Friday, July 4th, 2014. 2:15 PM.

  28 Roseberry Avenue, First Floor, Back

  Borough of Islington, London, UK

  And here Randolph Spudmore was, in what was no longer his 'new digs.' His son had leased the entire back half of the first floor in the D&W Tools & Appliances Building. Rory had also brought in all the fixtures, equipment and tools from Randolph's shops, from the antique and jury-rigged, to the modern and sometimes gimmicky. Things he had accumulated after the money got ridiculous, some of which he might use once in a long, long lifetime.

  It hadn't taken long for him to settle back into the life he truly loved. It had only been a couple of weeks before he stopped going 'home' at night. There was a perfectly cozy apartment built in, what they called an 'efficiency' these days. It was small, but so was he. Small or not, it made the old bed-sit flat look sick in comparison, And, wonder of wonders, he had electrical service, thanks to the building owners, Rory's friend George and his partner, Dudley. Dudley was by way of being Harry's cousin, and as nice a Muggle as you would care to meet.

  Randall could have had all magical appliances, from the area that catered exclusively to wizards. But he had noticed Emily, the MLE-05A, as he was walking around the showroom, and her severely functional design had immediately appealed to him. So, he had a toaster, which was followed by a tea urn, and before he knew it, a whole family of little magitech folk who looked after him, in their own quiet way. And it wasn't unusual for Randall to walk into a room, just to flip a switch and make the magic-proof bulb pop to life. Look at that, he would think. No spells, no flames, no flickering. Click, and you're done.

  The staff were all fine youngsters, Muggle and Magical alike. Even if they did insist on treating him like one of their bosses. Young Erik was always willing to come up and lend a hand with an awkward bit, and dropped by quite often after work, to sit and talk brooms. Sometimes he brought mates, sometimes not. Randall was also asked to come down to the shop and consult on occasion, especially when someone would have problems with the applications of Motive Spellwork Theory to static devices.

  His business was word of mouth only. He had no signage except identical small plaques, one in the hallway, and the other outside the door from his deck. They read:

  "THE FAMILY" BROOM CO.

  Repairs ? Customisations ? Sales

  Randall Spudmore, Prop.

  One had to get very, very close to notice that the quote marks around "THE FAMILY" were actually very, VERY rude two-fingered gestures.

  The stairs up to the hallway could only be accessed by a discrete, unmarked door in the showroom. The deck had no steps leading down, and was accessible only by broom. George had also installed a massive, spreading evergreen tree, which almost engulfed the deck. When he had nothing else to do, Randall would sometimes sit on the deck, picking out the locals who passed by. They were the ones who gave the massive tree a puzzled look, then shook it off when the Confundus Charm kicked in.

  It was early on the Friday afternoon that he heard two light thumps outside the door that let out on the deck. He stood to go open the door, but it wasn't locked, and two men let themselves in quickly. Wands out, they turned and peered out the door, checking the sky. After just a few moments, they relaxed, putting away the wands and closing the door behind them.

  Randall was not, by any means, a flappable man. He regarded the two for a moment, then said, "Harry, lad, you must have the best batch of Polyjuice Potion I've ever heard of.

  The man wearing Viktor Krum's face went, "What? How...?" Then he looked down at the broom he was holding. "Oh. Yeah."

  The other man, (Randall just assumed it was Krum), laughed deep in his chest.

  "I told you ve should haf svapped brooms," he said.

  "Relax, Viktor," Harry said. "To anyone else in the world, these brooms are identical. Just not to Spud. Spud, Viktor. Viktor Krum, Randall Spudmore. I guess you recognized his broom as well?"

  "After my boy popped in, Side-Alonged me without so much as a by-your-leave, and I spent five hours going over a perfectly good broom, all because, 'THIS one is for KRUM!' Yep, it's got a family look."

  Viktor held out his hand. "It is great honour to finally meet you in person, Mr. Spudmore. Since the beating the Irish gafe us, I haf nefer rode any other brooms."

  Randall shook the hand. "Kind of you to say, Mr. Krum. Tell you what. I'll call you Viktor, and you can call me Spud. That'll make two people in the world who think it's funny."

  Viktor looked blank. "Vhy is callink you 'Spud' funny? Is just short for your name, yes?"

  Harry said, "See, Viktor, in English, 'Spud' is slang for potatoes."

  "Ah." Viktor looked back at Randall.

  "Do you grow potatoes?" he asked.

  "Nope."

  "Do you sell potatoes?"

  "Nope."

  "Do you particularly like or dislike potatoes?"

  'Nope and nope."

  Krum nodded wisely. "I see. Ginny has varned me about this. She says Harry thinks he is a vit, but he is only haf right. Then she laughs."

  "Hey!" Harry protested.

  Randall grinned. "Back down to one, I guess. So. I kinda doubt this is a casual visit, what with your big game bein' tomorrow, Viktor."

  Viktor shook his head. "Da," he said.

