Chapter 62- Appointment with minister.( part 3)

Since Harry found it difficult to recall every stupid little chore he'd done, especially if he was doing a lot of small jobs, Tom had instructed him to keep a list, documenting his work. Neither wizard had particularly liked that, though. Since writing the items down and balancing the account every day was boring and tedious, it hadn't been long before Tom had gone in search of a way to automate it. The result had been a parchment logbook, charmed to track and keep a running tally of Harry's earnings and expenditures while in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry thought it was a dead useful little thing, and had hovered anxiously while Tom tried to sort it out, but both spells appeared to have gone completely haywire. The log had stopped making entries sometime this past Saturday, and instead of giving details about Harry's whereabouts and status, the tracking charm simply read:

Sparky

Location: Unknown

Status: Unknown

"Peculiar," Tom had commented, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Most peculiar," he reiterated after removing the charms and re-casting them to no avail.

Personally, Harry thought "peculiar" didn't even begin to cover it, and considered the oddity as he went back for yet another armload of robes. Could Hermione possibly be right? And if so, how? Fantastic as the notion was, it would explain why Professor Dumbledore hadn't simply sent someone to fetch him. It would also explain Ron's owls' behavior to some extent and Tom's problems with the log- Eurgh! he interrupted himself when he noticed a particularly revolting set of robes waiting to be returned to the sales floor. I didn't even know Madam Malkin carried this kind of stuff!

"Not the most attractive thing, is it?" Maggie observed, grinning at the look on his face.

Harry blinked at the robe then shook his head in dismay as he took in the current assortment on the hanging bar. A lot of the robes in the pile were all right, but as he and Maggie worked their way towards the bottom, they were coming across some of the gaudiest, most outrageous garments Harry had ever seen. A case in point was the retina-searing orange creation on top of the robes Maggie had just laid across his arm. Harry grimaced, wondering if it glowed in the dark, then inquired, "Did someone go out of their way to find the most dreadful robes in stock?"

It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but Colleen, who had come over to help, looked mischievously at Maggie and laughed as the other witch rolled her eyes. "Something like that," she confirmed, making Harry raise his eyebrows inquisitively.

Grinning impishly, Colleen filled in the back story. "Mags told you about this morning's wedding guest panic, right?" She waited for his nod then continued. "Well, some of the Weasley boys came in looking for dress robes while we were trying to attend to the Whitworth lot. Mags, here, told them to 'feel free to browse' until someone was available help them."

"I didn't know they planned to dismantle the place," Maggie grumbled pettishly, shooting the other witch a harassed look as she hung another robe and inspected it for dirt or wrinkles.

"I know, love, I'm just having you on. They just got a little carried away is all," Colleen said placatingly, before turning to Harry.

"The older brothers were having a bit of fun with the younger one," she said, continuing her explanation. "Since they were paying, they reckoned they should be allowed to choose which garment would be purchased." Plucking at the sleeve on one of the uglier robes, she slanted Harry a knowing look. "Obviously the object of their generosity wasn't impressed with some of their ahem choices."

"Obviously," Harry agreed, laughing helplessly as he imagined the scene. Poor Ron, he thought, smirking at a set of maroon velvet robes with generous lace cuffs and a matching jabot at the throat. His best friend's likely reaction to that was probably something like "no, no, and hell no!" The Weasley twins and his Muggle cousin didn't share many traits in common but Harry had to admit, all three of them were experts at finding weaknesses and exploiting them. Fred and George were not malicious in their teasing, unlike Dudley, but once they had someone going they certainly weren't above milking it for as long as they could.

Prats, Harry thought half in amusement, half in exasperation as he hefted the robes and headed back to the mens department. Thoughts of Ron and his family brought Pigwidgeon to mind again, so Harry found himself speculating idly on tracking magic and messenger owls as he returned the dress robes to their proper places.

The main sticking point that Harry could see with regard to Hermione's theory was Hedwig. Errol and Pig might be having trouble locating him, but she clearly wasn't. It could be argued that she already knew where he was, but Errol and Pig did too! They'd been delivering messages all summer, in point of fact. Why were they suddenly having trouble now?

