She stepped off the train at Kings Cross Station. She loved the way Muggles traveled. It was so unnecessarily complicated and error prone. No one ever seemed to get where they wanted to go when they wanted to get there. She found it refreshing. Witches and wizards took it for granted that they could get to a destination in seconds by stepping into a fireplace or waving a wand. You never got to read a good book when you used the Floo Network. Not to mention that, in her opinion, Apparating took all the adventure out of lost luggage.
Pulling her cloak closed, she watched as the business people pushed their way between the rapidly closing doors of the train’s coaches, tried to walk with their noses in the morning papers, and juggled briefcases and bumbershoots for that impending summer rain the morning news forecasted. Unobtrusively, she studied several women dressed in business suits making their way to the nearest platform. Taking a quick inventory of her appearance, she decided her first stop was the closest dress shop. After all, if she was going to face her past, she was going to make sure she looked good doing it.
++++
CRACK!
“OY! Will you two get off? Hasn’t your aim gotten any better?” Harry exclaimed as he struggled to escape the weight of Fred and George who had just Apparated into their old bedroom onto one of their old beds. Unfortunately for Harry, he happened to be in the bed at the time.
“Good morning to you, too, Harry,” Fred said as he handed Harry his glasses.
“Our aim is excellent, Harry,” George chimed in.
“You just think we didn’t mean to Apparate on top of you,” Fred said.
“You see, young Harry, you are now Ginny’s beau.”
“And for that, we decided to land on top of you.”
“Now, up! Up! We’re your Honor Guard to Diagon Alley!”
“Honor Guard?” Harry asked, sliding his glasses up his nose.
“Yes, it seems the Order, a.k.a Mum, wants you protected,” Fred said.
“As full fledged Order members, we volunteered,” George explained.
“We need chaperones?” Harry asked, disgruntled. He had been looking forward to spending a day with Ginny doing things a normal teenage couple would do: eating ice cream, window shopping, holding hands.
“Don’t think of us as chaperones, Harry,” Fred said.
“Think of us as your ticket to a day out of here,” George said, waving his hand around the room.
Sighing, Harry scooted farther up into a sitting position. “Who’s watching the shop?” he asked curiously.
“New chap, young but eager to please,” George stated.
“Not to mention rather gullible. Makes for a good test subject,” Fred added.
Harry snorted. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
++++
Stepping out of The Avenue Clothiers, she looked up and down the busy London street. She had missed London. It had been almost seventeen years since she had been here. Things had changed. Progress, she thought ruefully. But then again, she had always liked Muggle progress. It was fascinating in its bulkiness.
“Ma’am? Excuse me, ma’am, you left your other belongings.”
One of the young shop girls who had helped her gingerly held out a pale pink bag, the shop’s logo depicting a sophisticated young woman sipping a cappuccino at an urban coffee house on the front. Glancing over her shoulder at the young woman, she waved her hand.
“Burn them, please,” she instructed as she stepped down onto the sidewalk.
The morning air was filled with the sounds of the city: the horns, the brakes, the people. She window shopped as she walked, soaking in the current culture, the mood of the times. From what she could determine from life on the street, it was business as usual for the Muggles. Stopping at a newsstand, she picked up the latest paper, gave a pound note to the clerk and tucked it under her arm. Crossing the street to a coffee house, she found a seat outside, ordered a cup of tea and opened the paper.
Many years ago, she had lost herself in Muggle London. Where better for a witch who needed to hide than here? She had been near enough to keep tabs on the people she needed to keep tabs on, and far enough away from those who wanted to keep tabs on her, for the most part. .
Folding the newspaper and placing it on the table, she pulled out the letter she had received two days ago. Laying it carefully on the small round table in front of her, she picked up her tea cup, cradled it between her hands, and studied the address written in neat, disciplined script on the front. If sent by Muggle post, this would have never found her. Score one for the wizarding world, she mused.
Setting her teacup aside, she unfolded the letter, slipping the address page off. She studied the writing on the second page, a surge of pride coursing through her. She hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. It had broken her heart to leave him, mostly because of what she was afraid he would become. But the Headmaster had promised he would turn out fine.
She could still remember that day at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore had seen her, pacing in the Great Hall, her cheeks damp with worry, her gloves twisted in her hands. Touching her on the shoulder, the Headmaster had motioned her to follow him into his office. Up to this point, all communication with Albus Dumbledore regarding her son had been taken care of by her husband. Now, as she heard him say the password, “Licorice Laces,” she wondered if that had been a wise decision.
