Honestly, Mad-Eye bet the man never broke down and actually cried. Mad-Eye felt he was an outside observer who really shouldn’t have been there. This woman was a name, nothing else. All of this training could never have prepared him for what he saw in that bookstore; it was something that would never be erased from his memory till the day he died. As a young Auror, he had consoled family after family. Looking back on all of those grievances and apologies, they came as a blur of faces, a flow of tears and a list of names. Nowadays, quite unfortunately, it was an ongoing list. Meghan had been kind and patient towards all of them; exceeding kind to a group of strangers. He might have passed her in the street without saying a word, and the brief meeting was certainly hidden under the facade of niceties. Meghan was a beautiful woman in many respects, as he had said, yet he couldn’t understand why he cared.
He wrapped the travelling cloak round his shoulders. Winter bit at his fingers. Somehow or another, he had weaved out the possibility of any Ministry tribunal, and he credited help for this quick move. It’s not that the officials seriously suspected that he actively participated in killing a fellow Auror’s wife, for that would prove these daft fools really were pulling at snipped strings. Dumbledore and he hadn’t spoken since that night. Of course, by the same token, he wasn’t stupid enough to blame the old man for a death when he had not been there. Nobody had been officially charged with the double murder, at least that’s how Mad-Eye saw it, and the rumours of the story slipped through the cracks. Meghan’s friends were under the impression that she had died in childbirth. Apparently, that line wasn’t that far-fetched because Joshua had been presumed dead, a stillborn, till he took a raspy breath, and miscarriages ran in the family.
Thatcher hadn’t resorted to suicide. There wasn’t much keeping him from death. Lily had stepped up and taken responsibility for the little boy. Although she immediately reminded him of family devotion and all of that cock and bull, she thought it best to give him space. She couldn’t imagine his loss. The boy hadn’t been told a damn thing. How would any of them muster the strength to break everything in his world? Not Mad-Eye, no, he’d stay the hell out of that mess. Sensitivity had never been his forte. He tried not to ponder when the kid’s mind drifted, wandering why they had left his mother behind.
He took Lily’s proffered arm as he started up the steep hill. As usual, the rain poured down in buckets. He lost a shoe every so often when the artificial leg got stuck, and this created a handful of mobility problems. It was a pain to clean. Honestly, he didn’t need the girl’s assistance, nor had he wanted to land himself at a funeral, yet it gave her a sense of purpose. She got really attached. Once or twice, he told her this was a flaw. He might have mentioned it again, but Lily seemed really disappointed, almost on the verge of tears, that they couldn’t carry out Meghan’s last wishes. Living within the confines of a fledgling secret society demanded private ceremonies be held in a quiet setting, that is, if one of them was indeed carried out at all. Mad-Eye looked over his shoulder and nodded at a dark silhouette.
Thatcher had gotten up early and had probably been here for hours. Perhaps he had not moved from that very spot. Did the man bother to look at his ancient pocket watch or did he just let the time pass? A black car was parked on the curb. Thatcher leaned against an old tree, giving no notion that he was remotely close to any of these people. They congregated round a handsome mahogany casket like gathering vultures circling decaying prey.
“He hasn’t said a word?” Lily carried the small boy in her arms. Joshua acted weird around strangers, according to Thatcher, yet he latched onto Lily like a magnet.
“No.”
“He’s barely eaten or slept either.”
“You’re observant.”
Lily ignored the jab. “How long were they married?”
“Four years.”
Lily glanced at the unfamiliar faces. She wasn’t one to ask endless questions, which is why he preferred her company. Mad-Eye had been initially against Dumbledore bringing a young crowd into the group, and he made no secret of it. The fact that they were close friends only worried him more because their naivety blinded them; they understood almost nothing about death. Of all people, Peter Pettigrew proved his weight by helping his friends out of trouble. Without many of the touchy details, Mad-Eye pieced together how the Potters had ended up with the Death Eaters, and the fat, watery-eyed kid would have been the last one would have ran to for help. Things happened. Mad-Eye hesitated to call this an act of heroism, but the boy wasn’t as stupid as he appeared at first.