Frustrated, Harry went back to get the last few robes. Okay. Fine. Ignoring the Hedwig thing for the moment and assuming he was suddenly somehow invisible to any and all forms of tracking magic, how did it happen? And when? Was he controlling it? Could he turn it off?

Wait.

Back up.

When!

If the log is right, I know when this started! Harry realized with a start. When Tom hadn't been able to sort out the log, he'd fetched a quill and ink, and instructed Harry to fill in the blanks while he rushed out to set the tables and finish getting the dining room in order.

That had been a rather large scare, Harry mused, snorting when he encountered a black satin robe with a matching shoulder cape. Both were lavishly embroidered with silver cobwebs, and the cape was held in place by two jeweled spider brooches. Oh, well done. I can't possibly imagine why Ron didn't choose that one! he mused sarcastically. At least it was better than the pink paisley number he'd just put away.

Normally the idea of recalling three days' work would be rather off-putting, but Harry had gotten off fairly light. Really, between being gone or asleep a good deal of the weekend, and spending most of Monday at Lancaster's, there truly hadn't been a lot to report.

By all indications, the log had stopped working early Saturday afternoon. Unfortunately, once completed, the log clearly documented his sudden loss of appetite and he'd had to come clean to Tom about his recent stomach woes, Harry recalled, twisting his mouth to one side in annoyance. Tom had been concerned that he might be coming down with a summer flu, but Harry had shrugged it off, certain he was just suffering from his body's unfortunate reaction to stress.

Or pretty sure, anyway.

Now that he was almost finished putting all the robes away, and had slowed down enough to notice such things, Harry was dismayed to discover he had broken into a light sweat and was huffing a little. Frowning, he hung the last robe then leaned against the clothing rack and took a deep breath. Why was he so bloody tired? It certainly wasn't like Maggie had been overworking him. She'd commented that he looked a little off, and refused to let him take more than five robes at a time, for Heaven's sake!

"Jimmy?"

Mortified, Harry lifted his head and found Madam Malkin studying him rather seriously. "Sorry ma'am," he said, hoping he didn't look as guilty as he felt. "Just...just taking a short break before coming to find you. Maggie and I have finished sorting the robes in the fitting area."

"Yes, well done," the little witch acknowledged absently, making Harry sweat even more when she put her hands on her hips and continued to frown at him. "Are you quite all right, dear?" she finally asked. "You look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine Madam Malkin," he replied automatically, simply relieved that she wasn't angry. And he was. Or better, then he'd been when he'd first awakened, anyway, Harry added silently as he did a quick assessment. His stamina wasn't top notch and his throat was still bothering him a bit, but the annoying nausea was mostly gone. All in all it was nothing he couldn't live with.

The dressmaker didn't look entirely convinced, but didn't press the issue. "All right, dear, but if you need to leave early just let someone know," she said, straightening her customary mauve robes, and showing him to the back room. Once there she seated him at one of the worktables, and fetched several boxes of accessories.

"There now," she said, arranging them in front of him. "Just sort and price those for now. If you feel up to it when you're done, put them out on the shelves. Do you remember where everything goes and how to use the pricing stylus?"

Harry nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, then. I'll leave you to it."

Harry smiled, wise to the witch's transparent attempts to get him to rest, but grateful nonetheless. What's going on with me? Am I just out of shape? he wondered inanely. He didn't think it could have happened so quickly, but it had been several days since he'd done any heavy work...maybe the old Muggle saying "use it or lose it" had more merit than he thought.

Shrugging dismissively, Harry reached for the first box which turned out to be full of school ties and started sorting them by House. If being out of shape was the problem, he had an easy solution. Steve had made it clear again, just this morning, that he wouldn't mind helping Harry train up a bit. Before now Harry had still felt a bit timid about accepting the offer, but clearly he needed to if he couldn't even hang a few robes without breaking a sweat.

Steve, of course brought the rest of the Wrights to mind, making Harry shake his head as he read the bill of lading and set the numbers on Madam Malkin's pricing stylus. Now there's an interesting lot, he thought with a grin. Nutters-that was the only way to describe them. The whole family was bloody mental -but in a good way.

Tom had solved the mystery behind their sudden disappearance that morning, Harry recalled as he began to touch the price tags on the ties with the stylus. The conversation about his loss of appetite had evidently jogged Tom's memory, because in the middle of pacing around and recommending that Harry take a few days off or at least get looked over by a Mediwizard, the older wizard had suddenly stopped short, slapped his forehead and muttered a mild oath.

