He stared around at the half-empty shelves, the result of so much of his stock having been destroyed, and felt a pang of anger. His determination to find out who was behind all this reinforced, he slumped down behind the desk and began fiddling with the till. His mind, however, was a million miles away - thinking about the Daily Prophet archives and the contents of Dumbledore's will.
'I wish I hadn't thrown that paper away,' he thought, glancing at the rubbish bin under his desk, which had swallowed the paper whole only a few days ago. The bin made a small rumbling sound, as though it were hungry, and a trickle of tattered receipts tumbled out of its mouth. 'There'll be no getting anything back out of there."
With a strange feeling of annoyance, George also reflected that that bin had also consumed the box containing the Puking Pastels and his mysterious necklace. The package had also held a piece of paper with an address - an address which he could have visited to ask about the necklace. For the second time that morning, he reaffirmed his decision to buy a new bin.
There was a thundering of footsteps on the stairs. "That was quick!" cried Fred, moving swiftly over to him. "I take five minutes to go and investigate whether the fungus in our kitchen can talk yet and when I come back you're already down here. Anyway," he suddenly lowered his voice to a rather conspiratorial level, leaning closer to George. "Don't say anything."
"Why not?" said George.
"Shh! I said don't say anything!"
"But why -"
"Sh!"
"Alright" George mouthed, the words escaping as the smallest of whispers. "Why not?"
Fred straightened up, glancing furtively behind him at the rest of the shop. "Because," he said seriously, "I think someone's listening to us."
"What?" said George, completely forgetting to stay silent.
Fred glared at him. "And you say I've got a bad memory," he said. "Just shut up for the next few minutes, ok? I'm being serious. I found this under a floorboard in our room." He held out his palm across the desk, and George saw what looked like a small, metal beetle lying in Fred's hand. Its legs were splayed out in different directions and its shining blue wing cases were chipped and dented. Tentatively, George took it and held it up to the light. He half-expected it to start buzzing and fly off.
"I had to bash it a bit to stop it working," Fred told him, staring at the little bug with narrowed eyes. "It was making this strange crackling noise - a bit like the wireless does when it's trying to find a station - and then I noticed its wings were open and there were these tiny speakers inside."
"Weird," George whispered. "You're right, it sounds like one of those listening charms. That little knick-knacks shop down the road - Mickey Clickitt's place - sells stuff like this, we could ask him." He lowered his hand and put the metal beetle down on the desk, staring at it with a mixture of confusion and repulsion. The strange little thing lay there on its back, the splayed-out legs making it look as though it was trying to right itself.
Fred took in a deep breath. "If the burglar planted this one, there are doubtless more of them," he said, sounding ominous. "You can go see Mr. Clickitt about it on our way out."
"Way out where?" mouthed George, reaching under the desk for a small, cardboard box and slipping the bashed beetle into it.
"To meet Harry and Ron," Fred said. "I sent them a letter telling them to meet us in the Leaky Cauldron around half ten. Hermione can't come apparently, something about bridesmaid dresses…" George was staring up at him, looking rather alarmed. "Don't worry -" Fred told him. "I didn't give anything away. I just thought it would be quicker for them to come here, and there'd be less chance of Mum finding out. Anyway, we can't meet them here anymore, so I thought the Leaky Cauldron would be the next best thing - crowded, you know."
George nodded approvingly and shut tight the lid of the box. He lifted it up to his ear and listened intently for a moment, but no sound came from the inside. Apparently satisfied, he slipped the box into his robes and whispered, "Right. Let's go interrogate an old shopkeeper, shall we?"
Clickitt's Wizarding Gadget Shop stood just inside a narrow street leading off Diagon Alley. On the outside, it looked shabby, dingy and generally unwelcoming - the sign hanging lopsided and every inch of paint peeling; only those who had visited the shop before knew that a cave of wonders lay inside.
