Madam O’Germanova

With the chill of autumn already set in, the Monarch pub is always bustling more than usual as the patrons in the background smoke, drink, and loudly chat. At the bar, the cool, collected bartender polishes the drinking glasses, before moving to fill an order. There is energetic gambling in the background, but the mood is still a bit stifled.

Periodically every single one of the eyes of those at the pub will stray towards the back, where an elderly wizard with silver hair, wolfish yellow eyes does a crossword puzzle. Word on the street had it that, Sanderson had not been able to find that which he sought and was most displeased. That and with the A.P.D. now in business, not just Sanderson, but all the Potentates of the Underworld had taken a severe hit to their trade especially after the Damocles debatable. None of the Potentates were in a pleasant mood, to say the least.

The sharp end of Sanderson's quill glints in the dim light as a drop of ink drips down splattering the edge of the crossword puzzle. Those watching hold their breaths waiting to see if this would at long last be the drop of water that spilled the brim filled glass. However, two sharp murderous glares from Sanderson's thugs cause the onlookers to hurriedly glance away and returning to nurse their drinks.

The two thuglike wizards exchange glances until at last the brawny wizard with a rather large forehead cleared his throat. "Er, Sir, are you alright?" Hyde asked the boss.

Without glance up, Sanderson's quill stops tapping against the crossword puzzle. "Do you know what kind of magical bird's feathers repel ink?"

"Er, no boss," Hyde instantly replied.

The smarter one of the two thugs, the beady-eyed wizard, Floyd finally says, "Er, I think it's an Augurey, sir."

"Well done, Floyd," Sanderson said as wrote in the last required answer, before glancing up at the burly wizard. "I am actually amazed that you know that tidbit of trivia, Floyd."

The beady-eyed wizard flushes at the praise and says, "Oh, well, sir, I really enjoyed Professor Kettleburn's classes. He was one of the good ones back at Hogwarts."

"Yes, so I've been told," Sanderson said, before pushing away the crossword puzzle as if his mind had been finally made up. "I'll be back later in the evening, mind the pub."

"Yes, boss!" Hyde instantly replied, while his partner, Floyd slowly asks, "Are you sure about that, sir?"

"I am certain," Sanderson replied in a steely voice that left no room for an argument. Without another word or even an explanation to Bertram at the bar, he simply leaves through the front door without his usual guards.

At the bar, Bertram frowns slightly and motions with a jerk of his head for Hyde to come over to speak to him at the bar. The large thug-like figure of Hyde easily makes his way unperturbed through the bar. Those sitting at the barstools instantly rise and leave the two wizards alone.

Polishing a glass nonchalantly, Bertram in his usual cool voice says, "What did Sanderson say?" Before pausing and with a faint frown adding, "Floyd, and you, Hyde should know better than to allow him to stroll around alone with the A.P.D. officers sniffing about. The A.P.D. is not fooling around, but rather playing for keeps."

"The boss just said he wanted to go out for a bit, and then that he'd be back," Hyde truthfully replied to the second in command of the boss.

Bertram slowly nods his head, before saying, "If that is indeed the case, then why didn't he take you or Floyd on patrol?"

"I don't think the boss went on patrol," Hyde admitted as he scratched his head. "He's been worried about them blasted wolves on patrol now. I think the boss jus' wanted a breath of fresh air, ya know."

Bertram's figure slightly relaxes and says, "In that case, mind the bar. And if anyone gets uppity the both of you know what to do."

Hyde eagerly crackles his knuckles, before returning to his post next to Floyd. The two men like great large stones glower at the pub drinkers daring any one of them to act out. Because truthfully, they relished in the very act of violence, and they could really use dealing out a beating right now.

On the outskirts of a loud carnival, there appeared the figure of Sanderson as he made his way through the crowd of muggles with their families laughing and enjoying the last of the outdoor evenings of Autumn, before the winter chill set in. The sound of laughter, the whirling of merry grounds, and the sounds of the rides can be heard even from afar. The traditional carnival music plays in the background with the experienced carnies manning the rides, food, and game stands.

Ignoring the children running around with the glee of youth, Sanderson makes his way to the edge of the carnival, where a small, old tent stands. There is nothing that calls attention to the faded purple and golden tent except for a dull banner that hangs over the entrance that reads, "Madam O'Germanova, Fortuneteller & Soothsayer."

And in smaller print under the main banner, it reads, "NO REFUNDS. NO EXCEPTIONS!"

Pushing his way inside, Sanderson wrinkles his nose at the strong stench of tobacco. Ignoring the smoky air, he pushes his way past a beaded curtain and into the main fortune reading room, where a wild-haired elderly Gypsy smokes tobacco from a pipe. Glancing up, the older woman's eyes are yellow-tinted with age and from vice.

The old woman flashes him a somewhat toothless grin as smoke pours out of the missing gaps in her teeth. "Well, lo, and behold, if it isn't the great and mighty, Sanderson himself. What brings you around to these godforsaken parts, me lad?" The old woman said in a raspy voice.

"Put that away, Soothsayer," Sanderson said with a frown as he studied the worn room filled with old objects and a dirty crystal ball with grimy fingerprints.

Madam O'Germanova sneers and blows out the last bit of tobacco smoke into his face. Sanderson merely glowers back as the old witch sets her pipe on the faded red table. "Have a seat," she said. "What can good old, Madam O'Germanova do for the Potentate of London?"

Sanderson tentatively takes a seat on a wobbly chair and wisely places his hands on his lap. Not out of fear or disgust in touching the faded red tablecloth that had not seen a cleaning charm in many years, but rather, he did not trust the old witch not to point her wand at him underneath the table. The wily old witch had outwitted more than a few dangerous individuals and had outlived them all to live and tell the tale. For no one had yet to outsmart the conniving old witch.

"I can't believe that you still do this," Sanderson grumbled under his breath with a pointed glance in emphasis on the dirty crystal ball in front of him.

"Ah, me, lad," Madam O'Germanova chided him as if he was a mere child. "We all can't go and become a Potentate. And besides, this is what our people have always done for countless generations. And though it may not bring us untold riches, but we have always had grand adventures and are kept well fed."

"Gypsies," Sanderson spat out.

Madam O'Germanova tilts her head back and laughs. "We are the Romani, Roma, the people of the wind, the travelers, and we possess countless other names. We are, who we are, and pretend not to be that which we are not, lad."

Madam O'Germanova's face grows more serious as she sneers back flashing the gaps in her teeth. "Witches, wizards that is what you, wand carriers call yourselves with pride having abandoned your roots. Aye, your power may have increased, but all of you have forgotten the old ways; to summon a spirit, to hear the pulse of nature's magic, and countless other things. And yet, I am not the one here before thee, but rather you, before me."

"My apologies, Madam O'Germanova," Sanderson stiffly said as if out of practice. "I meant no disrespect."

Madam O'Germanova is serious for a moment longer, before flashing a tooth-gaping smile. "Aye, no harm done lad," Madam O'Germanova added with an appreciative leering glance. "You're lucky that I still appreciate a fine arse not that I get much so to speak nowadays."

Sanderson almost shudders in horror but manages to refrain himself from doing so. Who in Merlin's name had ever dared to lay a finger on the old witch much less do her? Ever since, he had known her as a small child, the old witch still looked much the same age even then. What kind of twisted, perverse individual would still do her at her advanced age?