Harry, Oh she is a Rotter!
By Gerrard T Wilson
www.crazymadwriter.com
I’m the crazy-mad writer, The crazymad writer today. I’m the crazy-mad writer, The crazymad writer, hey hey! You may think that I’m not serious, And I might even agree, But I’m still the crazy-mad writer, The crazymad writer, hee hee.
Harry – oh, she is a Rotter!!! Text copyright Š 2012 Gerrard T Wilson Gerrard T Wilson asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.
Conditions of sale: This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
I wrote the following skit for a bit of fun, that’s all... But so many people, both adults and children, asked me to publish it, I felt obliged to do so. Who am I to say no to such desperate pleas? Gerrard T Wilson (the crazymad writer)
CONTENTS Chapter One
No, Our Best China’s in There!
Chapter Two
Meet the Son
Chapter Three
A Visit to the Zoo
Chapter Four
Secrecy, at Any Cost
Chapter Five
The Hybrid New Wand
Chapter Six
Are You Coming?
Chapter Seven
A Train to Catch
Chapter Eight
Owls, Familiars and Necromancers
Chapter Nine
Hagswords Bound
Chapter Ten
Subterfuge and Some Berries
Chapter Eleven
Owls, Owls and Yet More Owls
Chapter Twelve
A Time for Truth (Captured!)
Chapter Thirteen
What a Fine Mess
Chapter Fourteen
Surrender
Chapter Fifteen
Beguiling Tactics
Chapter Sixteen
A Traitor!
Chapter Seventeen
Laughing Larry
Chapter Eighteen
Horrid
Chapter Nineteen
To Fight a Giant
Chapter Twenty
To Face Their Foe
Chapter Twenty-One
At Hell’s Gates
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Demon-beast Resurrected
Chapter Twenty-Three
A Most Unfortunate Turn of Events
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bosom Buddies
Chapter Twenty-Five
To have Designs on the Marbles
Chapter Twenty-Six
An Appointment with Destiny
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Destiny’s Child
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Final Showdown
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A Collision of Interests and a Deception Leading to...
Chapter Thirty
...A Debacle
Chapter Thirty-One
A Little Bit More Deception
Chapter Thirty-Two
Home, again
Chapter One No, Our Best China’s in There! Mr and Mrs Privet, of number five Dorsley Drive, were anything but normal. They had been normal only a few weeks earlier, but they were now as crazy as those incarcerated in the local loony bin. On the outside, Mr Privet, a tall, bald and incredibly thin man, appeared quite normal, but just beneath the surface, barely hidden, he was a seething mass of nervous ticks, idiosyncratic behaviour, peptic ulcers and, above all, just plain looniness. As well as suffering from the same mad ways as her loopy husband, the extraordinarily fat Mrs Privet was also suffering from the dreadful infliction of hearing voices in her head. She might hear them at any time of the day or night, and would oftentimes jump up in her bed, screaming in a most alarming way, giving her husband such a fright he would begin shaking uncontrollably. It was a most dreadful state of affairs altogether. Despite suffering from these awful conditions, Mr and Mrs Privet tried to continue living as normal a life as was possible, but hardly a day went by without one of them experiencing a mad interlude that would make most normal people simply roll over and die. Before I continue with my story, I must also tell you about their son Box, Box Privet. This child (the veritable apple of their eyes) was, like his father, of a tall and incredibly thin physique. At times, this trait would cause him to be the butt of jokes and jibes by his classmates and acquaintances. However, he paid little or no attention to them, because his mind was always set firmly on the love, the passion of his life – electronics. Upstairs, in his small bedroom, Box would work for hours on end with his soldering iron, long nose pliers and tweezers, creating, crafting bringing his new ideas to life. It was a lonely existence, but he loved it. I have already told you how Mr and Mrs Privet had been quite normal only a few weeks earlier. In all truthfulness, the Privet’s had been one of the happiest families in their entire estate of mock Elizabethan detached houses. But
now they were mad, living in fear for their lives, the happy and contented existence they had so enjoyed, in tatters, a shambles, a mere shadow of what it had once been. You see, the Privet’s had been hiding a secret, a big secret. And while it had been contained and suppressed, as they felt is should still be, they had been enjoying that happy and contented life, but from the moment, the very instant this secret, this terrible secret had escaped from its place of incarceration, a private boarding school going by the name of Hagswords, their happy and carefree life had come to an abrupt end. This secret, this big dark secret was in reality a young girl, an orphan, the Privet’s only niece, going by the of Harry Rotter. She had actually been baptised Harriet, but from an early age had insisted that everyone call her Harry. Let me tell you about Harriet – Harry... She was the boldest, cruellest, nastiest child you could ever be unfortunate enough to meet. To look as her, with her flowing locks of golden hair and a face that appeared so innocent, so angelic, one might easily be fooled into believing that butter could last forever in her mouth without melting. But she wasn’t an angel, no, the unfortunate truth, the terrible truth was she was an out and out scoundrel, a bully who had no respect for anyone but herself. Bullies can and so very often do make the lives of those living around them as miserable as hell – Harry proved to be no exception to this rule. While Harriet – Harry – had been safely ensconced in her school everything had been just fine, and the Privet’s had been able to forgot about their troublesome niece, but from the moment she broke out, escaped from that high security ‘special’ boarding school, and found her way to the home of her only living relations, the Privets, their lives changed forever. “Excuse me, please,” said Harry, ever so mannerly when Mrs Privet opened the front door, “I am your only niece. Will you please put me up for a few days?” “Its young Harriet, isn’t it?” said Mrs Privet, patting her nervously upon the head. “Are you on a school break?” Ignoring the question while resisting the urge to kick the condescending woman in the shins, Harry smiled, and said, “I prefer to be called Harry, if it all right with you?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” said Mrs Privet as she ushered Harry through the doorway, looking up and down the road, to see if anyone had been following her. The road, however, was deserted. “Please go into the front room,” said Mrs Privet. The cat made a mad dash past Harry, through the open doorway. Harry entered the room. It reminded her of Hagswords – far too much stained glass and wood panelling for her liking. “Sit down, sit down, Harry, and make yourself comfortable,” said Mrs Privet. “I will go fetch you some lemonade, you must be so thirsty after your travelling. Then I will go tell your uncle the good news.” Leaving Harry alone in the room, Mrs Privet returned to the hallway where she opened the small door under the stairs that led down to the cellar, a den of sorts. Calling her husband, she said, “Dear…. we have a visitor…” “Who is it?” a voice called up from below. “It’s your niece.” BANG. There was a sound like a baldhead striking a beam in the low slung ceiling, and then there was silence. “Did you hear me, darling?” Mumbles from below. “Darling?” Mr Privet began speaking, and in a hushed voice, he asked, “Are you sure it’s our niece – THAT niece?” “Yes, dear, it’s young Harriet – I mean Harry, Harry Rotter.” “Harriet or Harry – you should know what sex they are.” “He, she’s a girl, she just likes the name Harry – shortened, you know.” “I don’t know if I know anything anymore,” Mr Privet grumbled as he made his way up the narrow staircase, “having to deal with your ‘unusual’ relations. Puffing and panting, Mr Privet emerged from the cellar. “Where is she, then?” he barked, looking up and down the hallway. “I put her in the front room.” “Our best china’s in there!” he hollered, storming down the hallway and then bursting into the room like an elephant was chasing after him. Inside, he found Harry carefully inspecting a piece of their hand-painted fine bone china.
“That’s an heirloom – but it’s not worth anything,” he muttered, eying Harry’s canvas shoulder bag with suspicion, while also trying, but unsuccessfully, to close the battered door. “Not worth anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “No, not a penny…” “Can I have it, then, as a keepsake?” Almost choking on his words, Mr Privet fumbled to find others, words that might save his prized china. “Mr Privet?” “I... we...we can’t give it away… we promised your Granny, on her death bed, that we would always treasure it…” Studying his face, particularly the sweat beading upon it, Harry searched for signs of deceit. “Okay,” she said, “it was just a thought.” Then scanning the room, she added, “There must be loads of things amongst all this rubbish that you don’t want.” “No, no, everything’s spoken for,” Mr Privet squeaked in reply. Then changing the subject from their prized possessions, he asked Harry the reason for her visit. “Oh, I have already told your wife,” she said, “I will be staying with you for a few days…” This time Mr Privet almost choked on Harry’s words. Mrs Privet, carrying a tray with a tall glass of lemonade upon it, entered the room, “Everything all right?” she asked, smiling innocently at them.
Chapter Two Meet the Son Over the course of the next few days, Harry settled in well at number five Dorsley Drive. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for her relationship with Mr and Mrs Privet’s beloved son, Box. From the moment Harry laid eyes on his bespectacled face and wimpishly thin body, she had taken a dislike to her cousin. Box, in turn, had taken an equally passionate dislike to Harry, but he was simply no match for her steely cunning and dogged determination, to get the better of him no matter what, to make his very existence a living hell. This clash of personalities put a terrible strain on Harry’s relationship with Mr and Mrs Privet, who had always prided themselves, in being open minded and understanding of the challenging behaviour of all growing children. And they tried; they tried so hard to ignore the many terrible things Harry perpetrated upon their son, their only son. And she did so much to him; like knocking him down the stairs, sprinkling salt over his porridge and removing all of the fuses from his electrical gadgets and gizmos that he so loved. In the end, Box avoided Harry like the plague. If he was out walking and saw her coming towards him, he would dash into the nearest shop, to avoid being anyway near her. If there weren’t any shops nearby, he would scurry up the garden path of the nearest house, where he would begin knocking frantically on its door, like his life depended on it. At home, Box began spending more and more time in his bedroom, where he installed bolt after bolt and lock after lock on its door; to protect him from Harry’s constant and malevolent interferences. Bang, bang, bang. Every night they heard the sound of him sliding the bolts shut, before he retired to the safety of his bed. He would do anything to avoid Harry, absolutely anything. Harry, on the other hand, had no need for locks or bolts on her bedroom door, for who would dare to enter it without asking her permission, first? Although she had the run of the house, and she certainly made good use of it, whenever it so suited, Harry also began spending more and more time in her room, but it was for a
far different reason than her wimpishly thin cousin. Harry had things to plan, and to workout… It was now several days since her escape from school, Hagswords, and although Harry had conjured up a mannequin, a replica of her, to try and hide the fact that she was actually missing, she knew only too well that its effectiveness would soon wear off. And when it did, it would only be a matter of time until the school authorities began tracking her down, following her trail until they found her at number five Dorsley Drive. Harry had even considered using a spell of concealment, to disguise her whereabouts when the school authorities caught up with her, but she had decided that with all the comings and goings in and out of number five Dorsley Drive its effectiveness would surely be compromised. The only way she could be totally sure of effectiveness was to stop everyone entering or leaving, and she couldn’t do that, could she? Bang, bang, bang, another night had arrived and Box secreted himself safely within his bedroom, away from his dreaded cousin, Harry. In the quietness of her room, lying comfortably in bed, Harry was ruminating over the words she was reading in a book, an old book that she had found hidden, secreted away, in the library at school. “They are so stupid, in that school,” she hissed. “They call it a school for mysticism and magic, more like a school for tolerance and fear. Fear of hurting the feelings of all those stupid Muddles and far too much tolerance of them than is healthy. And as for the Principal…Hmm, I’ll show him. I’ll show them all, including the Muddles, what I am capable of…” Harry continued reading far into the night. Next morning, Box jumped out of bed, determined to rush through his ablutions at the same breakneck speed he had adopted since the arrival of his horrid cousin. He was hell-bent on dashing downstairs, guzzling his breakfast, swilling down his tea, grabbing hold of his satchel and then heading off to school, and all of this before Harry awoke. After carefully, quietly sliding open the bolts on his bedroom door, Box opened it and peered outside, to see if the coast was clear.
“Hello,” Harry said ever so sweetly, less than three inches in front of his nose. “Did you sleep well?” “I, I,” Box stammered, at a loss for words; shocked that she was there in the first place and even more shocked that she was speaking so sweetly. He slammed the door shut. Knock knock. “Box, it’s me, Harry,” said Harry, in the same sweet tone that had unsettled him, so. “Box, are you coming out today?” Box, however, believing that his end was nigh, that his evil cousin was about to finish him off once and for all, said nothing. “Is that you, Box?” asked Mrs Privet, from the bottom of the stairs. “No, it’s me, Harry.” Mrs Privet, shocked that she was up so early, returned to the kitchen and began preparing the fry-up Harry insisted on having each morning. Then poking her head out of the kitchen door, she asked, “Would you like to go out somewhere nice, today, like the zoo?” It was a Saturday. Harry had been so drawn into her reading, her studying of the old book she had lost all track of time. Her mind spinning into action, she replied, “Yes, I would love to… But only if Box comes along...” At the kitchen table, peering out from behind his newspaper, Mr Privet called his wife over, and he said, “Now why did you have to go and say that?”
Chapter Three A Visit to the Zoo It was a grand day for a drive, for a visit to the zoo; the first time in her entire life that Harry had actually been invited on a family outing. As Mr Privet drove the car slowly along the road (he always drove slowly, saying cars lasted years longer if they were treated that way), Harry stared out of the window, enjoying the moment, the feel of companionship, of being part of a family. Thus mellowed, she began to see the good in people, the Muddles. Mind you it was only for a moment, because soon, all too soon, her defences returned, protecting her from such nonsensical stupid ideas. Box came along; it took them a while to convince him, but Mr and Mrs Privet had no intention of suffering the day’s outing if their son was at home, enjoying himself in his room with his electronics. No. He had to come and be miserable along with them. When they arrived at the zoo, Mr Privet carefully parked his car (he said tyres lasted much longer if you parked your car carefully), and the not so happy family made their way towards the entrance. “Two adult and two children, please,” said Mrs Privet, as she handed a five-pound note to the pimply attendant behind the counter. “Isn’t she paying for herself?” Mr Privet whispered to his wife. “Her part of the family is supposed to be loaded, or so you have told me.” “Hush,” Mrs Privet chided, hoping their niece hadn’t heard him. For a Saturday, and such a fine one, the zoo was quiet, giving the Privet’s and Harry the place almost to themselves. “Where are you going?” asked Mrs Privet, when she spotted her son skulking away. “I was just going to…” he replied, trying to think up an excuse. “You stay right here, with us,” she ordered. “Harry especially asked for you to come.”
“I know,” he whispered, “and that’s what worries me…” As they made their way through the animal displays, from Crocodiles to Buffalos, from Elephants to Chimpanzees, from Parrots to Moorhens and almost everything else in between, Box couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terrible was about to happen, that his horrid cousin was going to perpetrate some dastardly deed upon him. Unfortunately, he was soon to prove himself right… They were in the reptile house when Harry made her move, to corner her wimpishly thin cousin, the boy she so distained, but needed the help of… “What are you doing?” Box yelled, when Harry opened the door of a particularly large snake’s enclosure (he had no idea how she had opened it, for it had a hefty bolt padlocked upon it). “You’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, as she pushed him into the enclosure, slamming the door shut. “Let me out!” he shouted, banging upon the glass partition that separated the viewers from the viewed. Seeing its ‘guest’ the huge snake began slithering its way towards Box. “LET ME OUT!” Box yelled again, banging even harder on the glass partition. At the far end of the room Mr and Mrs Privet, inspecting an unusual albino tree snake, were totally oblivious to their beloved son’s growing distress. “Well?” said Harry, folding her arms, smirking at her panicking cousin. “WELL WHAT?” Box yelled, watching the huge snake slither ever closer. “Are you going to help me?” “HELP YOU WITH WHAT?” “All in good time,” she said, enjoying the moment, her power over him. It was like eating a creamy ice cream – so very satisfying. The snake, now less than a foot away from Box, tasted the air with its tongue – human being was on the menu. Screaming with fright, Box hollered, “OKAY, OKAY, I’LL HELP YOU. NOW GET ME OUT OF HERE!” She did, withdrawing a wand Harry waved it from left to right, saying, “Open Ses Me.”
In less than a millisecond Box was magically transported to the outside, the right side of the glass partition, the hungry snake having just missed its scrawny meal by mere inches. “H, how did you do that?” he asked, shaking in fright. Having returned the wand to the safely of her pocket, Harry said, “Do what?” “What you just did, with that thingamajig…” Ignoring his question, she said, “Come on, I have need of your assistance.” “Me?” “Yes, moron, you! Now come on, or do you want to rejoin that snake?” Having no wish to return, Box followed his cousin, slipping quietly out of the reptile house, away from his parents. “Here, eat this,” said Harry, offering Box an ice cream cone that she had purchased from one of the small kiosks scattered about the zoo grounds. Making faces, Box licked the ice cream, wondering if it were poisoned. “There’s nothing wrong with it, I just bought it,” she said, “You can swap it with mine if you’re that worried.” Harry offered him her ice cream. “No, no, it’s all right,” he said, taking another, more relaxed lick from his cone. “Thanks.” This was the second time (and in the same day) that his cousin had shown him some kindness; Box was confused. As they wandered away from the shop, to a quiet part of the zoo grounds where many tall trees and bushes were growing, Harry began speaking, she said, “Box, cousin, you are handy with electrical items and so forth, are you not?” He nodded, wondering where the conversation was heading. “Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of, and even less interest in such things…” Box nodded again, though for politeness this time. “I want you to make me something – electrical…”
He was interested; Box loved working with electronics, and he asked, “What do you want me to make?” Carefully considering her words, choosing enough to tell him what she wanted him to do, but not enough to give him any idea of what she had planned, Harry said, “See this?” Removing her wand from her pocket, Harry showed it to him. Seeing it, the wand, Box was gob smacked, and he shouted, “A wand! It was a wand! I knew it! Like the one dad sometimes talks about!” “Tell everyone, why don’t you?” Harry hissed, annoyed that she needed the services of so stupid a Muddle. “Sorry.” Reaching out, Box asked, “Can I touch it?” “No, you cannot.” His face falling, Box was devastated. “You can touch it, later,” Harry promised. “For now, it’s best that you only look.” Box stared lovingly at the brown wooden stick – the wand, “I can hardly believe that I am really looking at a magical wand,” he mused. “Now that you have had a good look,” said Harry, returning the wand to the safety of her pocket, “can we get back to my request?” Coughing excitedly, Box said, “Yes, yes, please go on.” “So you see, Box,” said Harry, after she had finished explaining what she wanted him to do, “I want you to make me a wand, a wand that combines all of the magical qualities of my own...but with the added benefit of the Muddles’ electrical wisdom. God, I so hate using that word ‘wisdom’ in the same sentence as Muddle.” Studying his face, his expression, Harry tried to sense Box’s mood, his thoughts on his chances of pulling it off. Box remained silent for many minutes, ruminating over the pros and cons of such an undertaking. From the electrical point of view, creating something akin to a wand would be a relatively simple matter, for a person such as him. It was the magical qualities that caused him the most worry, and how he might ever hope to combine the two, even more…
Box offered Harry his answer; speaking slowly, as slowly and carefully as Harry had so recently done, he said, “I think I can do it…” Relieved, Harry smiled, and she was so pretty when she did this. Box continued, “Having said that, I feel that I must tell you that it will not be an easy matter, by any stretch of the imagination…” “But you can do it?” she said, still smiling radiantly. “Yes, but…” “You can,” said Harry, again. “That’s all that matters.” Then quite uncharacteristically, she grabbed hold of Box and gave him a peck on the cheek. Embarrassed, Box mumbled something about finding his mum and dad. Harry agreed, for having heard what she had wanted to hear, she now wanted to get on with it.
Chapter Four Secrecy, at any Cost Next morning, Harry, knocking softly on Box’s bedroom door, whispered, “Box, are you awake?” “Hmm, what is it?” he mumbled sleepily. “I said, are you awake?” “What time is it?” Box asked, rubbing his eyes. “It’s half past six.” “Half past six, are you sure?” Box asked, unwilling to believe that even she would consider awakening him at so early an hour. Reaching for his glasses on the bedside locker, and then grabbing hold of his watch, Box gazed sleepily onto its face, to see if he had heard her correctly. Staring at the dial, he saw that it was indeed six thirty. “Yes, I am sure of it,” said Harry, louder this time. “Now are you getting up or do I have to send off for that snake?” Jumping out of bed, putting on his dressing gown and slippers, Box unbolted the door. Bang, bang, bang, the bolts slid back from their nighttime position. The door, creaking open, revealed the sleepy face of Box, Harry’s tall and whimpishly thin cousin. “What’s the problem,” he asked, yawning and scratching his head. “There’s no problem,” she replied casually. “We have to get started.” “But it’s Sunday,” he protested, “and I always have a lie in on Sundays.” “Not anymore, you don’t,” she said. “Not until our work has been done.” “But we have to buy supplies,” he protested again, “and the electrical shop isn’t open until tomorrow…” But it was useless complaining, Box was simply wasting his time trying to put Harry off, she wanted to get started and nothing would dissuade her from it, absolutely nothing. And he thought, ‘she might really have that snake stashed somewhere nearby, mightn’t she?’ Agreeing, he said, “All right, I’ll get up, but I want some breakfast, first.”
“Okay, I’ll see you downstairs,” Harry replied, and with that she dashed down the stairs at full pelt. Scratching his head, Box wondered what he had done to deserve a cousin such as Harry. “Here you are,” said Harry, pointing to a plate on the table, when Box entered the kitchen. “What’s that?” he asked, sitting down and inspecting the plate with some interest. “A fry-up, of course,” she replied, pushing it closer. “That’ll keep you going…” Even though he was puzzled – for there was no smell of cooking – Box said nothing; he knew better than to ask her such ‘Muddling’ questions. “And keep the noise down,” Harry warned. “We don’t want to be waking the old cronies.” Old cronies? Oh, you mean mum and dad,” he said with a laugh. “Y’know, I used to call them that, a while back.” “You did?” “Yep, it’s a funny old world, isn’t it?” “It sure is,” Harry replied, thinking about how many other silly Muddles were living in Dorsley Drive. When he had finished eating his breakfast, and it was a surprisingly good fry-up, Box asked Harry what was first on the agenda. “Secrecy,” she replied, again in a whisper. “Pardon?” “I said secrecy is the first thing on the agenda,” she insisted. “You must keep everything that we do a secret from your parents!” Box gulped. “Everything?” You see, up until then he had no secrets hidden from them. “Yes, everything,” she insisted. “And not just them, but everyone you know. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, I suppose so – but it won’t be easy.” Harry ignored this comment. “Where are we going?” Box asked, following Harry out from the house. “Somewhere private…” Harry walked, Box followed. After buying a pen and a notepad from the local newsagents, Harry led the short distance to the park. After climbing over the locked gates, Harry chose a spot on the grass where they could sit. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Here?” Yes.” It might be damp…” “SIT!” Obeying her, Box sat upon the grass, and then he watched as his troublesome cousin scribbled her thoughts down onto the notepad. It took her a while, to do this, a good while. Bored, waiting for her to finish, Box nonchalantly watched the sparrows scurrying ever closer, hoping for a handout of some food scraps they might have. When Harry had finally finished recording her thoughts onto the notepad, she handed it to Box, saying, “Take a look, and then tell me what you think.” Box studied the notes with some interest – all two pages of them. Then turning to a new page, and without saying a word, he asked for the pen. Harry gave it to him. Writing feverously, Box recorded his own thoughts and ideas into the little notepad, filling page after page with ever more complex ideas. Every now and again he would pause for a moment to refer back to his cousin’s scribbles, and then he would start off again, working his way through to the final design. When he was finished, Box had filled fifteen pages with notes, and another two with a list of the materials required for the task. “Here,” he said, returning the notepad to Harry. “Now you take as look…” Harry studied the plans. When she had seen enough, she said, “It might as well be in double-dutch for all that it means to me, but I trust you, cousin, so lets gets on with it.”
Box grinned; he loved a challenge and this was most certainly a challenge. The grin disappearing from his face, Box looked terribly worried. “What’s wrong?” said Harry, confused by his change of emotions. “Money!” he replied. “Money, what about money?” Harry asked. “We need some – loads of it,” Box groaned. “That lot will cost us a bomb.” “Leave the matter of money to me,” Harry replied calmly. “You just concentrate on getting the work done.” Next day, Monday, Harry and Box set off for town and the electrical supplier located therein. “I can’t imagine what has gotten into those two,” said Mrs Privet, pulling back the curtain, watching Harry and Box step up to the bus. “One day they are mortal enemies, and the next they are bosom buddies.” Sitting at the kitchen table, studying the remains of his son’s fried breakfast, Mr Privet asked, “Any more where this lot came from?” Town was busy; Harry hated towns, there were far too many Muddles in them for her liking. “Which way?” she asked, narrowly avoiding a youth speeding passed, on a motor scooter. “This way,” said Box, pointing up the hill. It was a long walk, up that hill, to where the best electrical supplier in town was located. Unaccustomed to such extreme walking, Harry’s legs soon began to ache. “Why couldn’t they have built their shop at the bottom of the hill?” she complained. Then remembering that it was Muddles she was talking about, she laughed, saying, “No, don’t answer that.” As they stepped into the old shop, the bell over the door jingled signalling their arrival. An ancient man standing behind a dusty old counter studied them over the top of his equally as dusty spectacle lenses. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I certainly hope so,” said Harry. “Box handed the man their list of requirements.
“Hmm,” he said, making his way through the long list, “a most unusual mixture of items… What is it you said you were making?” “We didn’t,” Harry snapped. “We’re making a transmitter,” Box lied, thinking this approach better than his cousin’s confrontational one. “A transmitter, you say,” said the man, pushing his grimy glasses up to the top of his head. Harry wondered how he had managed to see through them at all. “Yes,” explained Box, “but it’s only an experiment, nothing big, you know…” “You really need a licence, you do know that?” “We do, but it’s only an experiment, for school, and a temporary one at that.” “Hmm,” said the man, reaching under the counter for his order book into which he began writing. “In that case, I suppose it’s all right.” When he had finished copying Box’s list into his book, he stepped through a doorway leading into the rear of the shop and disappeared from sight. Relieved that they were getting their supplies, Box turned away from the counter and studied the electrical advertising posters sticky taped to the walls. Harry stared out the window, bored. After waiting for a good twenty minutes, they heard the sound of slow footsteps signalling the return of the old man. Puffing and panting he emerged through the doorway, carrying two cardboard boxes, one under each arm, loaded with electrical items, that he plonked down heavily on the counter. A cloud of fine dust rose high into the still air. Harry coughed. “There you are,” he said, “everything you were a wanting. Some of these things were stashed way back to the rear of the shelves, hadn’t sold any of them for years. Thought I never would. Just goes to show, doesn’t it?” “Thanks,” said Box. “How much do we owe you?” “I have the bill in here somewhere,” he said, rummaging about in one of the boxes. “Ah, here it is.” He handed it to him. Box almost fainted when he saw how much it amounted to. Snatching the bill, Harry said, “Give that to me.” After inspecting it, the final figure that is, without flinching as much as an eyelid, Harry opened her shoulder
bag and withdrew a small purse.”There you are,” she said, offering three golden coins to the man, “and you can keep the change.” Inspecting the coins, he said, “Are you sure? These are worth an awful lot more that the bill amount to!” Without saying another word, Harry opened the door and instructed Box to carry the boxes. Grabbing hold of them, struggling under their weight, he followed her out from the shop, asking, “Where did you get those coins from?”
Chapter Five The Hybrid New Wand It was decided (by Harry) to assemble the hybrid new wand in the privacy of Box’s bedroom, where there was a workbench, with plenty of tools at the ready. Harry might have been worried that Box’s parents would see what they were up to, had it not been for all the locks and bolts he had installed on the door. With them secreted inside, and with all of the locks and bolts set firmly in place, Mr and Mrs Privet had no hope of seeing anything. “What can they be doing, up there?” said Mrs Privet one evening, when the two cousins were upstairs, secreted within the confines of the small bedroom. “Didn’t you tell me they were making a radio?” said Mr Privet as he turned over the page of his newspaper. “Yes, I did…” “I see the wholesale price of fruit and vegetables is going up again,” Mr Privet mumbled, without giving the children, and what they might or might not be getting up to, a second thought. Mrs Privet said nothing, but she listened intently, worried for the safety of her only son. “Holly, did you hear me? I said the price of fruit and vegetables is going up again!” “That’s nice, dear,” she replied. “I am so happy to hear that…” Mr Privet turned another page of his newspaper, where he saw an article about owls dive-bombing children in the local park. “What on earth will be happening next?” he growled. “The world has gone barking mad.” Over the following week, Harry and Box spent every waking minute in the confines of his small bedroom; Box at his workbench creating, crafting the new hybrid wand that his cousin so desperately wanted, and Harry in charge of the existing one, helping him to understand, and to meld the two seemingly incompatible standards. It was a long process, transferring her wand’s powers into the new electro magical creation, but Box persisted, and when he was in the final
stages, with sparks, smoke and all sorts of magical phenomena going on around them, something quite unexpected happened. Harry’s wand, instead of shrinking away into nothingness, as Box had said out it would do, stopped short from doing this. When it was about the size of a matchstick, it stopped shrinking and it stubbornly remained at that size no matter how hard they tried to finish the process. In the end they had to accept that although the process had been a success, the last vestiges of power in her old wand remained stubbornly there – within it, the matchstick wand. With the new electro magical wand all but complete, the two cousins emerged from the bedroom tired and weary, yet happy they had achieved their objective. “The only thing left is to test it,” Harry whispered as they made their way down the stairs. “Can we do it now?” Box asked, impatient to see if his efforts had been successful. “No, we’ll do it later, when no one is here,” Harry whispered as she opened the kitchen door. “It’s good to see both of you, away from that stuffy old room,” said Mrs Privet when the two cousins entered the kitchen. “How’s the radio coming on?” “The radio?” said Box. “The radio is all finished,” said Harry, digging her forgetful cousin in the ribs. Box’s eyes watered. “Any lemonade?” Harry asked, casually opening the fridge door as she spoke. After giving each of them a glass of lemonade, Mrs Privet said, “Now go inside to the dining room, dinner is just about ready. Then calling her husband, she said, “Laurel, dear, Harry and Box have finished their radio…” “About time too,” he replied. “They could have made a bomb for all the time they’ve spent up there.” Hearing her husband making his way upstairs, Mrs Privet said, “Dinner is almost ready.” “I’m just going for a piddle, be down in a jiff,” he replied. Mr Privet did go for a piddle, but he omitted to say that he was also going to see if he could take a peep at the newly finished radio…
“There you are,” said Mrs Privet, placing two huge plates on the table in front of the children. “Shepherd’s Pie, your favourite, Box.” Her son wasted no time in tucking into his favourite meal; he was absolutely famished after a week of such intense work, having missed so many of his meals. Prodding her meal dismissively with her fork, Harry’s eyes looked upwards; she was worried. “Don’t you like it, Harry?” Mrs Privet asked politely. This time it was Box who nudged Harry in the ribs. “Pardon, what did you say?” “I said don’t you like your dinner?” “It was lovely,” Harry replied. “I enjoyed every bit of it,” she said, holding her empty plate for the woman’s inspection. Mrs Privet’s jaw dropped. “How did you do that?” she asked in astonishment. “Come on,” Harry whispered to Box, “let’s get upstairs; I think we left the door unlocked… “Can’t I finish my dinner, first?” “You have,” she said as she pushed back her chair and got up. “But I haven’t,” Box protested, “In fact I’ve hardly begun…” “Look at you plate, dummy.” Staring down at his plate, Box was shocked to see that it too was as clean as a whistle. “But I didn’t eat it,” he moaned, “and I’m still starving.” “Have you forgotten about your father?” Harry hissed, annoyed that Muddles can waste so much timing thinking about food. On the landing Mr Privet, Laurel, having spotted the door to his son’s bedroom having been left slightly ajar, was creeping surreptitiously towards it. Standing outside, he peeped through the crack in the door, trying to get a glimpse of the mysterious radio that had taken so long to assemble. He looked but he saw no sign of it, he saw nothing at all. Pushing the door cautiously inwards he tried to
get a better look. As the door slowly creaked open it revealed his son’s workbench – and the new fangled wand sitting so innocently atop it. Looking around, to make sure the coast was clear, that no one was watching him, Mr Privet crept surreptitiously into his son’s inner sanction, the room that he had promised never to enter on his own. A floorboard creaked. He stopped, frozen to the spot. No one heard it; no one came rushing up the stairs to catch him redhanded. He ventured further into the room, wondering where the radio could be. Seeing nothing of any more interest than a peculiar steel rod on the workbench – the new electro magical wand – Mr Privet picked it up and began waving it. “Hmm,” he whispered, “this doesn’t look like a radio.” Then studying it closer, he spotted some buttons at one end. “Now, what are these?” he said, “Might be on/off switches, I suppose, and radios do come in all sorts of shapes and sizes nowadays.” He pressed the first button. There was a slight click, but nothing happened. Waving it again, Mr Privet said, “I wish I could understand what’s been going on around here.” And he did. He suddenly understood everything that his son and Harry had been up to in that room. He laughed, Mr Privet laughed thinking his mind was playing tricks on him and his imagination was running into overdrive, and he said, “Hold it together, Laurel, or they’ll be carting you off to the loony bin, and sharpo.” Waving the rod again, this time like a conductor’s baton, Mr Privet imagined he was conducting an orchestra. Then he heard music playing. Surprised by this, he stopped waving it. The music also stopped. Looking carefully at the rod, he thought that perhaps it really was a radio. That it had simply taken a while for it to warm up, and now that it had it was beginning to play music on the station it was last tuned into. He pressed a second button. It clicked, but unlike the first one this button produced an immediate result, a very unfortunate result indeed. Flames, huge searing flames shot out from the wand, scorching the wallpaper in front of him. “No, no!” Mr Privet gasped, in fright, directing the wand away from the burning wallpaper, to his son’s wardrobe which the flames began attacking in earnest. “No, no!” he shouted again. Hearing the commotion upstairs, Harry and Box dashed out from the kitchen, scorched down the hallway and leapt up the stairs two steps at a time. Arriving on
the landing they found the door of Box’s bedroom now fully open, with huge flames shooting out through it. Smiling with satisfaction, Harry said, “Well, at least we know that it works!” “What about my room?” Box hollered, unable to see into it, for all the flames and smoke billowing out. On reaching the landing, Mrs Privet began crying loudly, “Laurel, what have you done? Laurel, can you hear me? Laurel, where are you?” Harry knew that something had to be done – and it had to be done fast – but stunned by the Muddlesome meddling of her uncle, she hesitated, unable to decide on what. Box, however, had no such qualms and he sprang into action like he had been dealing with such things all of his life. Shouting in through the doorway, to his father, he said, “Point it out the window!” “What?” his father yelled. “What did you say?” “I said point it out through the window! Aim the flames out through it!” “But the window’s shut!” “Don’t worry about that – JUST DO IT!” he ordered. Following his son’s instructions, Mr Privet pointed the wand at the window, and no sooner had he done this did the huge flames shatter the glass into a million red-hot pieces that rained onto the ground below. With the charred doorway free of flames, Box, followed closely by Harry, entered the room. His father was still holding the wand; pointing the huge flames that showed no signs of abating, out through the window. “Help, help!” he shouted, “This radio has gone berserk. All that I wanted to do was change the station.” “Hang on a minute, Harry will stop it,” Box shouted. Then turning to her, he said, “It’s up to you now, cousin. This is your department.” “It seems a waste,” she replied dryly, “stopping such a fine flame.” “HARRY!” “Oh, all right,” she said, uttering some words that Box failed to hear let alone understand, quenching the flames.
Mr Privet, his face, hands and clothes all sooty black, carefully placed the ‘radio’ onto the workbench, close to where a small fire was still burning. Wetting two of his fingers, he extinguished the flames with them, and muttered, “You know, I only wanted to change the station – that was all, just the rotten station...” Outside, on the landing, his wife called out, “Laurel! Are you all right?” “Holly, where are you?” When his wife entered the room and saw the utter devastation within it, she burst out crying. “It’s all right, Holly,” said her husband. “It’s not that bad. I just put it on the wrong station, that’s all… It was just a silly mistake…” Mr Privet mumbling incoherently and his wife crying inconsolably left the smouldering room, on their way to their own bedroom, where they closed the door, trying to forget everything had just witnessed. “Phew, that was close,” Harry said with a wink. “Close?” Box yelled. “We could have all been burned to a crisp!” “Might have, but didn’t,” she replied, hurt that her cousin’s faith in her abilities was so lacking. With the help of her newly tested wand, Harry soon had the room returned to its former condition, down to the very last detail including a cobweb hanging from a corner of the ceiling. Nothing more was said about this unfortunate incident, Mr and Mrs Privet preferring to believe that it had all been some sort of a bad dream, for how could it be anything other than that, when there wasn’t even the slightest sign of fire or damage to be seen anywhere?
Chapter Six Are you Coming? A week later to the very day, in the morning, early, before it was even light, Box heard someone tapping on his bedroom door. “Who’s there?” he whispered, fumbling for his glasses, to see what time it was. “It’s me, Harry.” “What do you want?” “I want to talk with you.” “Can’t it wait until morning, when I get up?” “No.” “Why not?” Silence. “I said, why not?” “Let me in.” By now Box knew only too well when his cousin, Harry, had something on her mind she persisted, until she got what she wanted. In this case it was an ear. So climbing out of warm bed, he unbolted the door and let her in. Jumping back in bed, he asked, “Well, what’s so important that it couldn’t wait until later?” Remaining uncharacteristically quiet, Harry searched for words, the best words to use. Finding them, she said, “I am leaving.” “Leaving? When?” “Today,” said Harry, “And I wanted to ask…if you would consider coming along with me?” “Me? Why? Where are you going?” “To Hagswords…” “Hagswords!” he said, absolutely stunned by this revelation. “I thought you had escaped from there? I never thought for one instant that you’d ever want to return.”
Again searching for words, enough to tell him what she was doing but not so many as to divulge her plan, Harry said, “It’s only a matter of time until the school authorities find me… If I take the initiative, if I leave before that happens, I am in with a chance to find it...” “To find what?” “Something that I forgot, that I left there…” “And you must return for it?” “Yes.” “It’s that important?” “Yes.” “What is it?” “I can’t tell you.” “Can you give me a clue?” “No.” There was another silence, much longer than the previous one. The sound of Mr and Mrs Privet’s snoring in the other room could be plainly heard. Although Box knew only too well what his cousin was like, that her own agenda always took precedence over everything else, that she was most certainly hiding a great deal more than she was telling him, he had actually grown used to her in a peculiar sort of way. Because of this, and also because he wanted to see what the new electro-magical wand was really capable of doing, he agreed, saying, “All right, I will come along. But I am not going to do anything that’s illegal – is that clear?” Smiling, Harry nodded. She was happy; for the first time in her life she was happy to be with someone, even a tall, whimpishly thin Muddle such as Box. “Can’t we say goodbye?” Box asked, as he stepped through his bedroom window, onto the trelliswork supporting the white flowering rambling rose bush. “No. I’ve already told you!” Harry whispered. “The less your parents know the safer they will be. Now hurry up, I’ve a bad felling…”
Stopping halfway down the trelliswork, pricking a finger on a thorn, and then sucking it, Box whispered, “A bad feeling? What sort of a bad feeling?” “I can’t explain,” she said, following him. “It’s something that I learned to do, during my time at Hagswords.” She laughed a little sardonically, before continuing; “At least I learned something useful while I was there.” Then looking down to him, she said, “Go on, what’s the hold-up?” Box resumed his descent down the trelliswork, but then he stopped again. “What’s the problem now?” Harry asked him impatiently. Box pointed with trembling fingers to the eastern sky. CARPETS! High in the sky, and approaching fast, were two objects that looked incredibly like flying carpets! “Drats,” Harry hissed. “They’ve found me!” Jumping down the last few feet of trelliswork, Harry and Box dived for cover; Harry beneath the huge, spreading leaves of a Gunnera plant, and Box under the less exotic but equally large leaves of a Rhubarb plant (his father insisted on growing rhubarb in the flower beds, saying it was a much underrated flowing plant, whose majestic white flowers had no place amongst drab vegetables). From their places of concealment, the two cousins watched as the flying carpets, with their occupants sitting cross-legged upon them, passed overhead. “They didn’t stop,” Box whispered across to Harry. Creeping over, hiding under the same Rhubarb leaves as her cousin, Harry said, “That means they haven’t quite worked out exactly where I am. I might still be in with a chance. Then looking kindly at her cousin, she said, “You go back inside, it’s me they’re after – go!” “Oh no you don’t,” Box replied vehemently. “We’re in this together “They could return at any moment!” “It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. “Now tell me this, is there anything we can do to get away from them?” Undoing the fasteners on her shoulder bag, Harry opened it and began rummaging through its contents. Watching her intently, Box said, “Can’t we use the new wand?”
“No, that will attract more attention,” Harry said as she continued searching through her bag. “Ah, I have it,” she said triumphantly, pulling it out. “How did you get that into your bag?” Box asked, puzzled at how she had managed to get such a bulky article either in or out from her bag. Ignoring the question, Harry began untying the brown coloured string holding the article together. It was only after she had done this, and unfolded it upon the ground did Box realise what it was. It was a carpet, a carpet so old it was almost threadbare in places, but of exquisite design. Box was flabbergasted. “Is that…is that really? – No, it can’t be,” he said yet desperately hoping that it really and truly was a genuine honest to goodness flying carpet. Harry smiled. “You mean it?” She nodded. “It is, really is a flying carpet – I was right?” The carpet, now completely unfolded, safely concealed beneath the canopy of rhubarb leaves, smelt of mustiness. “Let’s get going,” Box urged his cousin. Harry made no reply; she waited, silently watching the sky. Their departure had to be planned to the split-second, to avoid any chance of being seen by the men on their magical carpets up, above. Plans don’t always according to plan, and this was unfortunately such an instance. Before they had a chance to act, to make good their escape, the two flying carpets returned and began circling overhead. “They’re on to us,” Harry whispered. “You must have really pissed them off, back at that school of yours, if they’d do all this just to get you back,” said Box. Harry ignored this remark. While one of the carpets, with a bearded man sitting cross-legged upon it, remained circling overhead, as a lookout, the other one, with two occupants, came to a smooth landing beneath the shelter of the large horse chestnut tree in the back
garden. Walking away from the carpet, just leaving it there under the tree, the two men, dressed in long multicoloured robes, made their way across the short distance to the house. Tapping Harry on the shoulder, Box asked, “What are they doing?” Watching the men, Harry said nothing. “Where are they going?” Box asked, yet fearing that he already knew. “Inside.” “Inside? You mean to mum and dad?” “I’m afraid so.” Almost crying with fear, Box asked, “What do they want with them?” “They’re in there, that’s why.” “But they don’t know anything!” “Shush,” they might hear you.” Inside, Mr and Mrs Privet were still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of the strange goings on a few feet outside in their garden. However, when one of the men kicked in their back door, their troubles began with a start. “Did you hear something, Laurel?” said Mrs Privet, sitting up in bed, her ears cocked. “No, go to sleep,” Mr Privet mumbled. Mrs Privet lay back in her warm bed, trusting in her husband’s reassuring words. Clump, clump, clump, Mrs Privet’s ear cocked again. She heard the sound of heavy footsteps, downstairs, tramping across her polished floorboards, knocking things over and throwing them about, in their search for the troublesome girl, Harry. Prodding her husband, she said, “Laurel, there is someone downstairs, I am sure of it!” “I already told you,” he mumbled, “there’s no one there. Now go to sleep, will you?” With those words Mr Privet fell asleep, again. There was another clump, a much louder one, like the sound a television set would make if tossed into the corner of a room. Prodding her husband for a third time, Mrs Privet insisted that there was someone below.