"Sorry, lad, I was supposed to tell you, but it completely slipped my mind!" he had said, turning to face the rather bewildered young man. "Steve, Janet, and the girls came by while you were sleeping Sunday afternoon. I going to fetch you, but Janet suddenly started acting like she really didn't feel well at all. I told them to run along and I'd make their excuses..." He glanced up at Harry and spread his hands helplessly. "I do apologize for the oversight. I guess I've been more distracted than I thought."

Harry had been surprised and a bit put out initially, but couldn't stay cross for long. He certainly couldn't claim that this was normal behavior. In fact, if Tom hadn't played the "boss" card and directed the other shopkeepers to send requests for Jim's services care of himself at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry's freelance "business" might have never gotten off the ground. The fact that "Jim Patterson" wasn't a real person might have confused some of the postal owls, so the old man's cooperation had been absolutely essential. Harry was responsible for sorting his schedule and sending response owls, of course, but Tom always ensured that he received his requests in a timely manner. This one small slip was actually a testament to how deeply the old man had been affected by their conversation Sunday afternoon and the revelations about Harry's home life.

Sighing, Harry reset the pricing stylus and began to work on the plain black ties worn by unsorted first years. Candidly, he admitted that there were probably a lot of things he could have done differently, or better, but amazingly, Tom didn't seem to be angry with him. In fact, he'd seemed genuinely distressed that his delay might have contributed to Harry's "illness", with his "dithering." Harry had tried to reassure the old man, but by that time the first customers of the day had arrived, and they'd both had other things to attend to.

Harry had tried to keep his mind on things as he smiled at the customers and serviced the tables, but after discovering that Janet was unwell, he'd found himself...not worried exactly, but distracted. Yes, distracted. Distracted and wondering if everything was quite all right. Steve hadn't been in town long-what if he didn't know where the surgery was, or the chemist? What if he was trapped in the house because Janet was incapable of watching the girls? By the end of the breakfast rush, he had decided that a short visit might be in order-just to see if they needed anything. He'd been toying with the idea of taking some pumpkin juice over anyway, and this was the perfect excuse.

Tom had graced him with one of his toothless smiles when Harry had announced his intentions, and asked that two liters of pumpkin juice be added to his account. The bald wizard hadn't said anything aloud, but when he'd returned with a jug full of the requested beverage, he'd also pressed a large package of biscuits into Harry's hands.

"Give her my love as well, lad," he'd said with a wink, ignoring the boy's reddening cheeks and stuttered protests. "Oh, and do try to make it back before the lunchtime customers start queuing up."

Harry hadn't thought there was any danger of that, and assured Tom he would return straightaway, but the old man's words had troubled him as he'd headed down the street. Love was something he felt horribly uncomfortable discussing. He felt completely out of his depth and wasn't even certain he could properly define the emotion! Was it the wistful longing he'd experienced with the Mirror of Erised? Was it the warm feelings he had for his friends or perhaps the sense of kinship and rush of gratitude Sirius' offer of a home had inspired? Certainly there was a long list of people of which he was fond, but none of those feelings were precisely the same. Was that love, then? Or just varying shades of "like a whole lot"?

By the time he'd arrived at the Wright's home, he'd managed to confuse himself thoroughly, and had decided trying to sort out his feelings was a bloody waste of time. Unfortunately, he'd also made himself a little unsure about his place in the grand scheme of things, and found himself wondering if this had been such a bright idea. The Wrights seemed to like him well enough, but he'd never popped 'round without an express invitation before.

I should have rung first, Harry had thought, giving himself a mental slap as he continued on his way. Unlike most Muggle-raised wizards, he didn't automatically think of ringing when he wanted to contact someone. Because of the Dursleys forbidding him to touch theirs and his growing accustomed to the wizard practice of owling, Harry was actually much more likely to fetch his writing supplies than pick up a phone if he wanted to communicate with someone.

By the time a confused-looking Stephen Wright responded to his knock, Harry had been convinced he was going to be turned away, and was prepared to just ask after Janet, hand over the goods and go. Steve had surprised him, though, greeting him warmly, and waving off his apology for not ringing first. "Can you spare a few minutes, or do you have to rush off? Jannie's told me what a busy schedule you keep, but I'm sure the girls would like a chance to say hello. All of them," he'd emphasized with a wink, not seeming put out at all.