Lily held the large umbrella over him without waiting for an invitation. Mad-Eye grimaced at the kid when he turned his curly blonde head. His little hands were clutched round Lily’s neck. His lanky legs wrapped round her torso, and she tolerated the clinging child well, seeing as he was an orphan. He had Meghan’s eyes, which took him off guard, sending a shiver up his spine. The kid closed his eyes after a while, fighting sleep.
“James held him until he fell asleep this morning,” said Lily.
She was dressed in another simple ensemble, which made Mad-Eye question why she decided against wearing robes. They attended these services so often these days; it had turned into a hobby. Mad-Eye had not spotted Lily’s husband or any of his friends. Alice and Frank Longbottom joined the flock at the casket after the service.
“By morning,” she said, “they probably drifted off while I was getting ready and finding directions.”
“How did he manage it?”
“He didn’t.” Lily rolled her eyes. “He snuck off to Sirius’s place for a bed. Of course, Peter and Remus are there, so that defeats any purpose.”
Mad-Eye snorted.
Time. They said it was all he needed, so Mad-Eye followed any suggestion the fools handed him; he made it a point not to force any of this to make a lick of sense. The door stood open, not for sympathy, yet he couldn’t just let him go because none of them had a right to judge anything. There was no telling what Thatcher would do with unleashed emotions. Truth be told, he hated the man on principle, and, until he heard the full story, Mad-Eye refused to let his guard down and trust the stranger simply because he had been introduced to the Order and possessed these so-called impressive ‘talents’.
Thatcher revealed everything to him; that’s what he said, whatever that meant. He started off with a rough introduction, and things when got easier, a confession rolled off of his tongue as if he had made a comment on the weather. Mad-Eye decided not to waste his time. Dumbledore and he shared these disagreements from time to time. It was usually over daily matters. Thatcher might very well be an innocent man who had walked away before he had gotten in too deep. Mad-Eye stood his ground, never wavering with the fancy phrases of a decorated discussion because he lived under the influence of this cock and bull rhetoric.
Few people stepped back and listened to the words. The fool certainly wasn’t clueless because he had a valuable point here and there. He mastered the act of logical persuasion in ways that Mad-Eye only dreamed. People admired the work behind the art, and Mad-Eye had learned that Dumbledore felt comfortable hiding behind all the brilliance and the cleverness. The greatest wizard of the age made mistakes, too, but nobody spent their time searching for those. Mad-Eye argued with the man for as long as the day was long, but it boiled down to the fact that they were friends through thick and thin.
As interest wound down and the pathos dripped from the attraction, Thatcher edged slowly towards his wife. He said nothing to the nearby priest, who masked his offence well, and knelt on the damp grass. Like a disgusting dose of medicine, he choked up before he shared these last moments with her. The words made no sense, for they came in through rushed breaths. Exhausted, he ran his fingers along the polished grain. The priest dressed in purple robes approached him cautiously, a Rosary laced through his fingers. He looked too young, far too young to play the part.
“No.” Thatcher didn’t look away from the casket; he placed an entwined white lily and yellow rose on top of the other carnations.
“Geoffrey,” the priest said softly.
“No,” Thatcher repeated, clutching his fists. He sounded defeated, weak. His voice was hoarse, weak from lack of use. “Go away. Leave me with my wife, please.”
The priest looked like he had given up, and he started to walk away, but he was a stubborn bastard. “Meghan wouldn’t have wanted this ...”
“What makes you think you knew her? Meghan’s at peace?” Thatcher laughed harshly. “You want to help me? Bring my wife back. Go on. What does that damn book tell you?”
“I ... I ...” the young priest stammered.
“With all due respect, father, mind you, I have none for your damn Church, not anymore, fuck off.”
The priest stood frozen, lost for words. Mad-Eye fought to drown his laughter. Lily gaped at the weary man. Slowly, he swallowed and recovered. “S-she needs a name.”
“The child? Maybe Meghan left something in here,” said Lily softly. She leafed through another prayer book. This one looked older and had photographs between the pages. She read from what they presumed to be the mother’s hand. “Rachelle Maria Nielson. She hasn’t been baptised.”
“Very well.” The priest jotted down a note and left after he said a quick goodbye.
“Where’d you get that?” Thatcher snatched the prayer book from her, reeling with anger. Lily stepped back. He waved it on her face. Startled, Joshua jerked from his elusive nap. “Come on. You’re brave enough to meddle with things that don’t concern you. Speak.”