Dumbledore’s office had fascinated and terrified her at the same time. The spinning tops, the whirring mechanisms, the judging portraits all seemed to say, “We know who you are.”
Dumbledore sat down behind his desk and studied the young woman who was trying valiantly to blink back the tears threatening to fall. She was…smaller than he had imagined. He motioned for her to sit in one of the chairs facing his desk.
“He speaks highly of you,” she said quietly, sitting slowly, folding her hands in her lap.
“Thank you,” Dumbledore replied. “He is a fine young man.”
“He is a conflicted young man,” she said, her eyes focused on her hands.
“Yes, but he has a lot of you in him.”
“I’m not sure that is a good thing,” she admitted softly.
“Why do you say that?” Dumbledore questioned gently.
Looking up into the Headmasters’ solemn eyes, she realized…he knew. He knew what she was and what she had done. Well, of course he would. He had been a professor here then, she chided herself.
“I have to leave,” she said quickly.
Dumbledore nodded.
“I - I don’t know what to do,” she said desperately.
“I can help you.”
She blinked at him. She didn’t have any friends to help her. Her life had been swallowed up by her husband. Her parents were long dead. She had no siblings. Taking a deep breath, she accepted.
“What will become of him?”
“He will be fine.”
“How do you know that? Does one of these instruments tell you that? Does it whirl and twirl and spit smoke and say ‘The answer is, he’ll be fine, you’ll be fine’?” she said, her voice filled with stress, rising in volume as she waved her hands at the various instruments on the shelves and the tables scattered around the office.
“No,” Dumbledore replied softly. “My heart tells me that.”
Her hand dropped back into her lap, her shoulders slumped in acceptance. Taking a deep breath, she looked into the Headmasters’ eyes.
“Where should I go?” she asked quietly.
London. Dumbledore had told her London. And so, not even waiting for her husband to come up the staircase from the dungeons, she had walked out the front doors of Hogwarts and not allowed herself to look back.
She severed all ties to the magical world, which weren’t many to begin with. She stopped using magic in fear of being tracked down by some misguided Ministry official. She leased a flat and found a Muggle job as an administrative assistant in a company that sold drill bits. She had opened a bank account, bought her own groceries, learned how to cook on an electric stovetop and had earned her own driver’s license. And she had watched from afar, helpless to save him.
She had lived a quiet life for many years until one early fall morning, almost seventeen years ago.
A co-worker had brought her a cup of tea along with the latest gossip which was quite scandalous. One of the salesmen had just had a baby and didn’t want anyone to know. Well, the salesman hadn’t really had a baby, more like he had one foisted off on him. Found on his doorstep, it was. Parents died in a car crash. Was the child hurt? She had asked. No, no, barely touched.
Just a scar on his forehead.
She had smiled and laughed and listened to the speculations about exactly who the parents were and if that was just a story cooked up to cover up something not so savory.
On her way home, she stopped by the shop to pick up some groceries. Her arms full of shopping bags, she cursed under her breath for forgetting her mesh bags with the handles. Jostling the bags to one side, she wrestled her key out of her handbag. Slipping it in the lock, she opened the door, stepped inside and pushed the door closed with the heel of her shoe.
Walking into the kitchen, she set the bags down and almost screamed at the sight of the owl sitting on the back of her kitchen chair. The owl had entered her kitchen through the open window above the sink. Her hands trembling, she reached forward to untie the parchment attached to its leg. Fumbling, she almost dropped it, before she caught it again and unfolded it.
Leave.
Dropping the parchment, she stood still for a moment, her body rigid with shock and fear. Then, she turned and walked away, away from the groceries on the table, from her job at the drill bits company, from her wonderful flat, and her precious bank account.
And, despite all of that, he had still found her. And he had used her talents to survive. Granted she had had little choice, but she still despised herself for it. What she had done was worse than leaving her only child behind
She wondered in later years why she simply had not killed herself. Truthfully, it was for the same reason she had left her son so many years ago. She had been afraid. She had been afraid to give him the ability to do this to someone else.
And now, looking at the letter, she was afraid her fears were becoming reality.