Since the lunch rush wouldn't begin in earnest for another hour or more, Harry had happily accepted the invitation, inquiring after Janet, as Steve ushered him in.

"She's much better today," Steve had assured him with obvious relief. "She's just been trying to do too much, and not taking care of herself. I told her to wait until I got here, damn stubborn woman."

Harry shook his head again, smirking a bit as he recalled the older man's protective fussing. Steve's overall attitude combined with the mostly "normal" condition of house itself had relaxed him more than words ever could. Bright, bouncy music was coming from the living room speakers, and the "keep quiet" atmosphere he associated with the seriously ill, was not in evidence. Definitely a good sign.

The Wrights had been attending to their laundry when he arrived, and as Harry entered the living room he'd been pleased to note that Steve was quite right. Janet had been seated in the floor with her daughters, folding the last of the shirts, and appeared to have made a complete recovery.

"Hey! Look who's here! Steve had called with a grin, drawing everyone's attention. Becky and Kitty had looked up then smiled brightly and rushed over, latching onto him like they hadn't seen him in a year. Janet had been a little more restrained in her greeting but not by an awful lot. She'd given him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, beaming when he passed on Tom's message and thanking him very nicely for the juice and biscuits.

The whole thing had been amazing, really. He'd felt very much the intruder when he'd knocked on the door, but within ten minutes he'd been folded into the family routine like he'd lived there all his life. Harry paused a moment in his pricing, snickering when he recalled the Sock War. Even now, he couldn't swear who'd made the first toss. He was almost certain it had been Kitty, but it could have been Janet. She was sneaky that way, sometimes. One minute he'd been sitting on the floor with the rest of the family, sorting socks and enjoying the peppy rock music, and the next minute someone had lobbed a rolled up pair of socks directly at Steve's head.

Harry had blinked in astonishment, not quite known what to think as the socks bounced lightly off the top of Steve's head and rolled to a stop. Certainly Uncle Vernon would have never tolerated that sort of behavior. Heck, Uncle Vernon would have never been sorting socks in the first place! He'd tensed up a bit, wondering what was going to happen next, but Steve had merely cocked an eyebrow and borrowed a line from the old Warner Brothers' cartoons:

"Of course you know, this means war..."

The Wrights did that a lot, Harry noted, picking up the stylus again. It seemed to be a family trait to quote lines from songs or the cinema or shows off the telly. In the early days of their acquaintance, he'd actually found it sort of eerie when Janet and Kitty would say the same thing in response to some random cue, and even more disturbing when the line in question was one that Becky knew as well. Steve was obviously just as bad, and his comment had touched off a total sock free-for-all. Harry initially thought he'd refrain, but changed his mind at once when Kitty bounced a pair of Becky's frilly anklets off his chest. They'd played for a few minutes, tossing the soft projectiles at each other with a great deal of silliness and laughter until a stray shot hit an already-fussy Becky in the ear, frightening her and ending the game.

The visit had gone surprisingly well, but had been over all too soon. The hour or so that had seemed like loads of time when he left the Leaky Cauldron had flown faster than his Firebolt and before he'd known it, Harry had found himself hurrying back to the wizard inn, as fast as his irritable stomach would allow.

There, Harry thought in satisfaction, surveying the priced and sorted ties. He was just debating on whether he should carry on pricing the other accessories or shelve the ties and come back when he was rudely interrupted by a furious shout.

"YOU MORONIC IMBECILE! IS THE CONCEPT OF STEALTH LOST ON YOU? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? WERE YOU TRYING TO ANNOUNCE OUR PRESENCE TO THE MINISTRY?"

Harry sucked in a startled gasp as the link he had with Voldemort suddenly flared to life. The dark wizard was in a towering rage, over something, Harry noted as he glanced at the door that let into the shop. No one was there. Good. Automatically his fingers flew to his shirt pocket, searching for his pen and notepad as the conversation continued in his head.

"It was a Muggle, Master! Just a Muggle! We didn't visit them or cast the Dark Mark! It was owls! Just a few owls! They left a few warning messages on the front step!" the hapless Death Eater begged, knowing, just as Harry did, what was probably coming.