“It’s probably Harry, getting up early, to make another one of her radios,” Mr Privet mumbled sleepily. “LAUREL, GET UP!” his wife hissed, hoping the house invaders might hear her, and thus go. He got up; Mr Privet finally dragged himself out of bed. After donning his dressing gown and slippers he sleepily opened the bedroom door and promptly jumped back in fright. A bearded man dressed in long robes was staring in at him, and he was wielding a small stick in a most threatening manner. “I say, that’s not cricket,” said Mr Privet, eying the diminutive stick with some suspicion. Despite the stick being so small, the man continued to wave it threateningly. Then pushing Mr Privet into the bedroom, he watched blankly as he fell clumsily backwards onto the bed – and his wife. “My,” said Mrs Privet, her eyes opening with excitement, “and it’s not even Sunday.” “Stop that, woman,” he scolded. “We have a problem.” Opening her eyes, Mrs Privet saw the bearded man standing, and she screamed with fright. “They’ve got mum and dad!” Box yelled. “I’ve got to go up and help them!” The flying carpet, which had been circling overhead, suddenly changed course and began descending. “Now see what you’ve done,” Harry hissed. “What I’ve done? How did you work that out?” There were no more screams heard from the Privet’s household, Mrs Privet and her husband, having been tied up and gagged by the bearded men who had invaded their home, were in no position to do anything. Having had a bad experience with a wand many years earlier, Mr Privet now hated them. He was convinced they were detrimental to one’s health. Staring despairingly at the two men, he would have gladly kicked himself if he had been
able, having failed miserably to recognise the stick for what it really was – a magical wand, albeit a very one. While keeping an eye fixed firmly on the flying carpet that was still descending, Harry said, “We’ve only a minute, at best. We must leave NOW.” She began dragging the carpet from under the rhubarb, to a clear bit of lawn. “We can’t just leave them,” said Box, fretting for his parents. “We must do something!” “Well...” Harry mused, mulling it over. “I suppose we could use my new wand… considering we’re leaving.” She watched as the carpet above continued to lose height. “Use it then, USE IT,” Box pleaded. “All right, but get on the carpet, like me,” she said, sitting cross-legged upon the frayed article. It was a tight squeeze, Box having such long legs and all, but in the end he managed to tuck himself behind his troublesome cousin. “Now what?” he asked, listening for signs of life from his home. There were none. “Just a few words should do it,” Harry whispered. “Say them, SAY THEM!” Producing her newfangled electro magical wand, waving it from left to right and then left again, harry said; “Loosen up the cords that tie, free those souls from binds so tight.” “Is that it? No flames or floods or pestilence, just a few words?” Box asked, brutally disappointed with the performance. “It’s best that way,” she said. Then with another wave of her wand, she said, “Up, up and away.” With those words having been said, the threadbare old carpel began trembling, shaking and quivering in a most alarming manner. Then raising from the ground it shot off heading straight for the back door of the house. “What are you doing?” Box yelled. “Hold on,” she shouted, “it’s been a while since I used one of these...” “A while? How long is a while?”
“Like – never?” Harry coyly admitted. The man on the carpet above, spotting the commotion below, set off in hot pursuit. Bursting through the caved in door, the magical carpet, with Harry and Box sitting cross-legged atop, shot into the kitchen at breakneck speed, then down the hallway as equally fast before smashing through the front door and into the garden. The old door was shattered to pieces, with splinters of wood flying about everywhere. Seeing the man on his carpet fast approaching, Box yelled, “Go in, go back inside!” Steering the carpet like crazy, Harry guided it into the house. Whizzing its way through the debris-strewn sitting room the old carpet gave them the ride of their life, followed closely behind by the pursuing carpet and its bearded and angry occupant. Exiting the sitting room Harry turned her carpet a sharp right, into the front room, the room where Mrs Privet’s beloved hand-painted fine bone china resided. In a blaze of anger, the bearded man, now wielding a sword, steered his into the same small room. As each carpet vied for supremacy, flying round and round, they did as much damage, if not more, than the two other men had perpetrated, earlier. With a growing dexterity Harry guided their carpet safely out from the room, just as the other one collided with the cabinet containing Mrs Privet’s precious china, smashing it all to pieces, and thankfully knocking the man out in the process. Without wasting even a second, Harry steered her carpet up the stairs so fast Box almost slid off, in fright. On reaching the landing, the magical carpet smashed through the door of the Mr and Mrs Privet’s bedroom, then colliding head-on with the two men lurking inside, it knocked them unconscious. Seeing his father untying himself and spitting out his gag, Box yelled, “Dad, are you all right?” Giggling,” his father replied, “Hmm, another one of Harry’s radios blowing up, if I’m not mistaking. Yes, yes, those radios can be dangerous things, hee, hee.” Turning to Harry, Box asked, “What’s wrong with him?” “Shock, seen it before – in Hagswords…”
Turning to his wife, helping to free her hands, Mr Privet said, “Come on, dear, I think the vicar’s coming to tea this evening, and you promised to make him some of your special scones, hee, hee.” His wife, however, said nothing; she just sat there on the floor, her eyes glazed over, listening to strange voices inside her head, telling her that everything was going to be all right, but only if she kept on listening to them…
Chapter Seven A Train to Catch Box didn’t like the idea of leaving his parents, but he knew that if they were to have any hope of ever returning to something resembling their previous, quietly lived lives, he had to. Thankfully, Harry had already dispatched the bearded men to a place where she said they would be safely contained, until everything was sorted. Box wondered what that actually entailed. Then casting it to the back of his mind, for his own sanity as much as for concern for the men, he went along with his cousin’s instructions… High above the clouds, travelling fast on the moth-eaten magical old carpet, looking over his shoulder watching his home disappear into the distance, Box felt a tang of regret that Harry, his troublesome cousin, had ever escaped from her special boarding school. During the following hour neither of the carpet’s two occupants said anything, preferring, instead, to catch up with their thoughts on all that had happened, and on everything that might happen in their quest to secure the item Harry had left at school. When the carpet began slowing, Box tapped Harry on the shoulder, asking, “What’s happening?” Harry made no reply; she just continued to sit cross-legged, steely eyed in her determination to carry out and succeed in her objective. As the carpet began to lose height, everything below them began to grow bigger and bigger. Enthralled, Box imagined he might reach out and touch the trees, the houses – everything. “Careful,” Harry warned, “or you might fall off.” “Are we landing?” he asked, hoping for a reply, this time round. Harry nodded. Then it hit him; with a jolt Box realised they were flying over the very heart of the city, smack bang over the centre of London, and he asked, “Why here, in the thick of it all?” Without offering a word of explanation, Harry pointed to a sprawling
timeworn old building below. “Is that a railway station, Box asked, screwing up his eyes, trying to get a better look. “It’s Euston,” she replied. “We have a train to catch…” Losing height, flying through a discreet opening in the station’s roof, the carpet landed them safely on the concourse, where no one paid them the slightest bit of attention. Folding the carpet, as her shocked cousin marvelled at the bustling station and their unusual means of entry to it, Harry carefully returned it to the safety of her bag, “Why have we stopped here?” Box asked. “Why didn’t we travel all the way by carpet? And where are you going?” Without answering him (Box felt a growing sense of unease at this treatment), Harry began walking along the concourse, with a confidence that told him she knew exactly where she was going. “Well?” Stopping, turning to face him, she said, “Do I always have to explain ever last detail – everything that I do?” Having been put firmly in his place, Box said no more on the subject, leaving the matter of transport and its associated arrangements to his troublesome cousin. Walking ahead of Box, Harry didn’t stop for until she was directly beneath the huge clock at the station’s centre. Then turning a sharp right (again in complete silence) she made her way across to one of the tickets counters. Opening her shoulder bag, Harry withdrew her purse and took out another one of the golden coins, which she duly pushed across the counter. “Two platform tickets, please, and you can keep the change,” she said. Inspecting the coin with incredulity, the woman slid it into her pocket, before opening her own bag and buying the ticket with her money. “There you are,” she said, handing Harry the two tickets. “And have a nice day.” Harry led the way, retracing her steps across the concourse, towards the ticket barrier at platform thirteen. The woman behind the ticket counter, taking another look at the golden coin, bit it, to prove to herself that it was actually real. “I know you don’t like me asking questions...” said Box, as he faithfully followed his troublesome cousin. “I mightn’t have to ask you so many, if you were more forthcoming with information.” Totally ignoring him, Harry continued walking.
“Well?” said Box, flapping his arms against his sides, in utter frustration with his cousin. Harry stopped, pointing to a sign, she said, “Read that.” “Platform thirteen, it says platform thirteen.” “Then that’s where we’re going,” she replied, making her way to the ticket barrier, where a kindly looking old man of African origin was standing. “What have we got here?” the man asked as they approached him. “Two train spotters?” “Yea, something like that,” Harry replied. “Come on,” the man called to Box, “or she’ll see all the best engines before you do.” Clipping their tickets, he welcomed them onto the platform. “The sign, back there, said this train is going to Argyle,” said Box, “and we have only got platform tickets?” Harry, however, ignoring him yet again, beat a path down the platform like her life depended on it. “Harry!” Box anxiously called out, but she never heard him; she was simply too far ahead. Running, Box tried to catch up, he really did. He ran fast, hard, trying to catch up with his troublesome cousin, Harry. Nearing the end of the platform he had almost down it. But then he stopped, shocked by what he saw. Despite being so perilously close to the end of the platform, Harry was still marching at full pelt. Puffing and panting, Box yelled, “Harry, what on earth are you doing?” But she never stopped, and she slipped off the end of the platform disappearing from sight. Reaching the end of the platform, Box searched desperately to find Harry, but she was nowhere to be seen – not anywhere. “Did you see her?” Box asked an old man, a porter who was shuffling past. “See who?” the man replied. “Harry – a girl,” Box shouted, in sheer in desperation. “It’s a funny name for a girl,” the porter replied as cool as a cucumber before walking away. “But, but did you see her?”
“I saw nuthin’,” he said. “I keeps to m’self, I dus. Don’t get into any trouble that way.” The old man wandered off down the platform, without uttering another word to Box. Box was stumped; how could Harry have disappeared, vanished without a trace? Scratching his head in frustration, he racked his brains, trying to work out what could have happened to his troublesome and increasingly annoying cousin. It took him a while, walking up and down that platform like a boy demented, trying to solve the puzzle of his missing cousin. In the end – and it was the only thing that he was able to come up with – he decided to emulate Harry’s actions, by simply walking off the end of the platform, to see what happens. It was scary, those last few seconds, before walking off the end of the platform. But without anything better to do, without anything more concrete to follow, to find her, Box gritted his teeth, and he went for it. “Hey, what are you doing?” shouted the man; the same old man Box had been speaking to. “I said, hey!” the porter shouted again, as he watched Box march defiantly off the end of the platform. Then his jaw dropped, it dropped in sheer disbelief by what he saw… You see, as Box walked off the end of the platform, he didn’t fall helplessly to the ground. No. What happened was something far different. Something incredibly amazing happened to Box; he simply continued walking, his whole body tuning like the hand on a clock, swivelled round until he was standing upside down on a another platform directly beneath the one he had just left. And once he was there he had no feelings of being upside down, none at all, and because everything else was on that same plane he soon forgot about this ‘encumbrance’. Meanwhile, up above, the old man, the porter, mumbled to himself, “I saw nuthin’ No. Nothin’ at all… I won’t be getting m’self into any trouble that way…” “You took you time getting here,” said Harry, her hands resting on her hips showing her displeasure at Box’s late arrival. “But–” said Box, trying to explain what had happened. “No ifs or buts,” said Harry. “Come on, we have a train to catch.”
Only then did Box notice the gleaming blue locomotive standing in full glorious steam alongside the platform. Although Harry had soon advanced several paces ahead of him, Box never even noticed. Thinking she was still there, Box said, “That’s the Mallard, the fastest steam locomotive – ever!” Admiring the quality workmanship of such a fine the engine, Box ran his fingers ever so delicately along the smooth flowing lines of his all-time favourite steam locomotive. “Are you going to stay there all day?” Harry shouted from the door of the second carriage. Looking up, seeing her waving, Box replied, “No, sorry, I was just admiring her.” “Who?” “Oh, never mind,” he said, knowing only too well that girls don’t feel the same way over such things. “Are we getting on?” he asked. “That was the general idea,” she replied, disappearing through the doorway as she spoke. Box stepped up and into the black painted carriage. Inside, the train was fabulous. It was like walking onto the set of the movie ‘Murder on the Orient Express’, like returning to the heyday of the Victorian era. There was so much to see, Box didn’t know which way to look first. “Wow,” he said, spotting the beautiful stained glass panels dividing the carriage into comfortable, useable sections. Tracing a hand along an exquisitely etched mirror, Box marvelled at the fine craftsmanship. Spotting a beautiful Queen Anne chair, Box was just about to sit down, to try it for comfort, when Harry said, “What are you doing?” Leaving the chair, Box followed Harry to the far end of the carriage, where, pointing to some seats half hidden by a stained glass topped panel, she said, “We sit here.” Taking a seat, a comfortable well upholstered armchair, Box let out a sigh, and said, “If someone had told me a few weeks ago, that I would be sitting here, on a train headed up by the famous Mallard, in – where are we anyhow? – I would have told them they were stark raving mad. But look at me, I am here, and I’m not mad, am I?”
Ignoring his references to madness, Harry said, “We are in England, of course.” Raising an eyebrow, Box replied, “Yes, it’s England all right, but not the England that I know, the England where I grew up.” Having no intention of being drawn any further than she was comfortable with, Harry said, “We all live in a world, the views of which can be clouded...by eyes that see so differently... This,” she said waving her arm in front of her, “is how we see it.” “We?” “Yes, we mystics and magicians…” “Oh, I had almost forgotten about them– and us, me, being – what was that word you used?” “Muddle.” That’s it, Muddle. What does it mean, anyhow?” This time it was Harry who raised an eyebrow, and in her characteristically blunt manner, she said, “We call you lot Muddles, because that is what you are so good at – getting yourselves in a muddle. Box felt quite hurt by this cruel observation and he gave her a most disapproving look. Harry, however, never even noticed it. The train shuddered, lurching backwards and forewords. “Right on time,” said Harry, eying the platform clock through the carriage window. The train lurched again, and excited talking could be heard amongst the occupants of the carriage. Peeping out, above the screen, Box once again found himself wondering why everyone was wearing such an old style of clothing. “Are you hungry, Box?” Harry asked when the train finally began moving. “Am I hungry? I could eat a horse,” he enthused, suddenly spotting a horse walking past the carriage window. “Be careful of what you wish for, while you are here,” Harry warned, “or you might just get it.” Then standing up, she said, “Follow me.” Following his cousin, Box made his way through the connecting door leading to the next carriage, and once he was through it he was astonished to see an entirely different set of furnishings and décor therein – a fabulous art deco style.
And even more surprising, he noticed that everyone within with this carriage was dressed in the corresponding style of clothing. Despite their clothing being so different, no one paid Harry or Box the slightest bit of attention. In silence, Harry continued through to the end of the carriage where she opened the door and passed through it. Box dutifully followed. When he entered the next carriage, and saw the tables and chairs before him, Box said, “Now this is more like it – the buffet carriage.” Quite a few people were already there, seated at tables, being waited upon by men in black trousers, black ties and snowy white shirts. One of them, an extraordinary man with two noses, approached Harry, and asked, “A table for two, Madam?” “Yes,” Harry replied, “And by the window, if that’s possible.” Hearing this, Box was astonished by Harry’s good manners, and especially so to a man with two noses. After they were seated at their table, and the waiter had gone to allow them time to study the menu, Box said, “Did you see that? Two noses, no less!” Giving him an icy cold stare, Harry replied, “He’s a waiter, all waiters here have two noses.” “All the better to smell the food with?” Box suggested, laughing out loud. “Yes, as it so happens, that’s right,” Harry explained. “There’s never a piece of bad food passes one of their noses.” Box laughed again; he couldn’t help it he just had to laugh. For the first time in her life, Harry saw the funny side of being endowed with two noses, and she also laughed. When the waiter returned, he asked Harry if she had decided what to order. “Madam,” he asked, his pen and notepad at the ready, his two noses twitching, “have you made your selection?” Seeing this, the two noses twitching in unison, Box burst out laughing. Puzzled by his behaviour, the waiter gave Box a bewildered look. Ignoring her cousin’s bad manners, Harry gave the waiter her order, and without as much as a ‘by your leave’, she said, “My friend, here, will have the same as me.” The man bowed and made his way to the kitchen in the next carriage. “That’s not fair,” Box groaned, “I don’t even know what you’ve ordered.”
“Just pray that it isn’t snake,” she replied dryly. While he was waiting for his meal to arrive (whatever it might be), Box looked out the carriage window, to the rolling countryside that he so loved. Every time he saw it, each and every time without fail, he made a promise to himself, that one day, when he was older; he would buy a little house in the country and settle down in a rural idyll. Pushing a small trolley ahead of him, the two-nosed man returned with their meal. After smiling peculiarly at Box he began unloading its contents onto their table. Box watched in growing amazement as dish after dish was spread out before them. “Is all of this for us?” he asked in wonderment. Harry nodded. When he had finished transferring the food from his trolley to their table, the waiter leaned over the table, his two noses twitching like mad. “What’s he doing?” Box whispered, trying his best not to laugh again. “Smelling it, of course,” Harry explained. “But I was only joking…when I said that…” “I told you to be careful of what you wished for – remember?” When he had finished eating (and it was most definitely not snake) Box pushed his plate to one side. Then raising his cut crystal glass, he swigged back the last of the ice-cold water the waiter had so thoughtfully provided. Seeing this the waiter returned, and he asked, “Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?” “Everything was perfect, just perfect” said Box. “In fact I’d go so far as to say it was the best meal I’ve ever had.” Hearing this, the waiter smiled at Box in the same peculiar way as before, but this time and he kept on smiling. Unnerved by this behaviour, Box whispered to Harry, “What’s he waiting for? Harry, however, said nothing.
Guessing that he was waiting for a tip, Box searched through his trouser pockets for some money. “Ah, have some,” he said triumphantly, withdrawing a handful of loose change. “Here you are, my man,” he said, dropping a variety of coins onto the silver coloured trolley. Leaning over the trolley, the waiter’s two noses began twitching, inspecting the money. Then he began shouting and roaring, saying, “I have never been so insulted in all my life! Never!” “What’s the matter?” Box asked him, shocked that his kind gesture had been so misconstrued. Giving him a look that would curdle butter, the waiter tentatively picked up one of the coins like it was contaminated or, worse still, radioactive. “This,” he said disdainfully. “This ‘Muddle money’ – you insult me with it…” Having no other kind of money to offer, Box felt so very small. “Give him this,” Harry whispered, handing Box a couple of gold coins. Box cautiously offered the coins. Although readily accepting them, the waiter bit each coin in turn, before giving Box another one of his odd smiles before he finally departed. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Harry said, “Let that be a lesson to you.” Box said nothing; he was simply too shocked by what he had witnessed, to speak. “Come on, let’s get back to our seat,” said Harry, chuckling away to herself. Returning to their seats, the two cousins found drinks awaiting them on the small table between them. Picking up one of the glasses, smelling the cloudy white coloured liquid, Box asked, “What’s this?” “Complimentary drinks,” said Harry. “Hmm, okay, I’ll go along with that, but what actually is it?” Grinning again, Harry said, “Taste it.” Box stared into the glass, afraid. “Go on,” she insisted, “You won’t be disappointed.” “You go first.”
“All right, if you’re that paranoid I will,” she said, taking hold of her glass and knocking back its contents. Feeling rather stupid, at being afraid of a complimentary drink, Box, following her example, also knocked his back in the one go. And when he had done this he was amazed, he absolutely amazed at the taste; a wonderful flavour exploding on his tongue, like a million bursting bubbles, tasting of mango, chocolate and vanilla. “Wow, that’s fantastic,” he said. “What is it?” “Fizzing Fruit juice drink,” Harry explained. “It’s a local speciality.” An attendant who thankfully had only the one nose appeared, asking, “Was the drink to your satisfaction, sir?” This time an altogether more cautious Box left Harry to do the talking, to thank him. After the attendant was gone, he asked, “How long until we get there, to Hagswords?” Eighteen hours” she replied, her eyes glued to the carriage window, distracted. Eighteen hours?” Box exclaimed. “Where are we going – to Timbuktu?” Harry made no reply; she just continued to stare out through the window. “What are you looking at, anyhow?” Turning to face him, Harry whispered, “Owls…” “Owls? What owls?” Pointing a finger, she said. “Those owls...” Then he saw them, Box saw hundreds of owls winging their way towards the train. “Crikey,” he cried out. “What do they want?” “Me,” Harry replied darkly. “They want me…”
Chapter Eight Owls, Familiars and Necromancers The two cousins, their heads pressed firmly against the windowpane, watched as the owls flew ever closer to the speeding carriage. “How can they fly so fast?” Box asked, in amazement at the speed the birds were so obviously capable of achieving. “Owls are Familiars…” Harry whispered in reply. “Familiars?” “Yes, Familiar Spirits – controlled by Necromancers…” “As in wizards?” Harry nodded. Feeling that he had enough on his plate to contend with, Box thought it best to leave that subject for later. As the owls continued to fly closer, and the threat they posed Harry grew all the greater, Box wondered why the rest of people in the carriage were taking no notice, and he asked, “What’s wrong with these people, anyone would think they can’t see those owls.” “That’s because they can’t,” said Harry. “Those birds,” she pointed at the rapidly approaching owls, “are, like I said, marked for us, for me really, that’s why only we can see them.” “That’s ridiculous,” Box blurted, annoyed at the very suggestion of such an absurdity. “Denial won’t change anything, as much as I’d like it,” said Harry, her eyes following every new move made by the owls. “Okay, then I won’t deny it,” said Box, watching the birds with a growing unease. “But there must be something we can do, to make them go away?” “No,” Harry replied indifferently, “there is absolutely nothing.” “Nothing? Then what happens when they reach the train – and us?”
Replying, and ever so quietly, Harry said, “Watch and find out, because here they come…” No sooner had she finished speaking, the owls, the Familiars, like kamikaze pilots from the Second World War, began hurling themselves against the windowpane, as bird after bird after bird committed suicide, trying to get into the carriage, to Harry. Thump, thump, thump! The owls struck the windowpane with a ferocity, intensity and regularity that showed no signs of abating; hoping that one of them, just one of them made a crack, the first chink in the armour protecting Harry. “We can’t just sit here,” cried Box. “We must do something.” With a crafty smile, Harry withdrew her new wand, and said, “Just because we couldn’t make them go away, doesn’t mean we can’t sort them out, once they have arrived… I think it’s about time we saw what this little beauty,” she stroked her wand, “is capable of doing. Don’t you agree?” Although Box had been so instrumental in its creation, he had completely forgotten about the new wand, but now that she had reminded him, he shouted, “Go on – USE IT!” A man and a woman seated in the next section glanced over the glass divider, wondering why all the shouting. “Sorry,” Box apologised. “Got something caught in my throat.” Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, the couple returned to their conversation. Several owls, smashing simultaneously against the windowpane, caused a small crack to appear. This time, and despite still feeling so threatened, Box spoke calmly, and he said, “I think you’ll find the third button to be quite useful.” Waving the wand from left to right and then left again, Harry said, “Abracadabra.” With that a wave of raw energy shot out from the wand, causing the windowpane to disappear. A blast of icy cold wind shot through the opening and into the carriage, but despite this encumbrance the two cousins held firm in their resolve. Speaking again, Harry repeated the same words, but this time pressing the third button, “Abracadabra.” A wave of intense blue light, shot out from the wand, through the newly created opening, searching for every living creature within a radius of one hundred yards. The birds, the Familiars, struck squarely fell dead to the ground.
“Wow, now that’s what I call impressive!” said Box, quite chuffed with his creation and what it was so obviously capable of doing. Harry offered him a weak smile. Suddenly, a Familiar, an owl that the wand had been unable to touch (it had been out of range at the time), flying in through the window, made a beeline for Harry and began attacking her with a terrible vengeance. This attack was so ferocious so formidable she was unable to hold onto her wand, and she dropped it to the floor. Without it Harry was helpless against the vicious Familiar Spirit. Making a dart for the wand, Box grabbed hold of it and pressed the second button. Huge flames, like the ones his father had inadvertently produced, earlier, shot out from the wand, towards the dangerous bird – and also Harry. Squawking, screeching, hissing its displeasure the owl fell to the floor, burnt to a cinder. Breathing in deeply, Harry struggled to catch her breath, to recover almost as much from the flames as the attack of the killer bird. Shaking with fright, Box asked, “Are you all right?” ”Yeh, I think so,” she replied, giving the remains of the bird a little kick. Then retrieving her wand she waved it, saying, “Arbadacarba.” With that the missing windowpane returned and the scratches and injuries she had just received vanished without trace. “Do you think we have seen the last of them?” Box asked, staring across the countryside for birds, owls or otherwise. “Hardly,” she replied ominously. “I fear that was only the beginning...” As he stared into the landscape, a land so familiar and yet so different, Box’s thoughts turned to the words Harry spoke whenever she used the wand, and he said, “I’ve been thinking…” “A Muddle, thinking?” she laughed. Ignoring the snide remark, Box continued, “I’ve been thinking about the words you say, when you use your wand. I hope you don’t take offence, when I say this, but aren’t they a little bit corny?” “Corny? Why?” “For God’s sake,” he continued, “abracadabra is used by every tin pot magician up and down the country.”
Raising both of her eyebrows this time, Harry said, “Just because they happen to use the same words that I do, does that make them any less magical?” “Well…” said Box struggling to find an answer. Harry continued, “Have you never wondered where words such at those came from, where they actually originated?” “No,” he admitted in a mumble. “I will tell you, for all the good it might do, you being a Muddle and all that,” she said, reverting to her more usual manner that Box had dared hope might be on the wane. “These ‘corny’ words,” she said coldly, “as you so thoughtlessly put it, have been handed down – for generations. And while I might not be in agreement with those controlling institutions, such as Hagswords, I do understand the power of the words they use.” “Oh,” Box mumbled again. “And if I have your permission? I will now give you a demonstration!” “Yes, please,” Box mumbled even humbler than before. Withdrawing her wand, Harry tapped it on the table, and said, “Hey Presto.” The table instantly disappeared. “Wow, I see what you mean!” “Do you?” she asked, eying him with some disdain. Then waving her wand again, in the space where the table had been, she said, “Otserp Yeh.” With those words spoken the table dutifully returned. “Wow!” Box cried out in amazement, and especially so at the simplicity of it all. “And you never even used any of the buttons!” “No – none,” Harry said frostily. Continuing with her demonstration, Harry waved the wand close to Box, almost touching his face, but this time she said, “Hocus-Pocus.” Waiting for something to happen, but seeing nothing, Box said, “Nothing happened!” “Are you sure?” she asked, folding her arms with a sense of growing satisfaction.
Looking around, in case something had happened that he had missed, Box was as puzzled as before, because nothing seemed different. He was stumped, so he said, “Yes, I am sure of it.” Without betraying any sign of emotion, Harry said, “Look at your reflection in the windowpane.” Gazing at his reflection, Box jumped back in fright, horrified to see that he, like the smiling waiter in the buffet carriage, had two noses. “Get rid of them!” he bellowed. “GET RID OF THEM!” The nearby couple, looking over their divider, tried to see what all the fuss was about. Sliding down in his chair, Box avoided their gaze. Whispering, he said, “All right, Harry, you have made your point. Now, will you please return my original nose – and only the one, mind you?” Laughing, Harry waved her wand, saying, “Sucop-Sucoh.” “Is it done? Have you changed it?” he asked, afraid that she hadn’t, that she was still teasing him. Returning the wand to the safety of her pocket, Harry said, “Why don’t you take a look for yourself?” Studying his reflection Box was relieved to see that his original nose had returned, and having thus learnt a valuable lesson, he humbly mumbled a ‘thanks’. “Pardon?” “I said, thanks, okay?” “Yes, it’s fine,” said Harry, her frosty tone of voice beginning to thaw. For a while the two cousins said nothing more; Box preferring to keep his thoughts to himself, and Harry keeping hers set on the task ahead. As daylight faded Box began twisting and turning in his armchair, trying to get as comfortable as was possible for the approaching hours of darkness. Placing his feet onto the small table that he had pulled up in front of him, he closed his eyes and tried to settle down and get some much-needed sleep. Giving her cousin a most peculiar look, Harry asked, “What are you doing?” Opening an eye, Box replied, “I’m trying to get some sleep.” Standing up, she said, “Not here, come on we have a sleeping compartment.”
Opening his other eye, Box asked, “Really?” Without bothering to reply, Harry made her way through the connecting door of the carriage. In his rush to follow her, Box fell out of his armchair, banging his head sharply on the small table. Rubbing his head, he opened the door and followed Harry through to the next carriage. Once again admiring the furnishings of this carriage, Box was undecided which of the two styles he preferred – Victorian or Art Deco, then seeing his cousin passing through the connecting door he quickened his step. The next carriage, the buffet, was deserted, and the two cousins passed through it without comment. “This is where we sleep,” Harry explained, opening the door to their sleeping compartment, when Box finally caught up with her. “Go on,” she said, “After you.” Inside, there were two bunks; Box chose the top one. After taking off his shoes and socks, he climbed the narrow ladder and slipped beneath the freshly laundered sheets, instantly falling fast asleep. Lying in her bunk, beneath, Harry remained awake, on guard against possible attack. When Box next awoke it was still dark, and the train was trundling along the tracks, through the inky depths of the night, to a place that he knew without a shadow of a doubt was going to be, at best, different and, at worst, extremely dangerous. “Are you awake?” he called down. “Yes,” Harry replied in a voice so quiet Box thought she feared someone was listening. “Can I ask you a question?” “Go on.” “It’s about those Necro – what was it you called them?” “Necromancers.” “Yeh, that’s it,” he said. “I know it means wizards, but can you tell me a bit more, like why they are so intent on stopping you, dead or alive?” For a while Harry remained silent, as she chose her words carefully, seeking enough to keep Box onside, but not enough to allow him a full grasp of her plans.
When she replied, she said, “Necromancer is, as you have already surmised, a fancy name for wizard…” “But what exactly are these Necromancers?” Box asked, “And why are they so desperate to get you?” There was another pause, before Harry said, “It’s like I told you – I left something behind.” “But what was it? – You never did tell me!” “It’s no concern of yours,” she replied abruptly, “Go back to sleep, we have a long day ahead of us.” After that Harry remained silent. Box did try speaking again, but she totally ignored him. “Wake up sleepy head,” said Harry, poking her whimpishly thin cousin in the ribs. “It’s time to get up.” “W, what happened?” Box mumbled, still half asleep. “I said it’s time to get up.” “What time is it?” “Five thirty.” “Five thirty?” Box bemoaned. “I need more sleep! Give me another thirty minutes I’ll be all right by then.” “No, I won’t!” she scolded. “We will have arrived at our destination by then.” “At six o’clock?” “Yes, I did tell you yesterday evening. Can’t you Muddles remember anything?” With that she opened the compartment door, saying, “I’ll see you in the buffet car.” As the door banged closed, Box jumped out of bed, forgetting that he was in the top bunk. Slamming hard into the floor, he cried out, “Argh! What else can happen to me?”
Chapter Nine Hagswords Bound After a most enjoyable breakfast of kippers, freshly baked bread and creamy smooth butter, washed down with lashings of piping hot tea, the speed of the train began to slow. The waiter, the same two-nosed man who had served them the evening before, came over, and asked, “Was everything to your satisfaction?” “Yes it was wonderful,” Box reassured him. Turning to Harry, the man offered her the same peculiar smile that had so unnerved Box at dinner the evening before, and thus begun that unfortunate incident. Offering him two gold coins, she said, “Thank you, and hopefully we will be seeing you again in the near future.” Taking the money, the waiter cleared the table, bowed, and left them. Watching a gloriously red sun inch its way slowly above the horizon, Box gazed onto the landscape, realising how high they had travelled during the night, above the tree line, where the only things growing were gorse and peculiar, blue coloured shrubs. Turning to Harry, he asked, “What are they?” “What are what?” “Those shrubs,” he said, returning his gaze to the outside. The shrubs, however, were gone, replaced by the concrete and tar macadam of the approach to the station. “Oh, never mind,” he muttered. When the train had come to a halt, Harry opened the door and jumped down to the platform. Box, however, took an altogether more cautious approach, negotiating the steps like his life depended on it. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, bemused by Box’s peculiar behaviour. “I’m not taking any more chances,” he replied, “I’ve had enough falls of late to last me a lifetime. A jet of steam shooting out from beneath the carriage scared Box and he jumped high into the air. Harry laughed.
Waving his green flag, the guard at the far end of the train awaited the engine driver’s reply. Hearing it, a shrill toot on the whistle, he stepped into the carriage, closed the door and disappeared from sight. As the train pulled away from the station, and it was a considerably small station, Box admired his favourite steam locomotive as it hauled the shiny black carriages away into the misty distance. Then noticing that no one else had alighted, he asked, “Are we the only ones?” Looking up and down the lonely platform, Harry said, “It looks like it, but wasn’t Hagswords always an unpopular spot?” “Was it?” Box asked quietly, hoping she didn’t answer, thinking it perhaps better that way. Exiting the eerily silent platform, Box wondered at the lack of station personnel, the people who attended the day-to-day activities of running such a place. “Where is everyone?” he asked, “You know, the workers?” “There are here, of course,” Harry replied, rather surprised that he had asked such a nonsensical question. Then remembering that he was a ‘silly muddle’, she said, “You might think you see no one, but look again, really concentrate – you will see them.” He tried, Box really tried to believe her, and to see them, but he was still unable to see anyone. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t see one living person.” “Then try looking for those who aren’t living,” she replied matter-of-factly, like it was nothing unusual. “Not living?” “Yes, we’re not in your world now,” she explained. “Look again, and then tell me what you see.” Looking again, but with new eyes, Box soon spotted an old man whom he presumed was the ticket collector. Touching the peak of his cap, the man approached him and said, “Good morning, sir, can I be of any assistance to you?” Another man, dressed in an altogether more grand uniform (Box was sure he was the stationmaster), appeared, and coming over to them, he said, “Mr Spectre, is everything all right?” “Yes, sir,” the ticket collector replied, “I was just about to help these souls on their way.”
“Good,” the stationmaster replied. “We don’t want anymore lost souls around here, we have far too many as it is.” Having said that, he retired to his office where the sound of sombre music could be heard playing. While Harry produced the two platform tickets for inspection, Box whispered to himself, “What sort of a place is this?” Inspecting the tickets, the collector said, “Ah, so you’re from Muddleland. It’s a queer time to be going to Hagswords. Don’t you know that term began some time ago?” Ignoring his remark, Harry said, “Will you please clip our tickets and let us be on our way?” Chastised, the man duly clipped the tickets and bid them good day. As they departed the station, Box glanced back at it, over his shoulder, and he was sure that he could see people, faces, staring out from each and every window of the old building. “Harry,” he said. “You will never guess what I have just seen.” Harry, however, was already halfway down the road, well out of earshot. “Hold on, wait for me,” Box shouted as he began running after her. When he caught up with his fast walking and troublesome cousin, Box asked, “How far is it?” “How far is what?” she replied obscurely. “Hagswords, of course.” Stopping, Harry pointed to a far-off mountaintop, and said, “That far.” “Oh,” he said, daunted at the prospect of having to walk such a great distance. Then remembering the flying carpet, he said, “Have you forgotten about your magical carpet?” Stopping again, Harry studied her Muddle-born cousin, like he was something that got stuck to her shoe. Unnerved, Box asked, “What’s wrong?” “You are,” she complained. Then she added, “Do you think I am stupid?” “No,” he mumbled, his face dropping from the onslaught of such harsh words. “I was just wondering…”
Seeing his hurt, she said, “All right, perhaps I was being a bit hard on you. Come on, it’s a long way. I’ll explain as we go…” As they rambled along the deserted road, the two cousins said more to each other during the following hour than they had said during their entire lives up until then. They spoke about Hagswords; Box about his concerns of what they might find when they got there, and Harry about her wishes to remain there for as short a time as possible. They also told each other some quite personal things that neither of them had confided with anyone before. Box told Harry all about his love of electronics, about his utter fascination with everything electrical, and his hopes that one day he could pursue a career in that field – perhaps even melding it with his newfound interest in magic? Harry, on the other hand, despite holding back from telling him her full plans, her real plans regarding the item she claimed to have left at school, did tell him about some of the things which had moulded her into the person she was today. After hearing this Box felt an understanding, a sense of sympathy with his troublesome cousin that he had up until then believed impossible. “Well, that’s about it, cousin,” said Harry, signalling the end of their little talk. “We can’t use the flying carpet, for fear of being spotted.” “But if they know we were on that train,” Box asked, “why don’t they simply send more owls to finish us off?” Regarding the sky, Harry replied, “Remember what I told you; be careful of what you say…” Ducking, Box whispered, “Are they coming – the owls?” “No, I think you got away with it this time,” she laughed. Then hearing a noise, she turned round and saw a cart coming in their direction. “Quick!” she ordered. “Get your thumb up.” “Like in thumbing for a lift?” “Exactly like thumbing for a lift,” she said, raising hers. Pulling hard on the reins, an old man, sitting high atop an equally old cart, said, “Whoa, whoa.” The cart, pulled by six enormous shire horses, came to a halt. Removing his glasses from where they were perched precariously on his craggy
old nose, the man attempted to clean them in his grimy shirt before returning them to the same precarious position atop his nose. Having done that, he said, “Hello there.” “Hello,” said Harry in her sweetest tone of voice. “Are you heading anywhere near Hagswords?” “Students? You’re a bit late for Hagswords,” he said, taking off his glasses again, and examining them closely. “I could never see through these. I don’t know why I bother wearing them.” “Do you mind if I take a look?” Harry asked, smiling serenely. Passing her his spectacles, the man said, “I think they’re way past fixing. Too many scratches on ‘em, I’m afraid. I’ve just gotta face up to the fact that I need a new pair.” Without letting him see what she was actually doing, Harry, withdrawing her wand, said ever so quietly, “Erotser selcatceps.” Returning the glasses to him, she said, “Try them now.” Balancing them upon his weathered old nose, the man said, “Why, that’s wonderful – they’re as good as new. Thanks, thanks a lot. Come on, climb up, you just earned yourselves a free ride to school.” Perched high on the cart, in the back, amongst the many bales of saved hay, Harry and Box settled down for the slow journey ahead. You see, while known and universally respected for their immense strength, shire horses are sadly lacking when it comes to speed – their journey to Hagswords, though assured, was certainly going to be slow. It was also dull, because the driver, with his newly repaired glasses, had no interest in talking; he was far too busy marvelling at everything around him, things that he hadn’t seen clearly for many a long year. And although this suited Harry and, to a point, Box they eventually bored with the monotony of the journey and both of them fell fast asleep. Awakening with a start, feeling the cart travelling faster than before, much faster than shire horses are comfortable with, Box instinctively knew that something was
terrible wrong. Feeling every bump, every pothole in the road, he looked for Harry, but he couldn’t see her, not anywhere, and he shouted, “Harry, where are you?” “I’m up here,” she yelled. Looking up, to where the old man had previously been sitting, Box saw Harry struggling with the reins as she tried to control the panicking horses. Scrambling his way through the falling, tumbling bales, Box made his way up front, where he joined Harry on the bench seat. The old man was there, lying at her feet, his face scratched almost beyond recognition. “What happened to him?” he asked. Harry glanced skyward. She said nothing. She had no need to, for the owls, hurtling down for another attack, said it all. “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Box yelled. “You must have really pissed someone off!” Attacking, the owls dive-bombed the cart, relinquishing their lives to stop the renegade girl mystic A particularly large owl, coming down with all the force of a dive-bomber, struck Box squarely in the chest, almost knocking him off the cart. “Grabbing him, stopping him from falling to the ground, Harry said, “Hold on to the reins, I have an idea…” Another owl, sensing a weakness, struck Box with such fury he almost fell backwards and into the hay. “Hold on,” Harry shouted, as she unfastened the catches on her shoulder bag, taking out the magical carpet and placing it on top of the man’s body under her feet. “Step on it!” she yelled. Box obeyed her without question. Screaming at the top of her voice, Harry said, “Up, up and away.” With that command the threadbare old carpet began trembling, shaking and quivering in a most alarming manner, before flying away from the cart so fast the two cousins were forced to hang on for dear life. As the carpet zoomed high above the cart and the panicking horses, Box watched horrified to see that it was now completely out of control. And he was even more horrified when he saw the owls descending en masse upon it. The old man, if he had still been alive, hadn’t a chance of survival and nor had his horses.
Turning away from the sickening massacre, Harry guided the magical carpet in the direction of Hagswords. Neither Harry nor Box spoke; they were far too repulsed by what they had witnessed for the niceties of conversation‌
Chapter Ten Subterfuge and Some Berries “Down, down, slowly down,” spoke Harry, directing the magical carpet to a secluded spot, a distance from Hagswords. “Why are we stopping here?” Box asked, considering the welfare of his feet over the gravity of their situation. Instead of wasting her time and energy in offering a reply, Harry simply gave him a stern look as she neatly folded the carpet and returned it to her bag. After studying the school for a considerable length of time, Harry said, “We must gain entry, but without being seen.” “That sounds difficult, if not impossible,” Box groaned. “Considering it’s atop such a steep hill.” It was true, sitting there atop a lofty, lonely hill, Hagswords had more in common with a fortified castle that a place of learning. Harry wondered why she had never before noticed this. “There is more than one way of skinning a cat,” Harry whispered, her eyes fixed doggedly on the school. Imagining this scenario, Box squirmed at the thought of some unfortunate cat being skinned. Then returning to the present, he asked, “Well, what’s this plan of yours?” Sitting on the hard, stony ground, behind the cover of a large boulder, Harry said, “The plan, my dear cousin, is to wait until darkness falls. Only then will it be safe to make our first move.” With that she closed her eyes, resting. Gazing into the clear blue sky, again wishing that he had remembered to put on his watch, Box could see, and only too well, that nightfall was still a long way off. So following Harry’s example, he joined her on the ground and took advantage of this opportunity for a much needed rest. He even slept; in fact he slept for several hours, dreaming so many dreams, some good but some bad, horribly bad, especially the one where his face was covered all over with noses. Waking up, shouting, he cried out, “No more noses, no, no! No more noses!”
“Wake up, it’s only a dream,” said Harry. “It was only a dream?” he asked. “But it was so real!” “It was still only a dream,” she insisted. “But I saw all these things… like owls, blood covered faces, trains, magic carpets, and all of those terrible, frightful noses!” Feeling his face, Box was relieved to find that he had only the one nose upon it. “What time do you think it is?” Harry asked. Studying the elevation of the sun, Box replied, “I’d guess it’s well past six. And my growling belly knows that only too well.” “Then let’s see what we can find,” said Harry, standing up and strolling around the immediate area. Spotting a small, blue coloured shrub growing within a crevasse, she said, “Ah, here we are.” Watching with interest, Box said, “That’s what I was asking you about, earlier.” “You were?” “Yes, when we were on the train,” he explained. “What are they?” With a mischievous grin, Harry replied, “They’re called Rub-a-Dubs.” “Rub-a-Dubs, what sort of a name is that?” Box asked, scratching his head. “A silly name?” she said still grinning. “After you have had a taste – and they’re so good – you won’t care what they’re called.” Picking a handful of the small berries that were growing profusely on the plant, she offered them to Box. Inspecting the bright blue coloured berries with even brighter orange stripes running down them, Box fingered them with some suspicion. But he eventually took one, asking, “They are safe?” “As safe as you can expect anything in life to be,” Harry replied nonchalantly. “That’s not much of an answer.” “Go on – try it!” Opening his mouth, Box tentatively placed the berry onto his tongue. At first, the only thing he tasted was something akin to the flavour of a blackberry, but the moment he began chewing it, a fiery, burning sensation erupted from the Rub-aDub, assaulting his taste buds with a vengeance. “It’s burning me!” he cried out, the tears streaming from his eyes. “Water, give me water!”
Laughing, Harry made absolutely no attempt to offer any assistance. On the contrary, she offered Box more berries to eat. “What are you doing?” he gasped, “You must be mad if you think I want some more!” “That’s the only way you can go on to the next stage…” “The next stage?” Box screamed, “The first one is almost killing me! You’re bonkers if you think I’m going to risk eating any more!” “Then you will have to suffer that burning sensation for another hour, perhaps longer.” “And what will I have to suffer if I eat another one – untold pain, maybe?” “No, untold pleasure,” she said quietly. Although his mouth felt like the fires of hell were burning right through it, Box stopped dead in his tracks when he heard this, and he asked, “Untold pleasure?” Harry nodded. “It’s not a drug, is it?” “No, it is not,” she said, hurt that he could think she was capable of having anything to do with so despicable a thing. “Then what is it?” “Try one, and find out, she whispered. “It’s perfectly safe…” “You said something along those lines before I tried the first one,” Box mumbled. Then taking a second berry he popped it into his mouth and began chewing. “Wow!” he exclaimed, “I see what you mean, “Wow, wow, wow!” “Can I take it the burning sensation has eased?” she asked. “Eased? It’s gone! It’s completely gone!” said Box, smiling happily as he chewed on the berry. “It’s been replaced,” he continued, “by a sensation so good, I can’t find words good enough to describe it!” “Untold pleasure?” Harry suggested, reminding him of her previous description. “Yep, that and a whole lot more,” he said, taking another berry and munching away happily on it.
