbled out into Diagon Alley. I finally shut my mouth as I watched her slow progress toward the Leaky Cauldron; it amazed me how many people stopped to chat with her, thus slowing her progress towards her destination.

Well, enough daydreaming. I’m almost done with the last game—I think I have enough new materials to last me at least a month—and I’ve just one more paragraph to write in my letter to Megan . My sealed letter to Hannah lies near my purse underneath the counter and I’ll mail them on my way home. I can’t believe how much time has passed since I last saw Megan and Hannah and I’m hoping we can get together sometime soon to catch up on each other’s news.