"Owls that are bringing their messages back undelivered now?" Voldemort spat. "How are these Muggles doing this without the aid of the Ministry?"

"I don't know, Master, but the Ministry isn't involved! It isn't only myself, there are others who feel they don't belong-" he tried to explain, breaking off in an anguished scream when Voldemort snarled "Crucio!"

As the energy from Dark Lord's curse flashed over their link and slammed into his scar Harry clenched his teeth and cast around desperately, trying to keep his own sympathetic howls under control. Damn! The connection usually didn't come to life so quickly! Normally he had some time to prepare!

Harry he noted fleetingly that the Death Eater being "disciplined" sounded vaguely familiar before an especially vicious blast demolished all coherent thought. Panicking slightly, he staggered to his feet, topping his chair in the process. He had to run-break the connection-hide in the loo-something-anything! He couldn't be caught like this! He'd never be able to explain himself. He was considering using a bolt of material to muffle his yell when another voice interrupted.

"Master?"

Whimpering softly in relief, Harry leaned over the table bracing himself with both palms, as Voldemort's attention was distracted and the intensity lessened somewhat. Unfortunately as the pain in his head began to ebb, his ability to hear diminished also. Harry made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and strained to re-establish the full connection, but his strength was shot. He was able to get some of it, but Voldmort's irritation at being interrupted just didn't fuel the link as effectively.

"...This...etter...be...portant, Malfoy," the red-eyed wizard warned, while his victim moaned piteously in the background.

"Yes, Master." Malfoy was all business from what Harry could hear. His tone was brisk, efficient, and utterly lacking its usual condescending attitude. He almost didn't sound like himself. "Dumble...visit...inisty. ...worried...Potter's folder."

Folder? Harry frowned a bit wondering if he'd misunderstood, but no, the word was "folder." Struggling to hear, he was able to barely make out "advance the timetable" and "press our advantage" before the link slipped like dust through his fingers and scattered into silence.

For several long second he leaned on the table, breathing hard and trying to gather himself. Mr. Malfoy had obviously overheard Professor Dumbledore at the Ministry earlier! he determined woozily he pushed himself upright, and tested his ability to stand unaided. The professor would probably want to know about that straightaway! Hoping Madam Malkin was nearby, Harry stumbled towards the door, planning as he went. First he needed to return to the Leaky Cauldron, then he needed to write to Professor Dumbledore, and then he needed to collapse.

In that order.

Fortunately the little witch had evidently heard his chair hit the floor and came rushing through the door before he'd taken more than a few steps. "Are you all right dear? I heard a crash-oh! Jim! Great Merlin, child, you look like death warmed up!"

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, stopping when it made his head hurt worse. "Sorry, Madam Malkin, but I think I need...t'go," he mumbled, doubly grateful for the headband that hid his scar. Not only was it hiding the lightning shaped mark, it was also keeping sweat from dripping into his eyes.

"Of course dear, of course," Madam Malkin soothed, pressing a gentle hand against his cheek, then wrapping a supportive arm around his back. "Oh, dear, you're all clammy, love," she noted worriedly, as he swallowed with some difficulty. "Can you get back all right? Would you like to use the Floo System? Yes," she decided, steering him towards her cavernous fireplace. "You'll never make it back on foot. Don't worry, love, we'll have you tucked into bed in no time," she soothed, casually picking up some Floo Powder and urging him forward.

Floo? Oh, no. Nonono. Harry felt himself go green at the thought. He tried to tell the Madam Malkin that Flooing was a really bad idea but his throat was suddenly hurting again making speech really difficult.

Already decided on a course of action, Madam Malkin brushed off his objections, pointing out practically that it was the quickest way to get him where he needed to go, and herding him towards the hearth. Before Harry could figure out a means of escape, she'd dropped the powder, and shouted, "The Leaky Cauldron!"

As the green flames enveloped him, Harry uttered an undignified little whine, and clenched his teeth together, concentrating on making it through the Floo System before he threw up all over himself. Floo rides between the Diagon Alley shops and Lancaster's were usually quite brief, he reminded himself, as his stomach roiled dangerously. He'd just had time to wildly wonder if the Floo System was charmed against motion sickness when the dizzying ride was over and he tumbled out of Tom's hearth, landing in a rather undignified heap.