When he had finished all the berries Harry had offered him, and then some, Box said, “I’ll just go get another few. Do you want some?” “No thank you,” she replied. “And you’ve eaten far too many. No more berries for you.” “Why?” he asked, rubbing an itch. “Do I always have to explain everything?” “I only asked why I couldn’t have a few more of those wonderful berries,” he said. Then approaching the bush, he pointed at it, saying, “Look, there are plenty of them left.” Feeling another itch, this time on his leg, just below the knee, Box began scratching it like mad. “ Harry smiled. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, as another even itchier twinge erupted on his chest. “Can’t you see?” she asked. Ripping off his shirt, pulling it right over his head without undoing the buttons, Box began scratching his chest like his life depended on it. Then the penny dropped, and he realised why the plants were called Rub-a-Dubs. “It’s a sideeffect,” he yelled. “Why didn’t you warn me?” “Would you have listened?” Box made no reply, he said no more, but he continued to scratch and to scratch and to scratch… When the itching had finally subsided, Box bemoaned, “That was a very bad joke that you played on me.” “A joke?” Harry replied candidly. “Who’s laughing?” Then changing the subject, she asked, “Are you still hungry?” “No, as it so happens I am feeling perfectly full, thank you very much.” Looking at his wrist, where his watch should have been, he said, “It’s getting late. It will be dark soon.” “It will,” Harry agreed. “And owls, unfortunately, prefer if that way…”
By the time darkness had fallen, enveloping the two cousins within its inky black cocoon, they were fully rested and ready for the off. Box still had no idea what Harry had in mind, to gain access to Hagswords, and to be truthful he harboured some doubts as to her ability to carry it off, if she indeed had a plan at all. Harry, despite having some semblance of a plan, resisted the need to share it, preferring Box to follow her instructions without question. It was a stalemate; neither of the two cousins was prepared to offer their full, unfettered trust and cooperation to the other. This situation, however, was about to change… A thin sliver of moon began to creep over the horizon, beginning its long nocturnal journey through the darkness of the heavens, offering the two cousins a faint, watery light in which to see through. “Come on,” Harry whispered, “it’s time we were off.” Emerging from the shelter of the boulder, Box stumbled, stubbing his foot against a jutting rock. Stifling the urge to cry out, knowing only too well that if they were to have any hope of success, silence was all-important, Box followed Harry. As he wandered along in the near darkness, Box found his thoughts drifting, drifting back to his home, to his beleaguered parents that he still felt so guilty for leaving – especially so considering their delicate state of minds. “I hope they are feeling better,” he whispered, “I really do…” The sliver of moon was a godsend, offering them enough light to make their way safely up the steep hill, towards Hagswords, but not enough to give away their presence. As the two cousins got closer and closer to the seemingly impregnable stonewalls of the old school, which loomed ever higher above them, Box felt impelled to speak, and he said, “Harry, what do we do, when we actually get there? We can’t just knock on the door and ask them to let us in!” As was her way in times such as this, Harry said nothing. Being a loner, she preferred to work things out without the distracting aspects of wasteful speech. Every now and then, Box thought he heard the flutter of wings, signalling the return of the dreaded owls, but, thankfully, nothing materialized. Finally, on reaching the base of the fortress like walls of the school, Box breathed a sigh of relief. “Phew,” he whispered, “I thought we might never get here.”
“Getting here in one thing,” Harry said warily. “But getting inside – and undetected – is another thing altogether.” Box watched as Harry fingered the clasp of her shoulder bag. “Are you going to use the magical carpet?” he asked. “No, that is out of the question,” she whispered coldly. “Unless you want every owl hot on our heels.” Harry continued searching through her bag. “What are you looking for?” Producing a shiny glass marble, Harry showed it to him, saying, “This!” Studying the glass bauble, Box marvelled at the multicoloured lights within. “What is it?” he asked. Wrestling with her thoughts, hoping that she wasn’t divulging too much of her plan, Harry said, “It’s a Philosopher’s Marble…” “A philosopher’s what?” “Marble,” she explained, wondering why Muddles had such difficulty in understanding some things. With eyes glued to the object, Box stretched out his hand, and asked, “Can I hold it?” “No!” she warned slapping it. “No?” “No means no, it’s far too dangerous for the likes of you.” With his eyes still glued to the marble, Box asked, “Where did you get it?” “Never you mind,” she replied tersely. “Your only concern should be of what use it can be.” “Oh,” Box mumbled, “Well, what can it do to help us?” Walking on a bit further, Harry found a secluded part, an alcove cut deep into the wall, safe from prying eyes. Opening her hand, displaying the marble, she said, “It can do this…” The marble began to glow radiantly. “Wow!” said Box, inching away, for fear of being blinded. Thinking there had to be more than just a wonderful light show, he asked, “What is it doing?” “Hmm,” Harry whispered, “Can’t that Muddle brain of yours work out anything?”
Hurt by yet another one of her slants against Muddles, yet also expecting it, Box shrugged it off, and he said, “Can it get us inside?” “Of course it can get us inside,” said Harry. “But the trick, the skill is to achieve this it undetected. Take a look around, will you?” she said. “And make sure no one’s about.” Looking both ways, Box saw no one, not even an owl. “The coast is clear,” he whispered. “All systems are go.” “All systems are go?” said Harry. “What do you mean, all systems are go?” Feeling stupid for having said such a thing, he explained, “It’s something I heard in a movie, once. Forget I ever said it.” “I already have,” she said, cupping the Philosopher’s Marble with both hands and beginning to chant, “Crioninous crionan shraholarman skryolamb, let us into the school select, scryoumeno scry – it’s done!” “What language it that?” “Shush,” Harry chilled, “and watch!” As Box stood there in silence, bathed in the intense light emanating from the Philosopher’s Marble, he thought nothing was happening. Then hearing a sound, a low grating moan, like stone sliding upon stone, he knew that something was indeed beginning to happen. But it was only after the bright light had faded, and the marble returned to its original condition, did he realise what it had done. Rubbing his eyes in amazement, Box saw a breach in the wall. One of the huge stone blocks had slid inwards, allowing them safe passage into Hagswords. Harry stepped through the opening, took a quick glance around to make sure that it was safe to proceed, and then beckoned her cousin to enter. Stepping inside, Box heard the sound of water dripping somewhere in the dark interior. Glowing again, the marble signalled the wall to repair itself. That being done, Harry returned it to the safety of her shoulder bag. Retrieving her wand, she pressed one of the buttons at its base. It glowed brightly, as bright as any light bulb designed by a Muddle. Seeing this, a practical use for his melding of magic and electronics, Box smiled. With light to guide them, the two children could see where they were; a damp, dreary and utterly dismal basement, little more than a dungeon, really.
“Where do we go from here?” Box asked. Raising her eyes, Harry signalled the only way they could go – up.
Chapter Eleven Owl, Owls and Yet More Owls! Because she was a student of Hagswords – even an escaped one – Harry knew her way about the rambling old building, so taking the lead she opened the mouldy old door in the corner and began ascending a spiral staircase behind it. “It’s awfully rusty,” said Box. “Keep close behind me,” Harry ordered, ignoring his remark about rust. And he did, Harry’s Muddling born cousin shadowed her every move until they arrived safely on a small landing. After sweeping away a low-slung cobweb with the back of his hand, Box struggled with its remains. “It’s a dismal old place, isn’t it?” he said, “I’d choose my grammar school, at Gunnersbury, anytime to this dump.” “Appearances can be deceptive,” Harry replied. “Now listen carefully to what I am about to say…” Craning his neck, Box cocked an ear. “Once we have gone through this door,” she pointed to another dilapidated old door in front of them, “we shall be inside the school proper.” “Like in classrooms?” “Yeh, something like that,” she said. “Most of the students should be in their Houserooms by now, but that doesn’t mean we can drop our guard…” “You can depend on me,” Box whispered, “I shan’t be dropping my guard, or anything else for that matter.” “Okay, that’s good,” she said. Then placing a finger over her lips, to show that she required complete silence, Harry took hold of the door handle and began turning it. The door creaked as it opened, and the two cousins, creeping furtively through, entered the school proper. Despite some lights being on, the school was dimly lit, so Harry left her wand glowing. “It’s much nicer in here,” said Box, inspecting the vestibule they had entered. “And look at all of these wonderful paintings, why, they must be worth a small fortune!” For a second time, Harry warned, “Remember, appearances can be deceptive.”
Ignoring her, getting carried away with the moment, Box began ascending a grand staircase, along which so many of the magnificent paintings were mounted. “Look at them,” he whispered, as he inspected the wonderful pictures. And they were indeed wonderful; covering a huge variety of subjects, from portraits to landscapes, from wild life to still life and then so much more. “They are all so lifelike,” he said, amazed at the fine detail they contained. Running his fingers along the surface of one of them, a still life composition of a bowl of fruit, Box was blown away by what he then felt, by what he discovered. As his fingers ran over the picture, stopping at an apple, and a big red one at that, he realised to his utter astonishment that it was real. The apple was so real he grabbed hold of it and removed it from the painting, then giving it a quick rub on his shirtsleeve, he bit into it. “You will never believe what I have just done,” he said, munching on the juicy morsel. Seeing the apple, Harry knew exactly what he had done, and scolding him, she hissed, “Everything we do in life has repercussions, and that, unfortunately, also includes stealing food from paintings.” “What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled by her words. Pointing to the paintings, she said, “Look, look at them again, and tell me what you can see.” Spitting out the juicy morsel, Box’s jaw dropped, and he cried out, “They’re looking at me! Harry, the people, even the animals in the pictures – they’re all staring at me” Stop them, Harry, stop them!” “Only you can do that,” she whispered. “But how?” “By making amends.” “Amends? What amends?” Box asked in his confusion. “Ask them, not me.” “Ask the paintings? Which one?” he pleaded, eying the many faces staring out, and showing their utter displeasure with what he had done. Harry made no reply. Speaking to the paintings, Box apologised, saying, “I, I’m sorry that I took the apple. When I saw it was real, I couldn’t resist it… Is there anything I can do, to make it up to you?”
All the faces, both animal and human, studied Box with an acute interest. Then one of them, an old man dressed in a suit of armour – a knight on horseback, said, “To make amends is no easy matter. In my day, when I was of the outside world, you would have had to fight me in a jousting contest…” “L, like with lances?” Box asked, stuttering nervously. “Yes,” he replied. “And perhaps even to the death…” “T, to the d, death?” “Yes,” he replied, “to the death. However, times have changed since then, and jousting is no longer an option.” “What is?” Box asked, yet afraid to hear his reply. Letting out a long sigh, the knight said, “A promise.” “Pardon?” “You must make us a promise, a promise that, upon your return home, after your quest is over, you will do everything in your power to integrate all of the spirited paintings here at Hagswords, into the outside world. For the first time in his life Box felt embarrassed at being a Muddle, and he said, “But I’m a Muddle, are you sure that you want to be integrated in my world, the Muddle world?” A heated exchange of opinions (both human and animal) could be heard amongst the paintings, as they discussed all the pros and cons of such an undertaking. Finally, answering him, the knight said, “Yes, if that is what it takes, then so be it. And who knows what good may come from it. Muddles and Mystics have been segregated for far too long.” “Okay, if that is what you want, I promise that I will do all in my power to carry this out,” said Box, relieved that he had got off so easily. Having received the promise the paintings returned to normal. “You think you got off easily, don’t you?” said Harry, who had been listening to every word. Box nodded. “Hmm,” she said, “Time will see if you are right… Come on, let’s keep moving.” Remembering something the old knight had said, Box asked, “How did he know I was on a quest?”
“The paintings know about everything that goes on, at Hagswords,” Harry replied. Guiding the way, Harry led Box on what he would later describe as a right royal tour of the school. She brought him upstairs, through huge halls and stately rooms, downstairs through sumptuous vestibules and apartments, and then up again to even grander rooms and chambers, and all in their quest to find what she had forgotten to take with her when she escaped. At one point, Box asked, “Are you lost?” Turning to face him, Harry gave Box such a nasty look it would most certainly have curdled butter. He never asked her that question again. Along the way, Box saw many more paintings, and all of them as brilliant in their creation as the first, but he avoided each and every one like they were infested with the plague. Although Hagswords appeared large and formidable from the outside, inside its dimensions were even greater. It was so huge Box wondered if they would ever find what they were looking for. Feeling brave, he asked, “Where did you actually leave it?” This question placed Harry into a quandary, a most difficult situation altogether, because if she answered him truthfully, Box would have a good idea of what she was up to. So instead of telling him the truth, she lied, saying, “In a study room.” “Hmm,” he replied, unhappy with so vague a description. Risking her anger further, he asked, “Isn’t there a shortcut?” “Questions, questions, that’s all I get from you,” she said, “stupid questions.” “I was only asking,” he mumbled. Just then, they heard the sound of footsteps at the far end of the hallway they were passing through. Extinguishing her wand, Harry ducked behind a large stone statue, pulling Box so hard after her he almost fell over. The sound of footsteps grew louder. Peering carefully, secretly, from behind the statue, the cousins tried to see who it might be, but without the light offered by her wand they saw little. Conversation; they heard conversation, so more than the one person approaching, but why now, so late in the evening? Had they been spotted? Were they about to be ferreted out, with no more dignity than two miserable wild rabbits? Harry and
Box shrank further behind the statue, thanking its creator for having the foresight to have carved it. The talking, the sound of what could only be described as heated conversation, grew louder. “Who are they?” Box whispered. “Shush,” Harry replied, “they might hear you.” When the footsteps were almost upon them, they stopped, and for a moment both Harry and Box thought they were discovered. Then the conversation resumed and the cousins being so close heard each and every word of it. “And of course it goes without saying, that dreadful child, Harry Rotter, must be stopped,” said the first voice, a male. “I wholeheartedly agree,” said the second voice, a female. “The future of the entire school rests upon it.” “We know she is on her way, but the owls were unable to stop her,” said the first voice. “In stopping her, yes, I agree,” said the female. “But they were excellent at intelligence gathering. I hear she has an accomplice, a Muddle by all accounts” “A Muddle? You must be joking! A Muddle would be more of a hindrance than a help.” Box resisted the urge to jump up and punch the man squarely on the nose. “I totally agree, but Harry is on her way, and for all that we know she might already be here, skulking about somewhere, perhaps even listening to us.” Leaning towards the statue, the woman inspected it as if it were alive. “What do you think she is up to?” asked the man, “One minute she can’t get away from Hagswords fast enough, then the next thing we know she’s blazing a trail to our very doorstep!” “She always was a freethinker,” said the woman. “A free thinker? More like a renegade!” “Freethinker or renegade, it makes no matter,” the woman continued. “What does matter is that she’s on her way.” She paused for a moment, and then beginning again said, “What puzzles me is why she is doing it. It’s almost as of she has forgotten something…”
“Forgotten her senses, if you ask me,” the man said defiantly, yet sounding strangely worried. “Are the remaining owls on duty?” he asked. “Yes, every last one of them,” said the woman, finally relinquishing her gaze from the statue. “And if Harry gets anywhere near Hagswords, she will be in for the fright of her young life.” The man and the woman began walking away, and the sound of their footsteps echoed down the long hallway until, turning a corner, they finally went silent. “Phew, that was close,” Box whispered, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Too close,” said Harry. “We must hurry.” “I’m with you,” he replied, starting off down the hallway, in the same direction the voices had gone. “Box!” Turning, he said, “Yes?” “It’s this way.” “Oh. I knew that,” he said. “I was just stretching my legs…” As they made their way down the corridor, in the opposite direction the man and the woman had taken, Box asked, “Anyway, who were those two?” “The first one, the man,” Harry explained, “is Albert Tumbledown.” Laughing, Box said, “Tumbledown? That’s a silly name.” “If you will allow me to continue?” Stifling a chuckle, he said, “Sorry, go on.” “As I was saying, Albert J Tumbledown is the Principal, the head of Hagswords, and also our Alchemist. The woman is called McGonagain, Professor McGonagain. She is the Vice Principal. They’re as thick as thieves, those two.” For a second time in as many minutes, Box found a name incredibly funny, and he began laughing again. “Do you want to let everyone in the entire school know that we are here?” Harry asked, fuming at Box’s weird sense of humour. “No, I don’t,” he apologised. “Sorry.” They set off again, and now that the pressure was on, Harry appeared to be taking the shortcuts Box had asked her about, earlier. Passing through sumptuously
decorated classrooms with beautifully constructed stained glass windows, through moth-eaten secret passageways that led to even more sumptuously decorated classrooms with even grander stained glass windows, their journey continued until, standing outside a huge and incredibly formidable door, Harry said, “This is where I left it.” Feeling small and dreadfully inadequate, Box asked, “Here?” “Yes,” she said, “I left it in here.” Turning the handle, trying to push the door open, Box found it locked tight. “I know it sound like a cliché,” he said, “but how do we get in?” Withdrawing her new electro magical wand, Harry smiled, and said, “With the use of this, of course.” Standing back, Box waited for his cousin to open the door, and judging from the wands previous performances he had no intention of being anywhere near the tremendous, but sometimes unpredictable, power. Kneeling, holding her wand with both hands, Harry asked, “Are you ready?” Shielding his eyes, in case of a flash, Box replied, “Yep, let her rip.” As per usual, Harry waved the wand from left to right and then left again, then speaking in a low hushed voice, she said, “Open Ses Me.” “Is that it?” “Less is more,” she replied, turning the handle and (all too easily?) pushing the door open. Staring in through the doorway, Box felt a terrible sense of foreboding. Harry, however, simply strolled into the room like she owned the place. Then turning round, she said, “Come in and close the door, there’s a frightful draft in here.” A frightful draft is something that can be created by many different things, one of which is hundreds of white-feathered wings all flapping in unison, swooping down en masse, fully intent on killing two interfering cousins… As the door closed behind him, something caught Box’s eye, and looking upwards he saw the grave threat swooping down from above. Shouting, he said, “Run, Harry, run for your life!” “Get out! Get out – quick!” Harry shouted.
Pulling frantically on the handle, the two cousins tried desperately to open it, but the door remained stubbornly shut. “Has it been locked?” Box asked. Harry said nothing she just pulled and pulled at the handle. “Use your wand!” Box shouted, “Use your wand!” She tried, Harry tried desperately to use her new wand, to wave it in front of her, to ward off the owls, but the attack of the killer birds was so fierce, so brutal and so intense she was unable to do anything more than a paltry attempt to protect herself. “Use the button!” Box shouted again. “Which one?” she asked, in a total disarray. “Anyone – JUST DO IT!” he hollered, as one of the attacking owls struck him in the face, slitting his skin like it was butter. Blood oozed from the cut. Trying her best to ignore the melee, Harry pressed one of the buttons, and being more concerned with saving her life than studying small, shiny switches, she had no idea which of them she had pressed. It was the second one, because huge flames shot out from the wand, scorching the owls like so many moths to a flame. Screeching, hissing and spitting their hate, the birds fell to the floor, quite dead. The room stank of burning feathers and death. “I hope that’s the last of them,” whispered Box. “I fear the time for whispering has passed,” said Harry, her eyes facing upwards to where the birds had seconds earlier been lying in wait, where the sound of so many footsteps scrambling in to action on the floor above, signalled another threat. “Get what you came for, and let’s be off,” Box shouted, “before everyone in the school is onto us!” Going over to a particularly ornate cabinet, Harry forced its lock. And despite her best attempts to conceal what she was doing, breaking and entering, Box saw this, and he asked, “What are you doing? I thought this was a common study room, open to all!” “Will you ever grow up?” she replied. “What did you say?”
“I said, will you ever grow up?” she hissed. “Even a Muddle, one as stupid as you, must have realised I wasn’t telling the whole story, that this is really Tumbledown’s private study.” Wiping away the blood from his cheek, Box was shocked, gob smacked at what he had just heard. “I am a Muddle and I am proud of it,” he cried out. “I trusted you, and if trusting my cousin makes me stupid in your eyes, then so be it. But, remember, that is only your opinion.” “Yes, my dear cousin, it’s only my opinion,” she replied slowly, dryly, like she was savouring every word, “an opinion that I value more than yours.” Then reaching into the cabinet, she withdrew a black felt pouch, secured at the top with a golden coloured pull cord. “Now let’s get the hell out of here,” she said, as she waved her wand at the door, instantly opening it. “Why didn’t you do that, before?” Box asked. “Oh, grow up!” Harry snapped. Ahead of Box, while retracing her steps, Harry furtively undid the clasp on her bag, took out the Philosopher’s Marble and carefully slipped it into the pouch before putting it into her bag. Seeing none of this, Box found himself having to trust his troublesome, devious cousin yet again to have any hope of escaping Hagswords...
Chapter Twelve A Time for Truth (Captured!) At first Box thought they were simply retracing their steps, through the maze of halls, rooms and hidden passageways they had taken on their way in, but when Harry took an unexpected deviation, a digression from this route, he knew that she was up to something. And within seconds, instead of being in an antiquated old building, he found himself within a shiny new room, a room that he felt surprisingly comfortable in. This room, this extraordinary room filled Box with wonder and amazement, and he began studying it with as much interest as Harry and her pouch. Box felt so at ease in this room, because it was remarkably similar to his bedroom, at home. Yes, of course it was far greater in size and, yes, it had many more pieces of equipment within it, but after taking these differences into consideration it was amazingly similar. Box knew there and then, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was an electrical experimentation workshop to beat all others. Box wanted so desperately to ask Harry what it was doing in a school where mysticism and magic were, apparently, all-important, but fearing yet another rant about his ‘Muddlesome stupidity’, he decided to say nothing. Instead, he studied the room for himself, determined to work it out for himself. Unlike her Muddling cousin, Harry knew exactly where she was and, more importantly, what she was doing there. Retrieving the pouch from her shoulder bag, she loosened the cord securing its top and stared in at its consents… Outside, the sound of pandemonium could be heard – everywhere. There were people running about in all directions, up and down stairs, along dimly lit corridors, through dormitories, houserooms and all the communal areas. There was also shouting, so much shouting, with orders being given, taken and argued about – confusion reigned. But despite this intent, this intent on finding and apprehending the intruders, peculiarly, no one entered the room where the cousins were secreted.
Although they appeared safe from pursuit, Box was unable to shake off the feeling that at any moment they would be discovered, found, and weeded out once and for all... After going over the entire room, inspecting it in minute detail, Box thought he had some idea of what had been going on. Glancing over to Harry, to tell her, he watched as she delved a hand into the pouch, the felt pouch that she was so intrigued with. In complete silence, thinking no one was watching her; she withdrew a handful of marbles. “It contains more of those Philosopher’s Marbles!” Box blurted out, unable to contain his utter contempt at what she had done. “Yes, yes it does,” she replied smugly. Cupping the marbles with both hands, she said, “And you have no idea what this entails, do you?” There was a long pause before Box replied, but when he did, when next he spoke, Harry was shocked by what he said, “Yes,” he said slowly, painfully, “I most certainly do…” “What? How could you?” she asked, stunned by his admission. Box smiled. Unnerved, she shouted, “Answer, or so help me, I’ll brain you.” “Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell you – but on one condition…” Raising an eyebrow, she asked, “And what might that be?” “On condition, that from now on, there will be no more secrets between us.” There was another long pause, much longer than any before it. Finally offering her answer, Harry whispered, “All right, no more secrets – but I warn you…you might not like some of the things you will hear.” This time it was Box who raised an eyebrow, as he said, “Try me.” Returning the marbles to the pouch, Harry pulled on the cord and secured its opening. Then inviting Box to pull up a chair, she began, saying, “Box, my dear cousin, you might think you have worked it all out, but you are barely scratching the surface. You see, these marbles,” she pointed to the pouch, “have no part in the order of Mysticism and Magic, so championed here at Hagswords.”
“I do realise that,” he replied. “I can see from this room that, just as you used me to charm your wand, to combine electronics and magic, someone has been experimenting along the very same lines.” Harry searched deep into his eyes, to see how much he might know and, more importantly, understand. “That’s why you stole it,” he said, “the first marble. You knew there was something about it.” “I was drawn to it – to them all. And, yes, I stole it,” she admitted proudly. “I would have taken them all.” “Then why didn’t you?” “I made lucky, was at the right place at the right time. Old Tumbledown had left the door of his study room open. It was easy. I simply looked in when I was passing... I saw the pouch unguarded on his desk… So I snuck in, took a look-see, and had just enough time to grab one of the marbles. Studying it later, I knew, I sensed there was something special about it, something more than magic… I searched the entire school library, from top to bottom, trying to find some information – any information about them. But there was nothing, not one single reference to magical marbles.” “Then how did you find out?” “I don’t give up that easy,” she replied. “I just kept on looking. I knew there had to be a book or a manuscript – something – secreted, hidden away that told of such things. And I found it; I found it all right – right here, in this very room!” “Here? How?” “Yes, here,” she replied. “I staked out this place; I watched it, that’s how. And do you know who comes along – the only person who ever comes here?” “No…” “The old coot himself – Tumbledown!” she said. “It’s his room – he set it up!” she said, with a flourish of a hand. Loosening the clasp on her shoulder bag, she opened it, and taking out a dusty old book, handed it to Box, saying, “Here, take a look at this.” Box studied the book; it was hand written, the words in a strange language he failed to comprehend.
“You won’t understand it?” “What language is it?” “Arcanum,” she replied. “Arcanum?” “It’s a secret language, used by mystics, wizards and so forth.” Closing the book, Box asked, “Is that the language you spoke in, earlier?” “The language is of no consequence,” she said. “What matters is the knowledge this book contains, some of which old Tumbledown has retrieved.” Taking the book, she began shaking it, saying, “Within this book is knowledge, long time ago forsaken knowledge – banned knowledge – on the melding of electronics and magic.” “That can’t be right,” said Box, “electronics are only a recent discovery.” “Recent?” asked Harry. “Perhaps a recent discovery for your world, but not for ours…” Hearing this, Box was at a loss for words. “And more than that,” Harry continued, “it also contains the instructions, the full details for the Philosopher’s Marbles!” Box was now totally speechless. Harry continued, “From the very first moment I laid eyes on those marbles, I somehow knew there was something special about them, don’t ask me how, Box, I just knew. It was only after I had read that book did I realise the full extent. And I wanted to go back, Box, right there and then, to take all of them, but it was far too dangerous, especially since I had spirited off with his book.” She shook it again. “I knew that it was only a matter of time until he worked out who had stolen it – and the marble, so I had to get away, to somewhere – safe, from where I could plan my next move. That’s why I came to your home – to gain time.” “Nice to hear it, I think,” said Box. Then scratching his head, he added, “What bugs me is who charmed them in the first place?” “God! Their name should have told you that – Philosopher’s Marbles! Who is the Philosopher here? Come on, even you should be able to work that one out!” “I don’t know,” he replied, scratching his head yet again.
“If I were to say alchemist – would that help you?” “Tumbledown!” Box cried out. “Tumbledown is an Alchemist. And a Philosopher and an Alchemist is near enough the same thing!” “Hurray, for the Muddle,” Harry said mockingly. “But I still don’t understand why he did it!” Box moaned. “And, more importantly, why you wanted them? “Why does any despot do such things?” she asked, “Power, of course. The old codger simply did it for power.” “And you?” She smiled. “You c, can’t?” Box stammered, afraid to even consider the fact that his cousin had the same intentions. “And pray tell me why not?” she asked. “Considering how badly they treated me.” “But…” “No ifs or buts,” she said. “Let me tell you something… Did you know that once enrolled, and mind you it’s almost always against their will, no student can leave this school?” She waved an arm as if showing him the school for the very first time, “They have to stay here until they have passed every exam, test, trial and tribulation set before them, until they have been so indoctrinated by it’s teachings they are little more than servants, slaves to those who are in control, namely the lord and master, himself, Albert J. Tumbledown?” “But this makes you as bad as him,” said Box. “As bad? I doubt it! With me, what you see is what you get.” “Really?” Well, admittedly, not always, but I’m nowhere near as bad as him!” “I wonder…” Box mumbled, “I wonder…” Ignoring this, Harry continued, “You were right when you said these marbles were charmed – and right here in this room – by the man, the alchemist we all trusted – Tumbledown. That is why he wants to quieten me, and why I must take control of them…” Fearing for the future, whether it was controlled by the, allegedly, mad despot Tumbledown or his, perhaps, equally mad cousin, Box struggled with his conscience for the best direction to take. Finally, deciding the devil you know is
better then the devil you don’t, he agreed to help Harry, but only until they were safe from the clutches of the Alchemist/Philosopher. “Okay, I’ll go along with you…” he said, “…but only for the time being. Now tell me what do we must do to get away from here…” “Don’t worry,” said Harry, “there’s no hurry. The old coot has put up a charm, a spell to conceal this room’s whereabouts, no one will find us.” “He might remove it…” “He might,” she agreed, “but if he does, everyone will know what he’s been up to. No. We are quite safe in here.” As if to prove her patently wrong, someone or something began banging upon the door. “Who’s that, then?” Box asked, shaking with fright, “Father Christmas?” For the first time in a long while Harry was openly afraid, and whispering, she said, “That can only be the one person – Albert J Tumbledown himself.” “But why all the noise?” “Effect, the older they get the more noise they enjoy making, just look at your own parents, to see what I mean.” Being reminded about his parents brought it all home to Box, and he wondered where their struggle might end – in happiness ever after or in misery and pain? With one last, tremendously loud bang the door came crashing down, and Albert J Tumbledown – The Alchemist/Philosopher – stood at the entrance, his red hair and beard clashing horribly with his crimson hued robes. “Seize her,” he ordered, “and also her bag and wand.” A burley teacher grabbed hold of Harry, while another one, confiscating the said articles, handed them to Tumbledown. Harry growled. Removing the pouch from Harry’s bag, Tumbledown laughed, and said, “Ah, the Philosopher’s Marbles I presume?” Releasing the cord, he glanced in at its contents. “And all of them accounted for?” Harry growled again. “I am impressed, I am most impressed.” Harry growled for a third time. Satisfied, believing that all of the Philosopher’s Marbles were present and accounted for, Tumbledown secured the pouch to the belt of his robes.
Although he was so afraid of this man, the Alchemist/Philosopher, Box uttered a small laugh, thinking his name – Tumbledown – so apt, having just tumbled down the door. “I said it was foolhardy, Harry bringing a Muddle,” said Tumbledown to the Professor who was standing behind him, “and this proves it, the imbecile is actually laughing!” For a second time Box held back on the urge to punch the old man in the face. In the hallway, behind Tumbledown and McGonagain, every last child in the school was assembled, and all of them craning their necks to see if the famous Harry Rotter was going to get her comeuppance. Turning her attention to Harry, in a shallow semblance, a mockery of carrying out her professional duty, Professor McGonagain asked, “Well, Harry, what you have got to say for yourself?” Harry said nothing; she remained stubbornly silent, staring at them in utter contempt “And as for you, boy, Muddle,” said the Professor, returning her attention to Box, “what on earth are we going to do with you?”
Chapter Thirteen What a Fine Mess! “What a fine mess you’ve gotten me into!” Harry groaned, when the door of the room they had been thrown into, a dark dungeon, slammed shut behind them. “Me? How can you say that?” Box asked, “I never had a day’s trouble in my entire life, before you came along!” “Never?” “No! Well…apart some of the kids at school teasing me about my height...and how thin I was,” with that his voice trailed off. “Perhaps its better like this,” said Harry, “getting it all out in the open, as it were... At least we know what we’re up against.” “Up against?” said Box, in despair with his crazy cousin. “We have our backs up against the wall – Is that clear enough for you?” “Like up the creek with no paddle?” Harry added, with a laugh. “I don’t know what has you so happy,” Box retorted. “We’re locked away in this dungeon, with your wand, bag and the Philosopher’s Marbles having all been seized. And if that were not enough to be worried about, Tumbledown and Goneagain are planning our imminent demise. So if you still think it’s still funny, go on and have a good laugh.” She did; Harry began laughing again. “Oh, by the way,” she said, “It’s McGonagain, not Goneagain….” Box glared at her crazily. “Just though I’d let you know,” she added. “Arrgh!” Box yelled, infuriated by her cavalier attitude to the predicament they were in. Wandering across to the corner, he sat on the floor and lowered his head into his hands.
“That’s no way to behave,” Harry chided. “Don’t you want to get out?” Lifting his head, Box saw his troublesome cousin standing in front of him, smiling, holding something that looked incredibly like a matchstick. “What are you going to do?” he said, “Burn the place down, maybe?” Smiling all the more, she replied, “Burn – no, magic – perhaps!” Then he realised what she had; Harry, his fantastic, stupendous, wonderful cousin was holding the remains of her original wand, and he laughed, he laughed at the sheer good of it. “You’re a genius,” he said, “a bloody genius!” “I already knew that,” she replied. After waiting for nigh on ten full minutes for Harry to do something – anything – with the remnants of her old wand, Box said, “Well? What are you waiting for?” “All in good time,” she whispered, her ear hard against the cell door, like it was glued to it.” “What are you listening to?” he asked, thinking she was carrying the cloak and daggers stuff a bit too far. “Listening for,” she explained, “you should have asked me what I was listening for.” “To – for, what’s the difference?” “A lot if there happens to be someone out there and nothing if there isn’t anyone. Now will you please be quiet?” He was, standing in complete silence, Box waited patiently another five minutes for Harry to begin. Finally raising her hand, she said, “Its okay, they’ve gone.” Pulling a face, Box said, “Are you sure you don’t want to wait a bit more, like another hour or two?” Ignoring his snide remark, Harry waved her stubby little wand, saying, “Open Ses Me.” And the door opened; like magic, by magic, it creaked slowly open, inviting the cousins out – to freedom.
Creeping surreptitiously out, Harry glanced back over her shoulder and noticed that Box was still standing inside. “Come on, what you are waiting for?” she asked, confused by his strange behaviour. Making his way over to the door, looking out, but remaining stubbornly inside, Box appeared in no hurry to escape. “What’s gotten into you?” Harry hissed. “I was just thinking…” “A Muddle, thinking? – You surely jest?” This time it was Box who ignored the snide remark. Speaking quietly, he continued, “Are you really going to use those Philosopher’s Marbles, you know, for your own means?” “Yes, I’ve already told you that,” she replied coldly. “Then, that being so, I’m staying put, right here.” “Her jaw dropped at the sheer stupidity of her Muddlesome cousin. “Okay,” she said, “if that’s how you feel, I’ll leave you here with your precious morals for company.” “It is, and that’s fine with me,” Box retorted, folding his arms defiantly. “Good, then I’ll be off,” she said, and with that she began creeping down the corridor – alone. Box watched his troublesome cousin walk down the corridor and disappear round the corner. Alone, in the damp, dreary dungeon, the only thing Box had for company was the sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance. It went drip drip drip. He had no idea how long he had been standing in the doorway; it might have been only a few minutes, or it could have been more than an hour. Time meant nothing there; the only thing that mattered was the sound of the water dripping. Suddenly the lights in the passageway flickered, dimmed and went out, leaving both it and the dungeon in darkness. It was scary. A hand; Box suddenly felt an invisible hand grabbing hold of his arm, pulling him, yanking him out through the doorway and
fast down the corridor. “Stop! What are you doing?” he shouted, fearing for his life. The hand, however, continued pulling, tugging and dragging him down the corridor with so great a force it was impossible for him to resist. When his arm felt like it was about to break, to snap off, Box saw a glimmer of light, ahead, and he watched it grow bigger and bigger, thinking, hoping he could see something – anyone – standing within it. Finally, the tugging, the terrible pull on his arm ceased and he saw what – who it actually was. It was Harry. “What are you doing?” he roared, rubbing his terrible soreness, “And how did you do that? You could have broken my arm! You do know that, don’t you?” “The last time you hollered like that,” Harry warned, “you alerted almost everyone in the entire school as to our presence. Are you trying to do it again?” “No, no I’m not, sorry…” Box uttered contritely. Then he added, “I told you that I wanted to stay put. Why didn’t you just leave me there?” “Do you want to go back?” “No, not really,” he mumbled. “But that doesn’t mean that I am agreeing with your actions, your plans for those marbles!” “Can we not agree to get over our immediate problems, first,” Harry suggested, “and talk about it later?” “Yes, I suppose so,” Box agreed, though reluctantly. “The way I see it,” said Harry, “we have more enough problems to deal with, without us creating more.” “Where are we, anyway?” “Beneath the Great Hall,” she explained. “It’s my guess the old coot, Tumbledown, has withdrawn there, to reassess his options.” “I thought it was us who were losing, not him,” said Box. “Lose – win, they are only words,” said Harry, her mind drifting away to a time long ago, when, as a baby, she had been abandoned by her parents and left on the doorstep of Hagswords. “There’s a big difference, in my reckoning,” said Box.
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” she said coldly. Then turning a corner, she stopped. “What is it?” Box asked. Pointing upwards, to a circular metal disc, a hatchway, Harry said, “Shush, not a sound from here on…”
Following his cousin up the rickety iron ladder attacked to the wall, Box wondered what might or might not be waiting for them, above. With a finger to her lips, Harry whispered, “Remember, not a word.” “Mum’s the word,” said Box, ever so quietly. Giving him a weird look, Harry thought, ‘Weird Muddle talk!’ Pushing up the hatchway cover, just ever so slightly, with it resting gently upon her head, Harry peered furtively across the floor of the room above, to see if there were any signs of life. There certainly was. Less than twenty feet in front of her, Harry spied Tumbledown sitting comfortably upon a chair, a throne, like he was king of all he surveyed. On his right-hand side, Professor McGonagain, sitting in a chair almost as grand as his, looked for all intents and purposes like his consort. The teachers were also there, some to his left and the remainder to his right – and all them flanked by every last pupil of Hagswords, looking, watching them blankly. It was a ‘right royal assembly’ to beat all others. Lowering the hatchway cover, Harry motioned for Box to return down the ladder. “It’s worse than I could ever have imagined,” she said gloomily. “What did you see?” “I saw Tumbledown all right, but with ever last manjack of the entire school surrounding him – and all of them seemingly under his control!” “Everyone?” “Yes,” she said chillingly, “they’re all there, every last one of them, Professor McGonagain, the teachers and all of the pupils. I even saw Wan Measly and Miocene d’Anger, my, for want of a better word, friends. I tried to catch their
attention, but they were too zonked out to notice. Box, we’re in trouble, big trouble!” “There’s no need to be getting in a panic,” Box whispered, “You still have your wand.” Hmm, little more than a – what did you call it? Oh, yes, a matchstick,” she said despondently. “I need my new wand, Box. But it’s not there,” she pointed upwards, “in the hall.” “And the marbles?” “No, no sign of them either.” “Listen,” said Box, “These friends of yours…” “Yes, what about them?” “Can you trust them?” “That’s certainly a question,” Harry replied, “considering they were hardly close to begin with.” “But if we were able to talk with them, to reason with them, to try to explain... Do you think we might be able to get them onside?” “If we could get through to them, yes, I think we could trust them – but how?” “Leave that to me?” he replied, hatching a little plan of his own. “Let me hear that again,” said Harry, uncertain if she had heard her Muddlesome cousin correctly. “We give up,” Box said for a second time. “I though that’s what you said, and for the life of me I still don’t understand how that’s going to help,” said Harry, confused by his Muddlesome way of reasoning. “It’s easy,” Box said again. “We give up, and then attack from within,” he explained. “We tell old Tumbledown that we were able to escape with the use of this.” He held up his hand, showing Harry a small gadget that he had up until then kept concealed. “What is it?” she asked.
“It’s a nothing, really,” he replied. “It’s just a silly little thing I invented in my workshop, err, bedroom.” “A nothing? What kind of a nothing?” she asked with a growing curiosity. Feeling a might embarrassed, Box fidgeted with his fingers. “Come on, what is it?” “A laser beam…” “I don’t mean to rain on your party,” said Harry, “but haven’t they already been invented?” “Of course they have,” said Box, “but this one is different. Its beam is multidirectional.” “Pardon?” “It’s multidirectional, it shoots out in all directions at the same time.” Box showed Harry the pen like object, and he said, “Watch, I’ll give you a demonstration.” He switched it on. The device began to hum. “Stand back,” he warned, “and cover your eyes,” An enormously bright multidirectional light shot out from the gadget, blinding Harry, despite the fact that she had been partially shielding her eyes. “Wow,” she said, struggling to see. “That’s great! I wish that I had invented something like that.” “Hmm, I don’t know,” he said, looking it over “If the power supply lasted longer, it might be useful... The problem,” he explained, “is that the battery runs down after only a few goes.” With a smile creeping onto her face, and her eyesight returning, Harry said, “A few goes will be more than enough…”
Chapter Fourteen Surrender It was decided they were to ‘give up’. That was the plan. Harry didn’t like it, but without another, better one, she agreed to go along with her Muddling cousin’s wacky idea. The laser beam was good for no more than three uses, but despite this unpalatable fact, this little item had swayed Harry to come over and go along with the, seemingly, futile plan. You see, that little instrument had given her an idea, an idea that might, just might sway the battle in their favour. Having said that, she still thought Box’s suggestion of attacking from within was a foolhardy and illconceived notion that needed some considerable fluffing out. With the help of the little laser beam, she hoped to do just that, and, thus, be in with a chance of winning, albeit a small one. Pushing the hatchway cover upwards and sliding it over to one side, Harry pulled herself through the opening and onto the floor of the Grand Hall. Gasps; she heard gasps as everyone watched in amazement as she emerged from the hidden depths. More gasps; there were even more gasps when her cousin, the Muddle, joined her on the shiny, wooden floorboards. “What have we got here?” Tumbledown asked, stroking his red beard as if it was a dreadfully spoilt feline. “Is it a thief?” Turning round, Harry mockingly searched to see whom he was speaking about. “So she wants to be a comedian,” Tumbledown continued, speaking softly, his eyes locking onto Harrys. “And from what I have seen, thus far, she is no better at humour than she was at her studies.” The zonked out pupils laughed at this. Turning his attention to Box, he said, “Ah, the wretched Muddle, and what an abysmally thin one at that!”
“At least I don’t have a moth-eaten old beard,” Box blurted. “I can smell it from here – and it stinks, phew!” Pointing at Box, Tumbledown said, “This one should be the comedian, Harry. He’s far more entertaining than you could ever aspire to be. But then, weren’t Muddles always so entertaining?” “I’ll knock your block off,” Box shouted, making a run at him. “And spirited, too,” Professor McGonagain added. “Spirited, but lacking in direction…” Two burley teachers, grabbing hold of Box, halted his attack before it had any hope of succeeding. “Yes, so very lacking,” Tumbledown, agreed. Returning his attention to Harry, he asked, “What on earth did you hope to achieve, Harry, rising up from the depths in so theatrical a manner?” Shrugging, she replied, “A good entrance?” “Hmm.” “All laughter aside,” said Harry, “we just wanted to surrender. You know, to give up.” Harry’s words, her offer of surrender, took Tumbledown by surprise, and for a moment he was lost for words. Sensing that Harry was getting away with something, even if she had no idea what it actually was, Professor McGonagain prodded the old man, and pointing, she whispered, “The children!” He saw them; Tumbledown saw the eyes of each and every child following the proceedings, locked on the proceedings like it was a battle to the death in a Roman amphitheatre. And he knew that, even more important than winning, he had to be seen to be winning. “Seize her,” he ordered. On those orders, another two burley teachers grabbed hold of Harry. “Harry!” Box shouted, struggling against his two captors.