Setting her tea cup down, the witch picked up the cover sheet of the letter and shredded it. Standing up, she scooped up the pieces and deposited them along with the newspaper in the bin. Stepping onto the sidewalk, she headed up the street. Two blocks later, she entered the First Street National Trust Bank. Walking up to an open teller window, she presented a key and signed a slip of paper. Upon comparing the signature to the one on file, the clerk ushered her through a half-door, and into the safe. The clerk inserted his key into one of the locks, motioning for her to do the same in the other. Turning both, the clerk pulled out the long, rectangular box. It rattled as something rolled inside it.
Placing it on a table, the clerk said, “Just let me know when you’re done, ma’am.”
“Stay,” she said. “I won’t be but a minute.”
Opening the lid of the safety deposit box, she quickly emptied it and closed the lid. The clerk’s eyes never left the woman’s hand as she exited the safe and pushed the doors to the street open.
After all, not many bank customers kept their wands in safety deposit boxes.
++++
“Hermione, do we have to go into Flourish & Blotts? Can’t you go by yourself?” Ron complained, as Hermione pushed the door to the bookstore open.
“Ron, we have to stick together. We promised your mother,” Hermione explained patiently. “Besides, Ginny mentioned needing to get something here, too.”
Harry looked at Ginny in surprise. Flushing slightly, Ginny shrugged. “It’s just something little. Won’t take me long.”
“Can I help?” Harry offered hopefully.
“No, you can’t,” Ginny answered smiling. “It’s a surprise,” she said, letting go of Harry’s hand and trailing Hermione toward the back of the shop. Looking over her shoulder, she winked at Harry.
Harry could feel his cheeks growing warm but couldn’t help grinning back.
“Mate, you have it bad,” Ron said, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Fred snorted. “No worse than you, Ronald.”
“Yeah,” George chimed in. “Look at yourself. In a bookstore. In July!”
Ron grinned. “And exactly where are the two of you?” he asked, before ducking behind a shelf of books to avoid a quill that came flying his direction.
Walking toward the back of the shop, Ginny’s eyes scanned the shelves, looking for the section she wanted. She had finally determined what to get Harry for his birthday and wondered why it had taken her so long to figure it out. After all, it had been Harry’s idea in the first place. In between Happy Habitats for the Housebound Hag and Hiccup Cures and Other Odd Muggle Remedies, she found what she was looking for. Slipping it off the shelf, she started flipping through it, walking back up the isle, her eyes focused on the pages . Not looking where she was going, the book went flying out of her hands as she ran directly into another customer.
“OH!” Ginny exclaimed, catching herself on the bookshelf to her right. “I’m so sorry!”
“Not at all,” came the amused reply. “I have more reading related injuries than I care to admit myself.”
Leaning down to scoop up her book, Ginny turned to face the witch she had run into.
“Are you alright? I’m afraid I had my nose in my book and wasn’t looking where I was going. Well, obviously, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Ginny said slightly embarrassed.
“I’m fine,” the witch assured her with a smile. “Do you mind if I ask what book has you so entranced?”
Ginny turned the book to show the witch who read the title, her eyes widening. “Well, I suppose I should be glad I ran into you before you read that, eh?”
“Oh, no, actually it’s a gift,” Ginny rushed to explain.
The witch giggled. “A gift? And pray tell, who is the deserving recipient? I hope he’s a friend.”
Ginny’s embarrassed flush deepened to a full out crimson blush.
“Ah,” the witch nodded knowingly. “More than a friend, I gather.”
Ginny looked at her shoes. She was not sure why she was suddenly shy about her and Harry’s relationship. She just realized, though, she had never had to introduce Harry as her boyfriend. Everybody at school just knew. And when Bill had visited at Hogwarts last term, he had come home armed with the knowledge he owed Charlie 5 Galleons because of a Weasley family betting pool guessing when she and Harry would start dating. Not if, but when. But she had never had to introduce her new relationship with Harry to a stranger.
Sensing her discomfort, she held out her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “I’m Catarina.”
Ginny looked at the outstretched hand. Trusting a complete stranger these days went against every instinct in her body. But there was something about this witch that was oddly familiar. Her salt and pepper hair was tucked neatly into a knot at the base of her neck. Her clothing was neat and tidy…and very Muggle. She had an open, genuine smile that drew Ginny in, making her feel somehow connected, as if she and Ginny had known each other their entire lives. Slowly taking the offered hand, Ginny smiled.
