(2) The Goblin Fair

"There's Pomona," said Aunt Minerva to herself as they crossed the crowded street toward Ollivander's.

To Giselle she said airily, "I'm going to have a chat with Professor Sprout at the Not The Worse Nursery. You go into the wandmaker's and I'll come fetch you a wee bit from now. Be sure you tell him every little thing that bothers you about your wand."

"I will, Auntie," said Giselle. She was watching Harry and Hagrid heading for the window display of new broomsticks while Hermione and Ron entered Ollivander's with Herman and his girlfriend Heloise. 'How nice that I won't have to be in there by myself,' she thought, dodging a pony and cart, 'all the strange sensations those stacks of wand boxes give off!'

The bell above the door tinkled loudly as she came in, as if it was annoyed by customers disturbing it, one after the other. She stood a minute looking at the stout man at the counter talking to Ollivander, dressed in a purple frock coat, a squarish short-billed hat, his blunt grey beard curling up over his lower lip. It was Bea's father.

"Red raven heartstrings, the big box," he was saying, "dried with salt. Not the greasy ones, mind you."

"Mr Swiddle, you're a day late," Ollivander said, taking up a small package and snapping his fingers at the owl perched on a shelf behind him. "Two goblin fellows bought up my entire supply yesterday afternoon."

"Bloody bad luck," muttered Clement Swiddle. "When will ye have the next lot coming?"

"Three weeks, likely. But if you change your mind about the dried ones--"

"No, the greasy ones won't do, won't do atall," Swiddle said. "I'll be back in three."

He turned away, caught sight of Giselle and doffed his hat.

"Where's your daughter got off to?" she asked.

"Bea and the Missus are at the Apothecary's. Drop in when you're done here. We'll have a slurp at Florean's."

"Thank you, yes, I'll drop by in a wee bit."

The bell tinkled irritably as Swiddle went out, letting in for a second the noise of the crowd outside.

Giselle was comparing the hand-holding of Herman and Heloise with the discreet distance that separated Ron from Hermione. (They were examining the racks of staves at the far end of the shop.) She thought they really ought to be friendlier to each other.

She knew that Ron fancied Hermione, and that Hermione was always helping Ron with his homework. Giselle had often seen them sitting shoulder to shoulder in the library with Harry looking on attentively. Well, it must be awkward, she decided, nodding and sucking in her lips, for a girl to have two boys attending her. Hermione didn't want to be the cause of jealousy between them, probably.

But it was Ginny who turned Harry's head, wasn't that so? It seemed so at the Burrows back in July. And such an expensive present Ginny gave Harry on his birthday! A leather-bound gold-embossed manual on 'Great Seekers In Quidditch History.'

Ollivander rapped his knuckles on the counter. This startled his owl, which flapped away to the back window with the package in its beak.

"Miss McGonagall."

"Oh! Sorry." She hurried up to the counter with her wand held out on her palm.

"Will you be needing a staff this term?" He flipped a hand in the direction of the racks. "For Advanced Magical Methods. I hear most fourth years take it for second semester. Or that's the way it was when I was plodding along at Hogwarts."

Giselle paled. "Oh dear. You see, I don't think I've enough money with me."

"Buy it on credit, Gee. I'll send the bill round to your Aunt Minerva."

"Thanks awfully! I suppose I must have one or--"

He snatched up her wand.

"Something amiss here?"

Giselle cleared her throat. "Well, you see, it sometimes feels funny."

"Modifies your spells in embarrassing ways, does it? Have you been oiling it with Extract of Forget-Me-Not?"

"I... must remember to buy some more."

Ollivander frowned. "Hmm."

He balanced the wand on an index finger.

"A mite off balance," he said. "Dust build-up in the grooves, from--" He frowned again. "A lack of proper oiling at regular intervals. These cliff-climbing sheep cores get tricky when they lose their balance. You go select a staff while I see to this."

"Yes, sir."

Giselle went across the creaking floorboards, through the morning shafts of light from the grimy east windows, to where Herman and Heloise were taking turns hefting a rather curvy staff. They were still holding hands!

"Now, Ron, really," Hermione was saying in a tone of exasperation. "You don't want that cheap balsa staff, it won't last through the first lesson!"

"But it says the best staves are the lightweight ones," Ron grumbled, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Lightweight but sturdy! Here, this one. Look, the tag says 'African banyon wood, very strong but light in weight. Excellent for complex spells of the greater magnitudes. Crafted by Juju Brothers, Morroco.' I've read that they're the best magic-staff makers in the business. It's only nine galleons."

"Nine--!" Ron's eyebrows vanished under his bangs.

"I'll go half with you," said Hermione, smiling fondly at the staff. "We can partner up and both use the same staff for the lessons. Haven't you read the class description? We're to have partners."

Ron pretended to grudgingly go along. But Giselle sensed that he was quite satisfied with the arrangement.

But... complex spells of the greater magnitudes! She smiled rather sickly at the racks. What was she getting herself into?