Harry, however, simply ignored him. “HARRY!” Box shouted again. “What is wrong with the Muddle?” Professor McGonagain asked. “He’s a Muddle, that’s what’s wrong with him,” said the old man. “Just a foolish muddle.” Returning his attention to Harry, he said, “Notwithstanding your unexpected surrender, there is one thing that puzzles me….” “Yes?” she said, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “…How you managed to escape from the cell?” Smiling, she replied, “That was easy – I used my wand.” Trying to break free, but failing again, Box shouted, “No, Harry, don’t tell them!” Yet again Harry took no notice of her Muddle born cousin. “I had a second wand,” she said slowly, methodically. “Do you want to see it?” she asked, her eyes studying the old man, with an acute interest. Although eying her with a growing suspicion, Tumbledown was so fascinated by the concept of owning two wands, something that he had up until then considered impossible, he allowed it to cloud his judgement. “Yes, child,” he said sweetly, “I would love to see your second wand. Turning to the two teachers, he said, “Release her.” They released Harry. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, as I was saying, I used my wand, my other wand…” All eyes were on Harry; the pupils, the teachers, McGonagain and of course Tumbledown himself – all of them watching to see her produce her second wand. After slipping a hand into her jacket pocket, Harry rooted around inside it, as if she was searching for the said wand. “It must be terribly small,” Professor McGonagain whispered. “It is,” she said. “It has more in common with the magical sticks, those men on flying carpets you sent after me, had.” “Ah,” the Professor replied, thinking she smelt a rat, that Harry had in fact secured such a stick.
Withdrawing her clenched fist, Harry opened it ever so slowly, revealing the mysterious object. The Professor was confused, so too was everyone else, because all they saw was a small, silver coloured pen like object. “What’s that?” the Professor asked, pointing at it with a long bony finger. Studying her face and also Tumbledown’s, Harry said, “It’s the wand, of course.” “The wand? Do you mock us?” Tumbledown asked, his expression changing from inquisitiveness to anger. “No,” she replied, with a look so blank, so vacant it would have been at home in a poker game. They say curiosity killed the cat, and the old man was certainly filled with curiosity, with a burning desire to see the wand, no matter what shape it happened to be. Was it enough to turn him into this proverbial cat? He certainly knew the danger, the risk of Harry trying something, to get herself and the Muddle from out the mess they were in. And, God knows, the Professor had warned him enough, but had to see the wand, he just had to see it… Beckoning Harry to come closer, he said. “Show it to me, child… I want to see this strange wand of yours.” This was the opportunity Harry had been waiting for, had been hoping for. Gesturing for Tumbledown, instead, to come closer, she gave him the impression that she was about to reveal it in full glorious detail. With eyes wide shut Tumbledown willingly obliged. Leading the foolhardy cat to his demise, Harry almost laughed as she flipped the instrument’s switch. Covering her eyes, she said, “Take that you old coot!” Harry’s eyes were protected, but Tumbledown’s, McGonagain’s, the teachers’ and all of the pupils’ eyes were not. And they felt the full force of the wide angled flash of intense laser light, which blinded them in an instant. Rushing over to Box, returning the laser to him, Harry shouted, “Thank heavens you remembered to cover your eyes. Come on, let’s get Miocene and Wan, and get the hell out of here!”
“W, what’s happening?” Wan, a pale faced ginger headed boy, spluttered, as they manhandled him away. “Who’s that?” shrieked Miocene, sightless and frightened, as she too was separated from her fellow pupils. “Friends,” said Harry. “We’re friends, really,” said Box, trying to calm and reassure them. “I can’t see!” Miocene shrieked. “Nor can I,” Wan added. “It’s only temporary,” Box whispered. “Now please do as we say, and all will be explained later.”
After they had escaped from the hall, and were ensconced in a place of relative safety – the electrical experimentation workshop, the effects of the laser light began to wear off. “Where are we?” Wan asked, eying the room that was appearing before him, with some suspicion. “What sort of a place is this?” Miocene asked, as her eyesight also returned. “And why have you taken us away from Hagswords?” Realising how wild her brown curly hair had become, she tried to calm it. “You are still in Hagswords,” said Harry, taking some considerable satisfaction in telling them. “In Hagswords? No! That’s impossible!” she said. “This is nothing at all like school.” “No,” said Wan, chipping in his ten-penneth worth. “We don’t have any rooms like this at our school. And what are all these, machine things, anyhow?” “It is Hagswords,” said Box. “Please believe us when we tell you this.” “And who the hell are you?” asked Wan. “You’re not a pupil. I’d certainly remember someone as skinny as you.”
“I’m Box, Box Privet – Harry’s cousin.” “Oh, I think I heard about you. You’re one of those Muddles,” he said derisively. “We’ll be having none of that kind of talk, here,” said Harry, in a rare instance of support for her Muddle born cousin. Over the following minutes, Harry and Box explained everything to the confused pupils, Miocene and Wan, bringing then up-to-date on all that had happened over the last number of days, from the beginning, when Harry had stolen the marble, all the way through to their sudden appearance, minutes earlier, rising out of the floor. “So,” said Harry, “you now know all that has happened.” “Rubbing his face, trying to come to terms with the strange story, Wan’s zonked brain struggled to grasp the facts, and he said, “Not quite.” “No?” said Box. “No,” Wan repeated, “I was, we were – we still are – not quite ourselves.” “Half asleep, might better describe it,” said Miocene. “I can hardly remember anything – for ages!” Producing her stumpy wand, Harry said, “I think I can help you on that front.” “Do you think you can, you know, un-zonk them?” Box asked. “We’ll soon see,” said Harry, tapping her wand on the palm of her hand. “Now who wants to be first?” Although they were coming round to what they had been told, neither Wan nor Miocene had any wish to be the first under the hammer, as it were. And they both shuffled away, hoping the other was picked first. “Okay,” said Harry, who had little patience at the best of times, “I’ll do both of you at the same time…” “No, wait!” they shouted. But it was too late Harry had begun waving her little wand… She said, “Free their minds, their hopes and thoughts, free their vision, their ideas – from nought. Return their minds to that before, and free their souls,
enslaved no more.” It was done; for a second time in almost as many minutes Miocene and Wan had been set free. “Wow!” said Wan, in total amazement at the change in him. “I can think again – I can really think. God! I had forgotten what it was like!” “And I can remember all the terrible things we went along with…” said Miocene. “That none of us spoke up about…” “There’ll be time for that later,” said Harry, surprised that it had worked so well (but keeping stumpf about it). “How do you know Tumbledown won’t find us in here?” Wan asked, as he inspected the room with a newfound interest. “Lightening,” Harry replied confidently. “Pardon?” said Wan. “Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice,” Harry explained. Box, however, had other opinions on the matter, especially so after Harry’s previous insistence that they were safe there, but for the sake of the group effort he kept them to himself. Apparently satisfied with Harry’s explanation, Wan resumed his inspection of the room. “Do you have a plan, Harry?” Miocene asked. “About what you intend to do after you have secured the Philosopher’s Marbles?” “A plan?” said Harry. “Of course I have a plan…” “And?” she asked, her curiosity growing. “The plan, yes, the plan,” said Harry, searching clumsily for words. “The plan is to ensure the marbles are safe and out of harms way, namely Tumbledown.” Unconvinced, Miocene continued with her line of questioning, “But what happens to them, after that?” Butting in, feeling there was nothing to be gained by such a conversation at this juncture, that he might pursue it better on his own, later, Box diverted Miocene’s
attention, saying, “How are you feeling, Miocene? Do you think you will be up for the job?” Affronted; Miocene was insulted that he had even considered asking her such a thing. “Of course I am,” she retorted as forcefully as she was able. “Are you?” Harry smiled; knowing only too well what her Muddlesome cousin had been up to. By the time they were ready for the off, Harry and, to a lesser degree, Box had given Miocene and Wan all the information they would need for the struggle ahead. “Are you sure you understand what you must do?” Box asked Miocene and Wan, just as Harry opened the door of the room. “Yes, of course,” they answered in unison. “Don’t worry,” said Wan, “you can depend on me.” “And me,” Miocene added, having no intention of being outdone by a mere boy.
Waving, trying to get their attention, Harry whispered, “The coast is clear. Let’s go…” Miocene and Wan, with Box bringing up the rear, followed Harry, the girl mystic, out of the room, to an uncertain future…
Chapter Fifteen
Beguiling Tactics Harry had no intention of risking any of them being seen, spotted, for even a second before they were ready, so opening a concealed door, she led the way through a maze of secret passageways hidden within the very fabric of the school. She would use the open areas, but only when absolutely necessary. As they headed down passageway after passageway, with little or no light for guidance, Box once again found himself wondering how Harry had discovered them in the first place – and then managed to remember their intricate layout. But she had, Harry, his troublesome cousin, had recorded, etched every last inch of the passageways onto her brain; Box admired that, he admired it a lot. After they had been walking for quite some time, Miocene asked, “Are we nearly there?” “It’s not too far now,” Harry replied, in the usual, wet fish manner she adopted whenever she was concentrating. “Ow!” Wan shouted, losing his footing, stubbing his toe on something hard. “That hurt!” “Shush,” Harry warned. “Walls have ears.” “They do?” said Miocene; taking Harry’s words literally. After they had taken yet another turn, Wan said, “My sense of direction tells me that our objective is over to the right… So why are we going left?” Box was amazed to hear this, because he was totally lost. “How can you possibly know that?” he asked. Butting in, giving Wan no opportunity to continue, Harry said, “Listen, we’ll be there in two minutes.”
In two minutes to the very second, after leading them to the left, not to the right as Wan had suggested, Harry stopped. In the darkness, she asked, “Are we all here?” “I am,” said Wan. “Me too,” Miocene added. “Box, are you still with us?” “Yes,” he replied. “But what are we stopping here for?” “Let me see,” Harry whispered, fumbling with her fingers. “It’s here somewhere…” “What are you looking for?” asked Wan. “A catch, to open this section of wall,” she explained. “Unfortunately I can’t seem to locate it.” “Let me try,” he suggested, his confidence growing by the minute. Standing back, giving in unusually quickly, Harry said, “Be my guest.” Wan’s fingers began searching for the elusive catch. “Have you been in these passageways, before, Wan?” Box asked. “Me? Of course not,” he replied, “What gives you that idea?” “Oh, nothing really,” he said. “Ah, here it is,” said Wan triumphantly, as his fingers found and released the hidden catch. The panel creaked open, offering them free exit. Seeing nothing that he recognised, Box asked, “Where are we?” “Around the corner from the main stairway at the entrance foyer,” Harry whispered. “Near the paintings – those paintings?” Box asked curiously. “Yes,” she whispered, “Come on, follow me.” He did, so also did Miocene and Wan.
Upon reaching the staircase, Box was again impressed by the abundance of fine paintings lining the walls. But remembering his previous mistake, when he had taken the apple, he had no intention as acting so foolhardy again. This time he was treading decidedly more careful. “You all know what to do?” Harry asked. Wan nodded. Miocene gave a ‘thumbs up’ signal. “Box?” “Yes,” he replied. Then looking up to the paintings, he asked, “It will be safe?” “Yes,” said Harry, “as long as you do exactly as we agreed.” “Okay,” he said, “Then I’m ready.” “Then go!” Harry whispered. On that command Box began making his way up the huge staircase. “Go!” Harry whispered again, signalling for Miocene to begin making her way along the left-hand side of the foyer. Turning her attention to Wan, to signal for him to begin making his way along the other side of the foyer, Harry noticed that he had already begun. Apparently satisfied, she took up her own position at the base of the stairs. “I see you have returned,” said the old man, the knight on horseback, when Box approached his picture. “Is your quest over so soon?” he asked. “No, I’m afraid that it isn’t,” Box admitted coyly. “Then why have you returned?” he asked, his silver coloured armour glinting in the sun’s painted rays. “I need – we need your help…” “My help?” the knight asked removing his helmet and raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Box, going on to explain their plan, and the help they needed with it. “So you see,” he said, in winding up, “we need not only your help, but also that of everyone in the paintings – including the animals.” For a while the old man said nothing, he sat on his steed, quite silent, alone with his thoughts. Fearing that another heated exchange between the occupants of paintings might at any moment erupt, Box said, “Do you want me to ask them, the other paintings?” He began laughing, the old man began laughing so heartily, and he said, “There are over three hundred paintings in Hagswords. Do you have the time to speak with them all?” “No, not really,” Box admitted sheepishly. “It was just a suggestion…” “And a noble one, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Speaking again, the knight said, “We have discussed your request.” “You have?” Box asked in amazement, for you see he had seen no evidence to suggest this. “Yes, and we have agreed to offer you our help.” Smiling from ear to ear, Box said, “Thank you, thank you so much.” Then scratching his head, he said, “By the way, I never got your name!” “My name? It’s Catchyfoe,” said the knight, “Lord Catchyfoe to be precise.” “And my name is Box, my lord.” “I know. We all know your name,” the old man admitted, “Sir Box.” “Sir Box?” The knight smiled, and he said, “In our eyes, every last one of us, you are a knight, and an exceptional one at that.” The assistance from the paintings having thus been secured, Box signalled to Harry that everything was ready for the off. Harry, in turn, signalled to Miocene. She
nodded in reply. Then turning towards Wan, to signal to him, Harry saw nothing; the boy student was nowhere to be seen! Despite the fact that Wan was missing, gone, Harry had no other option other than going ahead with her plan. It was far too late to cancel it. “Are you ready?” she asked Miocene. “Yes,” she replied. “I’m taking Wan’s place,” Harry whispered. “Why??” “He’s gone missing.” There was a short silence before Miocene replied, and when she did, she said, “It doesn’t surprise me. His lot can’t be trusted.” “Blytherin House?” “Yes,” she agreed, “you can’t trust anyone in that House.” Hearing a din, far off but growing louder by the second, Harry said, “We’ll worry about him later. We’ve more important things to consider right now – like guiding the contents of the paintings … ‘COS HERE THEY COME!” No sooner had these words left Harry’s lips did a rushing tide of people and animals come charging out from the paintings. And there were so many! Watching then charging out from canvas after canvas, Box wondered how they had all managed to get into the pictures in the first place. Harry, Miocene and Box watched on in wonderment, as more and more people and animals came rushing out from the paintings. It was truly a staggering sight. “I, I can’t do it!” shrieked Miocene, taken aback by the sheer number of beings exiting the pictures. “Hold on!” Harry shouted encouragingly, though she too harboured some doubts as to their effectiveness in guiding them. Helping the old man, the knight, to leave his painting, Box instinctively knew that the worst was over. “The last one is out!” he shouted to the others. “Now all that
we have to do is guide them.” All that they had to do was to guide them. It was an easy enough thing to say, so much easier than actually trying to do it... “Guide them down the passageway, and on to the Great Hall,” Harry shouted, hoping she was heard above the tremendous din. “I’m trying!” Miocene screamed, still panicking at the sheer weight of numbers she was expected to deal with. Numbers is a small enough word, so much smaller and also pitifully inadequate in describing the huge number of people and animals charging down the stairs and along that corridor. The people, ranging in age from six to ninety-six, dressed in the style of clothing that had been in fashion while they had been of this earth, from frocks to frills, knickers to knickerbockers, suits to sacks and every conceivable variation in between, spanned the entire range of social classes. There were lords and ladies, knights and noblemen, artisans and artists, and even farmers and servants. The animals? Well, they were of an even more diverse variety than the people. There were lions and tigers, wilder beasts and zebras, monkeys and baboons, dogs and cats and even a few cows. Then there were the other animals; the ones that were of the mythological kind, like Griffons and Gargoyles, Unicorns and Monoceroses, and even Trolls and Trollbardons – all of these and more were rushing headlong towards the Great Hall. The terrible din, which had begun only a few minutes earlier, with the mass exit of animals and humans from out of their paintings, was paled into insignificance, when the doors of the Great Hall came tumbling down. WHAM! BAM! CRASH! The ornately carved doors exploded in a million tiny splinters, as the excited conglomeration burst through, and into the Great Hall. Albert J Tumbledown, the Alchemist/Philosopher, was aghast, shocked, frozen to the spot, as the animals, both real and imaginary, accompanied by humans, long dead humans, galloped crazily around him. McGonagain, although also quite shocked, having a more pragmatic approach when dealing with such crises, quickly took charge, ordering the pupils to form a circle around them, buying them time to formulate their counteroffensive.
Meanwhile, far away from the Great Hall, Harry, Box and Miocene, having taken full advantage of the chaos they had created, were heading for the Alchemist/Philosopher’s private study… “Do you think that ruckus has bought us enough time, Harry?” Box asked. “Hopefully,” she replied, turning a corner and leading them down yet another wood panelled corridor. This time Harry had chosen the direct line of approach, having forsaken the secret passageways that would only serve to slow them. If they were to have any chance of success, speed was a vital, all-important part of their effort, to reach Tumbledown’s study room and thus secure their prize. Turning another corner, the last corner before their final objective, the band of three was confronted, challenged by a most unexpected development. Standing directly in front of them, in the centre of the corridor, blocking their way was Wan Measly himself! “So,” he said arrogantly, “you have finally managed to get here!”
Chapter Sixteen A Traitor! “You’re not getting past me!” said Wan. “You’re not getting into his study room…” “Wan, what on earth are you doing?” Miocene asked, hoping she might talk some sense into the wayward boy. “Don’t patronise me,” he replied, one of his hands edging towards his jacket pocket. “What can you possibly mean?” she asked. “I said don’t patronise me – and I won’t say it again!” he warned, moving his hand that bit closer to his jacket pocket. “Calm down,” said Box, “we are all friends here.” “Friends? Hah!” Wan laughed. “The Muddle is making merry. Oh what a stupid, stupid Muddle you really are.” Although she was saying nothing, Harry was taking it all in, listening, and etching every last word onto her brain. Then speaking, thoughtfully, carefully, she said, “Wan, I won’t beat around the bush...” Wan eyed her intently, suspiciously, his hand inching higher, ever closer to his jacket pocket. “Wan,” Harry continued. “I knew it was only a matter of time until you betrayed us…” “You did? How?” “You were comfortable, too comfortable; you knew too much, back there in those passageways…” “You suspected?”
“Of course,” she replied. “What do you take me for – a Muddle?” Her demeanour changing, becoming ever more serious, Harry continued, “We must pass – you know that. Whether or not our progress will be easy or difficult is entirely up to you. But rest assured WE WILL PASS!” “That is a matter of opinion, ‘girl mystic’,” he replied smugly. “And don’t you forget that it is entirely up to you, to forget about the Philosopher’s Marbles, and to leave Hagswords… Nothing more will be said on the matter… You can trust me.” “Trust?” Harry laughed mockingly. “You have no inkling of its meaning! How can you, when you side with – that, that man?” With his fingers creeping into his jacket pocket, Wan said, “That man, Albert J Tumbledown, has promised me something no one else could or, indeed, would…” “And what might that be?” she asked him contemptuously. “POWER!” he said, “I trust that!” With those words he pulled out a wand, sending a bolt of sparkling red lightning shooting it way towards Harry. “DUCK!” Box shouted in alarm. She did; Harry ducked, and the streak of powerful red lightning screamed harmlessly past her. Miocene also ducked; she had absolutely no wish to be struck by lightning, no matter what colour it happened to be. Wan, having no intention of failing Albert J Tumbledown or, indeed, his beloved Blytherin House, sent another streak of lightening, this time of a vivid green hue, screaming towards his three antagonists “DUCK!” they all shouted, as the dangerous green light came screaming towards them. And they did; Harry, Box and Miocene ducked, evading a second deadly attempt on their lives. By now, Harry had had enough, had seen enough, so retrieving her wand, the small remnant, she waved it threateningly from side to side… “What do you call that?” Wan asked, laughing hilariously at it. “A matchstick?” Smiling confidently, Harry replied, “I call it my second wand, of course.”
His jaw dropping in sheer disbelief, Wan said, “The second wand? “I thought you were only joking, earlier, when you told Tumbledown and McGonagain that you had a second one…” “That just goes to show how wrong you can be,” said Harry, as she sent off a volley of blue coloured lightning towards him. He shrieked; Wan shrieked with acute surprise and a great deal of frustration, as the lightning hurtled down the corridor, towards him, at a breakneck speed. He didn’t duck; Wan was far too slow in his reflexes. And he was struck; the blue flash of lightning, striking him squarely on the chest, sent him crashing to the floor. Leaning over, staring down at him, Miocene said, “He’s not dead, is he?” “No, he isn’t, I’m sorry to say,” Harry replied, showing yet again how hard she could be, when it suited. “Oh,” said Miocene, at a loss for words, after Harry’s shockingly callous remark. Stepping over the motionless body, Harry led Miocene and Box on the final few yards to Tumbledown’s study room. Having reached it, she waved her wand remnant, and said, “Open Ses Me.” The door of room duly creaked open. After giving the ceiling a once over for owls or anything else that might be lurking there, Harry entered the room. “Come in,” she said, “it’s perfectly safe.” Box stepped tentatively through the doorway, also looking upwards. “I have already done that,” said Harry, shooting a disapproving look at him. Then turning to Miocene, she asked, “Miocene, are you coming in?” “I, I don’t think so,” she stuttered, beginning to feel the pressure of it all. “I th, think I’ll j, just stand guard out here, at the door, if that’s all r, right with you?” “That’s okay,” said Harry, returning her attention to her Muddling cousin. “Box,” she said, “I’m sure the old coot hid my bag and wand somewhere in here, so let’s get cracking and find them.” Over the following minutes Harry and Box turned the room upside down. They searched it from top to bottom, looking absolutely everywhere, into every nook and cranny, but they were still unable to find what they were seeking.
“Stop it, stop it!” cried Harry. “It’s useless; we’re at nothing, searching this way. “Stop?” Box asked. “You said they were here, so why stop looking for them?” “Because, my dear cousin, they have obviously been hidden.” “Hidden? I know that,” said Box, “that’s why we’re searching for them!” Annoyed at his Muddlesome way of thinking, Harry explained, “They are hidden – by magic.” “Oh, by magic,” Box replied, pretending to understand what that entailed. Seeing his dilemma, Harry continued, “The old coot, Tumbledown, must have used magic to conceal them. So I, in turn, will have to use magic to reveal them – Now do you understand?” “I suppose so,” he replied, scratching his head. Then pointing to her hand, he said, “Your wand… Are you going to use it to find them?” “Of course I will use it,” Harry replied tersely, “but to reveal them, not to find them. Now stand back, I need some space.” Box edged away, towards to the perimeter of the room. By now Box had become accustomed to seeing his cousin, Harry, waving her wand back and forth. He actually enjoyed watching her doing it, and it made not one iota of difference whether it was the full sized electro magical one or the short, stumpy remnant; he enjoyed watching her at ‘work’ with either of them. Harry began, but, peculiarly, this time she made no attempt at waving it. Instead, she began speaking, the same secret language – Arcanum – that she had used earlier. Speaking, chanting slowly, lowly, she said, “Crioninous crionan, shrahomanza skryomaz, reveal my bag and electro magical wand. Scryoumanzo scrymanz – It’s done!” “I can’t see them,” said Box, feeling rather foolish at having to admit it. “Look, again,” said Harry, “but with the same eyes that saw the station personnel…” Box had no idea how looking for people who weren’t of the living might be of any use in finding a bag and wand, but despite these misgivings he tried, and then he
saw them, true to Harry’s words he saw the bag and wand stashed high atop a cupboard in the corner of the room. “That’s absolutely amazing!” he said. “I’d never have thought of doing that in a million years!” “That’s why I’m the girl mystic round here,” Harry replied, with a great sense of satisfaction. On hearing this, poor Miocene began crying. “I’ll never be a proper mystic, like you, Harry,” she sobbed, “I might as well give it all up right here and now.” Although showing her feelings (especially ones such as kindness) was not one of Harry’s greatest attributes, she felt a bond with Miocene, so going over to the doorway she gave her a big hug, saying, “You will get there, Miocene. I can see that you will… Believe me… it will happen.” “Y, you can?” she asked, her sobs beginning to wane. “Yes,” Harry continued. “One day you will be one of the greatest girl mystics – ever.” Miocene stopped crying, and returning Harry’s hug, she said, “Thanks.” Walking away from the doorway, ahead of Harry and Box, the trainee girl mystic, Miocene, strolled off down the corridor with her head held confidently high. “That was a nice thing to say,” Box whispered. “Nice?” Harry asked. “Yes, it was a nice thing to say, even if it were a white lie.” “A lie? Who said anything about lies?” Stopping, Box said, “You mean to say that it wasn’t?” Harry smiled, saying, “You will just have to wait and see… Now get me my bag and wand.” Climbing up the cupboard, Box retrieved them. “There you are,” he said, handing them down.
Leaving the room, Harry and Box followed Miocene down the corridor. Staring at Wan, who was still lying unconscious upon the floor, Box asked, “What about him?” Stepping over the traitor, Harry said, “Hmm, he deserves worse than he got. Leave him; I dare say he’ll be out for a while yet.” Abandoning Wan, leaving him lying unconsciousness upon the floor, the three friends set off with the newly liberated items. Examining her wand, Harry found it to be intact, so also was her bag with the magical carpet still folded neatly inside. “Now all that we have to,” she said, “is find those marbles…” “Small word,” said Box. “Small word?” “Yes, it’s a small word, but a big problem.” “I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “But don’t forget we have Miocene, the girl mystic, to help us.” Box thought it a nice touch, saying that. Perhaps his terrible cousin wasn’t so terrible after all?
Chapter Seventeen Laughing Larry Regrouping in another place, where Harry promised they would most definitely be safe, the band of three set about planning the next and, hopefully, last part of their quest. “I’m not at all happy, in here,” said Miocene, “The toilets are one thing, and the boys’ toilet yet another – but this one?” “What’s wrong with the boys’ toilet?” Box asked, missing the point of her argument altogether. “Nothing, if you happen to be a boy,” she explained. “But I’m not!” Then raising her hands in utter frustration, she repeated, “But this one!” “Hmm,” Box mumbled, puzzled by her annoyance and still missing the point of what she was trying say. So turning his attention to his cousin, he said, “Tell me again, Harry, why are we here?” “Because it’s safe?” she replied, as she too emphasised her point by raising her hands. “Can you clarify it, you know, why it’s so safe?” This time raising her eyes, Harry said, “We are safe in here, this toilet, which no one incidentally ever comes into, because Laughing Larry, the ghost of the boy’s toilet, has scared them all away.” “Laughing Larry?” said Box, looking nervously over his shoulder. “What sort of a name is that?” “A happy one?” Harry replied sarcastically. “A happy one?” Box mumbled, thinking his cousin wasn’t taking him at all seriously. “Yes, do you have a problem with that?” she asked.
“Well…” he replied, “I…” Cutting him off, Harry said, “Go on, you tell him, Miocene.” “Me?” she asked pointing at herself, quite in surprise. “Yes,” Harry replied. “I think it will sound better coming from you.” “Well,” she said, “I can only tell you what I have heard… And I don’t know how much is real or made up – boys, you know?” Calling Box closer, she began her little story… “According to legend,” she said, “the spirit of a dead pupil – Laughing Larry – resides in this particular, err, convenience.” “For real?” Box asked, looking over his shoulder, again, thinking he felt something touching it “As real as you or I,” she replied confidently. “Then where is he?” “Let me finish the story, first!” “Sorry.” “Now where was I? Oh yes, Laughing Larry was a student of Hagswords – and a good one, some say the best there has ever been, “Miocene explained. “He was the perfect pupil who excelled at everything he did; a boy mystic with whom we could have brought our world of Mysticism and Magic to an altogether new level of knowledge, to a great period of learning and enlightenment.” “What happened, for him to end up in here?” asked Box, studying the toilet’s dusty interior with a growing distain. “Hmm,” said Miocene, “that’s something that has been debated about – for ages.” “Well?” “All that I can tell you is what I have actually been told,” she warned, “and, like I said, how much of it is true is anyone’s guess…” “Yes?” “Larry, Laughing Larry – went mad.”
“Mad?” Box asked, looking over his shoulder for a third time. “Yes,” she replied. “Unfortunately that is the one thing that I am absolutely sure of.” Raising an eyebrow, Box asked, “How can you be so sure?” “Because he appears here on a regular basis and believe me he is most certainly mad.” “If you ask me,” said Box, “It’s all a load of codswallop.” Just then, he felt something touching his shoulder, so turning round to see what it could be, Box
almost jumped out of his skin, with fright. Because floating, mere inches away from his face, was Laughing Larry himself. “Ha, ha,” the spectre cried out,” so you don’t believe I’m for real… Ha, ha!” “Get it away!” Box yelled, scrambling away from the mad spirit. “Get it away!” The spirit, Laughing Larry, having no intention of being sent packing so easily, laughed all the more, and singing out loudly, he said…
“I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry today, I am laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hey hey! You may think I’m not too serious, and I might even agree, But I’m still Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hee hee.”
Having retreated to behind his cousin’s back, Box said, “He’s bonkers, I tell you, absolutely barmy!” “I did warn you,” said Miocene, a smile of satisfaction creeping across her face. During the following minutes, Laughing Larry acted, well – like Laughing Larry, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, up and down and around and
around, in fact all over the room’s grimy interior. The crazy mad spectre had the time of its life showing his audience just what he was capable of doing. Still watching from behind the relative safety of his Harry’s back, Box wondered when the flying display and, more importantly, the ridiculous laughing and singing would come to a halt. But it simply went on and on, there seemed to be no end in sight to the zany mad antics of the crazy spirit. When he had had enough, when he just couldn’t take another second of the overpowering craziness, Box, lifting his hands in defeat, said, “Okay, you have made your point, I believe in you. I believe that you are real, and who you say you are – Laughing Larry – now will you please stop?” He did, Laughing Larry, floating gently down to the floor, began thanking Box for having had the wisdom to see him for what he really was – a crazy mad ghost. “If I were able to,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” With that Larry made an attempt to shake Box’s hand, but his own passed right though Box’s. “See what I mean?” he said, “It’s crazy, I tell you, absolutely crazy!” Taking no heed as to whether he was mad or not, Harry gave the ghost an icy cool stare, saying, “Can Miocene proceed?” “Sorry, Harry,” Larry apologised. “Please go on with the story, my dear, I’m all ears.” His ghostly ears suddenly grew to an enormously large size. Harry gave him another icy cold stare, even colder stare than the first. “Sorry, again,” Larry giggled, “I don’t get many visitors these days, and when I do I tend to get a bit carried away.” Having said that, he tried his best to calm down, and although he twitched nervously from time to time he remained relatively silent. Miocene continued with her tragically comic tale… “Larry,” she began. “That’s me,” said the ghost, butting in again. Ignoring him, she continued, “Larry was – distracted…” “Distracted? Distracted by what?” Box asked. “By an all pervading power of – evil,” she replied. “A power so strong he – Larry – was helpless against it.”
“What was it?” “He, it was a he,” Miocene whispered, barely audible. “He, he – who?” asked Box, terribly confused by what he was hearing. “Holdavort. It was a man...called Holdavort.” Box, who was by now so puzzled, simply stood there saying nothing, allowing Miocene to continue with her story. “This man, this Holdavort, whom no one had any idea where he had come from – was evil personified,” she whispered. “He was so evil all the devils, tangible and intangible, had given him a wide berth, so wide he barely knew of their existence, preferring their own kind, to the terrible evil this man engrossed. The devils had vacated our land with a vengeance. “Where did they all go?” asked Box, his heart pounding with both excitement and fear. “To Muddleland, of course,” she replied. “To Muddleland? Oh, you mean Earth – are you sure?” “Yes, and they’re still there to this very day. That’s why you Muddles, no insult intended, Box, have such a fear of the dark…” “The devils?” “Yes,” she replied. “Devils must keep to the Darkness; it’s paramount to suicide if they were to enter the light.” “It’s all getting frightfully heavy,” said Box, wiping his sweating brow. “That’s why poor Larry,” she pointed to the ghost, he smiled back nervously at her, “lost it – the plot – and why he’s still here to this very day.” “You mean the devils put him here, in this toilet?” “NO, NO!” she said, getting annoyed at his difficulty in grasping the facts. “It was Holdavort who did it!” “Oh…”
“Whereas the devils vacated this land, to escape this greater evil, Larry tried to fight it, and that, my dear Muddle friend, was his downfall.” “So Holdavort killed him?” “He killed him all right,” Miocene continued, “but not content with having done that, Holdavort seized his soul, his spirit, before it could return to The Summerland…banishing it for all time to this, this toilet room, as his way of reminding everyone never to cross him. “What’s Summerland?” Box asked, increasingly embarrassed by his ignorance on matters important, and the questions he felt impelled to ask. “It’s Heaven, by your way of reckoning,” she said, “but, to us, it’s so much more than simply that.” “Tell me, again, why Larry is so crazy,” said Box, scratching his head, still in some confusion. “Escapism, it was a diversion, the only way that he could deal with his terrible never ending punishment.” Larry smiled at Box and began fidgeting about with his fingers, again. “Hold on,” said Box. “If all this is true, then what happened to this Holdavort person?” “If only he had been just that – a person,” said Miocene, looking increasingly worried. “He was so more than a person… And although he’s been gone for some time, we all know, deep down inside, that one day he will return, and we fear it, we so fear it.” Still confused, Box scratched his head for the umpteenth time, and asked, “If Holdavort was all-powerful how was he defeated?” Miocene nodded in Harry’s direction. “Go away!” said Box, in sheer disbelief, “No! I don’t believe it. No, she could never have done that. No! No! No!” Although Harry felt that she was above something so Muddling as vanity, she found it increasingly hard to resist giving Box a piece of her mind – and a fistful of
education. But she resisted it, for she was a hero, and the Muddle, her cousin, now knew it. Having accepted (although with some difficulty, at first) that Harry, his troublesome cousin was actually a hero, Box was absolutely bursting with curiosity as to how this could have come about, how she had managed to defeat this allpowerful Holdavort character – and apparently so easily. “Tell me, Harry,” he said, “When did this take place, you know, when you thrashed this person – thingy?” Replying, Harry made it perfectly clear, and in no uncertain terms, that she had not thrashed Holdavort. “Don’t make light of it,” she warned. “I was almost killed in that encounter…” “Sorry,” he apologised, “I didn’t mean to offend you.” “It’s okay,” she replied, “I’m beginning to get used to your Muddling ways, but try and think before blurting out such silly things in the future, will you?” “I’ll try,” he promised, feeling quite small. “Having said that,” Harry continued, “I will tell you what happened…” “Thanks, I’m all ears,” Box replied. “Ears? Did someone say something about ears?” said Laughing Larry, his ears beginning to grow in size once again. “Not now!” Miocene scolded, “Harry is speaking.” “Sorry,” said Larry, his ears quickly returning to their original dimensions. “Now where was I?” said Harry. “You were just about to begin,” Box told her, choosing his words more carefully, this time. “Hmm, yes, okay. Here goes then,” she said. “It happened during my first year of schooling, here at Hagswords. And although I had been here since I was a baby, when I had been abandoned on the steps, I was still as green behind the ears as the rest of the ‘first-yearers’. And although I had been well cared for, I held no affection, no closeness, and certainly no respect for those in control of the school.
Having no desire to be here, in the first place, I thought it best to keep to myself and do my own thing as I had always done.” Seeing where the conversation was leading, Larry giggled, “I remember it – I really do!” Sending him another one of her icy cold stares, Harry stopped the mad ghost dead in his tracks. “As I was saying,” she continued, “I did my own thing, which, unfortunately, led me into this very convenience one dark and dreary Sunday afternoon …” “I knew it, I knew it,” the ghost giggled. Harry ignored him, and continuing on with her story, she said, “Having nothing better to do, I had been exploring... Anywhere – everywhere that they had told me was out of bounds, was in bounds as far as I was concerned…” “Yes, yes,” Larry giggled, in his growing excitement. “That’s why I came in here,” she explained. “No coot, no matter how old, was going to tell me where to go. So I opened the door and simply walked in!” “What did you find?” Box asked. He was now feeling almost as excited as the crazy mad ghost. “At first, nothing,” Harry replied. “But after some rather boring minutes, just staring at this grimy interior, old Larry showed up – and we got on splendidly together.” Clapping his hands, Larry began flying, swooping around the toilet unable to contain his excitement. “Weren’t you afraid to be in here on your own – with a ghost?” “Why?” she asked. “What harm can a ghost do?” “I dunno,” Box mumbled. “What happened then?” Her mood changing markedly, Harry whispered, “Then, he showed up…” “He? He – who? ” “Holdavort, of course,” she snapped. Who do you think – Father Christmas?”
“I was only asking!” “Sorry,” she apologised. “It’s still rather a sore topic.” Having said that, Harry became silent, saying no more – not even one word. Box wondered was that all that she was going to say, but having no intention of pressing her any further than she was comfortable with, he began walking around the room, inspecting its dust-laden furnishings, until Harry felt like telling him some more. Running a finger along the top of one of the wash hand basins, Box realised just how dusty the place really was. He turned on one of the taps. It screeched reluctantly into life. He waited for the water to flow, but it didn’t; the only thing that came out from it was a cloud of fine dust. Coughing, leaving the fixtures and fitting well enough alone, Box returned to his cousin. Are you quite finished?” she asked, her hands on her hips, showing her annoyance with him for having walked off. “God, you scared me!” he replied. “I thought we were having a break,” he lied, having no better excuse to offer. Returning to her story, Harry said, “Like I have already said, Holdavort showed up… And in my ignorance I had absolutely no idea who he was. He could have been Jack the Ripper – or the Pope for all that I knew.” “What happened?” “Now this is the strange bit,” she said, in a whisper. “He made a beeline for the ghost, Larry, as if I was not even there.” Larry remained silent, his recent spate of good humour having deserted him. Harry continued, “And when he reached Larry, he began attacking him with a vengeance. It really spooked me, Box, for I had no idea how he was able to do it, you know, to touch a ghost. I began shouting, I said, ‘Leave him alone, you big bully.’ That’s when Holdavort turned on me, when I saw that red glow of his piggy eyes. Box, Miocene – it sent shivers down my spine, it really did.” Harry stopped talking, but this time Box stayed put right where he was. However, the tap that he had turned on began dripping water – drip drip drip.
“Closer and closer that man/thing came towards me,” Harry continued, “until he was so close I could smell his breath. And it stank; it stank of raw fish and silage. Then he spoke, ordering me to tell him who I was. And I told him; I told it that I was Harry Rotter, a girl who was in no way intimidated by people such as him. I have no idea where I got the courage from, Box, but I got it anyhow.” “And then?” Box asked. “He threatened me. He said that if I didn’t bow down and grovel at his feet, right there and then, he would do the same to me as he had done to Larry – and then some.” “You didn’t grovel?” “Of course I didn’t,” she snapped. “What do you take me for – a Muddle?” To that remark Box made no reply. “I’ll tell you what I did,” Harry said, “I took out my wand and challenged him to a duel, that’s what I did.” “Really?” Box asked, in admiration for her tremendous gumption. “Yes, really,” Harry replied. “After that, however, it’s all a bit of a blur, if I’m to be perfectly honest…” “A blur?” “Yes,” she replied. “I can remember some things, though, like energising my wand to fend off his first attack. I can also remember, but vaguely, hurling my best at him. It sent him falling to the ground... Can you believe that, Box, he actually fell to the ground from my fist strike?” “I can now,” Box admitted. “Please go on.” “But he was a hard nut to crack… And he returned with attack after attack; some of them finding their mark, striking me hard – and they burned, they burned me so much.” Rolling up her sleeve, Harry showed him the mark on her arm, saying, “That’s how I got this.” “I had thought that was some sort of a tattoo,” he said, in awe at her battle scar.
“If only,” she replied. Pulling her sleeve down, Harry continued, “Like I said, Box, it’s all a bit of a blur. But from what I was told, later, I must have been fighting him – for ages, because no one saw anything of me until the next morning, when they found me unconscious.” “How come?” “Will you listen?” Harry snapped. “I must have blanked out, because the next thing I can remember was waking up in the school hospital, with nurse Winterbottom looming over me, holding a huge spoonful of castor oil, saying, ‘Ah, so you are awoke, now get this down and into you, it’ll do you good.’ It was horrible, Box – Yuk!” The ghost, Laughing Larry, a smile on his face again, began laughing. “And Holdavort? What about him?” “He’s hasn’t been seen since – not a sign of him.” “But you beat him,” said Box triumphantly, “you really beat him!” With that he grabbed hold of Harry and gave her a big hug. “Stop, stop!” she complained. “I might have won the battle, but the war is far from won.” “But you won the battle, you did, and I think it’s fantastic!” Box exclaimed. Laughing Larry, having returned to his original demeanour, began flying about the room laughing and giggling more crazily than ever. Her story over, Harry said, “Come on, we have a plan to work out, and a war to win…”
Chapter Eighteen Horrid “Where has everyone from out of the paintings gone?” Box asked, as they left the boys’ toilet (and Larry), and began making their way down the deserted corridor. Pointing to one of the paintings, Harry replied, “Look, and see for yourself.” Approaching the picture, a wonderful summer scene of harvest time, Box saw to his great surprise that everyone – both people and animals – had returned to their original positions. But this time, peculiarly, they took absolutely no notice of him. “Hmm,” he said, “curious…” “Satisfied?” said Harry. “Yeh, I suppose so,” he mumbled, scratching his head. Then he asked, “But how did they do it, you know, get back in without us hearing them?” “Magic?” Harry suggested. Pointing, changing the subject, Miocene said, “This is the way to the Great Hall.” And with that she began leading the way. “Harry, are you sure we must return to the Great Hall – again?” said Box. “I’m afraid so,” she confessed. “If there’s only one thing I’ve learned, during my time here at Hagswords, it’s that the old coot’s consistent. Believe me, Box, he will be there.” “Him being there isn’t my concern,” Box grumbled. “It’s what he’s been up to in the meantime that worries me…” After that the two cousins followed Miocene without saying another words. The closer Harry, Miocene and Box approached the Great Hall, the greater their fears grew as to what might be laying in wait for them; this time the Muddle had some company with his fears…
With each painting they passed, where subject after subject religiously kept their eyes firmly within the confines of their particular painting, Box had a sense of foreboding that something terrible was about to happen. As Miocene walked on ahead, her thoughts returned to her onetime friend, Wan, and she wondered if he was still lying on the floor, or had he recovered and gone tearing off to find Tumbledown and McGonagain, to tell them what had happened? Perhaps, at this very moment, she thought, they were planning all sorts of nasty surprises to perpetrate upon them. An icy cold shiver ran down her spine. Harry said nothing, her mind, set firmly on retrieving the marbles, was thinking ahead to what she might do once she retrieved them… Stopping, pointing a finger, Miocene said, “The Great Hall is over there, across that lobby.” Their eyes following her finger, Harry and Box stared at the entrance, where the magnificent doors had until so recently stood. Planks of rough timbers were nailed across it. Laughing nervously, Box said, “It looks like they’re expecting us, then” “They’re barring our way,” Miocene said pessimistically. “Not barring,” said Harry, “but slowing.” “Slowing?” Box asked. “Yes, slowing,” she explained. “Slowing our progress… just long enough, methinks.” Slipping her hand into her jacket pocket, Harry withdrew the stump of her old wand. “Here,” she said, handing it to Box, “you take it,” “Me?” he asked, taken aback by this gesture of trust. “How do I use it?” “You’ll learn,” she replied, as she unfastened her shoulder bag and took out her new wand. Following Harry’s example, Miocene withdrew her own wand, a garish pink affair. Trying to ignore the flamboyant colour, Box said, “So we attack, and with all three wands we might be in with a chance?”
“Attack?” said Harry, raising a disapproving eyebrow. “Not quite there yet, are you cousin?” With no idea as to how he was expected to take that remark, Box said, “Pardon?” “You persist in thinking aggressively,” Harry grumbled. “You must remember – and learn, that whatever you sow so shall you reap…” “Still dreadfully confused, Box repeated, “Pardon?” “Oh, those Muddle teachers have a lot to answer for,” Harry bemoaned. “If you think ‘attack’, the law of the Universe, the Mystic Law, will return it to you.” “Then how do we fight?” “Let him attack, first – that’s all. Then, in doing so, he will have empowered us,” said Harry, with a flourish of her wand. “Are you sure?” said Box, thinking it a big risk to be taking if she happened to be wrong. “I’m sure – believe me,” she insisted. “That’s what I did, before, when I faced Holdavort.” “I thought you couldn’t remember?” “I can remember some of it…” Box didn’t like it, her idea, but with no better suggestion to offer, he reluctantly agreed. “So, how do we start,” he asked. “With you, of course” she said impassively. “With me?” he asked, bemused by the very suggestion. “Why me?” “Because you’re the weakest.” “I’m as strong as an ox!” he protested with a vengeance. “”An ox – perhaps,” she replied, “but not as strong as a mystic, child or otherwise.” “But…” he complained, his words, however, falling on deaf ears.