"All right, dear?"

Swallowing painfully, Harry shifted to face the fireplace, nodded to Madam Malkin's head, and managed a raspy "Thanks."

"Anytime, dear. Do take care of yourself," she said before disappearing with a pop.

The Leaky Cauldron was pretty quiet at the moment, so Harry stayed where he'd fallen for a few seconds, closing his eyes and pressing his feverish cheek against the cool stone floor. Muzzily, he wondered if Tom was going to stuff him back into the fireplace and Floo him off to St. Mungos, when a shout from the bar made his eyes pop open.

"'Parky! Mama dere's 'Parky!"

"What?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Harry wearily lifted his head when he heard footsteps approaching.

"Sparky? Are you all right?" Janet asked as Becky dragged her along by the hand. "What happened, baby? Did you trip when you came in the door?"

What? Harry couldn't keep the puzzled look off his face. There was no door in this part of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Hmm. He might have caught that out of order sign on the pay phone," Steve suggested, looking at a perfectly ordinary pillar near the fireplace. "When is that going to be fixed, Tom?"

Phone? Harry wondered for a second if Steve and Janet had gone nutters or he had. There was no door and there certainly wasn't a phone there. Frowning in confusion, he started to ask what the bloody hell they were on about, but subsided when he noticed Tom frantically signaling for him to keep quiet.

Kitty and Becky didn't get the message, however. "Mom," Kitty said tentatively, "where do you see a phone and a door?"

"The door's right there!" Janet declared, pointing at the fireplace. "I don't see a phone though," she claimed, looking around in confusion. "Didn't you tell me the Leaky Cauldron didn't have a phone, Jimmy?" she asked a bit plaintively when the mysterious instrument continued to elude her.

"But there's no door, Mom!" Kitty insisted, growing agitated. "No phone and no door! There's just a big fireplace!"

"If there's no door there then how did Jim get in?" Steve asked, looking as bewildered as his wife and oldest daughter.

Amazingly, Becky was the only one who was calm. "'Parky fell outta da fire pace," she said matter-of-factly, "just like Sanna Caus!" She paused a minute then got a brilliant smile on her face. ""Parky go see Sanna Caus?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling hopefully.

"Don't be silly, Becky," Steve corrected, as he absently reached down and gave Harry a hand up. "Whoops, easy there," he said, steadying the teen when he wobbled slightly.

Hurt, Becky shook her head. "No! 'Parky fell outta da fire pace!" she insisted, starting to tear up. "Becky saw!"

"Becky," Janet reprimanded a bit more sharply.

"Well he is awful dirty, Mom," Kitty pointed out in her sister's defense. "I didn't see him fall out, but I did see a flash from the fireplace."

"Dirty?" Steve echoed, looking Harry up and down. "Well he might need to brush off a bit from falling down, but I wouldn't call him dirty. "

Harry felt his jaw sag open in surprise. He was literally covered in soot-had gotten it on Steve's hand and shirt for crying out loud! How could he miss it? The fact certainly didn't slip by Kitty.

"But Dad," she objected, "he's got black stuff all over him! You got it on your hand and shirt when you helped him up!"

Harry glanced at Tom, wanting an explanation but not daring to ask for one. By the look on the older man's face some calamity was about to occur, and it wasn't long in coming. As Harry watched nervously, Janet suddenly got a horribly confused look on her face. "She's right. Your hand, Steve. You have soot all over your hand, and Jimmy's covered in it, and there's a huge stone fireplace here and Tom! " she gasped then asked again as though seeking reassurance. "Tom?"

"Yes, dear, it's me," Tom assured her, taking her hand in one of his and grabbing his wand with the other. With a couple of swishes he accio'd a couple of chairs that Steve and Janet sank gratefully into.

"What are you seeing now?" Tom asked gently.

"Fireplace," Janet listed dully, while Steve nodded his agreement. "Door to London, door I never noticed before, bar, dining area...at least that didn't change. Tom, what's going on?" she demanded, more frightened than angry.

Sighing, Tom rubbed a hand over his bald pate. "This is probably going to seem like an odd question, but bear with me. Do you believe in magic?"

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