“Ginny Wealsey. Um, do you mind me asking? Are…are you a witch?”
“Guilty,” Catarina answered with a smile. “A witch with a taste for Muggle fashion. Actually, I would have to say, throughout the years, I have developed a taste for most things Muggle, although I have never been much for those electric toothbrushes. Takes the fun out of the whole process, if you ask me.”
“My dad would love you!” Ginny exclaimed. “He loves anything and everything to do with Muggles.”
“Really?” Catarina said. “I have the greatest sympathy for your mother, then,” she grinned impishly.
“Hi, Ginny,” Hermione said coming up beside her.
Catarina looked at the thick volume under Hermione’s arm. Nodding approvingly, she commented, “Getting lost in a good book is a wonderful way to spend a summer day. What are you reading?”
Looking slightly taken aback, Hermione replied hesitantly, “It is a fascinating historical text regard-“
“Hermione!” Ron called from the end of the isle. “Are you two done yet? Fred and George need to get back to their shop.”
Slightly perturbed, Hermione turned to Ginny and sighed. “Are you ready, Ginny?”
“I found it,” Ginny nodded. Turning to Catarina, she held out her hand. “It was very nice to meet you, Catarina.”
Catarina smiled and shook Ginny’s hand again. “I don’t mean to be nosey, but by any chance are you related to the joke shop I noticed further down the street?”
Ginny grinned. “Yes, I am! My brothers own it. Would you like to meet them?”
“I’d love to!” Catarina exclaimed, noting the pride in Ginny’s voice when she mentioned her brothers.
Ginny led Catarina and Hermione to the front of the store. “Catarina, I’d like you to meet Fred and George, the Weasleys of Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Catarina said, smiling and shaking the twins’ hands.
“And this is Hermione Granger and my brother, Ron,” Ginny continued. Shoving the book she was still holding behind her back, Ginny nodded in Harry’s direction and felt the blush begin to creep back into her cheeks. “And this is Harry.”
“This is Harry,” Catarina repeated, smiling knowingly at him and offering him her hand.
Harry smiled politely at Catarina and shook her hand. Something in her tone told him she knew something about him and it had nothing to do with his scar. He watched as she turned her head to look at Ginny and winked.
Backing toward the front counter, Ginny grinned. “I have to make my purchase. I’ll meet you outside, okay?”
“After I purchase these,” Catarina said, waggling three books in the air, “would you mind if I tagged along to the joke shop?” she asked. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I’ve always had a weakness for a good prank. I would love to see it.”
Ginny rolled her eyes as Fred and George fell all over themselves, promising a private tour. She and Catarina made their way to the front, while the rest of the group headed out of the shop. The last of the group, Harry was blushing madly when he finally made it to the fresh air. He could have sworn he heard Catarina comment quietly to Ginny as they went to the counter, “My, someone up there likes you a lot!”
++++
George pushed the door open to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes and stepped back, allowing the group to enter before him. Ginny quickly covered her head with the flat, rectangular packages she carried. A shower of confetti gently fell to floor. Sidestepping the charmed dustpan and brush that moved in to clean up the mess, Ginny looked around the shop. The joke business was thriving, partly due to the twins‘ seemingly endless creativity and partly due to their uncanny business sense. Ginny continued to be impressed by how two such accomplished pranksters could also be such well respected, shrewd businessmen. It was almost as if that was the twins‘ biggest prank of all.
“I’ll be right back. I need to go check on our new boy,” George said as he headed back to the storeroom.
“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes,” Fred said proudly as Catarina entered.
“Amazing!” she said awed.
Fred looked approvingly at her reaction and nodded. “Yes, it is amazing. Allow me to fetch you our latest order form. I’ll be right back.”
Catarina turned around, taking in the shelves and barrels of Whiz Bang fireworks, Ink Pellets, fake wands, exploding quills and candies that did everything imaginable to every part of the human body “ temporarily, of course. Smiling widely at the possibilities, she walked over to a shelf stacked with boxes. Picking one up, she turned to Harry and Ginny.
“What are these?”
“Those are the Skiving Snackboxes,” a voice spoke from behind. Ginny turned to face a young man wearing a nametag and what looked like a lion’s tail. On closer inspection, she saw the name on the tag was Stewart and the tail was real. “They are one of our best sellers, designed to come to the aid of a witch or wizard in need of an escape from a particularly sticky situation.”