Now let me get this straight,” said Box, “you want me to go out there,” he pointed to the boarded up entrance, “and call Tumbledown? And get him to come out, to see me?” “That’s about it,” Harry concurred. “And when, or should I say if he comes out, I – we just wait until he makes the first strike?” “Yes, that’s it,” said Harry, “you’ve got it. Go on with you.” “Am I missing something?” Box asked, flabbergasted at how fast things were proceeding. “I don’t think so,” said Harry, her attention returning to the boarded up entrance. “Now go on – go!” Turning to Miocene, Box could see that she was concerned, but he knew, deep down, that she would side with another mystic, if push came to shove, so biting the bullet, he made his way across to the boarded up entrance. And if anything did happen, he thought – and he had to face facts that they wanted something to happen, he did have the short stump of a wand to protect him, didn’t he? Holding onto it tightly, he laughed, Box laughed as he walked across the lobby to the boarded up entrance… Watching, with a growing sense of concern, Miocene asked, “Is he all right?” “He is,” Harry replied. “Unfortunately, that’s his normal way of behaviour.” Standing in front of the entrance, Box tried to see through the planks barring his way, but it was almost impossible, there were simply too many of them for him to have any hope of seeing clearly. All that he could see were a few vague shadows moving about inside the hall. Gathering what little courage he had left at his disposal, Box shouted, “Hey, you old coot!” “What did he call him?” said Miocene. “Harry laughed, and she said, “He’s learning, the Muddle is actually learning.” Box waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming, so he called out again, “Hey, Tumbledown, I’m talking to you! Or are you afraid to show yourself?”
Hearing this, Harry laughed again. Box listened, thinking he was surely going to get a response from that outburst, but he heard nothing. Becoming ever more riled, Box shouted for a third time, saying, “Tumbledown, I think you’re hiding behind a woman’s skirt! That’s it,” he continued, “you’re hiding behind Professor McGonagain’s skirt, you old buzzard!” With absolutely no warning, the planks of timber barring the entrance exploded with such tremendous force they knocked Box clean off his feet. Seeing this, Miocene made an effort to go help, but holding her back, Harry said, “No, leave him be, we must do this the right as planned.” A dazed and confused Box tried to pick himself up, only to be struck by a blast of pure energy, screaming out of the newly liberated entrance, hurling him across the lobby like he was no more than a piece of brushwood. “He’ll be killed!” Miocene yelled. “Harry, we must go help him!” “We can,” she replied, much to Miocene’s relief, “now that the first blow has been struck…” And with that Harry raced to the aide of her fallen cousin. “Wait for me!” Miocene shouted, running after the troublesome girl mystic. Helping Box up to his feet, Harry asked, “Are you all right?” “I, I think so,” he replied. Then noticing the gaping hole in the doorway, he asked, “Who did that?” “Our old friend, of course.” “Tumbledown?” “Yep, it seems you really rattled his cage.” “I suppose I did get a bit carried away,” Box admitted sheepishly. Catching up, Miocene said, “Box, are you okay?” “Yes, it appears so,” he told her, then pointing through the entrance, he said, “It looks like I’ve touched a raw nerve.” “Hmm,” she grumbled, “I think he’s got plenty of them.”
Coughing, drawing their attention, Harry asked, “Are you both ready?” “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Box declared. “And me” Miocene added. Walking through the entrance, Harry said, “Then let’s go do it…”
Inside, within the Great Hall, there was no sign – of anybody. “I thought you said he’d be here?” Box grumbled. “I did,” Harry replied. “Then where is he?” “Somewhere?” “Somewhere?” said Box, frustrated yet again by Harry’s abstract use of the English language.” Glancing around the hall, he mumbled, “This place is spooky.” Too afraid to speak, Miocene said nothing. From the very second the first blow had been struck fairly against them, Harry had been itching for a fight – she always loved a good scrap, but seeing no one, she hissed, “Where is the old coot?” “And McGonagain,” Box added, “I don’t trust that woman.” Picking up enough courage to speak, Miocene asked, “Where are all the pupils?” “There’s no one,” said Box. “No one at all…” “Not everyone has gone,” a voice suddenly boomed out. “W, who said that?” Miocene stammered in fright. “You might well ask,” the voice boomed out again, “considering I will be the last thing you will ever see.” “See?” Harry roared into the seemingly empty hall. “We can’t see – anyone. Perhaps you are as frightened to show your face as Tumbledown and his Misses are.”
Although he was shaking with fright, Box laughed hearing this, and he imagined Albert J Tumbledown and Professor McGonagain walking down the isle on their wedding day, wearing their long school robes, hats and all. And whispering to Harry, he asked, “They’re not really married, are they?” Giving him a particularly cold stare, Harry gave Box her answer – of course they were not. “Well?” Harry roared out again. “Are you going to show yourself?” Materialising out of thin air, an enormously tall, bearded man, wearing open toed sandals and the brightest coat you could ever imagine, appeared before them. And he was huge, at least twenty feet in height, perhaps more. His coat was so bright they were forced to shade their eyes. “So,” he laughed, “Yous think I am frightened – of pipsqueaks.” The three children, dumbstruck, said nothing. “Ah, has the cat gut yours tongues?” he asked, laughing and bellowing with delight. Finding her courage, Miocene yelled, “The cat has got nothing, and nor will you, after we have finished with you! – And who are you, anyway?” Still laughing, but this time it was a deep belly laugh, the giant enjoyed the moment of fine entertainment. In fact he enjoyed it so much tears of laughter ran down his face. “Stops,” he said, “I haave to speaks with yous.” Trying to hold back the laughs, he said, “My name is Horrid.” “Horrid?” said Miocene, “What sort of a name is that?” His laughing coming to a abrupt halt, the giant said, “A nasty, grimy one, I am sorry to be informing yous.” The atmosphere suddenly changed from warm to decidedly chilly. The giant continued, “Now I haave to tell yous,” he said. “That I am not a liking to yous very much.” “Why?” Box asked, stepping closer to the huge figure. “Why don’t you like us?” “Yeh,” said Miocene, rubbing her hands trying to warm herself, “Come on, and spit it out.”
Scratching his chin through the dense tangle of his grey beard, Horrid, said, “I am not a liking to yous – because I haave been told not to be a liking to yous.” “Do you always do everything that you are told?” Miocene asked, feeling braver by the second. “Yes, always,” he replied, scratching his beard for a second time. “I don’t wants to be a hurting to yous, but I must do it. I am sorry, but that is just the ways that it happens to be.” “By whose orders?” said Harry, speaking up, surprising them all, for you see she had been strangely quiet until then. Turning to face her, the giant began laughing again, “So this is the pipsqueak,” he chortled, “who is causing all the commotions and the mayhems!” Standing firm, stretching her arm to full length, Harry pointed her electro magical wand defiantly at Horrid. “So yous thinks a pipsqueak thing like that make the harms to me?” he asked, taking out his own wand, a huge affair, over three feet in length. Having no intention of letting him get away with so threatening an act, Miocene and Box pointed their own wands at the giant. “Ha, ha,” Horrid laughed when he saw this, “I so enjoys a good fight!” Then waving his wand in a loose arc, he created a shimmering mass of bright sparklies that fell ever so gently to the floor around Miocene. Having no experience of such things, Box saw no danger in it, and for a moment he even admired the beautiful display. But when it encircled her, and began tightening around Miocene’s body, capturing her within its deadly embrace, his heart skipped a beat. “Harry!” he yelled. “Harry – do something!” “So, the Muddle boy is to be learning,” said Horrid. “But it’s too late, because Muddle is next one on the big agenda!” With that he waved his huge wand, and another shower of sparklies descended onto Box. “Harry!” Box yelled, “Do something! Harry!”
Unbeknown to Box, Harry was already doing something. Slowly, calmly and quietly she was chanting in Arcanum‌
Chapter Nineteen To Fight a Giant “Crioninous crionan shrahfularmo skryfulamd, attack this Horrid giant right now, scryfularmo scry – it’s done.” Standing back, Harry waited for the terrible vengeance that she had summonsed, to begin. She waited and she waited and she waited, but nothing happened, nothing at all. Raising her wand, she inspected it, thinking there might be a loose connection, and then shaking it, she bemoaned, “Stupid Muddle technology! I must have been out of my mind, thinking I could depend on such a primitive tact!” Horrid, on the other hand, had no such need for Muddling skills. He had his own wand, all three feet of it, with which he was about to reap his own terrible vengeance. “The pipsqueak is so funnys,” he boomed. “So funnys it is almost a pity to be snuffing her out.” Waving his wand, though this time in a circling motion, the giant created a ring of glowing white light that began drifting menacingly towards Harry. Powerless to help, but still able to speak, Box shouted, “Harry – watch out!” Ignoring his cries Harry concentrated on what she was, unbeknownst to Box, now doing. Whilst she had no idea why her chanting – the Arcanum – had failed, she still believed in its power – and so much. Thinking fast, she shook her new wand yet again, and growled, “You had better work this time.” Then pressing the fourth button, she whispered, “Mal for rino, mal for ram, create another giant man, of blood and bone, and skin and teeth, to fight, protect and destroy that heap.” Pressing the very same bottom for a second time, Harry watched as a blue milky substance spew out from the end of her wand, onto the floor. “The pipsqueak is making waters,” Horrid boomed from above in great peals of laughter. Turing his attention to Miocene, Box saw that she was still struggling against the encircling sparkles. He tried against his, but it was useless, he was as trapped and
helpless as she was. Returning his attention to Harry, Box watched as the blue liquid – and so much of it – continued to spew out from her wand. Harry was also watching the blue liquid, and she continued to watch as it formed a large puddle, where, partially solidifying, it began to grow, getting larger and larger, and bigger and bigger until it resembled a man, a giant blue man as tall as Horrid himself. “Wow!” Box gasped. “Wow!” “So yous think you can be of the outsmarting to me?” Horrid growled, turning his attention to the blue coloured giant. Twiddling with a button on her wand, Harry watched as the blue coloured giant turned away from Horrid, like he was trying to escape. “Look, he’s runnings away,” Horrid laughed triumphantly, “and I should thinks it be so.” But when the blue figure stopped, and turned its attention to the circles of light threatening Harry, destroying it with one sweep of a hand, Horrid’s laughing abruptly ceased. Turning its attention to Miocene and Box, the blue giant grabbed hold of their constraints, one in each hand, crushing them easily. “Hurray!” Box shouted in triumph. Checking to see if Miocene was okay, he asked, “Are you all right, Miocene?” She nodded, and said, “What about you?” “Me?” he replied, “Oh, I’m fine, just fine.” Pointing to her new ally, Harry said, “Now it’s you against him, Horrid. That’s if you’re up to it?” Fuming, definitely not laughing, Horrid boomed, “I’ll be getting to yous, Harry, after I haave put the bad finishing touches to this blue toy yous haave given for me to play with.” Pointing his enormous wand at his adversary, Horrid sent a torrent of lightning bolts shooting towards him. But his opponent’s body, being essentially composed of liquid, absorbed the deadly lightning bolts with ease, and they passed harmlessly through. “Hah?” how cans that be?” Horrid gasped. “It can, and it will be – the finish of you, you nasty old thing!” Miocene shouted, “Go on, Harry, give him one for me!”
She did, over the following minutes Harry, the girl mystic, with the aid of her electro magical wand, guided her blue coloured accomplice on to a stunning victory, against the giant who could have been so nice if he had so chosen. In its last move, the blue giant, grabbing Horrid by the shoulders, pulled him into his sticky body, absorbing his rival into his own watery, gooey flesh. It was over – Horrid had been defeated, he was gone. After letting out a tremendously loud belch, the only audible sound it had made during the entire struggle, the blue coloured giant simply melted away. Patting Harry on the back, in congratulations, Box said, “Phew, that sure was some fight!” “Is he really gone?” Miocene asked, staring at the only thing left from the fracas – a blue coloured puddle. “He’s gone all right,” Harry concurred, with a grin.
As the three friends stood there, in the Great Hall, they realised just how big the place really was. “I’ve never seen it empty,” said Miocene. “It’s usually full of pupils… Harry – where are all the pupils?” It was true, in their excitement they had forgotten all about the children, and it worried them. “Harry, what do you think Tumbledown’s done with them?” Miocene asked. “Where is he – and McGonagain?” said Box, his eyes scanning the hall for any signs of life. “Like I said, earlier,” Harry replied, speaking slowly, choosing her words carefully “It was a slowing tactic…” “To gain them time?” “Yes, Box, but only to a point,” she said, her thoughts rushing ahead of her chosen words.
“To a point?” said Miocene, sensing that Harry had more to say. “I’m afraid so,” she replied. “Let me explain…” What Harry then said to them took Miocene and Box totally by surprise, for although they knew that the Philosopher’s Marbles were the goal of the troublesome girl mystic’s intent they had up until then no idea that she harboured designs for the top job at Hagswords, herself. “You can’t be serious!” said Box, in denial, feeling that he must have missed something along the way. Harry nodded that she was. “What about Tumbledown?” Miocene asked. “Do you really think he should remain in control?” Harry replied, thinking Miocene had surely missed something, asking such a stupid question. “Well, no, not really,” she confessed. “I’m just so confused by it all,” she said, embarrassed by her muddlement on the subject. Then ever so timidly, she asked, “Does he know about your ambitions?” “Of course he knows,” Harry snapped. “Do you think he would go to all this trouble – for fun?” “What do you intend to do when you are in control of Hagswords?” “Close it?” she replied, without giving it a second thought. “Close it!” Miocene screeched, almost choking on her words. “But why?” “Less distractions…” Harry replied coldly. “Less of everything, if you ask me,” Miocene said frantically. “If you close it, then where will I go? Where will all the pupils go?” Getting tired of the discussion, Harry said, “That is not my problem…” Miocene was so flummoxed she was unable to say anything more; she just glared at Harry, in total disgust.
Realising that his cousin had no intention of saying anything more on the subject, Box decided to leave it for later. So he said, “Any idea where Tumbledown might be?” “I might,” she replied. “And?” Pointing, Harry focused his attention on to a plaque at the far end of the hall. “That’s a list of all the House captains since Hagswords first opened,” said Miocene. Examining the plaque, a slab of mahogany timber darkened by the passage of time, Box ran his fingers along line after line of neat writing, seeking something – anything to help them to understand what Tumbledown was up to. Taking off his glasses, breathing on the lens and giving them a rub in his pullover, he said, “All that I can see are names, names and yet more names.” Turning to Miocene, Harry said, “What about you? Can you see anything else?” Miocene looked, but all that she saw were the same boring words Box had already gone over. She was no more enlightened than him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but, no.” “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” said Harry, ticking both of them off. “That’s why I’m the girl mystic, the only person who deserves to replace old Tumbledown. She had said it, she had done it Harry had returned to the very same subject she had only minutes earlier refused to comment on. “I think you are far too big for your boots!” said Miocene, doing her own bit of reproaching. “Looking down at her feet, Harry sarcastically replied, “For your information I am not wearing boots, but even if I were, I can assure you they would be of a most comfortable fit.” “Humph!” Miocene grumbled, as she took her own turn in refusing to speak any more on the subject. “Well?” said Harry, turning to her cousin. “Have you anything you would like to add, Box?”
He had, but shaking his head he lied, thinking it better – and safer – to save it for later… Approaching the plaque, Harry pushed them aside, and after studying it for a moment, she pointed to a name in the bottom right hand corner, and said, “See this?” Inching closer, Miocene and Box took a look. The writing, however, having been tampered with was quite difficult to see. Someone had obviously gone to a great deal of effort trying to remove it. “What does it say?” Box asked, removing his glasses and cleaning them again. Screwing up her eyes, butting it, Miocene said, “I think it says – ‘Redbrick Fortune, Blytheryn Hole cartoon 1882 to 1845.’ That makes no sense!” she grumbled. With a hint of a smile, Harry said, “You’re almost there, but not quite. What it actually says – or said, was Fredrick Fortitude, Blytheryn House captain 1842 to 1845.” “I don’t know why,” said Miocene, “but that name rings a bell…” “And so it should,” said Harry, tapping the writing with a finger. Confused, Miocene asked, “It should?” “Yes, certainly, if you studied your school history...” “It hasn’t been one of my strongest points,” Miocene admitted guiltily, fidgeting with her fingers, uncomfortable with this admission. “Are you sure one of your parents wasn’t a Muddle?” Harry asked, with no thought as to the pain it might cause. Without waiting for a reply, she continued, “That person, Fredrick Fortitude, was the great, great grandfather, on his mother’s side, of Laughing Larry himself!” “WHAT?” Miocene and Box cried out in astonishment. “Fredrick Fortitude, or should I say – Frederick Lawrence Fortitude was the great, great grandfather of Laughing Larry.”
“But how does this tell you where Tumbledown is?” Box asked, steering the conversation back to its original point. “It tells me – lots,” Harry replied rather cryptically. “Lots?” asked Miocene. “How?” Exhaling loudly, as if she were dreadfully tired, Harry said, “Who do you think tried to erase this writing?” “I dunno?” Box admitted. “Miocene?” “Was it Tumbledown?” she replied, ever so quietly, afraid that she was wrong. Smiling, Harry said, “No, not Albert J Tumbledown, but his great, great grandfather Alfred K Tumbledown, the very man who was behind the rise of Holdavort. It was his idea to kill and to banish Laughing Larry.” “So, is Tumbledown in the boys’ toilet?” said Box, hoping that he was finally on the right track. “Yes,” said Harry, “he most certainly is – and he’s after Larry!” Walking out of the hall, she turned and said, “Come on, we have a ghost to save.”
Chapter Twenty To Face Their Foe On the way to the boys’ toilet, Harry explained to Miocene and Box what Albert J Tumbledown was actually doing there. “We’ve boxed him into a corner,” she said. “And we all know what a rat does when hemmed in. It lashes out – and with a vengeance!” Miocene gulped hard. Box listened intently. “He wants rid of anything that connects him with the past, he wants to move on,” Harry continued. “That’s why he tried to erase those words from the plaque, and why, even now years later, he wants rid of Laughing Larry.” “I still don’t really understand why?” said Miocene, feeling quite foolish for having to ask. “What difference can it make – after all this time?” “It makes a difference to Laughing Larry,” Harry replied, without bothering to explain any further. “Do you think he will be expecting us?” Box asked. “You can bet your bottom dollar he will.” “Will Professor McGonagain be with him?” Miocene asked. “I am sure of it.” “And the pupils?” said Box, remembering them. The pupils, Harry had forgotten about the pupils. Would they be there, with Tumbledown? The truth, the plain truth was that she had absolutely no idea. But hiding her ignorance, she said, “I would imagine so.” Approaching the toilet door, Harry signalled for them to stop. “What is it?” said Box. “Did you hear something?” Miocene asked, listening intently for sounds.
Thinking, wondering, fearing what lay in wait behind that innocent looking door, Harry offered no reply. “Wands at the ready!” she ordered. There was no need for her to have said this, because Miocene and Box, already holding their wands, and so very tightly, had them aimed directly at the door. “It’s awfully quiet,” Box whispered. “I can’t hear Laughing Larry,” said Miocene. “It’s too quiet,” Harry replied. “GET BACK!” No sooner had she said this did the door burst open, blown clear off its hinges, the tremendous blast hurling the three friends across the floor. “Who did that?” Box bemoaned, getting up and rubbing his soreness. “Whom do you think?” Harry quipped, reverting to her usual bad manner. Then they heard them; they heard the sound of the children, the pupils they had been so worried about. They heard them running, coming closer and closer and closer, as every last child came tearing out from the toilets, in a mad, desperate dash for freedom. Shouting, squealing, shrieking and yelling they rushed headlong towards their would-be liberators. “We’ll be killed!” Miocene screamed. “That’s what he’s hoping for,” Harry growled. Thinking fast, she waved her electro magical wand, saying, “Mal for ramlos, mal for rot, dispel us from this danger brought, transport us through, and with no harm, inside that room, to face that man.” No sooner had she had finished speaking, something strange began to happen. The three friends losing substance, becoming increasingly translucent, were fading away. The panicking children continued to dash out from the room, but they passed right through Harry, Miocene and Box as if they were not even there. “Did you see that?” said Box. “They passed right through us!” Making an effort to touch him, Miocene’s hand passed effortlessly through Box’s chest. “This is weird,” she said, “really weird.”
Then, as the remainder of Harry’s chant kicked in, something even stranger began to happen. Slipping, sliding, slithering and gliding Harry, Miocene and Box were drawn though the doorway, into the boys’ toilet, without turning as much as a toe. “Wow!” said Box in absolute amazement, as they began to re-materialise. “Now, that’s what I call an entrance!” “You might think that impressive, Muddle, but it’s nothing, nothing at all!” Albert J Tumbledown said in tersely in reply. In that room, the toilet, Albert J Tumbledown, with Professor McGonagain at his side, stood before the new arrivals like he was king of all he surveyed. “So we meet again,” he croaked scornfully. Her eyes locked on all three wands trained upon them, Professor McGonagain said nothing. “What have you done to Laughing Larry?” Miocene asked, her eyes scanning the room for the mad ghost. “Him?” Tumbledown said disdainfully, “Why you are so concerned with someone who has been dead for so long is a mystery to me. How long has he been dead, anyhow?” “Too long,” Harry yelled contemptuously, “far too long!” His eyes narrowing, Tumbledown spoke quietly, and he said “So we cut to the quick, I wondered how long it might take, for the girl mystic, the girl hypocrite.” Shaking with anger, Harry struggled with her wand, desperately wanting to smite the man she so despised. “Have I touched a raw nerve,” he asked, in the same smooth tone Harry so hated. Seeing that he had unnerved her, Tumbledown continued, “Oh, she let’s on to be so honourable, the girl mystic, but did she tell you that she is – a thief?” Miocene and Box both nodded that she had. “Hmm,” he replied, seemingly taken aback by her newfound honesty. “At least she has done that right.”
Waving her wand menacingly, Harry spoke coldly, calculatedly, as she too asked, “What have you done with Laughing Larry?” “It’s of no use you waving that thing at me, whatever it happens to be,” said Tumbledown, patting the pouch of marbles strung from his belt. “I don’t make the same mistake twice… If you want a fight, this time you will have to cast the first stone…” “Just because you have the Philosopher’s Marbles,” Harry snarled, “it doesn’t mean you are invincible!” Tumbledown smiled. Harry said nothing. “We only want to know if Laughing Larry is alright,” said Miocene, hoping to get on his good side (assuming he actually had one). Raising an eyebrow, Tumbledown said, “Is that all?” “Yes,” Miocene lied (she would have said anything to save the mad ghost). “The girl’s a liar,” said Professor McGonagain, whispering into the old man’s ear, “and a bad one at that.” Feeling they were getting nowhere, Box raised a hand, and he asked, “Can I say something?” “The Muddle would like to speak,” the professor crowed derisively. “I have no time for your foolishness,” said Tumbledown, waving his hand dismissively, like he was shooing away a bothersome cat or dog. Having no intention of being fobbed off that easily, Box said, “So you don’t want to hear about Harry’s new wand?” Don’t try our patience,” McGonagain replied with a hiss. “You heard what he said, Muddle.” “In that case,” Box continued, folding his arms in defiance, “you will have to learn the hard way, like when Harry defeats you.” “I warned you!” McGonagain hissed. “Go on, Albert; give him a taste of your anger!”
“Let him speak.” Shocked at hearing these words, the Professor protested, “But he’s a foolish Muddle?” “I said let him speak.” McGonagain remained quiet, but she watched, determined to find fault in whatever Box happened to say. Having considered Tumbledown to be a much harder nut to crack, and especially now, Box was temporarily at a loss for words. “Well? Are you going to speak?” he asked, one of his hands resting on the pouch of marbles, ready for deception or trickery. “I thought you might be interested in how I made Harry’s wand….” he said, his voice trailing off. “You made it? A Muddle?” “Yes.” Stroking his long beard, Tumbledown said, “Might I be so bold as to ask why you are telling me this?” Searching for words, Box stammered, “I, I thought...that if you knew what you were up against, you might agree to resolve our differences amicably.” “Paying no heed to this suggestion, Tumbledown said, “When I had it in my protective custody, earlier, I thought it little more than a toy. Perhaps I was mistaken… Go on; tell me more about this wand you have created…” “I made it in my bedroom,” Box told him proudly. You must dismiss this Muddling child,” McGonagain insisted. “He is an imbecile!” Raising a hand, Tumbledown signalled for silence. “Well, of all the!” the Professor huffed in disgust. “I made it in my bedroom,” Box repeated, “from Harry’s original wand.”
Turning his attention to Harry, Tumbledown asked, “Is this true?” “It is,” she replied, “for all the good that it will do you.” “So, you have only the one wand?” he said, appearing to lose interest in it. “One, two – they’re only numbers,” Harry replied nonchalantly. Tumbledown’s eyes inspected the three wands that were still pointing at him. “So, Muddle,” he said with a smirk, “you have only a remnant.” “It might be only a remnant,” Box admitted, with a quip, “but it sure packs a powerful wallop.” “But it is still only a remnant,” Tumbledown repeated ever so thoughtfully. Beginning to feel threatened, Box thought it might be safer to change the subject, and returning to the matter of the missing ghost, he said, “As a gesture of goodwill, could you bring it upon yourself to tell us where Laughing Larry is?” “Perhaps, if I felt so inclined…” “And – you will?” “I might – if you were to offer me a gesture of goodwill, first.” Pointing at himself, Box asked, “Me?” “Yes, by you, Harry or even the girl. A gesture might sway me to offer that information – assuming that I actually have it.” “Don’t do it, Box!” Miocene implored. “It’s a trick!” Turning away from Box, to Harry, Tumbledown said, and in his sweetest tone of voice, “And how do you feel about this suggestion, Harry?” “What sort of a gesture?” she asked. “Oh, nothing really,” he replied, “just something small, like showing me that new wand of yours.” “No, that’s absolutely out of the question,” she snapped, holding on tighter to it.
“I am so sorry to hear that,” he replied, in the same tone of voice she so hated. “And Miocene so wanted to know what happened to – what was his name, again?” “Laughing Larry!” Miocene yelled in disgust, at the man, the school Principal she had, up until so recently, trusted implicitly. Thus incensed, she began waving her wand from side to side. “No, Miocene, DON’T DO IT!” Harry implored. But her words fell on deaf ears. Miocene had already begun chanting. She said, “Ondo-os-equalo, ondo-os-equant, seize the pouch and marbles now, ondo-os – it’s done.” “Miocene, what have you done?” Harry whispered in dispear. He smiled; Tumbledown smiled, because the first strike had just been made against – him! Wasting not one second more than he had to, he slipped his hand into the pouch and withdrew a Philosopher’s Marble. “Ah, the first one,” he said, turning the marble round in his bony old fingers, “and such a pretty, pretty thing.” Trembling, realising the dangerous position she had put them all in, Miocene stood frozen, with fright. “You chanted, did you not?” Tumbledown asked the would-be girl mystic. Miocene said nothing; she was silent with shame and fear. “Did something happen?” Tumbledown asked, looking around himself. “Did I miss it?” “You know full well that her words were at nothing, against those marbles!” Box yelled. “Hmm, perhaps you are right,” he replied. “What do you think, Professor?” Relieved that Tumbledown was on the offensive, trusting her opinions once again, she said, “That one will never by a girl mystic. Her manner is all wrong.” “Her manner may well be wrong,” said Harry, fuming at the Professor, “but her heart is in the right place. She will be a girl mystic – and a good one at that, perhaps the best – ever!”
Paying no attention to Harry’s rants or the Professor’s spiteful words, Tumbledown studied the shiny glass bauble, with interest. He watched as the colours began changing, shifting and shaping into so many wondrous new combinations, offering a hint, just a hint of the magical powers therein. Then he whispered into it… “The gesture?” Harry asked, chancing her arm like never before. “His attention distracted, Tumbledown said, “Pardon?” “You said that you wanted a goodwill gesture?” “So I did,” he replied, his eyes returning to the marble. “Well?” Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the marble, Tumbledown spoke softly, saying, “Unfortunately, things have changed.” “Changed?” “Yes,” he replied. “Goodwill gestures, however noble, are now low on my list of priorities.” On hearing this, Harry raised her wand. “You can try, but do you really think you have a chance – against every last marble?” the old man warned. “No, no I don’t” she admitted. Turning away, as if she was about to leave, to walk out from the toilet, leaving Miocene and Box to their own devices, Harry swung round again, letting rip with her wand, spewing a torrent of smoke, fire and razor sharp lightning bolts the likes of which had never been seen. Seeing her chance, Miocene attacked with her own wand, sending a beam of pure power hurtling at the school Principal. Box, being new to the ‘magical malarkey’ business, struggled to get his stump of a wand into gear, but when he finally managed to start it, to get it going, he sent a torrent of lightning bolts streaking towards Tumbledown. Despite this terrible onslaught aimed against him, not even one hair on Tumbledown’s head was touched let alone harmed, the Philosopher’s Marble
having shielded him from every last vestige of it. And then it returned their attacks sevenfold. “Jump!” Harry shouted the very second she realised this was happening. They jumped; Miocene and Box leapt high into the air, narrowly evading the returning attack. “Hmm, if you were Irish,” said Tumbledown, in mock humour, “I’d say it was the luck of your race. However, since you’re not of that origin, I can only surmise that it was a fluke. His eyes narrowing, he said, “You will not be so fortunate the next time.” Trembling with fear, Miocene said, “Harry, what are we going to do?” Box might have asked the very same question, but being a ‘silly Muddle’ he saw things in a different light – a laser light. Pulling the pen like instrument from out of a pocket, he whispered, “Would I dare to try it, again?” He would. He did. Hiding the instrument from sight, Box yelled at Tumbledown and McGonagain, daring them to bring down their worst upon him. “So, you were right, Professor McGonagain,” Tumbledown gloated, in his power, “He is an imbecile.” “And a bigger one than I had imagined,” she concurred, nodding her head enthusiastically. After removing a second marble from his pouch, Tumbledown held one in each hand. “It’s your funeral,” he said, with no hint of emotion to his voice. “Go on, you old buzzard!” Box yelled, “Or are you afraid?” Although she was so scared for him, on hearing this Miocene almost choked with laughter. Raising his hands, Tumbledown clenched the two marbles tightly. Then speaking ever so slowly, he said, “Be away with you.” That was all he said. He thought it more than enough…to finish off one stupid Muddle. Box, however, stood firm with as much determination as Tumbledown – daring to confront the power of the Philosopher’s Marbles. And for a second, a split second
he actually believed that his bluff had worked, that Tumbledown had abandoned his attack. Mind you, it was only for a split second, because the old man’s hands glowing white-hot signalled his approaching demise…
Moving faster than he had ever moved in his entire life, ducking under the beam of pure power screaming towards him, Box revealed his hidden instrument – the laser light, and clicking its switch, he prayed that it had enough power left in its battery. “What?” McGonagain shouted, when she saw that he was up to something. “Huh?” bemoaned Tumbledown, querying her half spoken utterance. Sending out its wide-angled beam of pure laser light, the little instrument blinded Tumbledown and McGonagain for a second time. Although blinded, the old man had no intention of halting his attack. Gripping the two marbles ever tighter, he shouted, “BE AWAY WITH YOU!” With those words, the light, the white-hot light erupting from the old man’s clenched fists, shot out with an almighty fury, but instead of screaming towards Box it peculiarly missed him by yards. “Is that the best you can do, you old fart?” Box yelled, trying his best to anger him, and thus hold the advantage. “What are you doing, Albert?” McGonagain asked in her blindness. “Be silent,” he commanded, “I cannot see.” “Nor can I,” she replied (as if he didn’t already know). With a growing anger, and a great deal of frustration, Tumbledown ordered, “I said BE SILENT!” Thus admonished, McGonagain said no more. After transferring the two marbles to the same hand, Tumbledown opened the pouch, delved a hand in and withdrew another two. With two marbles to each hand, clutching them ever so tightly, he yelled out to his foe, the Muddle who had dared defy him – and with such impunity. He said, “Muddle, Box, if that really is your name. See how you cope with this…” Then speaking low, hardly audible, he
whispered, “Go…and find your true mark.” This time Tumbledown’s hands glowed red hot and, dispatching the tremendously powerful assault towards Box, he laughed. Clicking the switch on his laser, Box prayed that the battery was still up to it, that it might work for another, last time. But nothing happened, nothing at all. In desperation, panicking, he clicked it again and again and again, but the battery was completely and utterly flat. Stepping into the breach, Harry shouted, “Duck, Box!” as she sent her own attack hurtling at Tumbledown. And finding its target, it struck him square on the chest. He staggered, the old man staggered. Losing his balance he stumbled and fell, dropping the four marbles in the process. His attack, veering off course, cut a huge swathe through the ceiling. “What’s happening, Albert?” the Professor cried out in her blindness, “Albert! Speak to me!” Albert J Tumbledown, the Alchemist and would-be Philosopher had more important things on his mind than the niceties of conversation. Ignoring her cries, he struggled to his feet. But no sooner had he stood up, did Miocene let rip with her own wand. “Take that,” she cried out with venom, “for being such a liar!” Having no intention of letting Miocene have all the fun, Box aimed his stumpy wand, saying, “And see how you like this!” Sensing a possibility of victory, Harry joined in with the attack. Although Tumbledown was still standing, he was suffering from the wands combined attack. It was only the protective power of the marbles that kept him alive. They kept him alive – but only just. His power, his life force, was undeniably slipping away. And it was slipping so fast, the means of concealment that he had erected, behind which the ghost – Laughing Larry – had been banished, began to crack. And as it continued to crack, disintegrating before their very eyes, the partition between the seen and unseen grew weaker and weaker until everything became visible. “Look!” Miocene shrieked. “It’s the devil!” “And all of his minions!” Box yelled, with equal concern.
Seeing this, Harry, the girl mystic, the troublesome girl mystic, knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the dire trouble they were now in. The mad ghost, Larry, had been hidden behind the gates of Hades itself – which were now opening, disgorging all the terrible things it contained‌
Chapter Twenty-One At Hell’s Gates The gates of hell were opening, and if nothing was done to stop them, Laughing Larry would not be the only one freed from his bondage. Flying out from the crack, so happy at having been freed, the mad ghost began singing, “I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hey hey!” “Not now, Larry!” Harry barked; her annoyance with the mad spirit patently obvious. The mad ghost stopped singing and, gliding down, landed close to Miocene. “What’s ruffled her feathers?” he asked, pointing to Harry. “Shush,” Miocene whispered, “have you no idea what’s happening?” “I’m mad,” the ghost explained, “which makes it quite difficult to see things as they actually are.” Then giving her a wink, he added, “You can try to explain it to me, though.” Miocene began to explain, to try and get through to the mad ghost just how dangerous a position they were all in. However, she was unable to continue, because the gates, creaking and groaning their disquiet, opened fully, offering free rein to the abominations lurking within. “HARRY!” Miocene shrieked. “They’re open!” Harry knew this, but she said nothing, she was far too busy, collecting her thoughts. Thinking fast, waving her electro magical wand like she had never waved it before, Harry began chanting, “Ral fay malnap ral fay mann, scry ro fearnus scry fornum, close these doors, these gates to hell, the way to darkness, to the place they fell.”
The three friends – and they were ever so frightened – stared through the cracked portal, into Hades itself, hoping against hope that they were about to mend, to close, and the threat of abomination within, disappear. Their sight returning, Tumbledown and McGonagain tried to shield themselves from what had unwittingly been brought into being. “Do something!” McGonagain shouted, pushing the old man towards the gates. Fumbling, all fingers, Tumbledown tried to open the pouch containing the magical marbles. “Hurry!” the Professor shouted, her attention torn between the emerging beasts and the old man’s fingers that seemed to have lost all dexterity. Beasts were indeed emerging. Shapes, dark figures, seething beings of pure hatred were slowly, ever so slowly making their way through the opening, into the light. Her fears growing by the second, Miocene shouted, “Harry! Your chant, it isn’t working! The gates, they aren’t closing!” She was right, the doors, the gates of Hades were in fact still opening, offering free exit to the depravities they had up until then contained. “What can we do?” Box asked, hoping so desperately for an answer. “What about our wands?” he suggested. “Can Miocene and I help, using them?” “No, it’s far too late for mere wands,” Harry replied, having finally given up on her chanting. “Then we are surely lost,” said Miocene, in a whisper, hardly able to believe that she had just said it. Professor McGonagain, tearing her eyes away from the old man’s fumbling fingers, turned to Harry, and she asked, “Are we really lost? Is it all over, about to end?” “What’s it to you?” Box grizzled with hatred. “You’re as guilty as him.” He pointed at Tumbledown. The old man stopped his fumbling and began to listen. Stroking her chin, thinking feverously, Harry’s young brain cranked up a gear. Then raising a finger, she said, “We might still be in with a chance…”
“A chance?” said Box, clinging to her promise like it was so much gold or precious jewels. “Do you really mean it?” asked Miocene. “What has to be done?” said the Professor, her eyes watching Harry ever so intently. “Mind your own business,” Box growled at the woman. “It’s got nothing to do with you – or him.” He nodded in the direction of Tumbledown. Listening ever more intently, the old man edged closer. “But it has,” said Harry, in a whisper. “It has? It has what?” said Box. “It has got everything to do with McGonagain and Tumbledown,” she insisted. The wind taken out from his sails, Box grumbled, “Well, I know that. What I really meant was we don’t need them, you know, after everything they’ve done.” “But we do need them,” Harry insisted. “Box, Miocene – all of you, please hear me out…”
When Harry had finished explaining, telling them what she had in mind, her Muddling cousin, Box, was left scratching his head in bewilderment, Miocene was left in dismay, McGonagain was left in a quandary – and Tumbledown? Well, he was simply surprised that Harry had thought of it at all. Turning her attention to Tumbledown, who was now quite close to her, Harry said, “Well, what do you think, Tumbledown?” Stroking his long beard, the old man replied, “It’s a long shot…” “But do you think it has a chance?” she asked. Harry hated having to do this, to talk with him, but her plan, if that’s what it could rightly be called, depended on Tumbledown as much as on herself, so gritting her teeth, she said, “Please tell me what you think our chances of pulling it off really are.”
Stroking his beard again, Tumbledown called for Harry to come closer. “To be honest,” he said, “I think our chances of pulling it off are quite slim, desperately slim if I am to be totally honest.” Harry gulped hard. Watching the first beast (although slow moving, it was now almost fully through the gates) with some considerable concern, Tumbledown continued, “But having said that, do we have any other options?” Gulping again, Harry replied, “No...” It was decided they were to work together, all of them, as a team (well, at least until the gates of Hell had been resealed)…
“I don’t want to be the harbinger of doom,” said Box, pointing to the first devil as it entered the room, “but that thing has other things on its mind than working together.” “Okay,” said Harry. “Do you understand your roles, what you must all do?” Miocene nodded that she did, Box nodded his upstanding, and the Professor, being the professor, begrudgingly admitted that she did. Taking the initiative, Tumbledown said, “Being the senior person, the school Principal, I feel that it is my duty to begin. Are we agreed?” Agreed? They were delighted that he was taking the first step, the most dangerous one of all, and if anything untoward did happen, they felt happy in the knowledge that he fully deserved it. McGonagain, however, took exception. She thought her beloved Principal had shown extremely bad judgement, joining the troublesome children, led by the even more troublesome girl mystic, Harry. And she had tried to make her feeling known, but Tumbledown would hear none of it, her words having fallen on decidedly deaf ears. But for the sake of her Principal, the pigheaded, but dear school Principal, she nevertheless went along with it. “Okay,” said Tumbledown, unnerved by their enthusiasm for his suggestion. “Here I go…”
Harry’s plan depended on the full use of every resource at their disposal; wands (be they stumpy or otherwise), Arcanum and, of course, the Philosopher’s Marbles. And with time decidedly against them, speed was all-important. Bending down, Tumbledown picked up the four fallen marbles, which he handed to Harry, and then delving a hand into the pouch slung from his belt, he removed another four marbles, once again two for each hand. “Miocene, child, are you ready?” he asked. “I am,” she replied, tightening her grip on her wand, fearing the worst. “Box, are you set?” “Yes,” he declared, his eyes fixed firmly upon the approaching demon-beast. “Professor?” “Pardon?” she asked, her thoughts having been elsewhere. “I said are you ready?” “With nothing to use as a defence – no, I am not ready,” she bluntly declared. Without saying a word, Tumbledown delved a hand into his pouch and took out a lone marble, which he handed to the Professor. Inspecting the glass ball with some interest, she said, “Thank you.” Last but not least, the old man spoke to Harry. “Harry, are you okay?” After saying that she was, Harry nodded at the approaching demon-beast, the ruddy blacks of its eyes clearly visible. Without further ado, Tumbledown clutched the four marbles tightly, and chanting in Arcanum, he said, “Oparius oparum, diarlarius darlarum, send this beast a packing, back to whence it has deftly come. Oparius oparum, oparius opalarum.” The demon-beast, however, continued its insidious creep towards them. “Is that it?” said Box, exasperated at how bad things were shaping up.
“Yes, Muddle,” McGonagain cut in, answering for Tumbledown. “Do you have a problem with that?” she asked, her beady eyes burning into Box’s. Taken aback by the Professor’s bad deploy, Box struggled for words. “Leave him alone,” shouted Miocene, “what has he ever done against you?” “Being born?” she quipped. Paying them no attention, Tumbledown continued. He said, “Oparius oparum, diarlarius darlarum, smite these beasts of a number, smite them one two and three. Oparius oparum, oparius opalarum.” This time he said nothing; Box kept absolutely quiet, as he watched to see if the latest chant had any effect upon the deadly threat… It did. No sooner had the last word left the old man’s lips did the gates of Hades begin to close, and the beasts to fade. The lone beast standing free of the gates made a lunge for Tumbledown. Pressing a button on her wand, Harry shouted, “Get back!” But the old man’s reactions were slow, the passage of time having taken its inevitable, undeniable toll on his frail body, and he fell to the floor. Pinned down by one of the demon-beast’s huge claws, Tumbledown lay helpless beneath it. The button on Harry’s wand, however, had been pressed. And aiming with deadly precision, she watched as a torrent of gushing waters, exploding out from its tip, blasted right into the beast’s gaping jaws, trying to save Tumbledown’s not entirely innocent life. Releasing its grip on the old man, tossing him aside like a rag doll, the beast roared out in anger as it skulked away to the rear of the room. “Are you all right?” Miocene asked, helping Tumbledown to his feet, and feeling so sorry for having said such terrible things to him. “Leave him alone,” said the Professor, “I’ll see to him.” Doting over the old man, she told her beloved Tumbledown not to worry, that everything would be all right. “LET ME BE!” he yelled. “Have you lost your senses, woman? This is a matter of life and death!” “Life and death?” she asked, confused, struggling with her conflicting loyalties.
“Yes,” he replied. “NOW LEAVE ME BE!” Admonished yet again, McGonagain fell silent. “Harry,” Tumbledown called out. “Harry, it is working, isn’t it?” “Yes, it’s working,” she told him, pointing to the gates. “Look.” It was true, the gates, now almost three-quarter of the way closed, were containing the deadly threat. With a loud bang and a clatter they finally slammed shut. “They’re shut,” Miocene whooped with a clap of her hands. “They’re really, really shut.” Although the gates were indeed closed, they were still semi visible, only half gone, and seeing this, Harry was unable to shake off a feeling, a small niggling feeling, down deep inside her, that something wasn’t quite right, that their victory had been perhaps too easily won.
“Harry, is it over?” Box asked, scratching his head, the stumpy wand still tight in his hand. “It appears so,” she replied. Pointing to the rear of the room, Miocene said, “And that beast-thingy, that ran off – what happened to it?” “It’s gone,” Harry insisted. “I’m glad,” Miocene replied, pocketing her wand, relaxing.
Over to one side, Professor McGonagain, saying nothing but playing, toying with the lone marble she had been given, had a little plan of her own. Speaking ever so quietly into the shiny glass bauble, she pointed to the rear of the room, saying, “Marble hear me, McGonagain calls, restore the beast within these walls, so Albert and I can go on alone, to claim our birthright with the Philosopher’s glass stones.