  "Basically, two reasons. Viktor here has troubles, and we need a place to lay low. How is the security on this building?"

  Randall arched an eyebrow, and gave Harry the sort of look he reserved for children old enough to know better, young teens with their first real broom, and, (with added death glare), itinerant broom-traders.

  "This building?" he asked. Harry nodded.

  "The corporate headquarters of D&W? The Number One target for corporate espionage in the Western Hemisphere? The place most corporate CEO's wish a comet would strike? The home office of Dudley 'I Never Saw A Boardroom Table I Couldn't Break' Dursley and George 'They Sent WHO? I QUIT!' Weasley? That the building you're referring to?"

  Harry stood mute, a slight blush on his slowly recomposing features.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Randall shrugged, "Could be worse."

  Harry cleared his throat. "Ahem. There is another thing that we want to talk to you about, but it's classified. Would you be willing to sign on as an Auxiliary Auror for the duration of this case?"

  Randall shrugged again. "Why not? Some of my best friends have been auxiliaries at one point or another. Before we kick off, can I get you lot somethin' t' drink, eat?"

  Harry had conjured a reflective surface, and was regarding his morphing visage with a scowl. "What I would like is something to hurry this change along. It's the most tedious part of the whole process."

  Randall wrinkled his nose up. He could see how it would be irritating, especially with all the changing back and forth that he had deduced.

  "Weel, I wouldn't know anythin' about that. But y' might go in the kitchenette and have a word with Ian. He's a dab hand at any sort of brewin', and he might could steer you right."

  "Ian?" Harry asked.

  "The tea urn. If he'd been born human, he'd make a great Potions Master. Why don't both of you check in there? If nothing else, ye'll get the best tea and toast about."

  "Sound great!" Harry pulled out a red folder and handed it over. "Read him in, girl!" He and Viktor vacated.

  Bold yellow lettering appeared on the red background of the folder in Randall's hand.

  Whee! Haven't been shut down in almost a week! Good afternoon, Mr. Spudmore, I am Department of Magical Law Enforcement File, and I will be taking care of you this afternoon. You may call me D.M.L.E. File, or Demelli, as you prefer.

  "D.M.L.E. File," Randall said thoughtfully. "Any relation to M.O.M. File?"

  I am a Severed, Independently Tasked Subfolder of M.O.M. File, (Hey! S.I.T.S. I never noticed that!). I have access to all her, I guess it's best to call them 'Memories." Have you and M.O.M. File... interacted? Demelli sounded hesitant, as if something did not compute.

  "Oh, not to speak of," Randall assured the folder. "I'm just a big fan. I had the privilege of reading a court transcript she featured heavily in, and it gave me and my missus one of the best laughs of our life. It's one of my most treasured memories."

  Curious, Demelli wrote, May I ask which case? If you're worried, I am authorised...

  "No, no, nothing like that. It was that whole Greengrass Family kerfuffle."

  That! Oh, there were certainly some moments of high humour in that... that...

  "Comedy of Errors, I always thought."

  Errors, indeed! I thought, or, rather, M.O.M. File always thought that Chief Witch Goldstein-Scamander did a fine job straightening out that mess.

  "I certainly wouldn't have liked to try!"

  Well, both the Chief Witch and M.O.M. File were somewhat new to their responsibilities at that time. That was one of the first major cases after the War, and a good test bed for the Wizengamot's reforms.

  "Oh, indeed!"

  Demelli seemed to hesitate. (At least, that's what Randall assumed that pulsing yellow spiral meant). Mr, Spudmore, although I know it is late for this, I would still like to express my sincere condolences on the passing of your wife. I was still M.O.M. File when I received the notice, and, as required, I took some moments to get her data ready for Final Collation. As happens all too seldom, I was amazed and touched at the amount of good she did in the world, some of which even you may never know.

  "Aye. That sounds like her." Randall's voice sounded a little husky.

  I hope you don't think it presumptuous of me...

  Randall looked down in amazement as the yellow spiral welled up and overflowed, sending a single golden drop sliding down the face of the folder, over the edge, and down to the floor.

  "No, lass," he said gently. "I'm sure she would have been truly touched, just to know that you cared."

  ***

  After hearing out Harry's slightly disjointed briefing, clarified as necessary by Demelli, Randall looked over at Victor.

  "Oh, yes, you're in a right spot of trouble, aren't you, Viktor, lad?"

  Viktor shook his head in agreement, but didn't speak. Come to think of it, both the men looked on the peaked side.

  Harry said, "It's the Introductory Lap that's got us beat, Spud. I'm taking it, of course..."

  There was a negative grunt from Viktor, and a small lurch forward, which Harry seemed to understand perfectly well.

  "GIve it up. Even if you could avoid them with the tricks we've come up so far, there you would be. Stuck on the pitch with a broom that has to be recertified from scratch. Bait and Switch is still our best bet."

  Viktor sank back, perhaps a little farther than he meant to.