“You don’t say,” Catarina said, examining the sides. “Well, I think I may have to have one. Can you put it on the counter? I’m sure I’m not done here yet.”
Stewart nodded and took the snack box to the counter.
“What do you suppose the story is with that tail?” Catarina asked conspiratorially to Ginny.
“I’m guessing it was a test product gone wrong,” Ginny said out of the side of her mouth, her eyes following the tail trailing across the ground.
“And I here I thought fur was out of style,” the older witch commented wryly.
Ginny snorted. “Nothing is out of style in Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes.”
“Ah,” Catarina said smiling knowingly. “I’m guessing you’re rather glad they hired young Stewart there?”
“I can eat breakfast without worry now,” Ginny nodded. “Well, mostly,” she added.
Fred and George emerged from the storeroom waving a piece of parchment Ginny guessed was at least two feet long. Obviously, inventory was expanding.
“Oh, my!” Catarina exclaimed. “Excuse me,” she said to Harry and Ginny and headed toward the twins.
“Hey, check out who just walked in,” Ron said, elbowing Harry in the ribs.
Turning toward the door, they saw Professor Borgin shaking confetti out of his hair and hopping over the dustbin.
“Professor?” Hermione said with a small wave. “Hello!”
“Hermione! Nice to see you,” Nathan said, walking up to the them. “Harry, Ginny, Ron,” he nodded, extending his hand in turn. “How is summer treating you?”
“Well, so far,” Ron answered.
“How’s the Apparating coming along? I understand you’re taking the exam in the next couple of days,” Nathan commented, smiling.
“Fine,” Harry and Ron said both at the same time. Ginny giggled.
“What?” Ron asked indignantly. “It is fine. I’m all in one piece.”
“Yeah, you might be. Can’t say as much for the breakfast dishes,” Ginny said.
“It’s not my fault you hadn’t cleared the table yet,” Ron muttered.
Chuckling, Nathan turned to Ginny. “And how are you feeling, Ginny? Back to normal?”
“I’m fine, Professor. Thank you. What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to see Fred and George. But I see they’re bus-“ He stopped mid-sentence.
Following his gaze, Ginny saw he was looking at Catarina’s back. “Her name is Catarina,” Ginny said helpfully. “She’s Fred and George’s newest patron.”
“I know who she is,” Nathan said quietly. “Excuse me.”
Stepping through the foursome, Nathan walked over to where the twins were entertaining Catarina with tales of projects gone wrong. Looking up, Fred poked George in the ribs.
“Nathan!” Fred said.
“What brings you here?” George asked.
Catarina turned slowly to face the professor. Nathan was a good six inches taller than she was. She had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand.
“Hello, Nathan,” she said quietly.
Ignoring her hand, Nathan just looked at her.
“Hello, Mother.”
++++++
“You came.”
“You asked me to come.”
“He said you would.”
“Who? Dumbledore? Yes, he seems to give some us more credit than we deserve.”
Nathan nodded. They stood facing each other in the flat’s small kitchen area. Catarina was thankful for the four feet of cherry wood table top that separated her from her son. She was not sure either one of them was ready to be any closer at the moment.
Nathan turned away from his mother. He had always assumed she was alive, but by not knowing where she was, he had always been able to think of her as dead. He had thought himself beyond the pettiness of seventeen, when he had sat in his cell in Azkaban, fighting for his sanity, raging against what she had allowed to happen by not being there to stop it. But, then again, that was nothing compared to the rage he had felt when his father had told him why she had left two years earlier. Nothing would ever compare to that.
Twelve months after being dragged in, he had stumbled out of Azkaban armed with a desire to make something of his life unrelated to his past and with a certain understanding for why his mother had gone into hiding. It still did not mean he forgave her. He wasn’t sure he ever would.
Catarina followed her son into his study. Turning in a circle, she smiled. Nathan was definitely her son. His study looked almost identical to much of her home. She had often wondered why she bothered with furniture. She could simply stack the books up and sit on them, eat on them, sleep on them. She was glad he had not turned away from this part of his life. She stepped closer to examine the titles.
“Do you have any favorites?” she asked as she scanned the shelves.
“If you had been around, you would know,” Nathan muttered, immediately regretting the words the minute they were out.
