“What people don’t realize is that Sirius Black is a false name,” says Mrs. Purkiss. “The man people believe to be Sirius Black is actually Stubby Boardman, lead singer of the popular singing group The Hobgoblins, who retired from public life after being struck in the ear by a turnip at a concert in Little Norton Church Hall nearly fifteen years ago. I recognized him the moment I saw his picture in the paper. Now, Stubby couldn’t possibly have committed those crimes, because on the day in question he happened to be enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner with me.”
-from The Quibbler (OoTP)

Kingsley Shacklebolt was annoyed.

It was common knowledge that The Quibbler was nothing but an unreliable tabloid, filled with fabricated stories from writers with overactive imaginations. Despite this, the head of the Auror Office had thought it would be wise to investigate the claims recently made by The Quibbler, that Sirius Black and Stubby Boardman were one and the same. Kingsley, as head of the hunt for Sirius, was asked to find and interrogate the real Stubby Boardman.

Though he knew investigating Stubby would further delay Sirius’s capture, Kingsley could not help but feel that this assignment was an insult to his intelligence.

As mentioned in the article, Stubby Boardman had been the lead singer of The Hobgoblins, a group that Kingsley never particularly liked. The Hobgoblins disbanded after Stubby left the group…there was an unfortunate incident involving a turnip during a concert. After that traumatizing night, Stubby left the public life and moved away from wizards; Kingsley discovered he had relocated to a small cottage on the outskirts of a rural Muggle community.

He was thrilled to go visit.

The moment Kingsley set eyes on Stubby’s humble home, he wasn’t sure how to react…though vomiting did cross his mind. The house itself was painted a painful shade of acid green, with orange shutters and a matching door. A wide variety of plants were present in the yard, including rows of daffodils, plenty of weeds, a pumpkin patch, and a tree that appeared to have fish growing from its branches. Reaching for his Muggle sunglasses, he approached the door and knocked.

No one answered.

He waited a moment and knocked again.

“Who’s there?” hissed a voice from behind the door. “If it’s you, Muriel, I told you I don’t want to buy any of your kumquats! They give me hives!”

“Excuse me, but are you Stubby Boardman?” Kingsley asked through the door.

“Yes…yes I am.” There was an obvious hint of excitement in his voice. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Kingsley replied in a deep, professional voice. “I work in the Auror Office at the Ministry, and I would like to ask you some questions.”

There was a pause. Though Kingsley could not see him, it was obvious that Stubby Boardman was pondering why a Ministry official was present at his rather obnoxious home. After a moment had passed, he opened the door.

“Come in, come in.”

Stubby Boardman was just as eclectic-looking as his house. He wore a pair of brown Muggle trousers that were obviously meant for a man much larger than he was. Over a neon green t-shirt he wore a leather jacket with a wide assortment of chains and buckles - a failed attempt to preserve some of his rock star past. His hair was long, his socks were yellow, and for reasons Kingsley could not understand, he had earrings in the shape of lobsters dangling from each ear.

“I know why you’re here,” Stubby said, offering Kingsley a seat on an overstuffed plaid sofa.

Kingsley sat down, trying his best not to get distracted by the assortment of bizarre objects that cluttered the room.

“I had assumed you might.”

“You’re here to try and get me to start singing again, aren’t you?”

Kingsley rolled his eyes. He had secretly hoped that this visit would be quick, but it did not appear that his wish would come true. “No, Mr. Boardman, I’m afraid you’re…”

“People always come up here, trying to get me to come back!” Stubby interrupted, throwing his hands into the air. “Every day I get from fans, ‘Oh Stubby! We love you! Please record another song so we can hear you whenever we so desire! Just the sound of your voice drives us crazy, and makes us want to do things that under normal circumstances we would consider vulgar and inappropriate!’ But no, I won’t come back.”

Obviously, this was not going to be an easy task.

“Mr. Boardman, please…”

“Do you know how much fan mail I still get?” Stubby continued. “I still get at LEAST thirty owls a day, all carrying letters from fans, wondering when I’ll return to my former glory. I’ve gotten cakes, and poems, and pictures, all of which end up in my rubbish bin!”

Stubby paused.

“Well, not ALL of them end up in the rubbish bin. I’ve gotten quite a few pictures from overzealous witches who felt that if they showed…”

“MR. BOARDMAN.”

Kingsley’s powerful voice echoed through the house, and Stubby finally fell silent. He only then seemed to realize that he was in the presence of an authority figure from the Ministry, and straightened up in his seat. Smoothing his hair, he motioned for Kingsley to continue.

“Yes…anyway,” Kingsley said, clearly irritated. “I was sent to your house because of claims made in the wizard magazine, The Quibbler. According to a woman named Doris Purkiss, Sirius Black is your alias. I know this may sound bizarre, but it is my job to investigate any and all claims made regarding Sirius Black.”

“Would you like a tuna?” Stubby asked. He did not seem to take notice of the fact that Sirius Black had been mentioned.