Suddenly, the mad ghost, Laughing Larry, flew high into the air, where he began swooping around like he was, well, quite mad. Staring down at them, he sang out, “I know that I’m mad and I know that I was sad, but who would have thought I’d see something so very, very bad?” And he kept on singing this over and over again.
Chapter Twenty-Two The Demon-Beast Resurrected Her eyes glued to the fast-moving spirit, Miocene asked, “What’s wrong, Larry?” Larry offered no reply; he just kept repeating his little song over and over again, “I know that I’m mad and I know that I was sad, but who would have thought I’d see something so very, very bad?” “Larry, you must tell us what has gotten into you – you must tell us what you mean!” said Box, hoping the mad ghost might listen to him. But Laughing Larry just continued to fly crazily around the room, singing his little ditty over and over again. Having seen enough, Harry took matters into her own hands, and sharply chiding the ghost, she said, “Larry, this is no way to behave, no matter how mad you happen to be!” The ghost continued his loopy flight, but watched Harry with some interest. “If you are to have any hope of getting your sanity back,” she continued, “you must tell me what has spooked you so!” “Spooked, that’s funny,” said the ghost, swooping down low, passing close to Harry. “It’s most apt, I tell you, most apt indeed.” Whispering to Miocene, Box said, “Why did she say that?” The girl, having no idea, simply shrugged her shoulders. Laughing Larry, swooping down low again, passed within inches of Harry’s face. “LARRY!” she warned, “THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!” Ignoring her, the ghost reverted to his usual song, “I am Laughing Larry…” Cutting him off, Harry said, “Very well, if that’s how you want it. Let it be upon your own head.” Although it was still flying fast and furious, the ghost studied Harry with a renewed interest, especially when she withdrew her wand and began following his every move with it.
Forgetting his song, the ghost asked, “What are you going to do with that?” Ignoring his question, her wand following his every move, Harry began chanting, “Crioninous crionan, shraholarman skryolamb-“ “STOP, STOP!” the ghost implored. “Whatever you are up to, whatever you have in mind, PLEASE don’t do it. Have you forgotten that I’m mad, that I can’t be expected to act sane all of the time?” “Hmm,” Harry replied, with a finger to her lips for added emphasis. “From where I’m standing you appear quite sane.” “I am, now, at this point in time,” the ghost admitted. “Listen, I’ll tell you what you want to know, what my little song meant, but please don’t Arcanum me!” Lowering her wand, Harry said, “Go on, then, tell me.” His demeanour changing, Laughing Larry spoke softy, quietly, and from the safety of the ceiling, he whispered, “The demon-beast – is still with us.” When they heard this not one of them uttered a word, they were far too shocked to say anything. Pointing with both of his hands, one to the rear of the room and the other to McGonagain, the ghost said, “It’s there – and she did it!” Trying to splutter out a defence, the Professor, said, “I did it for you, Albert, for you and me – and the Philosopher’s Marbles.” “Have you taken leave of your senses, woman?” Tumbledown yelled. “Have no idea of the danger you have put us all in?” McGonagain began to cry, and sobbing uncontrollably she tried to explain her logic; “I did it for you, Albert,” she said, “I did it for you…” The old man, his attention distracted by the grunting, growling and hissing of the demon-beast, said no more to the delusional Professor, he had far more important things to concern him than her. “Are we all ready?” said Harry, withdrawing her wand and readying it for action.
Pushing his glasses up his nose, while holding ever so tightly onto his stumpy little wand, Box replied, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Then nodding in the direction of the Professor, he said, “But what about her?” “Leave her be,” said Harry, “she’s going nowhere.” Turning to the would-be girl mystic, she asked, “Are you ready, Miocene?” “I’m all set, “she replied, her fluorescent pink wand shimmering brightly in her hand. “Good. What about you, Tumbledown? Are you ready?” Harry asked. The old man, clutching the four marbles like his life depended on it, said, “Yes, I’m ready.” Then without giving McGonagain as much as a passing glance, he said, “Come on, let’s be getting this over with.” As the demon-beast continued to growl, grunt and hiss from its place of concealment to the rear of the room, the four figures, each of them seeing the world through far different eyes, made their way cautiously towards it. And although they were scared, they felt, peculiarly, quite ready to face whatever it might try against them, but having said that, when the beast made its move it, when it lashed out at them, it all happened so quickly they were still taken unawares. Yes, of course they tried to react, for what good it did, darting away from the darkness that was the beast. Box to the left, Miocene to the right, and the old man, Tumbledown, retreating to what he hoped was a safe distance away. The only person left standing, still confronting the beast, was Harry, the troublesome girl mystic. “Have I missed something?” she asked, all alone, facing the animal from hell. Too embarrassed by their flights to safely, the others said nothing. Hissing, growling, spitting blood the demon-beast set its ruddy black eyes upon Harry. And for someone in so dangerous a situation, she was surprisingly calm; in fact she was so calm she began to whistle. “What is she doing, Miocene?” Box whispered, in puzzlement. “I have absolutely no idea, she replied. “It’s certainly not anything we’ve learnt at Hagswords.”
Looking backwards, to Tumbledown, to see if he had any idea what she was up to, Box saw him lifting his hands, in surprise. Harry continued to whistle, in fact she whistled so beautifully her impromptu audience, enjoying it tremendously, began to relax, forgetting entirely about the demon-beast and the threat it posed. Harry continued whistling the beautiful tune for a full five minutes, until she came to a sudden, abrupt stop. “Wha?” Box mumbled, opening his eyes again, feeling dreadfully confused. “What’s happening?” asked Miocene, yawning. Behind them, Tumbledown, also yawning, stretched his bony old arms, wondering if he had really fallen asleep while standing up. Then they saw it; Box, Miocene and Tumbledown saw the demon-beast mere inches away from Harry – fast asleep. Turning to face them, with a finger on her lips, Harry whispered, “That appears to have done the trick.” “What did you do to it?” Box asked, scratching his head in amazement at what he was seeing. “A little bit of magic,” she replied with a wink. “A little bit of magic – more like a whole LOT of magic,” he said, shaking his head in admiration at what she had done. Approaching the beast, and tentatively touching it, Box asked, “Will it remain asleep?” “As long as we need it to,” she replied. “I still don’t understand how you did it,” Box rumbled. Tapping the side of her nose with a finger, making sure that no one else heard what she was saying, Harry whispered, “Let’s just say that I was able to do it with the some of the knowledge I gleamed from reading a certain old book.” “Oh,” he replied. “Why didn’t you say that before?” Tapping the side of her nose again, Harry smiled, and said; “I can’t be telling you everything – now can I?”
“Well,” said Miocene, feeling braver, daring to approach the sleeping behemoth (though stopping short from actually touching it), “what happens next?” “We get rid of it, of course,” said Harry with a flourish of her wand. “Just like that?” Box asked, gently patting the beast as he spoke. Although it was still asleep, the beast emitted a low, grumbling sound. On hearing this, Box jumped back in fright. “No,” Harry laughed, “nothing worthwhile is that simple, Box. I thought you above all people would realise that. In order to return the beast and to reseal the gates of Hades once and for all, we must use all of the powers at our disposal. Let me explain…”
When they were ready, Harry began waving her wand, so also did Miocene and Box. With the four marbles, two to each hand, Tumbledown joined in. This time Harry was absolutely, deadly serious – they were all absolutely, deadly serious as the words of Arcanum began flowing… Speaking together, Harry, Miocene and Tumbledown said, “Crioninous crionates shraholarman skryolait, return the beast and reseal the gates. Crioninous crionocked forever closed, forever locked.” Waking up from its slumbers, the creature made a lunge for the easiest target – Tumbledown – tearing a bloody gash on his face and knocking him to the floor casting the four marbles far and wide. But unlike the first occasion, the beast made no attempt to pin him down, instead it made a beeline for Box. Screaming with fear, Miocene shouted, “BOX!” Thus distracted, the beast turned its attention to her. Screaming even louder, the would-be girl mystic feared for her life. “Repeat the words!” Harry yelled to the others. “Come on, WE MUST REPEAT THEM!” she ordered. It was so hard to do this, with the demon bearing down on Miocene, but they tried, they tried so desperately, saying, “Crioninous crionates shraholarman skryolait, return the beast, reseal the gates, to be forever closed and forever locked – Crioninous crionocked.”
Growling and snarling, feeling the terrible hurt from the Arcanum chant, the demon-beast lashed out at Miocene, striking her, hurling her across the floor, where she was knocked unconscious against the far wall. “Come on!” Harry yelled. “Your wand! USE YOUR WAND!,” she shouted. Two wands, one electro magical and one stumpy, were trained upon the beast. “Tumbledown, use the marbles!” Harry shrieked. “USE THEM – NOW!” Struggling to his feet, and then settling his gown, the old man leant down and began searching for the lost marbles. “Use some of the others,” Harry shrieked, “TAKE OUT SOME MORE!” Tumbledown began fumbling with the pouch. “What’s wrong with him?” Harry hissed. “Concussion,” Box explained. “Seen it, before, when dad got a nasty bump on the top of his bald head.” “Tumbledown has got plenty of hair.” “Yeh, he has,” Box agreed, “but he’s a lot older than dad.” Saying this, Box wondered just how his parents were faring. “I, I think I’m ready,” Tumbledown mumbled, stroking his wayward beard, trying to tame it. “Come on, then!” Harry shouted, fearing for the very real danger they were facing. Retrieving six marbles from his pouch, Tumbledown clutched three in each hand. “That reminds me…” said Harry, delving a hand into a pocket, taking out the four marbles Tumbledown had given to her, earlier, “…we need everything at our disposal.” Sensing they were at an important juncture, that something significant was about to happen, Laughing Larry was unable to contain his excitement, and shooting through the air, he began singing, “I am Laughing Larry-“ “I’M WARNING YOU, LARRY!” Harry barked. Thus chastised, the ghost returned to ground level where, and retreating to a corner of the room, he sat down in silence.
Turning her attention to their fallen comrade, speaking in her usual abrupt manner, Harry said, “Miocene will have to wait. We have more important things to be doing before we can attend to her.” Turning round, she asked, “Box, Tumbledown, are you both ready?” “Yep,” said Box, holding on tightly to his stumpy wand, and wishing that he had been offered a marble or two. Seemingly recovered from his recent ordeal, Tumbledown said, “Yes, I am ready.” Stimulatingly pressing three of the small buttons on her wand, Harry yelled, “THEN DO IT!” and with that, the mother of all attacks was sent screaming towards the demon-beast. Having no intention of being outdone by a child, Tumbledown, with the use of the six marbles, sent his own attack hurtling at the dark creature. Box was a Muddle, a silly Muddle with precious little experience of such magical things, but he tried anyhow. Copying, trying to emulate his troublesome cousin, he waved his stumpy wand from side to side, hoping he could to do something to help them smite the beast. And he did, he certainly did, as wave after wave of lightning, flames and blinding flashes of pure energy, shooting out from his wand, attacked the beast with an awesome vengeance, knocking it for six. “Wow!” Harry whooped. “Where did you learn to do that?” Like a cowboy with a gun, Box raised the wand to his lips and blew away the last vestiges of smoke filtering from its tip. “Got lucky, I suppose,” he said drolly, feeling incredibly proud for having done his bit. The war, unfortunately, was far from over, and the beast, shaking off the effects of the three combined attacks, returned with a little surprise of its own. Tears, blisters, balls of concentrated burning fire shot out from the beast, to those who would dare try and stop it. Undaunted, on a roll, each member of the trio returned with another volley of attack, finishing it off once and for all. With eyes wide open, adrenalin pumping through veins standing proud, Harry, Tumbledown and Box watched as the demon-beast and the gates of Hades finally faded into nothingness. “Is it over?” Box asked, not daring to admit it, himself.
“Is it?” said Tumbledown, stroking his errant beard. Harry wanted to say yes; she wanted so much to say that everything was going to be fine, but she still had the same niggling feeling that she had felt earlier, that something just wasn’t quite right. But being unable to put a finger on it, to say just what it was, she said, “I hope so.” “You hope so?” said Box, feeling dreadfully disappointment with her reply. “You hope so?”
Chapter Twenty-Three A Most Unfortunate Turn of Events “Is she okay, Harry?” Box asked, as she knelt beside Miocene and began checking her over. “She has a nasty bump on the head,” Harry replied, “but apart from that I’d say she’s just fine.” Relieved, Box exhaled. “Look, I think she’s coming too.” Opening her eyes, trying to focus on them, Miocene mumbled, “What are you looking at?” “A very lucky girl,” said Harry. “How do you feel?” “Fine,” she insisted. “Now, can I get up?” Lending her a hand, Harry and Box helped Miocene to her feet. She wobbled a bit. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miocene?” Box asked. “Yes, I’m fine – really,” she insisted. “Apart from a throbbing headache, that is.” Raising a hand, she felt the bump on her forehead. Wincing with pain, she asked, “Where is that beast-thing, anyway?” “Gone. We defeated it,” said Box, ever so proudly. “Gone – how?” Butting in, bursting Box’s little bubble of triumph, Harry said, “The power of three overcame it, that’s how.” “So, what happens next?” she asked. Before Harry was able to offer a reply, a voice from behind, said, “You must now face us – and be defeated.”
Turning round, Harry, Miocene and Box were shocked to see Wan Measly and Professor McGonagain, as thick as thieves, standing side-by-side. “Are you all right, Wan?” asked Miocene, still feeling rather guilty for having left him lying unconscious upon the floor. “How did you get in here?” Box asked them suspiciously. “Never you mind, Muddle,” said the Professor, chipping in with her own tenpenneth worth. Wondering where she had left her wand, Miocene asked, “What do you want?” “What do I want?” said Wan, waxing lyrical, enjoying his moment of surprise. “What do we BOTH want?” he said, turning to McGonagain. “Ah, there’s a question...” “Well?” said Harry. “What do you want?” Eyeing them with a deep-seated suspicion, Wan’s expression changed from enjoyment – to anger, and raising his voice, he said, “We want revenge, of course!” Then lowering it again, he added, “Oh, and of course, Tumbledown.” The old man, although glad to see that he still had a chance of winning, was embarrassed that the fulfilment of his ambitions, his dreams, depended upon a mere child and a woman. “Hah, a fat chance you have of that!” said Harry. “A fat chance, you say?” Wan whispered slowly, confidently. “Yes, I do,” said Harry, pulling out her wand, waving it from side to side. Producing the four misplaced marbles and also his wand, a miserable, brown wooden affair, Wan also began waving it. “Do you think you are up to it?” he asked, as equally threatening. Producing the four marbles that she had in her possession, Harry hissed, “I’ll always be ready for scumbags like you.” “In that case,” said the Professor, “it’s fortunate that I have this,” With that she produced her own Philosopher’s Marble; the one Tumbledown had given her,
earlier. “And also this,” she added, withdrawing her own antiquated wand, a dismally grey affair. “Have you forgotten that Harry is not alone?” said Miocene, as brave as she was able, considering she had nothing with which to threaten them. “The would-be girl mystic is so very brave,” the Professor mocked. “Would you like your wand back?” she asked tauntingly. Swallowing hard, Miocene said, “You have it?” “No, I do not,” the Professor, admitted. Then pointing to Wan, she said, “But he does.” Turning to Wan, Miocene saw him holding two wands, his own dismally dull affair and her bright pink one, and both of them pointing at her. “In case you have forgotten,” said Box, waving his stumpy little wand, “I am still here!” “And so you are,” the Professor replied condescendingly, dismissing his threat like so much hot air. Without wasting another second on talk, Box gave his stumpy little wand a shake, sending a flurry of bright sparklies heading towards the woman. “So, he is playing,” said the professor, admiring the pretty display that settled like so much shiny snow around her. “I am not playing,” Box contemptuously replied, shaking his wand for a second time, this time producing a small cloud that also drifted across to the Professor, where it began raining upon her. Ignoring both sparklies and the rain, the Professor mocked him, saying, “More silly games.” Turning away from him, she turned her attention to Tumbledown. This was a mistake, a big mistake; the Professor had yet again underestimated the ‘silly Muddle’. As the rain continued to fall upon the Professor, the rain that she had assumed was just water, something strange and most peculiar began to happen. You see, the ‘rain’ was actually a special ingredient, an ingredient that, once combined with the
colourful sparklies, turned into incredibly powerful glue, glue so strong it posed a serious threat to her continued wellbeing. “Wan!” help me,” the Professor, McGonagain, cried out. “My feet are stuck to the floor.” She tried desperately to move them, but her feet were stuck fast. “Wan, hurry!” she cried out, forgetting about her own wand in her panic, as the gluey, sparkly substance began inching its way up her scrawny old legs. “Wan, can you hear me? Wan! I am speaking to you!” “Wan heard her all right; he heard her loud and clear, but he had other things on his mind, like two wands and four Philosopher’s Marbles threatening his own wellbeing. Yes, he had four Philosopher’s Marbles in his possession, and also two wands, but, being basically a coward, he knew when he was outmatched, so lowering his marbles and wands, he said.” I can’t help you, Professor, I’m sorry…”
Turning to Tumbledown, the Professor called out, saying, “Alfred! You must save me!” Tumbledown, however, having no wish to enter the altercation did nothing. He was quite happy to stand on the sidelines, to see how things played out... Though he did nod at her; he furtively, stealthily nodded at the Professor’s hand, the one grasping that lone marble…
As well as forgetting all about her wand, in her blind panic the Professor had also forgotten about her Philosopher’s Marble, but now that she had been reminded, she remembered them both. Ignoring the sparkly, gluey substance, she tapped the marble with her antiquated old wand, saying, “Falsify my beam, my brain, my foe, and renew my aims my dreams my goals.” Then she tapped it again, letting out a yell so loud it left no one in doubt that she still meant business. The last word had barely departed the Professor’s thin lips, when her Philosopher’s Marble began to glow. And it continued to grow in brightness until it had completely enveloped her, dissolving the sticky, gluey, sparkly substance inching its way up her legs, and binding to the floor. In little more than a few seconds it had vanished into nothingness – gone.
Smiling, feeling tremendously confident, the Professor said, “Now that that has been attended to, I think it’s about time we sorted this little episode out once and for all. Tapping the marble, she said, “Remove their wands, their means to kill, and return the marbles – head my will.” The marble, glowing brightly, sucked both Harry and Box’s wands right out of their hands – depositing them under McGonagain’s evil control. “Now that’s more like it,” she brooded with satisfaction. Calling the boy, she said, “Wan, come closer.” He obeyed, following her orders without question. “Stand next to me,” she ordered. “Albert,” the Professor said gently, lovingly. “See what I have done for you,” she waved an arm, presenting the subdued children for his inspection. Remembering the four marbles Wan had in his possession, she said, “Hand me those marbles, Wan.” He obediently gave them to her. Adding the four marbles to her one, the Professor said, “Here you are, Albert. These are rightly yours.” She handed him all five marbles. After accepting them, the old man returned the marbles to his pouch. Having done that, he did something unexpected, something most unexpected indeed. Addressing the girl mystic, he said, “Harry, child, come closer. I have something to ask of you…”
Chapter Twenty-Four Bosom Buddies “Why?” McGonagain cried out, in her utter confusion. “Why speak with her?” “HUSH, WOMAN,” Tumbledown barked defiantly. Then calmly, quietly, he said, “Harry, please come closer.” Harry tentatively approached him. “Harry, it’s a trick! It has to be!” Box whispered, fearing the worst. “Oh, do be careful, Harry,” said Miocene, edging closer to Box. McGonagain and the boy, Wan, watched this new development with a growing unease. “Harry,” Tumbledown spoke slowly, carefully, “it need not be like this…” Like what?” she asked, in full openness. “Like we were enemies… See how we have worked together. It was a good experience, was it not?” “Hmm, yes, I suppose it was,” she admitted cautiously, “…considering how old you are.” Tumbledown feigned a laugh, and he continued, “Harry, you are like me... You are destined for greatness, for a life far above anyone here.” Box growled his annoyance at the alluring words Harry was being fed. “Don’t listen to him,” he warned. Studying Tumbledown’s face, for signs of deception, Harry asked, “What exactly do you have in mind?” “Hmm,” the old man replied, a hint of a smile creeping onto his wrinkled old face, “you are interested. That’s good.”
“I’m waiting!” “And impatient, that’s also a good sign. Very well, I will tell you…I propose an alliance – you and me – where anything will be possible.” Harry continued to listen. Tumbledown continued to speak. “And to prove my sincerity,” he said, “I will help you to defeat these.” He pointed to the Professor and Wan. “Albert, how could you?” the Professor cried out, betrayed. Looking at Wan, Miocene could see him visibly shaking with fright, all signs of his earlier cockiness having gone – vanished. Avoiding eye contact with everyone bar Tumbledown, Harry asked, “What do you intend to do with them?” “I will do anything you want me to do,” he replied, returning the question to her. There was an uncomfortable pause while the girl mystic considered her options. “Don’t do it, Harry!” Miocene pleaded. Box, in denial that his troublesome girl cousin was capable of agreeing to such an unholy alliance, remained strangely silent. “Well?” Tumbledown asked, stroking his errant beard, with a growing sense of satisfaction that his long-time plans were finally coming to fruition. “I’m still thinking about it,” Harry replied. “As long as that is all you are thinking of,” he warned, patting the pouch of marbles, letting her know, and in no uncertain terms, that it was he who was the boss. Seeing this, knowing full well how headstrong his girl cousin actually was, Box snapped out from his quandary. “She won’t like being told that,” he whispered, “she won’t like it one bit…” Unfortunately, whether or not Harry liked it never came into the equation, because, offering Tumbledown her reply, she said, “I will tell you what you can do with them…” “Yes, child. What is it?” he asked.
“You can let me deal with them.” “You?” “Yes,” she insisted, “I’ve wanted to get even with that old bag – for ages. And as for that mousy Measly, I know exactly what I would like to do with him.” There was another pause as Tumbledown, stroking his beard yet again, studied the girl mystic. In the end, after several minutes of intense scrutiny, he agreed, saying, “Very well, it’s a deal.” Offering Harry his hand, he said, “Shall we shake on it?” This time it was Harry’s turn to be doing some scrutinising, and she gazed thoughtfully into the timeworn old hand stretched out before her. Then placing hers against it, she shook it with vigour. “It’s a deal,” she said. Seeing this, Box’s heart sunk. Miocene’s almost broke. “Albert, what are you doing?” the Professor cried out, as she watched Harry and her beloved Principal continue their discussions about her (and the boy’s) impending demise. “Wan, go over to Miocene, “said the Professor, in sheer desperation, pushing him away from her, “and see if you can get through to her. Perhaps she will listen and persuade Harry to see reason.” Following orders, Wan approached his fellow pupil. “Miocene,” he said. “Get away from me you, you – traitor,” she shouted, fighting to control her anger and contempt with him. “GET AWAY!” Turning towards McGonagain, Wan also suffered from her fury. “Don’t you dare come back here,” she hissed, “until you have done what I asked you.” Turning to face Miocene, Wan suffered another mouthful of abuse from his fellow pupil. Frightened, confused, a mere shadow of his earlier self, Wan dithered in between the two furious females, unable to come up with a way out from his predicament. “We have wasted far too much time on fighting,” said Tumbledown, who, pointing to the Professor and Wan, then added, “Finish them off by whatever means you prefer, but I warn you – make it good!” Make it good, that’s what the old man had said, to make it good. Harry had every intention of making it good; she had every intention of showing them just what she
was capable of doing, of achieving, when given half a chance… And the old man had given her far more than half a chance, he had offered her a golden opportunity, to gain that which she had always wanted, had always craved for – power! Standing, facing Tumbledown, Harry watched the undiluted anticipation creep across his face. She watched him evolving, becoming far more than a powerhungry megalomaniac, she watched him become – her allie! Turning away from the old man, to the Professor and the traitor pupil, Wan, Harry said, “Any last requests?” “Don’t do it, Harry,” Miocene pleaded. “Show them compassion.” But Harry stonewalled the girl, totally ignoring her cries for leniency. “Well?” she asked, a second time. “Any last requests?” “Please don’t do it,” the boy pupil cried, sobbing his heart out. “I am so sorry, please forgive me!” “Don’t be such a wimp,” McGonagain chided. “She has no intention of harming us. The girl mystic – how I hate calling her that – has no guts, no guts at all, I tell you.” “No guts, have I?” said Harry, as she began waving her wand in a most agitated manner. “We shall she who has no guts,” she said, as she began chanting in Arcanum. Unable to remain silent for a second longer, the ghost, Laughing Larry pleaded, “Please don’t do it, Harry!” Harry cast him a glance so cruel it would have curdled butter. Undaunted, the ghost cried out for a second time, “NO, DON’T DO IT, HARRY!” But she already had. Wan Measly was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke. Turning her attention to the Professor, Harry pointed her wand at her, saying, “That only leaves you.” This time the Professor was remarkably less vocal. Gulping hard, she squeaked, “Harry, child, perhaps I was a little bit hard on you. Perhaps we can begin again, to make amends, to start anew? How say you? How do you feel about this, huh?”
She liked it; Harry enjoyed being in the driving seat, in control. “What makes you think I will believe even one word that you say?” she asked. Squeaking again, the Professor, said, “Child, Harry, when you reach the midterm break you will look back on all this,” she fluttered a few fingers in front of her, “and you will see what a mistake it was.” “You call that an answer?” Harry stormed, “Box’s cat could have thought up a better one than that!” Waving her wand ever faster, Harry recited a few words of Arcanum. There was another puff of smoke, larger than the previous one, and the Professor disappeared into nothingness – gone. In the corner of the room, the ghost, twitching momentarily, laughed uneasily. Stowing her wand, Harry wiped her hands like she was wiping off a nasty substance. “That showed her,” she said, satisfied that McGonagain had got what she deserved. Box and Miocene, having watched this whole episode with incredulous eyes, could hardly believe what they had just witnessed, that the girl mystic, Harry, had actually done away with two people, both of them admittedly bad, but still two living, breathing beings. “Hmm,” said Tumbledown, who had been watching Harry’s performance, with an intense interest. “Excellent. Perhaps a bit theatrical, but you are young, so that is to be expected. I can see that we are going to have an interesting time together, a most interesting time indeed.” Harry offered Tumbledown a watery smile.
Chapter Twenty-Five To Have Designs on the Marbles… “Would you like me to dispose of these two?” said Tumbledown, pointing dismissively to Miocene and Box. “No,” Harry replied, “I have something altogether more dastardly planned for those, than simply being rid of them.” Relishing the thought, he said, “I’m intrigued...” “However, for the time being,” Harry continued, “I’d prefer to keep them close by, where we can keep an eye on them.” Raising an eyebrow, Tumbledown said, “I do hope that you are being totally honest with me...” Also raising an eyebrow, Harry replied, “As honest as I’ve ever been.” Apparently satisfied, the old man withdrew one of the marbles from his pouch, and then twirling it in the palm of his hand, he sent a binding spell winging its way towards Miocene and Box, embracing them within its powerful embrace. They were going nowhere. “What are you doing?” said Harry. “Just securing them,” he explained. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about. We don’t want them running all over the place, now do we?” “When I get my hands on you!” Box yelled. Twirling the marble for a second time, Tumbledown dispatched another spell, gagging Miocene and Box. They would be saying nothing for the foreseeable future. Returning the marble to his pouch, Tumbledown said, “Now that that has been attended to we must discuss our plans for the future.”
Looking quite peeved, Harry said, “Hold on a minute! Have I missed something?” “Pardon?” “I said have I missed something?” she asked him again. “I’m sorry, but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Harry,” the old man honestly replied. “No idea?” “No – none,” he said, extending his hands for added emphasis. Looking put out, very put out indeed, Harry explained, “If I said Philosopher’s Marbles, would that jog your memory?” “The Philosopher’s Marbles, what about them?” he asked, protectively patting the little pouch strung from his belt. “Just that,” she explained, nodding at his hand that was now resting upon it. Then the penny dropped, and he understood Harry’s annoyance. Unfortunately, understanding can be a world away from compromise, a fact that Harry was about to witness first hand. “I thought we had an understanding, that we are partners – a team?” said Tumbledown. “Am I to understand you are not happy with this arrangement, that you have designs on these?” He patted the little pouch once again. “You know full well that I want those marbles,” Harry hissed. “That I have wanted them from the first moment I laid eyes on them.” “But that is impossible,” he replied. “The very suggestion is ridiculous, it’s a none runner – you know that.” “None runner – bah, humbug,” Harry spit out, as the mood between the two partners became decidedly chilled. Although immobilised and gabbed, Miocene and Box watched this development with interest and mixed feelings; of hope but also a great deal of fear.
All but forgotten, Laughing Larry continued to stare doggedly into the corner of the room. This stalemate seemed to go on forever, with neither Harry nor the old man having any intention of budging one iota from their stated position. They simply stood there, each one eyeballing the other, two stubborn, pigheaded individuals with everything to gain and everything to lose. “Well, old man,” said Harry, withdrawing her wand and waving it from left to right, “has it come down to this? You against me?” “It’s your decision, child,” he replied. “This is not what I had intended, when I offered you a partnership.” “A partnership? Hah!” Harry snapped. “If it were a true partnership, would you have kept the Philosopher’s Marbles for yourself?” As if to justify his actions, he said, “I did give you some of them, earlier!” “A cynical ploy, that suited you at the time – It was a means to an end.” The expression on Tumbledown’s face changed, to one of sadness, and he said, “It’s a sad state of affairs… I had hoped you might be the child I never had…. that you would follow my example, in my footsteps as it were…. and one day, after I had gone… you might take over where I left off.” For a moment, Harry felt something – an affinity – with the old man, Tumbledown, who might have be the father she never had, and she dropped her guard… Seizing his opportunity, Tumbledown twirled the four marbles that he had secretly withdrawn from his pouch. Acting fact, working with an incredibly fast burst of speed, he sent a viciously cruel attack screaming its way towards Harry. “DUCK!” That’s what Box wanted to say, to scream out, and to warn Harry. But all that he could do was watch helplessly, as the life and death story played itself out. Harry had no warning, she had warning at all, and the cruel, vicious attack tore into her flesh, sending her flying backwards, smashing her head against one of the wash hand basins. Blood pumping out from head, gushing out from her head, soaking
into her clothes, the wash hand basin was smashed to pieces. Harry slumped to the floor. “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT, HARRY?” That’s what poor Miocene wanted to say, to scream, to ask, but she was also was spellbound, struck dumb by the wily old man. She said nothing. Standing over Harry’s motionless body, all signs of his feigned melancholy and sadness gone, Tumbledown gloated, saying, “So, the girl mystic has fallen?” On the cold, cold floor, her clothes drenched in blood, her golden hair soaked in the copious red liquid, Harry lay silent. Kicking the broken body, Tumbledown said, “I am disappointed, so disappointed. He kicked it again. “It was easy, far too easy, to see off the famous girl mystic, the ‘troublesome’ girl mystic. An overrated tag if ever I heard one.” Leaving Harry for dead, Tumbledown turned his attention to Miocene and Box. “And as for you two,” he said, wallowing in his triumph, “I have something – what was that expression she used? – Oh, yes, something quite dastardly planned for you two.” With that he let out a laugh, a wild, crazy laugh, and the two frightened children knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was quite insane. “Just because I have loosened you binds,” Tumbledown warned, following Miocene and Box down the corridor, “doesn’t mean you should be getting any foolish ideas, like running away or trying anything you might live to regret.” Trying anything foolish? If they were so lucky! Yes, the old man had indeed loosened the spell binding their hands and feet, but only enough to allow them to walk, and with some considerable difficulty. And as for the spell that was stopping them from uttering even the smallest of words, it was still firmly in place – so no luck there! He said they would ‘live to regret’ if they tried anything foolish. Well, that was certainly a laugh, considering he was fully intent on doing away with them, anyway. In silent brooding, Miocene and Box hobbled down the dimly lit corridor…
When they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Tumbledown said, “Stop, that’s far enough.” Then bidding them enter, he watched as they hobbled their way across
the debris strewn floor. Making their way in, Miocene and Box wished the contents of the pictures were still helping them. “Ah, I so like this room. Do you?” Tumbledown asked. “Oh, silly me, I forgot that you are unable to speak. But I am sure that that you must. Why wouldn’t you? It’s so beautiful!” Waving an arm, pointing to the pillared balcony high above them, Tumbledown drew their attention to the children, every last pupil, staring down through the carved marble pillars, watching in silence. “And I so love an audience,” he said, laughing manically. ‘How did you do that? How did you get them up there?’ that’s what Miocene and Box wanted to ask, to shout at Tumbledown, but they couldn’t. In the boys’ toilet, the ghost, Laughing Larry, having abandoned his corner, was kneeling next to Harry. He tried to touch her, but being a ghost his hands simply passed through. And he wanted so desperately to help, to tell her that everything was going to be all right… Because he had seen something, something the crazy old man had thankfully missed… that he, the supposedly mad ghost, had not. He could see that Harry was breathing; she was still alive, but being unable to offer her any physical assistance, he cried out in frustration, saying, “Harry, wake up. Harry, I am speaking to you!” But the girl mystic continued to lay there, in silence, unconscious upon that hard, cold floor...
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall… “I am sure that you are wondering what I have planned for you,” said Tumbledown, sinking deep in his seat, his throne, at the centre of the huge room, to Miocene and Box, “Please have patience for a little while longer, I promise you that all will soon be revealed…”
With a low groan, Harry began to regain consciousness. And when he saw this, the mad ghost cried out, “Harry! Harry! You must listen to me!” Harry tried to listen, she also tried to speak, but she was so injured, her skull fractured, she struggled to regain consciousness. “What happened,” she asked, her voice so terrible weak and shaky.
“You were hurled across the room, into that wash hand basin,” said the ghost, pointing to its remains scattered far and wide. “Who did it?” she asked, confused by his words. “Who?” the ghost replied, “Tumbledown, of course!” “Tumbledown, Tumbledown who?” “Methinks, you are suffering form concussion,” the ghost told her gently. “Concussion?” she said, confused by what he was saying. “Isn’t there an epidemic of that going around?” she asked. “Epidemics of concussion?” “Yes,” she groaned, fingering her hair, feeling the drying blood. “Box’s father caught it, so also did – what was that name you said?” “Tumbledown?” the ghost suggested. “Yes, that was it,” she said. “He also caught concussion, didn’t he?” Without listening for a reply, she began inspecting her blood soaked clothes. “Where did all of this come from?” she asked, tugging at her shirt, quite in surprise. “And why does my head hurt?” Throwing his eyes up, Laughing Larry let out a cry of utter frustration. “Now, as I was saying, children,” Tumbledown continued, “I have something rather special devised for you.” Miocene and Box, still gagged by his spell, were unable to reply. “Oh, silly me,” he said, slapping his forehead in pretence of absentmindedness, “you would like to say something!” Removing a marble from his pouch, he twirled it, releasing them from both spells; binding and gagging. “When I get my hands on you!” Box yelled. Twirling the marble, the old man reinstated the spells with a vengeance. Then shaking a finger at Box, in mock anger, Tumbledown said, “I do hope that has taught you a lesson, to respect your elders.” “You have a frightful crack in your skull,” said the ghost, floating over Harry’s head, inspecting it in fine detail.
Although she was concussed, confused, hurt and terribly weak, Harry pressed one of the buttons on her wand, and recited the following, “Brionius, briunum, save my brain, mend my skull.” In her concussed state that was all that she could think of. She hoped it was enough. The wand, bursting into life, disgorged a figure, an apparition of a well-built matronly old woman wearing a nurse’s uniform. “What have we got here?” she asked, leaning over, inspecting Harry’s broken head. The ghost was so surprised he began laughing. The woman gave him a look so severe Larry forgot why he had been laughing, and so stopped. “Hmm,” she said, as she continued inspecting the deep crack in Harry’s skull. “You have lost a great deal of blood.” Harry lifted her shirt as if to emphasise this point. “But we’ll soon have you shipshape,” she continued, without even bothering to look into Harry’s face, to address her personally.
After removing the binding and dumbfounding spells for a second time, Tumbledown warned, “I hope you will behave this time. I will not be so lenient with you again.” “Are you okay, Miocene?” Box asked the very second he could speak. “I’m fine,” she said, rubbing her wrists, trying to return the circulation to her hands. “But I am worried for Harry,” she whispered. “She’s not really dead, is she?” Opening his pouch, the old man, Tumbledown, peered into it, admiring the marbles within. Then pouring them out, he watched as the colourful glass balls ran freely into his robed lap. “Such a pretty sight is it not?” he asked, admiring the marbles as if they were diamonds. To him, they far more valuable than mere diamond trinkets, they were a means to an end, when his lifelong ambition would finally come to fruition. Cupping them in his wrinkly old hands, he laughed and he laughed. Nodding towards Tumbledown, Box whispered, “He’s barking mad, as barmy as Laughing Larry!” “Even more so,” Miocene added nervously.
Supporting the marbles in his upturned and open hands, Tumbledown casually counted them. And when he had finished, his face dropped. “What is this?” he bellowed. “There are only twenty-one marbles here! TWO OF THEM ARE MISSING!” “That’s all we ever saw,” Miocene insisted. “We never saw any more, we really didn’t!” “Two of them are missing!” Tumbledown growled, unwilling to listen, let alone believe her. “She’s telling you the truth,” said Box, backing her up. “And if you don’t believe us, you can ask Harry when she returns.” “Ask Harry when she returns?” said Tumbledown, chewing over these words, “I think that rather unlikely…” Standing up, holding the marbles in his cupped hands, Tumbledown said, “The time for talking is over, the time for action is here…” Then gazing almost fondly at Miocene and Box, he said, “I am sorry that it has come to this… It’s nothing personal, you know, but loose ends must be tidied.” “Loose ends?” Box hollered. “Is that all we are to you, loose ends?” “Of course,” he replied arrogantly. “You are as nothing in the bigger picture.” “The ‘bigger picture?’” Box continued, his anger growing exponentially. “The ‘bigger picture’, as far as I can see, is somewhat flawed.” “And why might you say that?” Tumbledown asked. Then realising what the Muddle child was up to, distracting him from his objective, he said, “No, I’m not going down that road.” And he gazed at the marbles and began chanting…
In the toilets, the apparition of the nurse, having completed her task, began to vanish. “Thanks,” said the mad ghost. “Yeh, thanks,” said Harry who, although recovered from her injury, was unfortunately still suffering from concussion. “Who was that woman, anyhow?” she asked. “A nurse – you summoned her,” Larry replied.
“I did?” said Harry, quite surprised to be hearing this. “I thought she was nurse Winterbottom...” “No, she wasn’t,” said the ghost. “Now come on, you must go.” “Go where?” “To help your friends, of course.” “Friends – what friends?” Harry asked. “I don’t have any friends. I prefer my own company – everyone at school knows that.” “I think that nurse left a tad early,” Larry bemoaned, wondering what he should do next. Lifting her top, inspecting it, Harry asked, “And how did my clothes get so clean? I am sure there was blood all over them – and my hair – a minute ago!” Searching for her wand, Harry rummaged through her pockets, but finding nothing, she said, “Have you seen my wand? I can’t seem to find it.” “Tumbledown took it,” the ghost told her in passing, worried for Miocene and Box. “Tumbledown, the school Principal?” Harry asked. “Why would he take it?” Having no intention of continuing with such a nonsensical conversation, Larry said, “If you want your wand, to get it back, you must go save your friends, despite what you think.” For a minute Harry stared glaringly, unblinkingly at the ghost, then without as much as a ‘by your leave’, she said, “Okay, but only if you come with me.” “Me!” Larry shrieked in fear. “I can’t possibly do that!” “Why not?” “Because…” “Because – what?” Because…I was banished here, to the toilets, by Holdavort?” the ghost whimpered.
Little by little, Harry felt the after effects of the concussion diminishing, and her usual personality returning. Opening the door to the room, she said, “Larry, YOU ARE COMING WITH ME.” Although he was so frightened of what might happen, when he broke Holdavort’s banishing order, the ghost nodded in agreement, and he followed her out from the toilets. “Where are we going, anyhow?” he asked. “To the Great Hall, of course,” she replied. “The old coot’s consistent beyond belief. He’ll be there.” Chanting in Arcanum, the old man, Tumbledown, holding twenty-one Philosopher’s Marbles in his outstretched hands, said, “Crionow, the time in now. Crionere, for the time is here. Crionarbles, for the Philosopher’s Marbles – when the marbles and I will be as one. Criomalldark, criomalldark, criomalldark – it’s done.” Instead of finding themselves on the receiving end of the terrible, promised vengeance, the two children, Miocene and Box, were astonished to see that nothing happened. Nudging Miocene, Box asked, “What was all that about?” “Beats me,” she replied. Although so very relieved that nothing had happened to them, Box scratched his head in bewilderment, wondering what Tumbledown could have be up to. “For the life of me,” he whispered, “I can’t see anything different...” And it was true nothing was different. However, that didn’t mean it was going to stay that way…
Chapter Twenty-Six An Appointment with Destiny Bursting in through the open doorway, like bulls a china shop, Harry and the mad ghost entered the Great Hall. “Where are they,” Harry asked. “Over there,” Larry replied, pointing to Miocene and Box with one of his ghostly hands. “Are you okay?” “Yes, we’re fine, Harry” said Miocene. “But are you? We were so worried!” “I’ll survive,” she replied, without explaining any further. “She did have some help from a nurse, though” said Larry. “A nurse?” said Box, quite in surprise. “Yes,” said the ghost, “and a fine one at that.” Cutting him short, Harry cautioned, “There’ll be time for cosy chitchats, later on. The old coot,” she pointed at Tumbledown, “is up to something…” He was. Tumbledown, standing deathly still, like he was frozen in time, had more of the appearance of a statue than a living person. “Is he sick?” “The likes of him don’t get sick, Box” Harry grumbled. “Then what is he doing,” said Miocene. “What’s happening to him?” “Look!” the ghost, Larry, suddenly cried out. “LOOK!” The three children and the mad ghost watched, as the old man, Tumbledown, the Alchemist and would-be Philosopher, began to grow – wings, and red ones at that. “That’s weird,” said Box, “that’s really weird.”
“Weird? Perhaps it is,” Harry whispered, “but it’s still happening.” It certainly was, and it continued apace, as the red hued wings grew larger and larger. Speaking again, showing a rare glimpse to a side of her personality that all too often lay hidden, Harry said, “Well, there’s one thing we can be sure of… he’s certainly not turning into an angel.” An angel? – Tumbledown was most definitely not turning in to an angel – but a winged devil? Taking this opportunity, the brief breathing space the transformation offered, Harry set about retrieving their wands, and after just a few chants in Arcanum she was proudly displaying all three. “How did you do that?” Box asked in utter amazement at the ease with which she had done it. “The girl mystic does it again,” said Miocene, inspecting her brightly coloured wand, like crazy. “Well, how did you do it?” Box asked Harry again. Winking at him, she replied, “Now wouldn’t you like to know?” Despite having the stumpy wand back in his possession, and despite holding on to it ever so tightly, Box once again found himself wishing that he had a Philosopher’s Marble or two at his disposal. As if she had been reading his mind, Harry said, “What happened to the marbles?” “Tumbledown was holding them, before he turned into that statue,” Box explained, “and began growing wings.” Approaching the old man, Harry searched for the marbles, and although Tumbledown’s hands were in the same upturned position, there was no sign of them – anywhere. “No luck?” “No, I can’t see what the old coot has done with them,” she replied. Adding to her concerns, Box said, “Oh, by the way, he said two of them are missing…”
Tumbledown’s eyes suddenly opened, revealing their glowing red interiors. Lurching away, scared, Miocene and Box feared for their lives. Standing her ground, Harry shuffled that bit closer. “What’s she doing?” asked Miocene, thinking the girl mystic had lost her own marbles. “She’s my cousin,” Box whispered. “She could be up to anything.” “Oh.” And she was up to something; in spite of the fact that Tumbledown was growing in size and turning a sickly red colour, Harry’s mind, having notched up a gear, began working like mad, trying, hoping to solve their dilemma before it got any further out of hand. Unfortunately, Tumbledown, who had meanwhile regained consciousness, had ideas of his own, and being the subject of scrutiny was certainly no part of it. “You should have stayed down, when you had the chance,” he said quietly, calmly, menacingly to Harry. “You should have accepted defeat.” Flapping hard, his huge wings lifted him clear of the floor. “What’s happening, Harry?” said Box, hoping she might have at least some idea what he was up to. “Can he hear us?” asked Miocene. “Because he looks so dreadfully off-colour.” “Off colour?” Harry replied sardonically. “The man’s turned blood red! That’s about as ‘off colour’ as he could possible get.” “I only said…” “Come on, we must stay focused,” said Box, butting in. “For what good it will do…” a voice boomed from above Pointing to Tumbledown, now hovering high above them, Box said, “Did he say that?” Harry remained strangely silent. The children on the balcony, watching these developments also remained silent.