Catarina straightened. Yes, maybe they did need to have this out, she thought.
“I didn’t want to leave, Nathan.”
“I know,” Nathan sighed, sitting down behind his desk.
“I had to,” she said quietly.
Nathan ran his hands through his hair and looked up at his mother. Catarina walked over to one of the leather chairs in front of the desk and sat down. Folding her hands together, she locked them between her knees.
“Nathan, you asked me to return. I don’t ask for your forgiveness. I did what I had to do,” she said, before pushing her elf up out of the chair and starting to pace the room.
“I wanted to kill your father for putting you through what he did. I wanted to come forward and explain why you couldn’t be at fault, but I couldn’t. I had to let Albus do the talking for me.”
“You knew Dumbledore came?” Nathan asked surprised.
She nodded. “Then, after you got out, I tried to come see you. I followed where you were, what was happening in your life, your accomplishments, your defeats. I was so proud of what you were becoming. I am so proud of what you have become,” she corrected herself. Walking to the window, she felt the breeze cool the tears on her cheeks. “But…well, you know what happened.”
Turning back to her son, she leaned against the window. “Why did you write to me? Why did you want me to come back?”
Nathan toyed with the quill on his desk for a minute. He had known when he wrote her, she would come.
“For a Blood Bonding.”
He heard her catch her breath. “Why?” she asked quietly.
“Protection.”
“Is that all?”
“For now,” Borgin answered.
“Who is she?”
“Ginny Weasley.”
Catarina felt her blood go cold. Not the nice young girl in the bookshop. Not the nice young girl in the bookshop with the boyfriend named Harry. Harry.
“Harry Potter,” she said quietly, making the connection.
Nathan nodded, his eyes never leaving his desktop.
“I haven’t practiced in years,” she said quietly.
“You are our only option,” Nathan said, looking up into his mother’s eyes.
Catarina gazed at her son. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
++++
“So, Catarina Borgin,” Fred said, locking the door to the shop.
“Wonderful woman,” George replied.
“He didn’t look too happy to see her,” Fred said.
“I got that impression, too.”
The twins watched as a broom wove its way around the shop, sweeping up what the day had brought in. Stewart followed the broom, adjusting the shelves, noting the items that needed restocking, his tail swishing behind him.
“You know, Fred,” George started.
“What, George?” Fred replied.
“That tail wouldn’t look so bad if it had a mane to go with it,” George mused.
“You know, George, I think you may be right,” Fred agreed.
The twins watched Stewart’s lion tail swish, back and forth, back and forth as he walked. Nodding in unison, they trailed after their employee, their heads going back and forth, back and forth. When Stewart turned right at the front desk, the twins went left, into the storeroom, their minds whirring with possibilities.
In between the Spewing Spiders and the Popping Puffer Fish (Guaranteed to liven any fish tank!), Stewart suddenly bent down and fished something out of the dustpan moving in front of the broom.
“Mr. Weasley? And Mr. Weasley? I think someone dropped this.” Stewart said, looking around. The shop was empty, the light from the storeroom illuminating the front counter.
“Huh,” he said, looking down at the piece of parchment. There was no writing on the front to identify who it might belong to. Looking around to make sure no one was looking over his shoulder, Stewart unfolded the parchment.
Dear
That’s odd, Stewart thought. An entire letter and there wasn’t a name at the top. Looking closer, he noticed there were several indentations where a quill had rested, as if paused to write a name, but the author had changed his or her mind and picked it up again without writing anything. Glancing briefly at the rest of the letter, he dismissed it.
Folding the letter up, he threw it back into the dust pan. He flicked his wand and directed the dust pan to dump its contents in the rubbish bin. Following its path, Stewart glanced down at the bin on his way past. He stopped, looking at the parchment now covered with dust and bits of confetti. On a whim, he bent down and picked up the letter. Brushing it off, he took it to the front counter and tucked it beside the cash register. Glancing toward the storeroom, he could hear the twins excitedly talking. Stewart sighed. At least he had job security, he thought. Waving his wand to turn out the shop lights, he locked the door behind him.
++++
A/N “ All my thanks to the people who keep me on the straight and narrow: wvchemteach for his endless supply of facts, suggestions and reminders and to parvatipatil for her endless supply of commas, correct spellings and good points.
Next Chapter…Blood Bonds and a dance to remember…