“I “ I thought you would want it,” said Lily, surprised. “I found it in her things last night.”
“I took it out of her satchel,” offered Dumbledore, stepping in front of Lily when Thatcher reached inside his robes. “It was upstairs, lying in the chair, in the Reading Room.”
“Why were you at the bookstore?” Thatcher demanded.
“Alexander needed someone,” said Dumbledore simply. He flicked his wand once and caught a grey bag. He tossed it to Thatcher. “I figured you didn’t want it sitting up in evidence.”
The Auror Department bid their time, waiting with an endless list of questions, ready to pounce at any disturbance to cast suspicion off them. Crouch called for enough change recently with the roaring rally shouting behind him. He initiated change, and everybody assumed this was a step in the right direction. New legislation seemed like the perfect fix, and the cracks didn’t creep through till later. There was no protection and no regulation on the playing field. From what Mad-Eye had seen, this only sparked fear; the unpredictable problems escalated with control.
Mad-Eye hoped to make this idiot someone else’s problem and he jerked his head towards the Longbottom couple. “Stick him with them.”
“Alastor,” said Dumbledore with a bite of impatience.
If the man refused to open up to Frank Longbottom, they had no hope. Perhaps they took the wrong approach here. Why would they separate him from his boy, who was essentially the only person he had left, when they could shack up with friends? Frank did things tactfully, and he would make the man comfortable before he reeled off a heated interrogation or suggested psychoanalysis; he read people well, and Thatcher might not see anything out of the ordinary if he played his cards right. The two of them had developed some sort of friendship, and Alice presented a nice counter to his flighty personality. She was no clueless lass, that girl. No, she played the game with incredible ease. Technically, the Potters weren’t friends, mere acquaintances, but little Joshua might as well be attached to Lily’s hip.
“No, Mad-Eye,” Lily cut in before he made the suggestion. “What are James and I going to do with him? He barely knows us, and James will press the Order. You know that.”
“He doesn’t want in,” Mad-Eye said, already shot down.
“Exactly,” Lily said, shifting Joshua’s weight in her arms. Mad-Eye had to hand it to her; the girl stood her ground with quite an arsenal. “Do you want to push him further away? You laugh. Our place is the closest thing Joss has to a stable environment. You want to show him a mad father? That man,” she said, jabbing a finger at Thatcher’s back and lowering her voice, “has no idea who the hell he is. And you just want him to pick up where he left off? No.”
“What ‘stable environment’ has this boy been in for the past week? You’re irrational,” Mad-Eye growled her and turned to Dumbledore for support.
“Alastor,” Dumbledore repeated. “Speak to him.”
“Hell, no,” said Mad-Eye roughly, realising he was losing ground. He rolled his glass eye towards the grey sky. “You owe me.”
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. Mad-Eye thought he imagined the disguised laughter.
“Are you enjoying this?” Mad-Eye spun round and focused on his expression. As far as he was concerned, they would have been much better off demanding the truth up front.
He took a step towards the man. It wouldn’t be easy quieting the prejudices that corroded his brain. These people overlooked just about anything. After all, this man was once a Death Eater. Yeah, he had bowed out at the last minute, but they had obviously seen something in him. Thatcher withdrew a silver lighter from his pocket. Unconsciously, he pressed the side button. The flame licked his fingers, yet instead of a quick reflex, he responded to the calming motion, relaxing his nerves. Not once did the pyromaniac bother with pulling out a cigarette or a cigar. When the lighter fluid gave out, he started working through a matchbook.
Mad-Eye cleared his throat. “You got a light?”
Nothing.
He hadn’t really expected an answer. This usually bothered him, not that he wanted to be placed on a pedestal or the centre of attention. Mad-Eye had honestly tried to put himself in this man’s shoes. He treaded carefully. Mad- Eye disliked the lingering scent of tobacco, and they all knew this damn well. Sometimes, he received tokens from strangers. Especially during those daunting cases where he ran circles, a simple thank you or a warm smile of relief meant everything to him. Death angered people because they usually wanted to know why. Some of them found strength and comfort in religion. He had learned not to say anything relevant, especially as an opener. Women wanted a shoulder to cry on. Men resorted to fluent swearing and hitting things. There was a cigar in the inside pocket of his robes. With no other option, an addiction they both detested provided common ground.
