Harry Potter: Master of Talismans

Gilderoy Lockhart had taken possession of the front window at Flourish and Blotts. His photograph smiled, turned to improve its angle and smiled again beneath a banner advertising an afternoon signing. The accompanying honours occupied more space than some of the books I needed. Tom had mentioned an author event in a letter; I had left the arrangements to him, and now could see how thoroughly an arrangement might develop.

The shop was busy, at least. Then someone shouted inside, something struck a shelf, and a cauldron came through the open doorway towards my head. I ducked as it passed and heard it hit the paving behind me. For a moment I remained bent at the knees, considering how nearly my first afternoon visit had ended at another hospital.

Hagrid stood inside with both arms extended between two groups. Books covered part of the floor, and a tilted display had trapped its decorative ribbon beneath one corner. On one side I recognised Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins. A younger red-haired girl stood beside a woman who was speaking furiously to a man with rumpled robes.

Malfoy occupied the other side with an older man. They shared pale hair and an expression of having encountered something unpleasant on a shoe, making the family connection fairly easy to guess. Harry saw me before I could ask about the damage. He came straight over, and for a moment the hug made me forget the watching customers and scattered books.

‘You might have mentioned the flying car before getting into it,’ I said. He was thinner than when I had last seen him, but he was here and smiling. Harry replied that he had been busy, which seemed a fair description of the account in Ron’s letter.

Ron joined us, looking pleased to see me and furious with almost everyone else. I asked what had happened, and he pointed at the Malfoys before saying they had started it. The red-haired woman called him Ronald in a tone which made the relationship clear. She then turned back to her husband and demanded what example fighting in a bookshop set for the children.

I looked at the damaged display. Whatever example it had provided, Tom would now have to explain its effect on the afternoon’s business. I left Ron to his mother and went to Hermione, who was standing close to her parents with a tight, pale face. She answered too quickly when I asked whether she was all right.

Mr Granger had a hand on her shoulder. He recognised me and managed a greeting before looking back towards the older Malfoy. Hermione named him as Lucius, then explained in a low voice that remarks about her parents had been followed by remarks about the Weasleys. Mr Weasley had eventually hit him. The books on the floor gave me some idea of what followed.

‘He’s worse than Draco,’ she finished. Draco heard enough to turn towards us, and the words he shouted back cut through the surrounding noise.

‘Keep your mouth shut, you Mudblood.’ Ron moved at once, but Fred caught his sleeve before he reached Malfoy. Hermione flinched. Her parents looked at her, then at the boy who had spoken, with no difficulty recognising the contempt even if the word was unfamiliar.

Lucius sharply said his son’s name and closed a hand over his shoulder. His eyes passed across the customers watching us. I stepped away from the Grangers, keeping myself between them and Draco’s line of sight.

‘You might try teaching him how to speak to people,’ I said. ‘It would save everyone a great deal of time.’

Lucius looked down and asked who I was. I gave my name, after which Draco muttered something beside him. I caught my surname and a reference to paper. Lucius’s expression changed before he said he should have recognised my father’s manners.

‘Then you can hardly say you weren’t warned.’ Hagrid moved closer to me, and I was grateful despite having no wish to show it. Lucius looked past us towards the younger Weasley girl. He held a battered schoolbook, which he pushed back among the books she was carrying.

‘Take care of that,’ he told her. ‘It seems to be the best your father can provide.’ She clutched the pile against her chest. Mr Weasley moved towards Lucius, but Hagrid’s arm was already between them.

I watched the girl lower her eyes to the cover. The remark annoyed me more than the one about my father had done. Draco could answer back, however unpleasantly; his father seemed to have selected somebody smaller who would not. When Lucius called him towards the door, I moved into their path.

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‘One moment.’ Draco stopped abruptly enough to shift the stack in his arms. I looked at the new books he was carrying. ‘Have you paid for those?’

‘Of course I have.’ His voice rose as though the question itself were an attempted theft. I told him he could take them and leave quietly, or have his money back and choose another shop. He stared at me before insisting that they were his and he had written his name inside.