“His voice sounds different,” Miocene whispered. “And so it should,” the voice boomed out again. The appearance of wings and altered vocal chords were not the only things changed about Tumbledown. His robes had also changed, and although they were of the same sickly red colour, they were now composed of a hard, leathery substance, with a series of twenty-one multicoloured lights embedded intrinsically within them. And these lights shone out with a brilliance so dazzling it lit up the entire hall. Thinking they looked somehow familiar, Miocene asked, “What are they?” Without a hint of doubt in her voice, Harry said, “They are the Philosopher’s Marbles of course.” “They are?” Harry nodded. The figure, which had until only moments earlier been that of the old man, Tumbledown, but now so much more, turning its attention to Miocene and Box, said, “He promised you something dastardly, to finish you off. And who am I to deny you this?” “What do you mean HE?” The red eyes, unblinking, stared at Box, but the voice remained eerily silent. “Well?” Box asked him again. “Or has the cat got your tongue?” “You will have more to worry about than cats, when I have finished with you,” the voice grimly warned. “Cats shmats.” Box yelled out in anger. “Very well, the voice replied, though speaking quieter this time, “I will tell you… since it will be the last thing you will ever hear.” “And?” “I am more than a man, more than the old man, Tumbledown.” “I can see that…”
“More?” Miocene whispered to Harry. “What does he mean?” Harry, however, continued to say nothing. Speaking again, the figure explained exactly what he meant; “I am – HOLDAVORT!” Reeling in shock, the ghost, Laughing Larry, almost leapt out of his skin when he heard this. Zooming up high into the air, he began flying fast and furious around the hall’s huge interior, like he might never get out from it. And true to his habit, whenever surprised, frightened or shocked, he began singing, “I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry today. I am laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hey hey! You may think I’m not too serious, and I might even agree, but I’m still Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry hee hee...” When the ghost’s singing had finally come to a stop, the winged figure, Holdavort, staring wildly at him, said, “I will be dealing with you next.” On hearing these words, Laughing Larry flew even faster around the huge hall, then making a beeline for the broken-down entrance he whizzed through it, disappearing from sight. Returning his attention to Miocene and Box, Holdavort said mockingly, “Any last requests?” Trying to put last requests to the back of her mind, Miocene dared to say, “Are you really Holdavort? I mean, I thought you were more of a legend, than actually real.” He laughed; Holdavort laughed the same crazed ‘old man laugh’ as Tumbledown. Turning to his cousin, Box said, “Harry, is he really Holdavort?” Having remained silent for so long, Harry ruminated over the best way to reply, then answering, she said, “He might appear different, but I’d recognise those piggy eyes of his anywhere.” Holdavort smiled sardonically at Harry. “But I thought you had defeated him?” Box whispered. “A battle, it was a mere battle – the war, however, was far from won,” the voice boomed again. “And I will not be so congenial this time round. But first things first,” he said, pointing to Miocene and Box. “For now you die.”
“LEAVE THEM BE!” Harry hissed, in defiance. “FACE ME FIRST, IF YOU DARE!” He laughed again; Holdavort laughed the same crazy mad laugh as before. “I will do whatever I choose,” he replied, as two of the Philosopher’s Marbles, embedded within his hard leathery robes, began glowing a different colour, sending a beam of blood red light screaming its way towards the frightened children. Miocene screamed. Box, struck dumb in horror, did nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet, strangely, neither of the two beams struck their intended targets. They simply vanished – gone. “WHAT?” Holdavort boomed in anger. Holding her wand proudly, defiantly, the girl mystic said, “I did warn you. I told you to leave them be, to try your luck with me, first!” “Did you do that, did you save us?” Miocene asked. Lifting her wand that bit higher, Harry nodded. Turning her attention to Box, Miocene asked, “Are you all right?” Looking towards Holdavort, he said, “I will be, when he’s gone.” Turning his attention to Harry, Holdavort said, “If that is how you want it, then so be it, you shall be first to die...” But instead of coming at her, to finish her off, he simply vanished from sight. “Where’s he gone?” asked Box, scratching his head, confused by the sudden departure. “Not far…” said Harry. Then opening the door leading up to the balcony, she said, “Come on, what you are waiting for?” Following Harry up the steep flight of steps, Miocene and Box wondered what she was up to. “Hurray!” all the children shouted when they arrived at the top. These cheers were so loud Miocene feared Holdavort, on hearing them, might return at any moment. Thankfully this did not happen.
It was so crowded up there, on the balcony, with every last pupil of the school crammed into it. “Are you all okay? “ Miocene asked a particularly pimply individual. “Yeh, were fine,” he replied. “But we don’t know how we got up here, and the door wouldn’t open from this side. Did Tumbledown do it?” Miocene nodded. “Are you going to finish him off?” another boy asked. “Give him one for me,” said another boy, swinging his arm as he spoke. Then another child, a girl, said, “Oh, do watch out, I fear something terribly bad is going to happen.” And it was, because outside, somewhere in a space between worlds, Holdavort was planning his imminent return… “If we are to have any hope of success,” said Harry, as much to the pupils as to Miocene and Box, “it is imperative that we work together, as a team.” Holding up a hand, the same pimply boy who had spoke to Miocene, said, “I thought you had finished him off, yourself, before. So why do you need our help this time round?” Even at the best of times Harry had no fondness for answering questions (and who was this spotty faced boy anyway?), but the eyes of this boy and, indeed, everyone else on the balcony were fixed upon her, listening to her every word, so replying obscurely, she said, “When you are as old as me you will understand.” The boy, being only a year younger than Harry, put up his hand, to tell her this, but having none of it, she pointed to Box, asking him for the next question. Coughing uncertainly, caught unawares, he said, “What are you going to do, Harry?” Despite her obscure reply to the boy, they were all (including Box) still hanging onto her every word, to hear what she might say to inspire them. Coughing, clearing her throat, Harry she said, “Hmm, what am I going to do? Yes, that’s the question…” The children continued to stare at her, hoping against hope – for a miracle. Finding some more words, Harry said, “I had hoped to use this,” she waved her electro magical wand before them, “to free the Philosopher’s Marbles
for my own, err, ends.” She coughed again. “Things, however, have moved on since then, and the marbles are now an integral part of what the old coot, Tumbledown, has become…” “Holdavort?” a voice in the crowd whispered. “Yes, Holdavort.” “But you defeated him!” the pimply faced boy said again. “Yes, I did,” she said. “If I could only remember how… And he is now so much more....” “What do we do, then?” another voice asked. “To put it quite bluntly, I – we must finish him off…” “But how?” “How? You ask me how?” Harry said, her voice trailing off. “I don’t even know if it’s possible, let alone how,” she admitted candidly, “considering what we are facing….” “But you must stop him,” a girl pupil whispered. “You must…” Moving on, ignoring her remark, because she simply had no answer to offer, Harry tried to wind up her talk by asking if there were any more questions, but so many hands shot up, wanting to know more, she said, “I am sorry, but I simply cannot answer you all.” Someone at the rear of the balcony booed. Harry ignored it. “So, to sum up,” she said, “I promise you that I will do everything in my power to rid the scourge of Holdavort from Hagswords, once and for all.” Hearing this, the pupils cheered loudly. “I must warn you, though,” she added, “I expect every last one of you, including that person who booed, to help if and when they are called.” Another even louder cheer erupted across the balcony. “So,” said Box, calling Harry to come closer, so he could speak to with her one-toone, “you are going to sort everything out, to make everything just fine and dandy?” “Yes, it appears so,” she replied, quite pokerfaced.
“Any idea how?” Her eyes narrowing, she warned, “Don’t get above your station. You’re still only a Muddle, the only one here…” Recalling, remembering all the terrible things she had done to him, at home, Box pulled in his horns, and he said, “I was only asking…” “And I was only telling,” she replied. “Now listen, I have something to ask of you, in confidence…” Shepherding him away from Miocene, she said, “Sorry Miocene, it’s nothing personal.” By the time Harry had finished explaining, Box was scratching his head in bewilderment, wondering if the missing ghost was the only one who was mad. “Are you sure they are there?” he asked, scratching his head, wishing he had said nothing. “Yes, now pipe down, will you? It’s supposed to be a secret,” she insisted. Far way, in a world between worlds, Holdavort had no intention of being outmanoeuvred by a child, again “This time,” he said, “I will finish her off so fast, that troublesome girl, Harry, won’t know what hit her. She will be history…” “Where is Box going?” Miocene asked when she saw him heading down the stairs. “On an errand,” Harry replied. “An errand?” “Yes, but it’s nothing for you to be concerned about. “Now where is your wand?” she asked, changing the subject. “My wand? It’s here, of course.” Miocene showed Harry her garishly pink wand. “I never liked that colour,” Harry mumbled. “It’s pink – for a girl!” she said. “It’s my favourite colour!” Having thus been distracted, Miocene forgot all about Box’s mysterious errand. Just then, a few of Harry’s classmates approached, and one of them, a boy named Tommy Sutton, asked, “Are you going to finish him off? I hope there’s loads of
blood!” Another classmate, a redheaded girl named Sylvia Slark, said, “Where is McGonagain?” I haven’t seen her – for ages” “She’s gone.” “Gone – are you sure? Where?” “Listen,” Harry explained, “we have more things to be concerned about than the old coot’s fancy women. Be off with you!” Giggling, the girl scurried away. A third child, a heavyset boy, whom Harry shared little or no interests with, (apart from mysticism and magic, that is), said, “It’s your fault!” Feigning innocence, pointing to her chest, Harry said, “Me? I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about.”
However, being a particularly stubborn individual, the boy persisted, and he said, “We all knew what you were up to, back there, when you stole that first marble thingy. “And what might that be?” “You wanted the rest of them, of course!” he declared, looking very pleased with himself. “Oh, and – ” Cutting him off, Harry let rip with her wand. No child pupil was going to dictate to her. Harry’s electro magical wand punished him with a vengeance. “Stop it, STOP IT!” Miocene shouted, ignoring the fact that she might be next on Harry’s sometimes-unfathomable agenda. “What do you think you’re doing, Harry?” she asked. The boy child, lying in a tangled heap upon the floor, his clothes smouldering from Harry’s vicious attack, scrambled away. “I’ll see you later,” he warned, disappearing behind his fellow pupils, to the rear of the balcony. “What was all that about?” Miocene asked, worried for the boy. “He’s a creep,” Harry hissed, “and a fat one at that.”
Downstairs, making his way through the maze of dimly lit corridors, on that errand for his troublesome, bothersome and problematic cousin, Box came to a abrupt halt. “Is it right and then left?” he whispered, “Or left and then right?” He had absolutely no idea. Then he saw it, on a nearby wall; he saw a picture, a wonderful painting of an old man; a knight on horseback. Approaching it, he studied the picture with growing interest. “I’m sure this is the same painting…” he mused. “But the figure within it, Lord Catchyfoe, if it really is him, was much closer to the front of it... And why is it here?” Scratching his German head, Box struggled to make sense of it. The old man in the picture, turning to face him, smiled, and said, “So we meet again, Sir Box. Can I be so bold as to assume that your quest is now over?” “It is you!” Box exclaimed with excitement. Then shaking his head, he said, “No, unfortunately my quest is far from over, my lord.” “I am sorry to hear that, Sir Knight,” the old man replied. Then guiding his steed that bit closer to him, he said, “Does a fellow knight need of some assistance?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven Destiny’s Child “It’s no problem, no problem at all,” Lord Catchyfoe said, offering Box a hand up. “Are you sure you can do this?” Box asked, looking up at the painting, with some uncertainly. “Yes, of course,” the knight insisted. “Come on, through your leg up, if what you have told me is correct, we have no time to waste.” As the old man pulled, Box struggled with his leg, raising it, trying to lift it across the ornately carved frame. Then with one huge last effort, he scrambled across the frame and entered the painting. “Wow!” he said, quite in surprise. “It’s so different in here than I had imagined!” And so it should be,” Lord Catchyfoe insisted. “It is a painting after all, and an extremely fine one at that. Now follow me,” he ordered. “I know some shortcuts between paintings; I’ll have you there in no time at all…” Following the old knight from painting to painting Box passed through Hagswords at a far greater speed than he had ever imagined possible. Their progress was so fast Box had no time to stop and admire any of the fine things he saw on their way, such as cows grazing contentedly in lush meadows, wild animals in far away places stalking their prey, and happy, carefree people saving the hay in times gone by. Box also saw terrible, cruel things; scenes of bloody battles and even bloodier wars, so much suffering he wanted to cry. “Almost there,” said the lord, as he entered a particularly large painting. It was of a old bearded man, wearing a black robe decorated with star and planet motifs, so many Box thought it impossible to count. And in his hand, this man was holding what looked surprisingly like a little black pouch. “Is that Merlin,” Box asked, already believing that it was.
Lord Catchyfoe nodded. “We have no time for stopping,” he warned. “Perhaps we can speak with him, later?” “I’d love to,” said Box, catching a glimpse of the old wizard as he began opening his pouch. Stepping out from the painting, onto a dark wooden floor, Lord Catchyfoe instructed Box to do likewise. “Where are we?” he asked. “We are in what was the inner sanctum of Necromanter.” “Necro – who?” “Necromanter,” the lord said again, “He was a necromantic sorcerer, perhaps the best who ever lived.” “But…?” “I know,” said the old man, “you want to know more. However, this is not your destiny – or is it?” he asked rather cryptically. Confused, Box mumbled a simpler question, “Are we nearly there?” “Your destination?” Opening the door, the lord said, “Follow me, and see for yourself.” Box had expected the door to lead on to another drafty old hallway, but surprisingly it didn’t. Instead, he found himself in the girls’ dormitory, the Lythyndoor House’ girls’ dormitory to be precise. “How did you do that?” he asked, quite in surprise. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” The old man replied. “Pardon?” Without explaining what he had meant by this, the lord said, “Time is getting away… Retrieve that which you have come for, and let us depart.” Making his way down the isle, between two rows of narrow, steel tubular framed beds, Box said, “She told me that her bed is the last one on the left.” And so it was,
Harry’s bed, exactly as she had left it, had none of the pink frilly bits the other girls had adorned theirs with. Instead, her only concession to decoration was a poster sticky taped to the wall above it. This poster was advertising a circus. Box read the wording out aloud, it said, ‘The Circus of Grotesques – It will change your life forever’. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he whispered, getting goosepimply all over. “Have you got it?” the lord asked, egging him on. Forgetting about the poster, Box got down on all fours and made his way under the bed. Covered in cobwebs, he replied, “Give me a minute… It’s dreadfully dusty down here…” Then finding the loose floorboard Harry had told him about, he prised it up with the end of his stumpy wand. It broke. With a snap, his little wand broke in two. Box was devastated. In an instant, his stumpy little wand had become two even stumpier wands. “Dratts,” he hissed. “Is everything all right?” the lord knight asked. Crawling out from under the bed, covered in cobwebs, Box showed the lord knight what he had found – two shiny bright Philosopher’s Marbles. Then showing him the broken remnants of his little wand, he replied, “That’s a matter of opinion.” Paying absolutely no attention to the broken wand, but admiring the glass baubles immensely, Lord Catchyfoe said, “My, you have been busy.” Then opening the door, he said, “Come on, we must be away.”
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Holdavort had returned with a vengeance. Amidst thunderous clashes and lightning flashes, he left Miocene and Harry in no doubts whatsoever that he had returned with all guns blazing. Shrieking with fear, Miocene asked Harry what she should do. But Harry, trying to fend off the attack Holdavort had instigated upon her, was far too busy to reply. “My wand, I must use it to help her!” Miocene screamed. Raising it, with hands trembling, pointing the garishly pink object at Holdavort, the girl tried to remember some words of Arcanum, any words to help Harry. “Fantastichi fantastichidd, hear my voice, my plea, my id. Smite this abomination – don’t let it be, fantasticnif fantasticniv.” That was all that she said, it was all that she could think of, and she
was only too aware that is was, at best, a ‘mixed bag’ of Arcanumic words, with nothing of any real substance binding them together. But despite this, she desperately hoped that her chant would help... At first nothing happened, nothing at all, as Holdavort, landing before them, laughed at Harry’s meagre defence. “So,” he bellowed, “the girl mystic is struggling. I am disappointed, so disappointed. I thought you were made of sterner stuff than that.” “I defeated you before,” Harry shouted defiantly, “and I will do it again!” “It was luck, that’s all, just plain luck” Holdavort retorted dismissively. Harry wondered was that all that it had been – just luck? “It was more than luck!” Miocene screamed at the red skinned creature that called itself Holdavort, “and you know it!” Turning to face her, Holdavort’s piggy red eyes narrowed, and leaning closer, so close Miocene could smell the stink of his breath – raw fish and silage She wanted to puke, but she didn’t, because at that moment, the exact moment when Holdavort hurled a despicable attack upon her, her words of Arcanum, which she had almost forgotten about, kicked in. To say that she was surprised would be an understatement to beat all others – she was amazed, flabbergasted and totally shocked by what happened next. Yes, Holdavort’s attack was still screaming towards her, but her own attack was now screaming towards him. Then, in one huge fireball, the two opposing forces exploded, neutralising each other – gone. Speechless with anger and seething with rage, Holdavort hurled attack at attack at Miocene, and one of them, finding its mark, tore through her unprotected body. Screaming with pain, she lost her grip on her wand, and it dropped over the side of the balcony, useless. Storming in through the doorway, seeing her fall, Box shouted, “Miocene! What has he done to you?” “So the stupid Muddle has returned,” Holdavort bellowed in ecstasy, at the prospect of settling yet another score. “I had imagined you to have fled, ran away, but, no, a Muddle would not have the intelligence for such a thing. Be it upon you own head, then, because you now die…”
“Two!” Harry shouted, jumping down from the balcony, joining Box. “There are two of us, and don’t you forget it!” “So, it’s two against one,” said Holdavort, a crafty smile creeping across his red face. “That is fine by me; I don’t want it to be too easy, do I?” “Three!” the mad ghost shouted, as he flew through the doorway, hauling a large sack behind him. “Three against one are better odds again, he, he!” “A crazed ghost is no threat to me,” Holdavort roared out in peals of robust laughter. “No threat at all…” “In that case you won’t feel this,” Larry chuckled, flying over Holdavort, and emptying the entire sack’s contents onto him. Ghostly silverware; plates, knives forks and spoons rained on Holdavort, but being ghostly items they passed harmlessly through him. Seeing this, Larry laughed nervously and returned to the ‘safety’ of the ceiling, where he began singing; “I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry today….” And he continued singing his little ditty over and over again, hoping, if nothing else, to distract Holdavort long enough to give the others a fighting chance. “Here, take these,” said Box, handing his cousin the two retrieved marbles. “Just in the nick of time,” said Harry, taking hold of them in her left hand. Then seeing the remains of his wand, she asked, “What happened there?” “My wand?” he said, looking forlornly at it. “It had a bit of an accident…” Picking up Miocene’s wand, Harry offered it to Box, saying, “Use this.” Box accepted it (though he glared un-approvingly the garishly pick hue). Ignoring the crazy mad ghost, Holdavort returned his attention to Harry and Box. “So,” he said, “you had the other two marbles after all…” “Yes,” she replied, clutching the two marbles like her life depended on them (and it did). “Insurance – they were insurance.” Laughing again, Holdavort said, “Insurance? What good can that be against – ME?” With that the twenty-one marbles embedded within his hard, leathery robes began to glow red.
Despite being in a position of power, of superiority, Holdavort did something unexpected, most unexpected indeed – he offered Harry an olive branch. He said, “The old man, Tumbledown, offered you a chance to join him, and so will I. I will give you one last chance, to return the two marbles, and to unite with me. What say you?” he asked, offering Harry one of his huge red hands. Gritting her teeth, waving her wand and twirling the two magical marbles, Harry replied, “You know what you can do with your offer? YOU CAN TAKE IT TO HELL WITH YOU!” Pressing one of its buttons, Harry pointed her wand at Holdavort, sending a huge plume of fiery flames streaking towards him. “Very well,” he said, “if that’s how you feel, so be it.” His huge wings, bursting into life, whisked him away from the flames, as he unwittingly dropped something. And from his position, above, the twenty-one marbles spewed twenty-one fiery, flaming shafts of energised light at the two children. “DUCK!” Harry and Box shouted to each other. And they did, avoiding the massive attack by the slimmest of margins. “DUCK!” they shouted again, as the madman instigated another volley of attack upon them. “DUCK!” they shouted for a third time, as yet another volley screamed it way towards them. And so it went on again and again and again, until they had avoided, in total, nineteen such vicious, scathing attacks. While they had avoided them so brilliantly, they were unfortunately no closer to overcoming the madman, who appeared capable of continuing indefinitely. Something had to be done to gain the upper hand – but what? “I can’t go on like this, Harry,” said Box, “I’m worn out. I’m absolutely shattered.” “So am I,” she replied. “We need a distraction, something to take his mind off us. “Hell might freeze over before that happens,” Box groaned in dismay. “If only Larry had been better at doing it…” Harry whispered, “If only…” While this had been happening, above them, singing away like he might never stop, the mad ghost had been soaring through the air at breakneck speed. He had no intention of offering Holdavort an easy target… “I am Laughing Larry, Laughing Larry today…” And that was when he saw it, below him, the ghost saw – an opportunity. Whizzing down, with arms outstretched, he made a beeline for it.
Reaching the mark, Larry, grabbing hold of the item, the small item, seized it like he might never let go. Whizzing away, returning to the relative safely of the high ceiling, he resumed his airborne display and singing. “Did you see that?” said Box, scratching his head, wondering what Larry had found. “I did,” she replied. Their eyes following the fast moving ghost, Harry and Box wondered what he was up to. Up above, the mad ghost opened his hand and inspected his find, the opportunity he had spotted from a height. After inspecting it thoroughly, he chirped with glee, “He he, I was right, it is one...it really is, he he.” Just then, another fiery, flaming shaft of blood red light screamed its way towards Harry and Box, “JUMP!” they shouted at the top of their voices. And they did, as yet another vicious attack narrowly missed its intended target. Changing tactics, Holdavort, his wings beating fast, flew in a beeline for the two children. There was no point in them shouting ‘duck’ or anything else, this time, because the creature, which had once been the old man, Tumbledown, smashed into them. Knocked senseless, Harry and Box lay flat out on the floor, vulnerable to the superior might that was Holdavort. Zooming down from the rafters, fast and furious, the mad ghost aimed, kamikaze style, for the red skinned creature. WHAM! He smashed into Holdavort, knocking him to the floor. And he screamed, Holdavort screamed with pain, a pain so terrible he wanted to die. “He he,” the ghost giggled. “It worked, it really worked, he he.” “What did you do?” Box gasped, at the crazy mad spirit. “He he,” it worked, it actually worked,” Larry laughed blissfully again. “What worked?” Harry asked. “IT worked!” said Larry, laughing all the more. “He he…it actually worked!” “We know that, you mad ghost,” Harry chided, “but – WHAT”
Landing close by them, the happy ghost said, “This worked. I found it. Holdavort dropped it. It’s magical...” Opening his hand, he showed them what he had found on the floor. “It’s only a nail,” said Box, in his ignorance. “A simple nail.” “No, no!” said Larry, pushing the ‘nail’ that bit closer. “LOOK AT IT!” Box inspected it further, but it was still only a nail as far as he was concerned. Pushing her way in (though keeping a watchful eye on Holdavort), Harry said, “Let me take a look.” The ghost offered her the ‘nail’. “Ah, I see,” she said, “What was a stroke of luck! Why didn’t you tell us you had found this?” Shrugging his shoulders, Larry said, “Because I’m a bit mad?” “What is it, Harry?” Smiling, she replied, “Box, I don’t know if you will fully understand its concept…” At that point Holdavort, struggling to his feet, roared out in anger, “So the ghost has found my Disk?” “Try me,” said Box ever so quickly to Harry. “Okay, I will,” she replied even quicker. “Larry found a Harrovian Nail.” “Disk or nail? It can’t be both!” “Even though it looks like a nail, it’s called a disk,” Harry explained. “And before you ask me why – don’t, because I have no idea,” she continued, “These magical discs are capable of so many things, one of which is inflicting excruciating pain…” “And it was just lying there, on the ground?” “No, you heard Larry, Holdavort dropped it.” “Yes, I did,” Holdavort boomed, “and I would like it back.” “There’s no time to explain any more, Box,” Harry shouted. “Get that pink wand of yours at the ready, and take these marbles.” Handing him the two retrieved marbles, she said, “I’m going to try my luck with this nail – err, disk…”
Chapter Twenty-Eight The Final Showdown? Whilst Harry dashed across to the far side of the Great Hall, clutching the Harrovian Disc, bringing their hopes along with her, Laughing Larry, having no intention of being anywhere close to Holdavort than was absolutely necessary, circled above. Below the mad ghost, at ground level, Box studied the two marbles and the garishly pink wand that he found so distasteful. “I so wish she’d tell me more,” he grumbled. “I always feel she’s only telling me half the story...” And she was, but that was Harry, and she had no intention of ever changing her ways, had she? “So, Muddle, she has left you alone, to your own devices…” said Holdavort, standing so proud in front of him, “…the brave girl mystic.” “Alone shmlone,” Box retorted contemptuously. With every marble embedded within his robe glowing blue-hot, Holdavort said coldly, calmly, “This time I will offer you no last request.” With that twenty-one shafts of intense blue light screamed their way towards Box. “That’s what you think!” he yelled, diving for cover and hurling the two marbles, with intent. And if there was one thing (apart from electronics) that Box excelled at, it was lobbing objects, like stones – and marbles. Indeed, he had lost count of how many windowpanes he had broken, enjoying this, his boldest of pastimes. It was a strange, almost surreal sight; the Muddle child pitted against the might of the red winged giant. And what happened next was just as unreal, as surreal. You see, the two flying marbles, suddenly veering off course, gave Holdavort a wide berth, and instead of perpetrating some dastardly deed upon him, they simply returned, protecting Box from any attack. The threat perpetrated against him was at nothing.
“HOW CAN THIS BE?” Holdavort roared in outrage. “MARBLE AGAINST MARBLE?” “I think I’m getting the hang of this magical malarkey,” Box laughed, opening his hand, accepting the marbles as they returned to him. “I think we might finally be in with a chance of winning,” he said. Then waving the pink wand, he let rip with an attack of his own, sending Holdavort reeling.
Meanwhile, on the far side of the Great Hall, behind Holdavort, hidden from view, Harry was ready to begin. Speaking a loose mixture of Arcanum and English, she said, “With this nail, this Harrovian disc, I call on its powers – a cristatic mind shift, to lend me a hand at this time of appeal, cristosis, cristopholous, cristaecis – so be it.” If she had confided in Box this time, about what she was up to, he might have been concerned – very concerned indeed. Because Harry had called upon the last thing he wanted to see, the very thing they had struggled, and so hard, to close. She called upon the gates of Hell – Hades itself – to reopen, and with it all the terrible things contained therein. And it happened so quickly; with a creaking, cracking, groaning sound the gates burst open, offering free rein to the abominations within. High above, the ghost sang nervously, more nervously than he had ever sung in his entire life – or death, “I am Laughing…” Box knew instinctively that Harry was up to something, but from where he was standing was he unable to see what it was, so skirting Holdavort, who was still struggling to fight off the effects of his attack upon him, Box made his way round... Then he saw them, Box saw the gates of Hades – burst open, with the demonbeasts inching their way out! Fearing that everything was now lost, Box groaned, “Harry! What have you done?” Harry, however, said nothing; she just smiled vacantly in return. And she was still smiling vacantly when Holdavort shook off the last vestiges of Box’s assault. “So, you have reopened the gates of Hades!” he boomed. “The gates that will, after I have had my fun, claim you and that stupid Muddle forever!”
Like the mad ghost had done earlier, Harry clenched the Harrovian Disc ever so tightly as she ran headlong at Holdavort. Her head found its mark, and he bellowed in agony. Having no intention of letting up, of offering him the slightest chance of recovery, Harry stepped back a few paces and then rushed him again. Her head found its mark for a second time, and Holdavort roared out in pain, he roared from the terrible pain inflicted by the bearer of the Harrovian Disc. He roared and he roared and he roared. “Harry, what are you up to?” said Box, puzzled by her strange behaviour. “He’ll think of a way out, to stop you…and then you’ll be for it.” Still smiling in the same vacant way as before, Harry pointed to the demon-beasts emerging from Hell. “Not if they have anything to do with it, he won’t.” Once again Box found himself dismayed by the actions of his wayward cousin, and he said, “Harry, you can’t actually believe they will help – you can’t.” “Hmm,” she said, the vacant smile etched across her face, “but I do.” “Why, for God’s sake? Why have you done this?” he asked, flapping his arms in frustration, “WHY?” Getting all-defensive, she said, “Have you any better suggestions?” His arms falling, the wind blown out from his sails, Box said, and ever so quietly, “Well…no. I don’t, as it so happens…” On hearing this, Harry smiled that bit more, and said “Listen to me...”
“I’m ready,” said Box, watching nervously as the emerging demon-beasts, now fully clear of the gates, edged ever closer. “But please began soon.” Paying no attention to the demon-beasts, Holdavort, now fully recovered from Box’s attack, returned with an attack of his own, catching the two children off guard, sending them sprawling helplessly across the shiny, wooden floor. Laughing great peals of laughter, Holdavort glorified at his success. Then sending another vicious attack racing towards them, he edged closer – for the kill. Holdavort was so caught up in his own words, his own rhetoric, condemning Harry and the stupid Muddle for interfering in something that he insisted was of no
concern to them, he thought nothing more of the emerging demon-beasts. And that was a mistake, a big mistake, and Harry seized upon it... Struggling to her feet, shouting at the top of her voice, Harry said, “Now, Box! Do exactly as I told you – DO IT NOW!” He did, although Box had that garishly pink wand to contend with, he did exactly as she had instructed him. Pointing it at the broken-down gates, twirling the two marbles in his other hand, he began speaking in Arcanum. “Here goes,” he said, “I hope I can remember them all…” He did, the Arcanumic words flowed freely, sweetly, and the emerging demonbeasts were soon enthralled by its powerful embrace. “It’s working, it’s actually working, Harry!” said Box, amazed by its sway. “Keep your mind on the job,” she warned. “It will only last for a few seconds. WE MUST GET IT RIGHT!” Swayed, mesmerised by the Arcanumic chant, the spell, the demon-beasts, changing direction, began making their way towards Holdavort. He was still so full of his own importance, his burning desire to be rid of Harry and the stupid Muddle, he was blind, oblivious to danger they posed. Had he seen them, he could have so easily been able to fend them off, to send them packing, but he didn’t, and that was an unfortunate state of affairs altogether…
Seeing her plan working so perfectly, Harry’s brain cranked up a gear, and waving her wand slowly, deliberately, she began speaking, she said, “HOLDAVORT!” “What is it, ‘famous’ girl mystic?” he asked mockingly. “Do you want to beg me to stop?” “Beg? You must be joking you old fart!” she yelled contemptuously at him. Sensing yet another ploy, another deception, Holdavort sent a beam of curdled light screaming its way towards the two children. “BOX!” Harry yelled, trying so desperately to warn him.
Although he was preoccupied, watching the approaching beasts, Box did hear her, he heard her all right, but too late…far too late, and he suffered the full force of Holdavort’s despicable attack. He laughed; Holdavort laughed a loud belly laugh, at the fall of the stupid, interfering Muddle. “So, another has fallen,” he gloated. “That only leaves you and me…” “You, me – and them!” Harry replied smugly. “Them?” “Yes, them,” she said pointing behind him. Turning, Holdavort reeled in shock, as the demon-beasts pounced… Thinking that it was all over, that Holdavort had finally met his match, his comeuppance, Harry stared at the devastation before her, at her best friends (yes, she now realised they were really and truly her friends) lying so still; Miocene straddled across the balcony rails, and Box on the hard, cold floor. And she cried, Harry cried at what she had brought about – at all the terrible things she had caused, in her quest for the Philosopher’s Marbles... Thinking that something is over does not necessarily mean that it is; Harry was about to learn this lesson the hard way… With every last marble embedded in his hard, leathery robes glowing white-hot, Holdavort expunged the demon-beats with a vengeance. “You insult me,” he roared, “to imagine they,” he pointed contemptuously at the retreating beasts, “could have any effect, would have any more effect on me other than a passing inconvenience.” Glancing momentarily to the balcony, above, Holdavort twirled one of his hands. Obeying his orders, the demon-beasts turned and began making their way to the door leading up...
“I see that I have caught your attention,” said Holdavort in his serendipity. “Let’s see how the children,” he glanced up, and they in turn stared down, “like to be amused…” And with that he twirled his hand for a second time, just a smidgeon,
even less than before, but enough to send the door flying off its hinges, allowing the beasts free access to the stairs leading up to the balcony. “NO!” Harry screamed. “NO, you can’t do that, NO!” “Oh, but I can,” he whispered, in amused reply. Clutching hard on the Harrovian Disc, Harry made a mad rush for Holdavort, but raising a hand, he stopped her in her dead in her tracks. “Once again you have insulted me,” he scowled. “That you think I am incapable of – adapting.” With a beckoning motion, Holdavort snapped his fingers, and the disc, extricating itself from Harry’s tight grip, flew the short distance between them. And when it was resting safely in his evil clutches, Holdavort crushed it into a fine powder before Harry’s startled eyes. The demon-beasts, having made their way up the narrow staircase, were edging ever closer towards the frightened children. Shouting up to them, Harry said, “Remember what I told you, what is expected of you!” Hearing this, remembering this, every last child crammed on that balcony withdrew their wands, ready for the fight of their young lives. To say Harry was surprised would be an understatement, a disservice to the wouldbe young mystics on that balcony. Yes, they certainly surprised her, but they also amazed, astounded, flabbergasted, stunned and bowled her over by the resistance, the fight they put up against their attackers. Every last one of them, with wands blazing and the fires of freedom burning deep in their bellies, held their own on that balcony, against the demon-beasts, giving as much, no, giving more than they received, fighting, overcoming those creatures from hell. A pain; Harry felt an intense pain burning, tearing its way through her chest, Holdavort, having seen her weakness, an opportunity when her defences were down, had seized the moment and struck hard. In agony, clutching her chest, Harry fell to the floor, quite still…
“Does it end so easily?” said Holdavort, staring down onto the fallen child, the adrenalin running fast through his evil veins. “Is that all there is? No fanfare, no applause – just silence?” His head tilting to one side, Holdavort realised just what
he had said – silence – and it worried him. Looking up to the balcony and it was by no means a passing glance, this time, he saw the children, the pupils – all of them – staring down at him. “What happened to the demon-beasts?” he asked with incredulity. The eyes from above continued to stare at him, but not one child offered an explanation word. Looking away, in denial of their apparent triumph, Holdavort, in an effort to regain his composure, dismissed it, saying, “It matters not; the beasts were merely tools. I will finish the job, myself.” With that his red hued wings began beating, flapping, lifting him, raising him up to the level of the balcony. But when he reached it, Holdavort was dismayed to see no sign of the fallen girl, Miocene, anywhere. “How can this be?” he roared, in his growing anger. “What skulduggery is this? Tell me,” he warned, shaking his fist, “would-be child mystics, lest you feel my wrath!” The children, however, said nothing, every last one of them, with their hands (and their wands) hanging harmlessly by their sides, offered no him fight, no resistance. “HAH!” Holdavort cried, smelling a rat. “So you think you can fool me? You think you can emulate your heroine, Harry – Harry Rotter, you try and outsmart me? Hah! Look at her!” he ordered. But they just continued to stare blankly at him, their eyes never leaving his face. “I said LOOK!” he bellowed, turning, pointing below. It was then; right there and then Holdavort got the shock of his life… You see, although he saw the body of Harry lying so still on the hard, cruel floor, he also saw a figure of a girl standing next to her. “What skulduggery is this?” he asked again. The figure, its head turning slowly, facing upwards, fixing its eyes upon him – was also Harry, a second Harry – and she smiled. Reeling in shock, Holdavort said, “No, not again! You did that, before... But NOT AGAIN! YOU CAN’T, YOU CAN’T HAVE REMEMBERED!” Floating, rising like she were no more substantial that a wisp of smoke, as the first Harry, the fallen Harry faded into nothingness, the new Harry, the living Harry edged ever higher, ever closer to the abomination calling itself Holdavort. When she had reached his level, the balcony, the new Harry began speaking, she said, “What’s the matter Holdavort? Or has the cat got your tongue?”
From high above, the ghost, Laughing Larry, watched with a growing interest. Stammering, unable – unwilling to believe what he was seeing, Holdavort, stuttered, “But, but…” “With her hands resting on her hips, Harry said (and ever do bluntly), “But – what?” “But…I thought you had forgotten…” “See what thought did?” she replied sardonically. “It made you confidant… far too confident… You thought I might never remember…about that day, in the toilet – when we fought.” Without allowing him time to reply, she continued. “But I do – now! I remember – everything!” “Everything?” “Yes, everything!” Rolling up her sleeve, she said, “Especially how I got this!” She pointed to the scar that Box had mistakenly assumed to be a tattoo. Eying it, Holdavort said, “a mark, a mere mark, that’s all…” “A mere mark?” Harry fumed. “Let’s see how you like being marked.” In abject fury Harry waved her wand, letting rip with an attack so powerful the very foundations of the Great Hall shook, hurling Holdavort through the air like so much waste flotsam, smashing him into the far wall. And he wasn’t laughing this time, no, the red hued figure was patently, obviously – afraid. “What’s wrong Holdavort? Can’t see the funny side of it? You know, like how you clouded my mind for so long?” Extricating himself from the wall, Holdavort flew back to Harry. But on reaching her, instead of offering more resistance, more fight, he once again offered the olive branch. “A truce?” he asked. “A truce?” Harry replied, fuming in anger, attacking again, sending him crashing into the far wall for a second time. Although bruised and battered, Holdavort returned to Harry. His huge wings flapping hard, suspending in the air in front of her, he said, “You are like me...” “Like you?” she asked with incredulity, ready to smite him at a moment’s notice.
“Yes – that’s why I did it… Why I clouded your mind… After you had defeated me… It was a small spell, albeit it a tricky one. But I had to do it…. I had no other option… I had to stop you from using those marbles – You were obsessed by them…” Her eyes narrowing, Harry said, “Obsessed? How can I have been obsessed, when I had never even seen them?” “But you had,” he replied. “You had every last one of them in your possession… That’s how you were able to defeat me… I was lucky to escape with my life… “But Tumbledown had them – I found them in his study room!” Harry insisted. “Yes, but that was much later...after I had rescued them from you.” “What on earth are you talking about?” “As your mind clouded over, forgetting, I seized the opportunity, that brief moment, to send them elsewhere. As I retreated, making my exit, I sent them to a place where Tumbledown would most certainly find them.” “But why him?” “He was a safe bet… While he had them in his possession, and as long as you forgot, I was still in with a chance of returning, at a later date, a safer time, to secure them for myself,” Holdavort explained. “What about the book that I found?” Harry asked. He laughed; Holdavort laughed, saying, “Apart from a little magic, to entice you, to lead you on, it was a ruse, a smokescreen that I created, that was all… The Philosopher’s Marbles always were…” Recalling how she had been peculiarly drawn to them, when she had seen the marbles in Tumbledown’s study, Harry said, “I was a fool…” “You forgot…you simply forgot…” “If all of this is actually true,” said Harry, “why do I still have this – power, even though I don’t have the marbles?”
“You are their Keeper, and with this office come benefits – power being one” Holdavort told her demurely. “Their Keeper?” “Yes, their Keeper, their True Keeper,” he said. “They chose you long ago…in a previous manifestation.” Then she remembered; Harry remembered everything, she wanted the marbles back and she wanted them NOW!
Chapter Twenty-Nine A Collision of Interests and A Deception Leading to… “So, is this how it will finish?” Holdavort asked, “With of us fighting for the same thing?” “You said it, not me,” Harry retorted. “Yes, I did,” he replied. “But, then, you had no need to say it, had you?” Harry did not answer this. The two foes, each one eyeballing the other with a cruel, hard intent, suspended above the floor of the Great Hall, in front of the balcony and the staring children, had no intention of giving away even the slightest hint, the merest inkling of what they intended to do next. Harry, with the two Philosopher’s Marbles and her newfangled electro magical wand, and Holdavort – her mortal enemy – with the remaining marbles embedded into his extraordinary garment – both of them adamant to conceal their intentions, no matter what. This standoff was so intense you could have cut the air with a knife. And it might have gone on forever, if it were not for the mad ghost, up above, the ghost that they had all but forgotten about. Gathering his courage, Laughing Larry began speaking, he said, “Well, I thought I was the only mad one here! But from the look of you two, I must be far down the road to recovery, if I do say so myself.” It wasn’t much, just a few nonsensical words to be truthful, but enough to cause a distraction, to put the two deadly opponents off guard – then all hell broke loose… If I were to describe this fight, the titanic struggle between these two particularly stubborn individuals, I might be here until tomorrow, and still not be finished. So I won’t. No. Consider it sufficient when I tell you that it was the mother of all battles, with blood, sweat and tears (amongst so many other things) flying in all
directions. Instead of giving you the gory details, the bloodcurdling account of what followed, I will cut to the chase and tell you how it finally came to an end… It was later, much later, and they were both tired, so very tired, with neither Harry nor Holdavort showing any clear sign of being victor. One moment Harry appeared capable of winning, but the next one, with Holdavort clawing his way back from the brink of defeat, close to losing. And so it went on in this seemingly endless struggle, with each one trying to outsmart the other, to secure the final, total control of the Philosopher’s Marbles. The Great Hall was in ruins, fire had broken out in a number of places, there were huge gaping holes in the roof, fallen debris littered the floor, and the stained glass the beautiful stained glass windows were shattered to pieces. It was a fiasco. The mad ghost, after making a brief return visit to the toilet, the same corner he had so favoured, earlier, returned to the hall, to the balcony, which for some peculiar reason had remained untouched. Exiting the hall, flying out through one of the gaping holes in the roof, Holdavort perched, high above, on the ridge tiles. Having no intention of letting him escape, Harry flew through the same hole in the roof, so fast she disappeared high into the night sky. Although he was so tired, Holdavort laughed, he laughed a loud belly laugh, and he said, “The famous girl mystic is tired, so tired she is out of control… And that gives me an idea…” Descending almost as fast as she had risen, Harry balanced upon the roof, on the ridge tiles, no more than ten feet in front of her nemesis. Puffing and panting, pointing her wand with deadly intent, twirling the two marbles, she said, “Holdavort, give me the pouch, and let’s call it a day!” Sensing a weakness, he replied, “So, you want to compromise. My, what a comedown from the high ideals you have preached.” Catching her breath, Harry said, “I am their Keeper – you said so yourself…” “And so I did, but that was before…” “Before – what?”