Thatcher spared him the small talk. “How old is she?”
Mad-Eye scanned his view, confused. “Lily?”
“Yeah.” He accepted the cigar and lit the end of it.
“Nearly twenty, I think,” Mad-Eye said after a minute. Curiosity got the better of him. Thatcher faked a personality on a regular basis. It was difficult to tell if he truly cared about the details. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.”
The two men stood lost in their private thoughts. Thatcher spoke softly, dead calm. His son let the young woman distract him, which she did well, having quite a knack for this sort of thing. Honestly, although it clearly frustrated her, Lily dealt with Thatcher not being there. After they had finally coaxed him out of the bookstore, he had headed off to the Ministry, claiming a mountain of parchment rolls waited for him. Work provided a distraction. Few fools actually attempted useless questions, and most of them avoided making eye contact or cracking a joke in his presence. The department head didn’t want to let him in the doors, but he agreed to bury him in busy work.
“That’s when Meghan lost the baby, the first one.”
Mad-Eye hid his surprise. Why was this man telling him this? “Was she engaged?’
“Yeah, to someone named Prewett,” said Thatcher, inhaling deeply and coughing. “I came later.”
“Right.”
“He left her.” Thatcher wiped his face, rubbing his fingers along a stubby beard. He had not shaved in days. He would have stayed in bed had Mad-Eye not dragged him along to the funeral. He felt grateful that he had finally put down the bottle and decided to shower. Emotion leaked through his voice. Reality had not set in; nothing eclipsed the depression. He nodded. “Yeah, he got fed up after the third one passed, so they didn’t last long. He made a stupid decision walking out on her because she loved him till the day she ...”
“Thatch.”
“No, she did. She did. I saw it.” Thatcher let the tears fall and shook his head. He punched the decayed tree. “Damn it. We lost five, six if you count this one. Did you know that?”
“No.” Mad-Eye had debated whether or not he should offer to take Thatcher out for a drink after the service. He thought better of it now because it sounded like a disaster waiting in the wings, a rush of catharsis.
“I didn’t know she named her,” Thatch said, picking at the weathered bark. “So close.”
“How old is your boy?”
“Two.”
“His birthday was last week,” said Lily, oblivious to their looks. They had not considered that someone overheard their conversation. She brushed dark locks out of her eyes. “Remember? It was the night Thatch left Joss with us because he needed a drink.”
Thatcher finished off his cigar and stamped it out. Lily opened her mouth, replaying the words in her head and releasing her mistake.
“Shut up.” Thatch pushed past her and yanked his son from her. He looked her up and down, disgusted. “You’ve got everything, don’t you, princess? You’re a good babysitter, yeah, so you’re ready?”
“Thatch.” Mad-Eye put a hand on his shoulder.
“You have no fucking idea!”
“Thatch.” Lily matched his step. Mad-Eye let her go, yet she started unnecessary drama.
“You’re blowing smoke up a dead horse’s arse, miss,” Mad-Eye warned her, shaking his head.
“Mr. Nielson! Thatcher...Geoffrey!”
Lily chose not to listen to others once she got into her stride; he temporarily forgot that. She marched up to him in those dainty little heels, ignoring whoever called her name. Mad-Eye thought he ought to put a stop to this; on second thought, he’d rather see how this played out. She set Joshua on the ground. Mad-Eye had thought the little one had trouble walking or something, but it turned out he just liked to be cared round. Since this had been his only surviving son, Mad-Eye had expected this would be a spoiled brat for the ages, but the kid hadn’t hogged attention or made a peep. Thatcher must have decided long ago to raise his children with a firm hand and set rules.
James appeared out of nowhere, or, at least, none of them had taken note that he had arrived earlier. Dressed in a white t-shirt emblazoned with some nonsense symbol and a pair of jeans, he looked as though he had passed the night hanging with some Muggle crowd. He was seated behind Sirius, who rested his hands on the handlebars of his black motorbike. They wore identical grins, begging the question, which is exactly what they needed at the moment. Ready with a piece of his mind, a stream of fiery insults, Mad-Eye nearly missed it out of the corner of his eye. Thatcher struck. Shocked, tears in her eyes, Lily backed off.
A second later, Thatcher looked as though he had been yanked but invisible marionette strings. He hung upside down, dangling by his angle. He glided over to the tree and slammed his head on a decayed branch.