"This will fit you about right," Heloise said to her, holding out an ashwood staff with intricate carvings at the top end. "Tag says it's very light for its length, and tough enough for all spells up to, but not including, master level. That should be plenty good for the introductory course."

Giselle thanked her and took tentative possession of the staff.

It did feel like it was glad to be selected. A warm and pleasant sensation went up her arm.

"I guess I'll take it then," she said, with not a few misgivings.

On this last day before the start of term, Severus Snape was in the dungeon classroom setting the last of the bottled specimens on the shelves by the supply cabinets.

Hearing the familiar and unappreciated 'boing boing' sound of a professor entering the classroom whom he would rather curse than greet, Snape straightened up, turned, and managed to look unaffected.

"Good afternoon, Professor Frumlow," he said.

"Severus!" said the old man whose knees had been replaced by springs. He walked with a slight bouncing motion, as though he were walking on the moon. He was of medium height, so thin that his clothes and robe hung on him like they would hang on a slender cross; his close-trimmed white beard glistening on his tanned and wrinkled face like sugar granuals.

"It's been decades since I last saw you," he continued, extending his hand. "My most accomplished student you were." He glanced around at the shelves, cabinets, and sinks as Snape shook his hand briefly. "You and... what was that girl's name? Started with a C. The bobbed-hair brunette with eyes as black as coal."

Snape's jaw muscles flexed and his lips tightened. "Caprice," he said.

"Ah yes of course! Caprice Eff, a muddle headed old fool I am to forget such a witch as that one! You remember how I had to tell her to sit at some other table, for she was forever talking to you and distracting you. But despite that," he said and smiled broadly, gripping Snape by the arm affectionately, "despite all those flirtations from her and her whispered advice, you brewed the most excellent potions. I couldn't have done better myself."

Snape smiled wryly. "You were an exceptional teacher," he said with a generosity he didn't feel.

Professor Upton Frumlow shrugged, which caused him to rise and settle with a faint squeaking sound. "Have you kept in touch with Miss Eff? I thought I heard that she worked in the Magic Culture Preservation department at the Ministry. Magical Egyptology, I do believe. I recall the scarab ring she used to wear on her thumb."

Snape turned to the demonstration table behind him. "She is now Mrs Caprice Minnex," he said, placing a sheaf of parchments in a folder.

"Minnex... Minnex..." Frumlow was rubbing his grizzled chin. "Not that tall half-goblin fellow? An investigator in the Auror department? I remember him because of that spot of trouble my nephew got into in Cairo, oh, a dozen years ago it's been."

Snape slowly turned his head to look piercingly at him. "Nephew?" he asked softly. "Do you mean the associate of Odin McGonagall?"

"Yes, that's right. Armando Frumlow. My younger brother named him after Armando Dippet." He chuckled. "Dippet was Headmaster here when Minerva and I were students."

"Interesting," said Snape, turning back to the table and rearranging the cauldron utensils.

Frumlow touched Snape's elbow. "But, er, you haven't told me if you've kept up with Miss Eff-- er, Mrs Minnex, I suppose I should call her."

"I last saw her ten years ago." Snape's voice did not invite further questions.

But Frumlow was piqued. "Did you! And where was that, may I ask?"

Snape went to the cabinets and opened one. He stared at the jars of exotic samples.

"Egypt," he said. "At the pyramids."

He could hear the creak of springs and the sudden intake of breath.

"Were you there, Severus, in an official capacity? Did it have to do with Odin and Isabel McGonagall's disappearance?"

Snape took down a jar.

"No," he said. "I was there on a personal project. But Jon Minnex was a person of interest in their disappearance. He was cleared by the Wizengamut. Unjustly," he added and put the jar back.

"Un... justly, you say? Do you have evidence of his guilt?"

"Nothing that the Wizengamut found useful."

Snape turned and went over to Frumlow, who instinctively stepped back, bouncing and swaying so that he must wave his arms a little to regain his center of gravity.

"The Wizengamut," said Snape in a tone of disgust, "feared a goblin uprising. They had no intention of finding Minnex responsible."

Frumlow said, "Ah, I see," and adjusted the fit of his robe. "Did you, er, discuss this evidence of yours with Minerva?"

Snape said nothing for a prolonged moment; an uncomfortable moment for Frumlow.

"I've discussed it with no one since the Inquest. McGonagall was privy to the transcript of the witnesses. I'm sure she is familiar with the evidence, such as it was. And now if you'll excuse me, Professor."

Frumlow grimaced. "I'm a gabby old fool," he said, beginning to bounce and creak. "I'll see you at dinner then, Severus."

Snape was gazing at the dented and discolored cauldrons hanging above the sinks, but what he saw was a memory. A goblin caravan crossing in front of the Sphinx, a full moon seeming to gleam in the stone eyes. And he remembered vividly the Death Eater at his side saying, "It is here. That hoodah on the third camel, with the crimson and gold curtains. We know who rides within. And she knows it's here. She knows."

Snape sighed deeply. His brow was beaded with sweat. For a moment it was a relief to hear the creak and squeak of Frumlow going down the dungeon corridor.