George pushed open the door and stepped over the dusty threshold, Fred following him, and they found themselves in a tiny room crammed practically to overflowing with tables and shelves of bizarre accoutrements. No order had been established, there were no categories for the products sold, no labels on anything: everything in this shop was unique, either second-hand or invented by the owner, and the price arose strictly from whatever mood Mr. Clickitt happened to be in on the day of your purchase.
Right next to the door stood an umbrella stand which cried, "Lovely morning, guv'nor!" as George passed by it. On a table just next to them, amid a selection of grotesque ornaments, sat a large glass barometer, a closer look revealing that the bubbles inside it were labelled not with temperatures, but phrases like 'better take a scarf', and 'wear your sunhat today'. A rattle from overhead made George look up, and he saw several model broomsticks racing each other around the ceiling, narrowly avoiding the large, old-fashioned hanging lamp struggling to fill the room with light. There were pots of invisible ink, maps that changed depending on where you were, and teacups that tested your drinks for unwanted potions. Tearing their eyes from the treasure trove around them, Fred and George grinned at each other - they knew this place very well indeed.
Negotiating a route between the towering stands of stock, they made their way, cautiously, to the till at the back of the shop, their journey accompanied by clicking and whirring sounds from all sides. Dodging behind a mirror which served as a spy for when you were out of the house, George spotted a low wooden desk pushed against the shop's back wall. Behind it, almost swallowed by his hugely oversized cloak, sat Mickey Clickitt. He was a skinny, wiry man, with patchy earth-coloured hair and watery eyes that were so large they looked as though they were about to tumble out of his head. His sallow skin was stretched tight across his face, forcing his lips into thin lines and throwing every bone in his skull into sharp relief. He was leaning back in his chair, his lanky legs crossed on top of the desk, using a long set of pincers to prod at something held up to his face.
When he saw George approach, however, he dropped the object onto the desk and held out his thin hands, each sporting exceptionally thin fingers. "Georgie boy!" he cried, his voice slightly hoarse but brimming with delight. "Long time no see…"
George shook hands, grinning broadly, and Mickey Clickitt continued: "How's the family, eh? Haven't seen any of you since, oh, last November, I reckon. Heard about old Banders - terrible business, poor bloke. Very sorry to hear that."
"Yeah," said George. "Very sad. Business good?"
"Oh, booming as usual," laughed Mr. Clickitt. "Got a load of school kids in here the other day, looking to get stuff to help 'em sneak around Hogwarts - at your recommendation, no doubt? I swear I get half my customers from you, my boy, you know if you ever need anything I'll be quite happy to oblige! You and your brother -" He stopped short, wavering slightly. His bulbous eyes swept rapidly over George's face, as though checking to see that it was ok to carry on. George gave him an understanding nod.
"Actually," he said, "there is something you can do for me." He reached inside his robes and pulled out the box containing the peculiar metal beetle. He placed it on the desk and cautiously prized off the lid, peering inside to check that the bug was still there. Mr. Clickitt leaned forward, staring into the box. Then he pointed his wand towards the box and muttered, "wingardium leviosa."
The little beetle rose upwards, spinning slightly, and the shopkeeper stared curiously at it. "Where did you find this?" he asked, directing his wand to turn the bug over so that its legs stuck up in the air.
"Under a floorboard in my flat," George replied, and Mickey Clickitt's eyebrows shot upwards.
"Goodness me, boy, goodness me," he wheezed. Then he let his wand drop and the beetle fell back into its box. "Yep - I'm sorry to say, that's mine. Made a few of those, oh, month or so back. You know Muggles have got those little electronical things they stick inside people's houses to listen to 'em? Know what they call 'em?" George shook his head. "Call 'em bugs," Mr. Clickitt laughed. "Bugs! Weird, eh? Well - sort of inspired me. Built these little tin ones in pairs, put a charm on 'em so if you put one in someone's house, you can use the other one to listen through it. Sold most of 'em in a couple of days, then a bloke from the Ministry came in - bought the lot. Asked me to make a bunch more of 'em, said he'd pay a high price. Weren't that high, mind. But I did it anyway - made another box and gave it to the Ministry, then kept a dozen or so for the shop. One of my bestsellers."