“You really want to rethink that one, mate,” James said conversationally, holding his wand quite steady. “Think it over while the blood rushes to your head.”
Thatcher swore. Frightened, Joshua screamed and hurried over to James, tripping over his trainer laces.
“Fine example you’re setting for your son,” James grunted, picking up the kid. “I’m sure Meghan wanted this as part of her send off. Touch Lily again and see what happens.”
Thatcher crashed to the ground. The casket had floated into an open grave. One of the keepers had charmed shovels to do their work. A grey tombstone levitated in the air and locked down at the site. Dumbledore muttered phrases under his breath and words etched into the stone as though a fine mason had marked his talent:
In honour of those who hushed Dead Silence and Walked through Fire,
Friend, Daughter, Mentor, Wife, Mother, Sister, Lover
Time cannot erase the flames of thy burning Midnight Taper
“You’re angry, and I understand that,” said Dumbledore, still looking at the words. He set a slip of parchment aflame. The ashes fell onto the wet grass before he turned towards the widow. Thatcher rubbed his wrist; he brushed a scorch mark. Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder. “But you are not the only one who lost her, I promise you.”
Mad-Eye took the man none too gently by the arm. He muttered a rushed apology out of the side of his mouth to Lily, who wiped her eyes and said it wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t in the office, and, although nothing pieced together, he would take advantage to pummel this bastard off the record. Forget the girl. Lily had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had provoked him, not that she deserved to be his target whatever she might have said, but she should have left the boy out of it nonetheless. Thankfully, Mad-Eye didn’t have any kids, nor did he spend time with any little ones. He watched people, though, especially young families. These days, he observed more than he’d like to admit because people dropped like flies left, right and centre.
Dumbledore broke eye contact with Thatcher. He disappeared when he reached the dead tree. Somebody screamed. A familiar sensation swept over them. Thatcher had not bothered with a good grip because he despised this form of transportation. He probably regretted that now, seeing as his nasal was yanked back by an Egyptian ritual. Mad-Eye hadn’t really had a destination in mind; they just needed to get somewhere else. If Meghan’s family had seen such behaviour, this scenario could have ended up much worse. Mad-Eye, for one, probably would have not acted respectable, and Dumbledore often stepped in to cover for them when he should simply let it go. Suddenly, Mad-Eye felt his arm twist, rather like they spun out of control. Thatcher had a split second to make a correction; the earth slipped from underneath them. For a moment, just a moment, their bodies suspended in free fall; they slammed into a hard surface.
“You idiot,” Mad-Eye growled, clambering to his feet. He ducked a flash of green light, and someone pulled him behind a gravestone of one Mary Kelly Irving. He reached out and slapped Thatcher on the back on the back of the head. “You can’t choose two locations in Side-Along Apparition!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really focused on that now,” said Thatcher. His hand was Splinched, and blood coursed from the wound. He laid the blades there, closed his eyes and flicked a orange lighter. The soaked matchbook lay in a puddle. He muttered something in a Latinate tongue, and a fiery sphere revolved around the blades. “I need a chopping block.”
“Chopping block? Fool!”
“Sorry.” Thatcher released his weapon, flexing his fingers. Spells flew round them in colourful explosions. The blades shot towards the priest. The weapon nearly missed the jugular, for Thatcher mastered his aim, but the target had trained reflexes. Mad-Eye didn’t know when the man had returned, but he was engaged in the middle of a duel with Lily. The disguise fell and a figure with dark tresses transformed in front of them, cackling with merciless laughter. The purple roes no longer fit her frame. Thatcher jumped over the grave and charged forward at top speed. “Bitch!”
Mad-Eye chose Evan Rosier as his target. He didn’t see the Longbottoms. Perhaps they had slipped out without any of them noticing. James shouted something to Thatcher, but his warning fell to deaf ears. James and Sirius worked on a set of walking corpses, the Lestrange brothers, flying off any curse that popped in their heads. It was clear that Lily had never met Bellatrix because she seemed surprised by the mastered skill. Mad-Eye chased Rosier and made a mistake when he led him into a maze. Stone figurines shattered all around the place. They were within feet of the other duellers; Bellatrix clearly enjoyed this dance with the dead. James shouted over his shoulder at his wife. Thatcher jumped in between the two women, taking control of the duel. Lily screamed when James fell down, falling over white chairs.