He opened the top volume and held it out to prove the point. I took it, checked the fresh ink and returned it. ‘Then I’ll have to survive the loss of an autograph,’ I said. Draco started telling me I had no right to decide anything, but I spoke before he reached the interesting part. ‘You don’t get to insult my customers because you dislike their parents.’

‘Your customers?’ Lucius asked. I confirmed it, and he looked over my head towards the nearest assistant. He ordered the man to fetch the manager with sufficient volume to attract anyone who had missed the beginning of the exchange.

The assistant had already seen Tom coming through the crowd. He stepped aside while Tom surveyed the fallen books, damaged display and people preventing anyone from reaching the till. When he looked at me, his face had acquired the careful neutrality of someone whose afternoon required fewer surprises.

‘Mr Mercer,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you were coming this early.’ Ron made a small sound behind me, but I kept my attention on Lucius.

‘I bought the shop this summer. Tom runs it.’ I nodded towards the manager. ‘In this instance, I think we can agree that the customers and staff should spend the rest of the afternoon without being insulted.’

Tom said they would certainly prefer that. I hoped he appreciated the confidence with which I had involved him. Lucius looked between us while Draco began working his way back towards anger from a considerably less comfortable position. He seemed unable to decide whether to watch me or the books in his hands.

‘A little money,’ Lucius said, ‘and children begin imagining themselves important.’ His hand shifted against the head of his cane as I reminded him that he had asked for the person responsible. Hagrid moved another half-step closer. Several customers who had been enjoying the spectacle became quiet.

‘You should learn some respect,’ Lucius told me. ‘Before someone has to teach you in your parents’ absence.’

I felt the first hot answer rise into my throat. We were surrounded by people, with Hagrid beside me and a manager waiting to deal with an actual transaction. I swallowed the answer and returned to the choice I could enforce without reaching for my pouch. They could keep the books or take a refund.

Lucius took the stack from Draco and set it on the counter hard enough to make an ink bottle jump. He announced that he would not spend another Knut in a business belonging to my family. I asked Tom to return the amount they had paid. Tom checked the receipt with the assistant before opening the till.

The money was counted back in full. Lucius took it, and only then did Tom move the books behind the counter. Draco watched his signed copies disappear with an expression I intended to remember during an unpleasant Potions lesson. His father took his arm and led him out before we could discuss any other aspect of the service.

Through the window, I saw them turn towards the small shop opposite. I called that it belonged to me too. Lucius stopped without looking back, then changed direction and walked down the street. I let out the breath I had been holding as Ron began to laugh behind me.

Fred and George joined him. The sound released some of the tension among the onlookers, and Mr Weasley appeared to find the afternoon much improved. Tom remained at my side, watching until I turned towards him. His expression suggested that our own conversation had not yet finished.

‘I would appreciate some warning before the next alteration to our returns policy,’ he said quietly. ‘Those copies cannot go back on the shelves as new.’

‘Put the loss on my account.’ I looked at the stack bearing Draco’s name. The answer did not make Tom’s expression disappear, and I began to understand that owning the business would not persuade its problems to become someone else’s. I thanked him for handling the refund before facing the people still standing among the fallen books.

‘I’m sorry about the interruption,’ I told them. ‘And the cauldron. For the rest of today, books from the stock here will be half price.’

Tom turned his head towards me very slowly. I lowered my voice before he could begin another explanation. ‘The difference comes from my account too. The shop and staff receive what they should. Stock here today, not orders for half the books in Britain.’

He held my gaze for another moment, then directed the assistants towards the till and fallen display. People began moving again as interest in the shelves replaced disappointment that the argument had ended. I watched a customer pick up three books where she had been holding one, hoping I had made the limit clear enough. My account would provide the answer later.

Harry was still looking at me. ‘You bought a bookshop,’ he said, as though repeating it might reveal a meaning he had missed.

‘And the one opposite,’ Ron added. I confirmed both, which led Hermione to look between me, the fresh paint and Lockhart’s enormous smiling photograph. She said I might have mentioned it before walking into the shop as if this happened every afternoon.

‘I hoped my first visit would require less explaining.’ I glanced towards Tom, who was making sure the new prices reached the till before the customers did. He had been quite clear about retaining responsibility for ordinary business. I was beginning to suspect that he would also want a discussion about my definition of an extraordinary afternoon.