He pushed the box back towards George, who looked a little disappointed at the news that the beetles had been sold to so many people. Apparently it was not going to be that easy to find out who had 'bugged' his flat.
"Can you remember any of the people who bought them?" he asked, not really expecting a positive answer. "Did anyone buy two, or maybe three, at once?"
Mickey Clickitt wrinkled his nose, his bugling eyes flicking to the ceiling as he tried to remember. "Let me see, now… There was a young lady who bought one, said she was going to slip it into her boyfriend's coat. She came back and bought another one a few days later, because apparently the boyfriend had found the first one." He returned his gaze to George, an apologetic look on his face. "Somehow, though, I don't think that's what you want to hear. But, as far as I can remember, nobody else bought more than one apart from the Ministry."
George felt a rustle beside him and noticed that Fred was now leaning against the desk. "Ask him which Ministry person it was," he said.
"Do you know who it was from the Ministry?" George asked Mr. Clickitt. The wiry shopkeeper shrugged.
"No idea," he said. "Short man, bald, looked like he could do with losing a few, if you know what I mean." He chuckled, again looking slightly apologetic. "I couldn't tell him from half the workers there. All the same, those civil servants. Oh wait - hang on… he said he thought these - the bugs, that is - would impress his new boss, that's all I can remember."
George glanced at Fred, who was suddenly looking very alert. "His new boss?" George said. "So - he must work for a department that's just had a bit of a change-around."
"Maybe." Mr. Clickitt shrugged again. "But that was about a month back - and there's been a lot changed at the Ministry lately. Could be from a load of departments that've got new people in charge." He blew out a long sigh. "Sorry, lad, but that's the best I can do. This old brain starting to get dust in the cogs." He tapped the side of his head, laughing. George smiled, but could not quite hide his disappointment.
"Well," he said, turning to leave, "if you think of anything, let me know." He lifted the box from the desk and shoved it back in his robes. "See you, Mickey."
"Yeah," said Fred, even though the shopkeeper couldn't hear him. "Nice to be back in here, mate."
Mr. Clickitt waved a skinny hand as he settled back into his chair. "Good seeing you, Georgie boy," he called. "You need any more help, I'm always here!"
The door to the gadget shop clanged shut as George and Fred stepped out into the narrow street. Diagon Alley was already beginning to fill up with shoppers, despite it being barely ten o'clock, and the bustle of noise nicely disguised the twins' (or rather, George's) conversation as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Someone from the Ministry bought loads…" George muttered, thinking hard. "So - who in the Ministry would want to buy a bunch of listening devices?"
"Aurors?" suggested Fred. "Although a lardy bloke with no hair doesn't really sound like an Auror… unless he was a Metamorphmagus. Maybe they didn't even work for the Ministry at all, it was just an excuse to order loads?"
"It's possible," George agreed. He tried to picture the face that he had seen in Mr. Bandersnatch's shop only two nights ago. The shadowy outline of the cloaked figure swam before his eyes, but there was no definition to the image. All he could remember of the face was that it had been fuming with rage. "Perhaps there're two of them working together? Or worse - loads of people, all conspiring to get back the contents of Dumbledore's will. Maybe they're the people who originally owned the stuff he was giving away!"
Fred looked impressed. "Ah," he said, "now there's a theory." They reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and George pushed open the door. Fred had to dodge speedily out of the way as a pair of huge, angry-looking wizards came stomping out of the pub.
"That woman's got it coming to her," one of them muttered murderously to the other. "Mark my words… The name Skeeter's got a black mark on it."
Frozen in the doorway, George looked over at Fred. "Rita Skeeter," he breathed, looking alarmed. "Merlin, I didn't count on running into her…"
"I look on it as a golden opportunity," said Fred, as George raised his eyebrows. "Let's see how much she really knows about the case of the dead shopkeeper."