“Lily,” Thatcher shouted, snapping her back to attention as he sent a red jet of light towards Bellatrix. Mad-Eye saw him cast a protective shield in the distance before he blocked another spell. “Where is Joshua?”
Mad-Eye felt a searing pain. He felt the blood, but he kept his arm quite steady and shouted, “ Petrificus Totalus!” His opponent crashed into the monastery entrance, flying down ages of steps.
He felt his face and tried to locate the source of the bleeding as he joined Sirius and leapt over one a small grave. One of the Lestranges set up another defence. One brother escaped, his corporeal form slipped right through Mad-Eye’s fingers. Angry, he shot a spell at the other one, relieving Sirius. Apparently, Roldolphus remembered this move; they had been in this dance before and it never ended. Mad-Eye thought he had the man in his grasp. A body, a skeleton with bits of skin, rose from a fresh grave. Mad-Eye laughed. A fiery lasso shot ignited from the end of his wand. He bound the fool with the enchanted Inferi.
“Missed you, my love,” Bellatrix said in a high pitched voice. She laughed when Thatcher shot a green flash at her. He missed. “Are you really that angry with me, darling?”
“You are fine,” said Thatcher darklyy. He jerked his head in the opposite direction. “You have that thing in your bed. We had our chance, Bella, but I was a just a naive pawn in your stupid little game. It was rather childish, really, but I guess that means you weren’t satisfied. It’s a shame, really, because you really were something special.”
“Where is your love?” Bellatrix changed directions, circling him. Mad-Eye jerked Rodolphus up by the neck. The scent of death bothered him, but all he really smelled was the iron of his own flowing blood. Lily had grabbed the crying little boy, and Bellatrix didn’t miss her opportunity. She pulled Thatcher closer, stroking his hair. She whispered something in his ear, laughing when he pushed her away from him.
Thatcher had missed his mark before, but he caught his blades and pressed one to her throat.
“Do it,” Bellatrix encouraged him. “Show these fools who you really are. A life for a life, Thatcher, it’s only fair.”
Thatcher nicked her throat and dropped his knife. “Get your husband and get out of my sight.”
Bellatrix looked truly disappointed. She turned away from him and glanced her husband. Mad-Eye released the spell, incinerating the corpse, cremating it, and relinquished the dark hold. With no other option, Bellatrix caught Rodolphus and supported his weight. She nodded to her cousin. Sirius grinned and led Joshua over to his father. Joshua sighed when his father picked him up; his laughter leaked through his fear. Thatcher ran his good hand through the boy’s curls and he kissed his head.
“He’s forgotten you,” said Sirius. “You made your bed, love, live with it.”
“You’ll regret this, Thatcher, trust me,” Bellatrix hissed before she disappeared into thin air.
“You!” Mad-Eye sighed as Lily took his jaw and healed the gaping hole in his head. He couldn’t see Thatcher, but he made his point. Sirius helped the other Auror, and let out a bark. Mad-Eye kicked the ground with his peg leg, surprised when he something. It was a thick volume that must have been forgotten by one of the Death Eaters. “I will kill you!”
“Sure you will,” Lily said in a bored voice as she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. “Hold still. I don’t think you’re getting that back.”
“You owe him a nose, mate,” Sirius said. “Can you get one of those in the black market?”
“Can he get a snout that specializes in ugly? I doubt it.” James howled with laughter, catching his glasses as they slipped off his face. He held a stitch at his side. “Stop, mate, stop making me laugh, it hurts.”
“Sell him,” Mad-Eye said darkly, pointing at James.
“Working on it.” Lily winked at him. She has siphoned most of the blood off of him. “You hit olfactory artery, but it’s all right. It looks worse than it actually is. Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Mad-Eye took her hand. He walked over to Meghan’s grave and took a white rose out of his buttonhole. He laid it on the cold stone. “What’s that book?”
“I don’t think they got into it because it’s sealed,” Lily said, handing it over to him. Mad-Eye stroked the spine and traced his fingers along the engraving. “Thirteen?”
“I wonder how they got their hands on it,” Mad-Eye mused, throwing the volume to Thatcher. “Let’s see if it’s a good read, shall we? What say you, Library Boy?”