  Wearily, Harry went on. "If I could only come up with a little burst of speed. Enough to get them off balance and casting wildly." He suddenly giggled, sounding a bit mad for a moment. "If the Storm Broom were real, that would be perfect!"

  Randall kept his face deadly serious. "Well, it's not," he said. "And enyways, the way I heard th' story, it would have to be raining, pretty heavy. An' natural rain, too, not magical."

  "Yeah," said Harry. "Just grasping at straws."

  There was a tap at the door, and a short, wiry redhead pushed on through as if he were at home.

  "There y'are, Randy!" he said, just as cheerful as if he had solved a good puzzle. "Special Delivery for yeh, all the way from the States. Y' must ha' paid fer special service. Hit was brought in by two o' them Great Horned Owls, and they wasn't half-knackered! They're restin' oop in th' Owlery. Oh, hey, Harry! Those treats you brought by went over a treat, I'll tell ye f' sure! And weren't they surprised whin they heard th' Owl Nuts came from America in th' first place? The look they gave each other. I reckon som'un is in for a right good hooting when they get back. I tore the label off one o' th' packages an' attached it to one of 'em's leg. Fust time I've seen a Great Horned. Y'd think they'd be stuck up, like, but, no! Nicest owls y'd care to meet..."

  "Erik?" Harry interrupted. "Is that for you?" He pointed at a small, neutral-colored paper airplane circling the red hair like it was trying to put out a fire.

  "Oh, aye, thanks!" He snatched at the plane, getting it on the third swipe through the air. "Prolly that Wendell. Salesman from Hel, but th' ideas he comes across with..."

  He unfolded the plane and perused it. "Yep, Wendell all right. Lessee, th' Super Circular Buffet Serving Tray." He looked up at the others. "That's new, that is! Segmented however y'like, cooks without heat, right on th' tray. Keeps yer hots hot and yer colds cold, an' once th' lid is back on, keeps it fresh for as long 's ye like."

  He glanced back down at the note. "Hunh? They want it t' what?" He looked to Harry. "You used t'be a Muggle, din'tcher Harry?"

  "Of a sort," Harry said with his tired grin.

  "Y'got enny idea what sort of beast a..." He glanced back down. "...a 'Lazy Susan' might be?" Worry was plain on his freckled face.

  "Easy on, Erik, it's simple enough. Take a big tray, like you already have, load it up with food, and set it in the center of the table. Then you make it so it can spin, but not too fast, mind? People can sit and serve themselves without having to get up and walk around."

  Erik's green eyes had gotten bigger and bigger as Harry talked. He looked as if he had forgotten to breathe.

  "Tha's.." he finally gasped out. "Tha's brilliant! Just sit right there, and th' food comes t' you!"

  He turned to leave, muttering to himself, "Them Muggles! What'll they do next?" Randall had to call him back to get the package.

  He brought it back to the worktable they were sitting around. "It's Hel gettin' old. What in th' world did I order f'm th' States?" He perused the label. "Huh. Wull, that's cleared up. I didn't order anythin'. Some else did, and had it shipped here."

  "Who?" asked Harry, although he was really too tired to care.

  "Lessee. 'H. Potter, Number 12 Grimmauld Place...' "

  ***

  Harry jerked to alertness as if someone had just jabbed a needle into his frontal cortex, and then flooded it with espresso.

  "What?!" he said, getting right to the point.

  "Not knowing, couldn't say. What d'ye say we open it and find out?"

  "Yes," said Harry, nodding wisely, if a little quickly. "Open it. Because that's something we can do. Because it has my name and your address..."

  Randall's glance at Harry had a little worry mixed in. "As you said a bit ago, Harry, easy on."

  He cast a shallow-depth Diffindo, once between the flaps, about a yard long, and once at either end, about half that. Folding the flaps back revealed a coarsely woven sack filled almost to the top. It left only enough material to be rolled at the top and secured with tiedowns of the same material.

  Randall untied and unrolled the top of the sack. An aroma spread through the room, so pervasive it had to be magical. It smelled of wintergreen, and of winter itself, fresh, and minty, and sharp. How am I smelling 'sharp'?, thought Randall.

  Harry was staring down into the sack in awe. He made an abortive motion to grab a handful of the contents, but jerked his hand back as if shocked.

  Randall slowly reached out with fingers spread, stopping when he felt the warning tingle.

  "Harry," he spoke softly. "Go down to the Tool Sales counter, and buy two, no, three pairs of the magic-proof work gloves. Size adjusts automatically, so don't worry about that."

  Harry was still staring into the box.

  "Harry!" Randall said sharply.

  Harry jumped inside his own skin. (Yes, it is possible).

  "Yes, Spud," he said. "Got it. Tool Counter, three pairs, magic-proof gloves." He turned toward the door, his eyes turning last, and reluctantly.

  "Make sure they're the work gloves, not the dueling gauntlets!"

  "Got it," repeated Harry. "Work gloves."