“A tuna?”

“Yes, a tuna!” he repeated impatiently. “A tuna from my tree outside! You couldn’t have missed it, it’s the largest tuna tree in the country! In the world, actually! Part of that’s because it’s the only tuna tree in the world, but I think…”

“Mr. Boardman, you do realize that magical experiments of that sort are illegal?” Kingsley interjected, resuming his authoritative tone. “And also, your tuna tree would most likely qualify as a breech of the Statute of Secrecy, considering Muggles will realize that fish cannot grow on trees.”

Stubby blinked.

“I assume, then, that you would not like a tuna?”

Kingsley struggled to keep his temper under control. He had spent most of his life dueling dark wizards and working in high-risk situations, but he feared that this annoying, chubby little man would be the death of him. Hoping to preserve some of his sanity, Kingsley decided that he would attempt a few more questions and head home as soon as possible. The décor of the room was giving him a migraine.

At that point in time, Stubby rose from his wicker chair and began to pace impatiently across the room.

“You remember The Hobgoblins’ biggest hits, don’t you?” he asked, speaking more to the stuffed squirrels on the wall than to Kingsley. “I’m not sure how many people realized it, but I cried every time I sang ‘Spellotape Can’t Mend My Heart.’ I cried. And how do I get repaid? A turnip, straight to the ear!”

“Mr. Boardman…”

“Who brings a turnip to a concert anyway?” Stubby continued, his intensity increasing. “Nobody really likes them! You don’t go to your friends’ houses and ask, will we be having turnips for dinner? No! You don’t!”

“Mr. Boardman, about Doris Purkiss…”

Stubby stopped at the sound of the name. It was the first time he appeared to have heard anything that Kingsley said.

“Doris Purkiss?” he repeated.

“Yes, I’ve already mentioned her! Right before you…offered me a tuna.”

“I remember Doris Purkiss,” Stubby began, his tone changing. “She was a total nutter. Thought I was her boyfriend or something. She used to call me Snubby.”

“Well,” Kingsley replied, his patience thinning, “she recently claimed that you and Sirius Black are the same person. According to her, ‘Sirius Black’ is your alias.”

Stubby acted as if this was the first time Sirius had been mentioned, and appeared to go into deep thought. He paced across the room a few more times, then stopped by a shelf on the wall, which held his collection of ceramic unicorn figurines. He picked one up and began to polish it haphazardly with his shirt, then turned to face Kingsley.

“Sirius Black…the murderer?” he inquired.

“Yes, Sirius Black, the accused murderer,” Kingsley answered, hoping the conversation would become more serious.

“Well, I’m not Sirius Black,” Stubby said, matter-of-factly. “Do you know who I am?”

“Stubby Boardman,” Kingsley replied, with a deep sigh.

“Damn right I’m Stubby Boardman!” He slammed the figurine back on the shelf and resumed pacing. “I’m Stubby Boardman, former lead singer of the world famous…WORLD FAMOUS band, The Hobgoblins! I wrote ten hit singles! I made faux dragon-skin gloves fashionable! Can you imagine how difficult that is?”

Someone was clearly a few Sickles short of a Galleon.

“I know who you are,” Kingsley said, as calmly as he could, “I was just stating that Doris Purkiss has claimed…”

“I played more concerts than I can count! I had a fan club with over three thousand members in it…THREE THOUSAND! I dated Marietta Carlson…MARIETTA CARLSON…the famous Quidditch player! Do you REALIZE how attractive she was? How perfectly shaped her body was? How her plump, perfectly rounded…”

“MR. BOARDMAN.”

“I have pictures!”

Kingsley rose from his seat and began to walk purposefully to the door. Frantically, Stubby chased after him and made a feeble attempt to block his exit. Unfortunately, Kingsley was much more forceful than the former pop singer giving him an easy advantage.

“I believe I’ve heard enough for today, thank you.” Kingsley said, pushing Stubby out of his way.

All of a sudden, Stubby began to sob shamelessly.

“It’s been years,” he cried, wiping his nose with his sleeve. “It’s been years since anyone’s cared about me! I used to be a star! I was important, up until that freak decided it would be funny to throw a TURNIP at me onstage!”

“Mr. Boardman, please, control yourself.”

“I can’t control myself!” Stubby exclaimed. “My whole life…ruined! I’ve lost everything! Now, instead of being a famous, glamorous pop singer, I’m a fat, middle-aged, unexciting has-been! The only interesting things in my life are my cat, my Tuesday night games of Gobstones, and my tuna tree. I’m a loser.”

“Yes, you are a loser.”

Stubby ceased his sobbing and looked, incredulously, at the Auror in front of him.

“You’re a loser now, and you were a loser fifteen years ago,” Kingsley snapped, finally losing his patience. “Maybe, if you’d learned to sing, I wouldn’t have thrown that turnip at you!”

“You…”

And with that, Kingsley left.