“Before I sensed – victory,” and with that he let off one final, ultimate bid for supremacy, attacking Harry with every last vestige of magical power at his disposal, setting the sky alight, ablaze from the thunderous power erupting from him. The thin sliver of moon, which had been such a godsend, lighting their way up the hill, to Hagswords, disappeared, paled into insignificance by the blind fury emanating from the Alchemist and would-be Philosopher. This attack, this affront against Harry’s personage was so intense, so unending; she lost her balance and began sliding down the slippery roof tiles. If she hadn’t been so exhausted it would have been a simple enough task (with her newfound powers) to levitate away, to safety, but she was just too tired to think straight, and she continued her dangerous slide down. She did make some effort to hang on, to regain her balance, to try and halt her descent. She even managed to slow down a bit, but it was only for a moment, though, because Holdavort, watching with an acute interest, renewed his attack with a vengeance. This time, however, his attack was quite different. Instead of trying to finish her off, advancing her slippery slide, Holdavort, seizing the opportunity, Harry’s confusion, and her exhausted state of mind, spoke – wishing her well. Yes, that’s right, he actually wished Harry well. Harry suddenly had strange bit of luck; her foot caught, jammed in the ancient gutter, stopping her descent at the very last tile. “Pardon?” she asked, confused by his tack. “I said, I hope that everything works out for you,” Holdavort replied. Harry was dumfounded. “And to show my sincerity,” he continued, “please allow me to help you.” Two of the marbles in his garment began glowing green, and bathing Harry in their olive light, they lifted her gently away from the gutter, returning her to the roof apex, the very same spot from where she had begun her dangerous slide. “Thanks,” she said (though somewhat begrudgingly). “Don’t mention it,” he replied. “Now, as I was saying, I wish you well…”
Holding her wand tightly (though discreetly this time), Harry said, “I heard you – you said it already.” “And so I did,” Holdavort replied, smiling in return. “What exactly are you wishing me well – in?” she asked. “In your success, of course; your victory in gaining control of the Philosopher’s Marbles.” Her eyebrow’s raising, Harry said, “Victory? What victory?” “Your victory. I am offering you the marbles, every last one.” Producing a small vial containing an iridescent blue liquid, Holdavort filled two small glasses that had appeared as mysteriously as the vial. Then offering Harry one (it floated across to her), he said, “A toast, a toast to the victor!” “Before we do any celebrating,” Harry interjected, pointing to her glass, “pray tell me what this concoction is.” His face dropping, seemingly taken aback that she had found it necessary to ask, Holdavort said, “An elixir, it’s an elixir – to toast your success!” Then swigging it back, he hurled his empty glass against the roof tiles, smashing it to pieces. Harry, however, was still staring suspiciously into hers. “Drink, drink to your victory!” he urged her. “Drink!” In her confused, tired, absolutely worn-out state of mind, Harry was becoming increasingly susceptible to his powers of suggestion – and Holdavort was an expert at this. Listening to his alluring words, Harry began to believe that she had really and truly won. Finally, raising the small glass to her lips, she said, “Cheers to my victory.” After knocking it back she also hurled the empty vessel at the roof tiles, and watched as it shattered in thousand small pieces. The blue coloured liquid had barely passed Harry’s lips, and the pieces of glass not yet reached ground level, when something began to happen to her. Everything around her, the roof, the sky – even the ground itself, blurred like a veil had been raised. Then, with a terrible tearing, ripping, slashing sound, this veil was torn open, revealing something altogether more different from everyday life, behind it.
“So, do you like what you see?” Holdavort asked, waving an outstretched arm before him. Harry, aghast by what she was seeing, said nothing. She couldn’t, she mustn’t, she didn’t, for it most surely had to be the work of the devil. “Well?” Holdavort asked her again. “Because I do…” Ignoring the question, Harry said, “That drink, that elixir – there was something added to it wasn’t there?” “Just some Arcanum,” he replied, thinking no more of it. “Arcanum? You added Arcanum to an elixir?” Harry screeched. “How did you do it? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. Her mind racing, her pulse quickening, she said, “You do know what you made, don’t you?” “Oh, I do,” he replied smiling, “I most certainly do.” “You made the Elixir of Life – and we drank it!” Nodding, smiling again, he said, “It most certainly was. And now that we have consumed it, all this,” he waved an arm for second time, “is ours, all ours.” “You’re mad, as nutty as a fruitcake!” That was all that poor Harry could think of to say; she was far too shocked to say anything more meaningful. Several minutes later, Holdavort resumed speaking, he said, “Now that you have calmed down, perhaps you will to hear me out?” “Go on,” Harry replied, folding her arms. “Try me!” “Very well, I will…” I – we drank the Elixir of Life, to gain – immortality.” “Are you now telling me that I am immortal?” Harry asked sceptically. “No, not yet. The Elixir has merely brought us here…” “Where are we, anyway?” “Where are we? We are in The Summerland, of course,” Holdavort replied, waving an arm yet again. “And isn’t it wonderful?”
If there was only one thing that Holdavort had ever been right in, it was this, because Summerland was an absolutely stunning place. It was beauty beyond compare. “Okay, I’ll give you that, it’s a wonderful place,” Harry replied “But how do I know that this is really, truly The Summerland? Sure, that’s where we are supposed to go after we die. Then raising an eyebrow, she asked, “Was there also poison in it? Are we dead?” Laughing a loud belly laugh, Holdavort said, “No, it was not poison, and we are most certainly not dead. We are as far removed from death as we could possibly be…” “Then why are we here? How are we here?” “I have already explained how we have come to be here,” he said. “And as to the why – it’s to gain immortality.” “But why bring me along?” “An olive branch. It’s another olive branch, Harry. You must believe me when I tell you this is what you are destined for!” Although she was so tired and her brain ached struggling to keep up with the conversation, all of Harry’s senses told her, they screamed to her that Holdavort was not telling the whole story. But without having anything more substantial to go on, to prove that he was deceiving her, she went along with the charade, at least for the moment. “Okay, when push comes to shove I can go along with that,” she said. “But we still have the Philosopher’s Marbles to deal with…” “Ah, the marbles,” Holdavort whispered. “Yes, and if I was hearing correctly, I recall you saying something about giving them to me…” “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” “Well?” “All in good time, my dear,” he replied condescendingly, “all in good time...” “Like when?”
For a moment, just a brief moment, Holdavort stared glaringly, menacingly at Harry, but gathering his thoughts, his composure, he said, “Like after we have presented them, and in their entirety, to The Summerland.” Her suspicions growing, Harry said, “We have to present them to Heaven – to The Summerland?” Holdavort nodded a ‘yes’. “But why?” “To gain our immortality, of course.” Although Harry’s suspicions were growing, there was nothing to prove that Holdavort was actually lying, that she was being deceived – and immortality was certainly an alluring proposition, so biting the bullet, she said, “All right, Holdavort, let’s do it.” Hearing this, he smiled ever so sweetly, and said, “Follow me…” She did, following him down a serene country lane (she had no idea where it had appeared from, for it had most surely not been there a moment earlier), Harry marvelled at the magnificent landscape. Passing charming thatched cottages surrounded by even more delightful gardens, Harry lingered a while, then continuing on, she passed wonderful meadows bursting with wild flowers. Trees, their route passed trees growing so high they almost touched the sky, a sky so blue Harry felt, no, believed she must surely be in Heaven, to see such marvels. And so it went on, passing ever more beautiful scenes of rural, pastoral life, scenes of contented families, happy times – everything that Harry had missed out on. Coming to a halt outside a gate to a field, Holdavort pointed in through it, saying, “There, that is where we must make our presentation.” “In a field?” Harry asked, thinking it, to say the least, a bit odd. With her mind having now rested and beginning to clear, Harry’s eyes narrowed, and she asked, “How do you know all of this, anyhow?” “My dear, how I know is of no importance,” Holdavort replied, passing over her question like it was meaningless. Then opening the gate, he entered the field and bid her to follow.
From inside, the field appeared considerably smaller than it had from outside. “How can this be?” Harry asked. But Holdavort, now standing in front of a structure that looked incredibly like an altar, never answered. Perhaps he never heard, but then again, perhaps he never intended to answer…
Kneeling on the first step, Holdavort stilled his excited wings, not a single red feather moved – not even an inch. “Come, child,” he said, patting the step with a hand. “We must kneel. Cautiously approaching the altar, Harry knelt next to him. And she looked so small, so defenceless against the giant of a man/thing. Yes, she still had her new wand to help her if she had need of it, and also the two Philosopher’s Marbles that Box had retrieved, but she still looked so vulnerable, so incredibly vulnerable… After kneeling for a good fifteen minutes without anything happening, Harry’s knees were quite sore, so sore she just had to speak. “Well, what are we waiting for?” she asked. Pointing up the steps, to the altar, Holdavort said, “That!” Her eyes following his finger, to the altar, Harry spied something materialising upon it, something that looked incredibly like a football. “What is THAT?” she asked. Answering her own question, she said, “A FOOTBALL! Are we going to play soccer?” Holdavort began speaking, he said, “We offer you these marbles, these Philosopher’s Marbles – all twenty-three of them – the full and complete set.” “Who are you speaking to?” Harry whispered. Without warning, all twenty-one marbles, detaching themselves from Holdavort’s robes, began floating towards the altar. “Infinity, I am addressing Infinity,” he replied. “Oh, that,” she mused, feeling well and truly put in her place. Then turning to Harry – and her two marbles, Holdavort said, “Now it’s your turn…”
“My turn?” “Yes,” he replied, pointing to her hand. “You must offer your marbles…” Although she was still suspicious of his intentions, Harry was rather intrigued, even beguiled, by the promise of immortality, so opening her hand, she offered her two marbles. Floating up, they joined with the others atop the altar. “So, is that it?” she asked naively. “Are we now immortal?” His manner suddenly changing, from compliant to arrogant, Holdavort, storming his way up the steps, two at a time, stood proudly, defiantly, glorifying in his success, watching each and every marble – all twenty-three of them – embed into his robes. Shouting at the top of his voice, he said, “I HAVE THEM! I NOW HAVE ALL THE PHILOSOPHER’S MARBLES!” Harry’s heart sank, for she knew, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she had been tricked, tricked by the evil man/thing, into relinquishing her two marbles. And that was bad, so bad… “It was all a sham, a cheap trick, wasn’t it?” she said, in total despair. “Yes,” Holdavort whispered, “I suppose you might call it that.” With a wave of a hand, he made everything disappear, the altar, the field, the gate – everything. Almost falling with fright, Harry realised that she was still perched high upon the roof of the Great Hall, with its ever so slippery tiles. “Now that the charade is finally over,” said Holdavort, happy to have returned to his usual modus operandi. “I had better put you out of your misery. And you are feeling miserable, are you not? Flying out through a hole in the roof, roaring at the top of her voice, Miocene said, “She might be feeling miserable, but that doesn’t mean she’s out for the count!” “Miocene – you’re okay?” said Harry, shocked to see that she had recovered, and even more shocked to see that she was actually flying. With a gleam of growing magic in her eyes, she said, “Yes, I am!” I can’t be finished off that easily, Harry. I thought you above all people would know that! But we have more important things to be concerned about than me,” she added, “like you needing a bit of a hand…”
“Hmm, that’s the understatement of the year,” Harry whimpered. Poking his head through a hole in the roof, Box asked, “Would another hand be of any help?” “Box! Is that really you?” Harry asked. “Are you all right? I thought you were…” “I was the last time I looked,” he said with a wink. “And I’m fine, a bit sore, perhaps, but nothing a good night’s rest can’t cure.” Then clambering onto the roof he joined them. “So, you are together again, like proverbially cats with so many lives,” Holdavort sneered as the marbles in his robes, all twenty-three of them, glowed brilliantly. “United in life, and soon to be united – in death!” And it was true; what hope had they, now that Holdavort had all the marbles in his possession? Seizing the moment, the opportunity that the return of her friends offered, Harry’s mind cranked up a gear, and shouting, roaring at Holdavort, she said, “Holdavort, Tumbledown, or whoever you are… I dare you to fight me – alone!” Having already done so, Holdavort saw nothing to fear in doing this, and being so arrogant he allowed it to cloud his judgement. “If that’s what you want, then so be it,” he said. “But I warn you, it will be over so fast you won’t know what hit you.” “That’s fine with me,” Harry replied. Hearing this, Miocene and Box were so worried. “Don’t worry, Miocene – Sir Box,” Harry called out. “Everything can’t be picture perfect all of the time…” ‘Sir Box? Why did she call me that?’ Box wondered. Then the penny dropped, and he smiled waving his stumpy little wand... His patience wearing thin, Holdavort sent his deadly attack screaming towards Harry. Then they appeared; having been summoned by Box, every last person and animal from out of the paintings came flying through the gaping holes in the roof. To say Holdavort was confused would be a lie – he was baffled, bewildered, bamboozled and completely surprised by this development. His attack? Did it find its mark? Did it kill Harry? No, it most certainly did not. It never reached her – there were far too many distractions flying about up there, for it to get anyway near, let alone touch her.
The animals and people, the distractions that came out from the paintings? They unfortunately fared worse. Many of them, shielding Harry from Holdavort’s despicable attack, died for a second time, the first in life and the second in paint, and this time it was forever – such a terrible waste of life. Harry’s mind, having cranked up a gear, had thought of something, an idea that might, just might save them. However, for it to have any hope of success it was imperative that Holdavort was caught off guard; that was the reason for all this confusion atop the roof. “Quickly, everyone, to the ground below!” she called out. “I have an idea…” “Holdavort!” Harry yelled. “If I’m not mistaken it’s my turn now!” “And mine!” Miocene added, waving her wand before her. “And me!” said Box, withdrawing his two fragments of wand. Holdavort laughed, he laughed at the stupidity of the children, that they could possibly think themselves a match – for him. Waving her wand, Harry began speaking, and ever so quietly, in a loose mixture of English and Arcanum, she said, “With this wand, this electrical trick, I call on its powers – a cristatic mind shift, to lend me a hand at this time of appeal, cristosis, cristopholous, cristaecis – so be it.” She had done it; Harry had spoken almost the very same words she had used earlier, to open the gates of Hades… But already being open, they followed her to the ground below. Fearing more demon-beasts lurking within, neither Miocene nor Box relished the thought of seeing the gates, again. But desperate times call for desperate remedies, and this was most certainly a time of desperation. “So, you have moved the gates of Hades,” Holdavort boomed. “For what good it will do!” Every last pupil, joining them at ground level, watched on in silence. “You must be desperate to have tried such a thing,” Holdavort continued. “And as to why you have done it, I cannot begin to guess. The demon-beasts are gone. They were as nothing against me– you know that.”
“Then you will have no objections to finishing our fight within those very gates?” Harry suggested. “And to the loser, Hades – Hell itself!” Despite his all-consuming arrogance, Holdavort was surprised by this suggestion, thinking she must be up to something. But his arrogance being what it was clouded his judgement for a second time, and he said, “It is agreed, we will finish our fight within the gates of Hades, and to the loser – Hell!”
Chapter Thirty …A Debacle! It was certainly a strange sight, a very strange sight indeed, the gates of Hades slung open with Harry and Holdavort standing defiantly inside, with Miocene, Box, the pupils and the animals and people from out of the paintings – and all of them watching with baited breath “At least we’re now on the ground,” said Box, “I was getting quite light-headed up there.” He pointed to the roof a large part of which suddenly caved in. “And just in the nick of time by the look of it.” Looking behind him, he added, “And all the pupils got down, okay. That’s also good.” Miocene hardly noticed Box speaking, so concerned was she in watching, waiting for the fight to begin.” “And what makes you think you have any chance of winning, famous girl mystic?” Holdavort asked mockingly. “And what makes you think you have?” Harry replied nonchalantly. “Because I have all the marbles?” He was right, Harry thought, Holdavort had every last one of them. But, surely, he also had an Achilles Heel. He must have an Achilles Heel, something she could use to her advantage – but what? She had dared him to fight within those very gates, thinking, hoping she could get the better of him. She had to get the better of him! Then it came to her, in a flash of pure inspiration Harry knew what Holdavort’s weakness truly was, and she laughed. She laughed so much Holdavort thought she had finally, totally lost the plot, and lost her very own marbles, for sure… “Come on, then,” said Harry, laughing and giggling like crazy. “Or can’t you decide on how to finish me off?” “How I finish you off is of no concern,” Holdavort retorted. “My only concern is that you die.” But Harry, moving quickly, ducking and diving, had other things on her mind rather than dying.
His wings catching on the gateposts, as he constantly turned, trying to keep up with her rapid circling movements, Holdavort roared in anger, “Keep still and fight.” “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, as she nipped in between his huge legs, and emerged from behind. “Too slow?” “You said you wanted to fight,” Holdavort roared. “Is this how you do it – running about like a scared rat?” Laughing all the more, Harry said, “There are more ways than one to skin a cat,” A cat? Now you speak about CATS? You are as moronic as that stupid Muddling cousin of yours.” If it had been earlier, Box would most surely have felt like punching him on the nose, for such an insulting remark, but he had grown up, matured in an incredibly short time, while adventuring with his wayward cousin, so he was quite happy to ignore it. Although she was still moving fast and furious, ducking and diving between Holdavort and the gates, Harry tried to catch Miocene and Box’s attention. Miocene was the first to see this, and nudging Box, she said, “She’s ready…” Waving discreetly in reply, Box signalled their understanding. Calling the children, the pupils, to come closer, he instructed them to be at the ready. Withdrawing their wands, each and every child stood to attention, feeling incredibly proud to be a part of what they all hoped would be the final solution… It was now all up to Harry, the poor, unfortunate, troublesome, wayward and incredibly bold girl mystic, the girl who had sought the Philosopher’s Marbles for her own self-centred intentions, and thus started this whole series of unfortunate events… They watched; Miocene, Box and every last child watched, waiting for the signal, for Harry’s signal for them to begin… Harry had just dipped in between Holdavort’s huge legs for the umpteenth time, and although his reactions were getting faster, his dangerous clutches ever closer, and the danger her actions posed all the greater, she kept up the pressure for that bit longer. As she ran around Holdavort’s huge frame yet another time, Harry could see that her confusing tactics were beginning to work – and she ran even faster.
Running around and around the evil being, speeding so fast his red piggy eyes struggled to keep up, narrowly escaping his huge hands as they lashed out trying to catch her, Harry saw him begin to wobble and stumble... Holdavort was dizzy. He was actually dizzy – NOW was the time to strike. Signalling to Miocene and Box, Harry waved like her life depended on it – and it did. “Hurry!” Miocene shouted to her fellow pupils, “HURRY!” Obeying her, every child aimed their wand, in readiness. There was no need for Miocene to say anything to Box, for he already had his two little remnants pointing at their quarry – Holdavort. Raising her own wand, Miocene said, “On my mark…” They watched, everyone watched, even the occupants from out of the painting, both people and animal, watched for her order. Seeing Harry darting away from Holdavort, after he had made a particularly menacing sweep, trying to grab her, Miocene shouted, “NOW!” At the top of her voice, she yelled, “NOW! NOW! NOW!” With that command every last wand burst into life, sending powerful magic screaming its way towards the bane of their lives – Holdavort – catching him entirely off guard. They all knew their attack had no hope of defeating or killing him, or indeed anything faintly resembling that aspiration. But that wasn’t their intention, they weren’t trying to kill him, no, all they wanted to do was to give him a helping hand – that was all, just a little helping hand…
“What are you doing?” Holdavort grumbled. “Are you so stupid as to think you can hurt me?” And it was true; their attack was in reality no more than a minor irritation. “Tilting the odds in our favour?” Harry suggested, daring to hope that her little plan might actually work. Then it did – it really did; Holdavort, already quite dizzy from trying to follow Harry’s crazy antics, losing his balance, began to fall over. Seizing her opportunity, perhaps the only one she might get, Harry let rip with her own electro magical wand, which combined with her newfound powers, sent Holdavort careering through the gates, into Hades itself. He was gone. Was he gone? Dared they hope that he was gone?
Leaving the celebrations for later, Harry moved on to the last part of her plan – resealing the gates forever. But a huge, red coloured hand, shooting out through the gates, grabbed hold of her leg and began dragging her in with it. Screaming with fright, trying to save Harry, Miocene waved her garishly pink wand like she’d never stop. So also did Box with his two remnants, and every last pupil with theirs. As this last, desperate combined attack screamed its way towards Holdavort, they hoped and they prayed that it would be enough… Finding its target – Holdavort’s huge hand – the power for good burned, searing its way through it, loosening his grip. Roaring with pain, Holdavort released Harry’s leg, letting her go. Battered and bruised, she crawled away from the gates, and Holdavort slipped into Hell. “Quick, we must reseal it!” Harry yelled. “Join me in the chant, like the one we used before…” Chanting in Arcanum (and ever so quickly), they said, “Crioninous crionates shraholarman skryolait, return the beast – Holdavort – and reseal the gates. Crioninous crionocked, forever closed, forever locked. This must be done – never to be unlocked.” The gates grating, groaning their disquiet, finally slammed shut – closed – then vanished from sight. “Will it work, this time,” Miocene hesitantly asked Harry “Will it, Harry?” said Box. “You know, you were able to reopen them easily enough, before.” Harry nodded. “Yes, this time they will remain closed. We have sealed them forever.”
Chapter Thirty-One A Little Bit More Deception… The world had been saved, Holdavort was defeated – gone forever, and everyone rejoiced. But amidst all this rejoicing, this wonderful merrymaking and celebration there was sadness. Hagswords, the special school for mysticism and magic, was in ruins, a burnt-out shell, with nothing to salvage not even one stick of furniture. And as for the paintings, the wonderful exquisitely magical paintings – they had gone along with it, the raging fires having consumed every last one. “What will happen to you, and everyone from out of the paintings?” Miocene asked Lord Catchyfoe, when he had finished his own inspection of the fire damaged school. The old man, his once shiny armour now blackened by soot and smoke, smiled sagely, and replied, “Sir Box has it all in hand.” “I have?” he said, briefly taken aback. Then remembering his promise, he said, “Oh, yes, that’s correct, I will see to it, my Lord.” “You will?” said Miocene. “And what’s with the ‘Sir’ bit?” “It’s a long story, Miocene; I’ll fill you in later…” Seeing the teachers returning, Harry, withdrawing her wand, had no intention of taking any nonsense from them. “Please let us explain,” begged the first teacher, Mrs Versakili, a wizened old woman with thin lips and even thinner arms and legs. Seeing her, Box feared she was not long for this world. “What do you want?” Harry asked, waving her wand as she spoke. “I – we want to apologise…” the woman explained. “We were under a spell… We had no idea what we were doing…”
“Is that why you abandoned these children?” said Harry, her eyes narrowing. Although she was only a child herself, Harry talked about her fellow pupils as if they were years younger than her – but that was her way, she being Harry. “We ran away– after the stampede came out from the paintings,” Mr Moriarty, another one of the teachers, a rather plump individual sporting a little goatee beard, said. “We were afraid …” She knew it, Harry knew their words had a ring of truth to them, and lowering her wand, she said, “All right, I believe you. And since you are here, perhaps you can help us find a place for the children to sleep?” The children were tired; in fact everyone was so incredibly tired no sooner had a place been chosen they all fell fast asleep, flat out on the grass, beneath the thin sliver of moon. Children, teachers, the occupants from out the paintings – even Lord Catchyfoe himself, they all enjoyed the best sleep of their entire lives.
Next morning, Box awoke with a start. Seeing Harry over to one side, talking to the mad ghost, he called out, “Hi, Larry, I had been wondering where you had gotten yourself to.” Looking across, Larry waved briefly, and then returned to his conversation with Harry. “Humph,” I think I preferred him when he was mad,” Box grumbled. “What’s the matter?” asked Miocene, waking up and rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Oh, it’s probably nothing,” Box replied. “It’s just those two,” he pointed to Harry and the ghost. “What about them?” “I think they’re up to something…” “Like what?” “I have no idea,” he replied, “but they are up to something – I am sure of it!” Miocene and Box watched as Harry and the ghost furtively made their way across to the ruins of the school.
“Come on,” Box whispered, “I want to see what they’re up to.” She followed, Miocene didn’t like doing it, spying on Harry and the ghost, but she did, watching their suspiciously acting friends. “I think they’re heading for the toilets,” said Box, ever so quietly. “The toilets? Are you sure?” Up ahead, Harry stopped walking and looked over her shoulder. Her pursuers dived for cover. “Do you think she saw us?” asked Miocene. Peeping out from behind a bush, Box said, “No, I think we got away with it.” Then pointing, he said, “Look, they’ve gone through that doorway.” Inside, the ground crunched beneath their feet and the air smelt of smoke. Having lost sight of her quarry, Miocene whispered, “Where are they, Box?” “Over there, in the corner,” he replied, pointing through a doorway. “Isn’t that where Laughing Larry was, during most of the ruckus?” Box nodded. “What can they be looking for, there?” said Miocene, enraptured by the suspense of it all. The two friends watched as Harry, guided by the ghost’s instructions, began to interfere with one of the stones in the wall. “Look, she’s pulling it out,” Box whispered. The block of stone fell with a thud and a crunch to the floor. Then delving her hands into the hole left behind, Harry grabbed hold of two small items and carefully removed them. “What’s she got?” said Miocene, screwing up her eyes, trying to see that bit clearer. “Let’s go ask her,” said Box, abandoning the doorway and his way forging across the litter-strewn floor. Crunch, crunch, crunch went his feet. As far as he was
concerned, Harry and the ghost, Larry, had some explaining to do. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “Hey, wait for me!” “So, you decided to show yourselves,” said Harry as cool as a cucumber, when they approached her and the ghost. “We – I wanted to know…” said Box, his voice trailing off, feeling more and more like a traitor. “Ah, it’s okay,” said Harry, with a mischievous laugh. “There’s nothing untoward going on. I was going to tell you, later, after we had ensured they were all right.” “All right? Ensured who was all right?” “These,” she replied, offering the items for his inspection. When he saw them, Box could hardly believe his eyes, for two little people were standing on Harry’s upturned and open palms, two little people who looked incredibly like Professor McGonagain and Wan Measly. “Is that, that?” he spluttered, at a loss for words, stunned to be seeing them at all, let alone so very small. “It is,” Harry laughed, “and a good size too if I do say so myself,” “But, but?” Box spluttered again. “I’ll let Laughing Larry explain, if that’s okay with you, Box?” “Yes, yes, it is,” said Box. “Please begin, Larry.” “So you see,” Larry concluded, “Harry isn’t all bad…” On hearing this, Harry gave him a severe look. “Back there,” the ghost continued, “when she, when we were all in the thick of it, Harry had the foresight, the compassion to give these two,” he pointed to the Professor and Wan, “another chance…” “She never got rid of them?” said Miocene. “No,” said the ghost. “And for a while I was fooled along with you… You see, what Harry had actually done, when she was supposed to have finished them off,
was simply to reduce them in size, to a size where they were no longer a threat. And she sent them to the corner, as it were.” “That’s why you hung around there – to protect them!” “Yes, Miocene,” said the ghost. “And it was pretty hairy at times, if I do say so myself!” “In fact it was so hairy,” said Box, butting in, “you decided to hide them in the wall.” “Yes, but that was sometime later, when I came back” the ghost proudly admitted. Sensing he was nearing the end of his ‘fifteen minutes of fame’, Larry concluded, “Well, that’s about it, you know the rest from thereon.” “But how were you able to do it? You know, to touch the wall, you being a ghost?” With a wink and a nod Larry tapped the side of his nose, and said, “Now I can’t be telling you everything, can I?” “What are you going to do with them, Harry?” Miocene asked, staring pitifully at the two little people. “This,” she replied, placing them on the floor, and waving her wand. “Presto chango.” And with that, the Professor and Wan were restored to regular size. “Thank you, thank you,” said the Professor, the very second she was full sized again. “I won’t let you down for this kindness. You can depend on me – you all can! Thank you, thank you.” “Thanks, thanks,” Wan sobbed, after all the terrible things he had done. “I’m a changed boy, I really am.” Turning to Miocene, he said, “Miocene, I know that I was horrid, and I have no excuse for it, none at all. But I have changed – really. Is there any hope that we can be friends again?” Taking her time to reply, looking him up and down, while mulling it over, Miocene eventually came to a decision, and she said, “Perhaps…” “Perhaps?” “Perhaps, when I have had the time to see how you behave,” she said. “Respect must be earned.”
Smiling happily, Wan said, “I will prove to you that I mean it! I will earn that respect! You will see!” “Good, now anyone for breakfast?” she asked.
Chapter Thirty-Two Home Again Much later, when all the fires had been put out, and things were beginning to return to a semblance of order, with Lord Catchyfoe and friends taking over the work needed to reconstruct Hagswords, with the teachers happy to go along with it, and with the children, the pupils who had been caught up in the middle of it all, heading home for an unexpected holiday, Harry said, “Well, old cousin, I think it’s about time we were getting you home?” Home, in all the excitement Box had forgotten about home – and his beleaguered parents. “Do you think they will be any better?” he asked. Opening her shoulder bag, Harry took out her magical carpet, and carefully unfolding it upon the ground, she sat cross-legged upon it, and said, “Get on, and we’ll go see.” Tears welling in her eyes, Miocene, the girl mystic, the girl who had developed so much (and in so short a time), who had taken to Box, asked, “Will you be back?” The carpet rising slowly from the ground, Box asked, “Will we, Harry?” “You never did tell us how you learned fly, Miocene,” said Harry, “And I did say I wanted that top job at Hagswords… So who knows?” “Harry! You can’t really mean it!” said Box, in alarm. “Nah,” she laughed, “I’d be bored to tears.” Then she said, “Would you like us to return, Miocene?” “Yes, yes, of course!” she replied, her voice rising with the growing distance between them. “I will explain everything, especially how I learned to fly – and so quickly.” Waving, Box watched Miocene as she grew smaller and smaller, until she had disappeared into the distance.
Although it was a long journey, going home, flying so high on that magical carpet, Box enjoyed it immensely. And he never even complained when they landed at the railway station to show their tickets to the inspector, before taking off again on the same moth-eaten old carpet. It was Harry’s world, and although he had a good insight into some of its workings, he knew there was still so much that he had no understanding of, and might never. But he accepted this, and he had even grown to like his troublesome girl cousin, warts and all. Harry guided the magical carpet to a smooth landing, coming to a halt beneath the privacy and shelter of the walnut tree in the Privet’s front garden, so different from her first, crude attempt at controlling it only a few days earlier. It seemed such a long time ago. The tree was still in full flower; the birds were singing away happily, the sky was so blue – the world was a peace. Why, even the front door had been repaired, a white PVC door having replaced the old, brown wooden affair. Carefully folding her carpet, Harry returned it to the safety of her bag. “It’s awfully quiet,” she whispered. “It’s a quite neighbourhood,” Box replied. “Always was.” Leading the way around to the back of the house, Box found another PVC door confronting him. “White PVC doors must be ‘in’,” he remarked. His eyes scouring the back garden saw nothing out of the ordinary; they saw the washing hanging on the line, a neatly cut lawn, and all the flowerbeds carefully attended to. Everything appeared quite normal. And that troubled Box; it troubled him deeply. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked. “I thought you said everything was okay?” “I said everything appeared normal,” Box reiterated. “What’s wrong with that?” “Were my parents acting anyway near normal when we left – and in so great a hurry?” Harry sniffed, and she said, “About as normal as any Muddling adults that I have had the misfortune to meet.” “HARRY!”
“Oh, all right,” she gave in. “They were acting as mad as two hatters – Are you happy now?” Feeling vindicated, Box said, “Thank you.” Then turning his attention to the back door, he tried the handle. It moved. The door was unlocked. Gently pushing, Box watched it inched slowly open. “I have a strange feeling,” he whispered, “that we are about to see how they mad really are.” Pushing the door fully open, Box braced himself, to see two crazy mad parents standing before him. But he didn’t see anyone; there was no one in the impeccably tidy kitchen. Tearing through to the other rooms, Box found them as equally devoid of life, and also as tidy. His heart beating fast, pounding, fearing the worst, Box dashed up the stairs two steps at a time, but the next floor was also as devoid of life. Scratching his head, he said, “Where on earth can they be? And the last thing I expected to see, Harry, considering the precarious state of mind they were in, was such tidiness!” “Perhaps they’ve gone out for a drive in that car of his,” Harry suggested. “What day is it?” “It’s Wednesday,” she replied. “Nah, dad never drives on Wednesdays, he says too many midweek nutters are on the roads, on Wednesdays.” “Are you having me on?” she asked, thinking not even his father could be that weird. Box nodded a ‘yes’. Heading downstairs Box made his way through to the kitchen, and with nothing better to do (well, at least for the moment) he put on the kettle and began preparing some tea and biscuits. “A nice cup of tea will make things look better,” he murmured. “That’s what mum always says, a good cup of tea can make anything look better.” Giving him a curious look, Harry was seeing more and more of Box’s parent’s characteristics in her Muddling cousin. “Here, take this, Harry,” said Box offering her a mug of tea. “I don’t usually drink tea,” she protested, though vaguely.
Taking a mouthful of the wonderful imbibe, Box sat in his favourite armchair. Resting deep into it, he said, “Ah, I feel better already.” Harry, taking a sip of the tea, made a face and discreetly placed her mug upon the coffee table in front of her. Seeing this, Box asked, “What’s wrong with it?” “Nothing,” she lied, “just not very thirsty.” Taking a bite from his biscuit, then a huge mouthful of tea, Box swallowed it like it was nectar from the gods. “What was that?” Harry asked, thinking she heard something, a noise outside in the garden. “What was what?” “I’m not sure…” Taking another huge mouthful of tea, Box was fast approaching its end. “If you’re not going to finish that,” he said, pointing to the abandoned mug. “Would you mind if I had it?” Giving him another strange look, Harry said, “Be my guest.” Then shaking her head in wonderment, she added, “I don’t know where you put it all – you’re as thin as a rake.” Taking the mug, Box, trying to justify his actions, said, “I think it’s all in the metabolism. I reckon mine must be pretty fast.” “Fast metabolism, perhaps, but still a Muddlingly slow brain,” Harry murmured in reply. Unhearing, Box began drinking the tea. Then she heard it again, Harry heard the same noise outside in the garden, and this time it she was sure of it. “Close the curtains,” she whispered. “Close the curtains? I won’t be able to see my tea!” Box protested, the wonderful imbibe having done it job perfectly in relaxing him. “I said CLOSE THEM!” Harry hissed.
Thus admonished, Box obediently closed the curtains. “What’s all the fuss about?” he asked, taking another mouthful of tea, and enjoying it immensely. “Will you ever put that down, and concentrate?” “Sorry,” he whispered, abandoning the mug to the table. “Do you think it might be Holdavort?” he asked. Harry made no reply. “Well?” he whispered again. “Do you think it could be him?” “I sealed the gates – it can’t be him,” she replied, though not so convincing as to put his mind at ease. Cautiously poking his head through a chink in the curtains, Box stared out onto the garden. Everything looked fine, the very same as before, everything except for two people, two strangely familiar people skulking in the shadows beneath the old horse chestnut tree…
“Come on,” he said, turning the handle and opening the door. “Come and see what you heard.” Following closely, but having no idea what he was leading her to, Harry felt decidedly jumpy. “Don’t say a word,” she warned, withdrawing her wand and waving it. “Put that away,” Box ordered. “You won’t need it.” Although she stopped waving her wand, Harry refused to put it away. Grumbling something about her not knowing when to stop, Box stooped beneath a low hanging branch and entered the shady domain under the old tree. “Holly, its Harry and Box!” said Box’s father, a radiant smile beaming out from his face. Holly, however, bending down, concentrating on something on the ground, never heard. Poking her in the back, Mr Privet repeated himself, though much louder this time, “Holly,” he said. “It’s Harry and Box. They’ve returned!” Looking up, seeing her beloved son, her only son, Mrs Privet dropped what she was doing, and screaming with excitement ran over to greet him. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Then feeling his arms, she said, “Have you been eating? You look terribly thin.”
“We’ve, err, been out exploring,” Box replied (thinking it better to say that). “Laurel, did you hear that?” she said. “They’ve been out exploring! Our son is growing up; he’s actually growing up! What on earth will he be doing next?” “Doing away with madmen intent on taking over the world, maybe?” Harry whispered. “And Harry! Our favourite niece,” Mrs Privet continued, turning her attention to Harry. “It’s so good to see you again, Harry.” On hearing this Box almost choked with laughter. “Now, let’s all go inside and have a nice cup of tea, where you can both tell me all about your adventure. What was it again that you said you were doing?” “Exploring,” Harry chipped in, “we were off exploring.” “Yes, yes, that was it,” she replied like she hadn’t got a care in the world. Ducking beneath the same low-slung branch the two adventurers had avoided, she made her way across to the house. Coughing uncomfortably, Mr Privet called out, “Holly, have you forgotten something?” Holly, however, having already reached the back door of the house never heard him, she was far too excited by the return of her son to be listening to her husband’s banal conversation. Confused by their strange behaviour, Box turned his attention to his father, and he said, “What were you doing under here, anyway?” “Oh, nothing much,” his father replied, shuffling to one side like he was trying to hide something. “Did you see that?” he asked. “See what?” “Nothing,” he mumbled, wondering why he had said it, “nothing at all.” Then wrapping an arm around his son’s shoulders, he began leading him out from under the tree. Tapping her foot on the dusty ground, her fist resting beneath her chin, Harry asked, “Have you forgotten something?”
Feeling a pocket with his free hand, Mr Privet said, “No, I don’t think so, Harry, but thank you for asking, it was a kind gesture, most kind indeed.” “A kind gesture, sweet talking – what on earth is going on here?” Harry barked, in her growing frustration with the Privets. “Harry, what are you doing?” said Box, trying to calm her. But Harry, having none of it, and she said, “Well? Are you going to tell me what’s going on around here?” Replying in the same happy tone, Mr Privet said, “Nothing, Harry, absolutely nothing. Then thinking a bit about it, he stooped down and picked something up from the ground, something that looked incredibly like Harry’s magical carpet. “It wouldn’t be this,” he asked, “that has you so concerned?” Then he saw it, Box saw the magical carpet, and filled with curiosity, he said, “Dad, what are you doing with THAT?” Plonking his hands into his trouser pockets, his father mumbled, “I found it… underneath this tree…” Recalling the beared men who had been after her, Harry remembered their magical carpets – and the one that had landed beneath the tree. “I think it’s my fault,” she admitted contritely, “I should have ‘tidied up’ better before we left…”
Another smile erupting across his thin face, Mr Privet said, “I don’t know where it came from, or what it was doing there, and for a while I thought it no more than a mere rug, but it’s far more than that, Harry, far more. Would you like to see what I can do with this carpet-thingamajig?” “No, no, it’s okay,” she replied, fearing where the conversation was heading. But Mr Privet was hearing none of it; and dashing out from under the tree, carelessly knocking his bald head on the same low branch that Harry, Box and his mother had managed to avoid, he unrolled the carpet on the lawn, and sitting crosslegged upon it, he said, “Come on, Harry, you won’t believe what I can do with this!” “You think so?” she replied, eyeing both him and the carpet with concern.
Beckoning for her to get on, he said, “Come on, Harry, or do you want Box to have all the fun?” “Yeh,” she replied dryly. “That’s an idea; in fact it’s a great idea. Let Box have all the fun…” Laughing at her reticence, Box coaxed Harry up to the carpet. “Go on,” he said. “And see what dad can do with it!” Giving him a look that would have curdled margarine let alone butter, Harry tentatively stepped onto the carpet. “Buckle up,” Mr Privet laughed, and with that the carpet shot high into the air. Holding on for dear life, Harry, the girl mystic, the troublesome, bothersome girl mystic had finally met her match, as laughing with glee, for the sheer fun of it, Mr Privet aimed the carpet ever higher. “Well?” he shouted above the roar of the wind in their ears, “How do you like it?” Without giving her the chance to reply, he said, “I bet you’ve never seen anything like this before, huh?” “Hmm,” she replied holding on tightly to the frayed woven threads, “in all truth I can say that I have never before endured anything remotely similar to this experience.” On a roll, Mr Privet pushed the front of the carpet hard down. “Let’s see what this little baby can really do!” he said, and with that the carpet and its two occupants hurtled alarmingly fast towards the ground. “Yippee!” Mr Privet shouted in wild excitement. “No tyres or batteries to worry about of this little beauty, YIPPEE!” She was so petrified by the crazy mad antics of the Privet Muddle, Box’s father, Harry, forgetting about her newfound powers, including her ability to defy gravity, shut her eyes tight and prayed for a miracle, She thought, she believed that her time had come, that she would soon be meeting her maker in The Summerland. To say that it was a nice surprise when this did not actually happen, when the carpet, instead of smashing hard into the ground, as Harry feared, came to a gentle stop an inch above it, would be an enormous understatement. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Harry rolled off the carpet and crumpled in a heap on the safer, much safer aspect of old mother earth.
“I’m thinking of getting shut of the car altogether,” said Mr Privet, smiling and stroking the moth-eaten old carpet like it was the family pet. “There’s no road tax or insurance to pay… and little or no maintenance costs, apart from some yarn to patch over these threadbare bits…” With that he poked a finger through one of the many holes. “STOP IT! STOP IT!” Harry yelled at the crazy Muddle. “You’re mad!” she cried out. “As nutty as a fruitcake!” There, she had said it; Harry had told Box’s father that he was still really and truly mad. And it was true; although he had regained his nerve, Mr Privet was without a shadow of a doubt definitely, most certainly MAD. His face dropping, he asked, “Was it something I said? Or are you feeling airsick, Harry?” “STOP IT, STOP IT!” Harry yelled yet again. “Box! BOX! – Where are you, Box?” she shouted, looking for her cousin, but he was nowhere to be seen. “BOX!” “Here you are, Harry, some tea,” said Mrs Privet, handing her a cup. “Do you like the cup?” she asked, “It’s from my best set of hand-painted fine bone china. I could only find the one, though. I have no idea what happened to the rest of them.” Taking a polite sip from her tea from the cup, Harry nodded that she did, thinking, no, believing that Mrs Privet was most surely as mad as her loopy husband. Taking a bite from a biscuit (a fig roll) Mr Privet raised his cup to his lips and, reminiscent of Box, took a huge mouthful of tea, them returning the cup to its saucer, he said, “Harry…” “Yes?” “Harry…I have been thinking about that radio of yours…” he said, taking another bite from his biscuit. “Radio? What radio?” she asked, having forgotten about her little deception, earlier. “The one that you and Box made, upstairs,” he explained, pointing to the ceiling with a finger. “Oh, that one,” she replied nonchalantly. “What about it?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, err, spot of bother I had, while I was trying to operate it… And I have come to the conclusion that it must have been some sort of atmospheric disturbance that stopped me from getting the hang of it.” Going along with the crazy Muddle (thinking it better that way), Harry replied, “I suppose it could have had an influ…” Interrupting, Mr Privet, said, “I’m glad that you agree, Harry.” “You are?” “Yes,” he continued, “because I have been looking forward to giving it another go.” Raising her cup, taking another sip of the drink she so despised, Harry played for time, trying to think of a reason – any reason why Mr Privet should not have, could not have another go of her ‘radio’. “Would you like some more, to freshen it up?” Mrs Privet asked, offering Harry the teapot. Placing a hand over her cup, she replied, “No, thank you, I have had more than enough.” Leaning down to her shoulder bag that she had hung from the chair, Harry carefully opened it, and withdrawing her new wand, she said, “Is this what you are looking for?” “Yes, that’s it,” said Mr Privet, his hands stretching towards the ‘radio’. “I’d recognise it anywhere. There aren’t many radios like that one!” “No, there certainly are not.” Harry agreed. Mr Privet made a grab for the ‘radio’. Pulling it away, out of reach, Harry said, “Before I give it to you, I must first show you how to use it… Is that okay?” “Yes, yes, that’s fine,” he replied. “Just tell me which of those little switches,” he pointed excitedly at it, “is the on/off and which is the tuner.” Pressing the first button, while speaking ever so quietly in Arcanum, so quietly neither Box nor his mother or father had any idea that she was actually speaking, Harry watched the excited Muddle’s face as her wand switched on and the mixture of magic and electronics began working…
“What are you doing?” Box asked in a whisper. “Performing,” she replied with a smile and a wink.” “Performing? What do you mean?” “Watch and learn,” she said, and with that she began waving her wand. It began playing a nice little tune. “Holly, young Harry has cracked it, she’s got it working,” said Mr Privet, “I knew she would!” “That’s nice, dear,” his wife replied, yawning, obviously not as interested in the ‘radio’ as her husband. “What station is it on?” Mr Privet asked, leaning forward, hoping to see what Harry was doing with it. “It’s not one you would know,” Harry replied, moving the wand that bit further away from him. “Can I have a go, now?” he asked. “Hmm, not just yet,” she replied. “There’s still one more thing that I want to show you…” Leaning across the table, Mr Privet made a lunge for the wand, and grabbing it, snatching it right out of her hands, he said, “I don’t need to know anything else.” Waving it triumphantly, he nudged his wife, saying, “Look, look Holly, this newfangled radio is almost as good as that flying carpet I found.” “That’s nice, dear,” she replied again, though ominously adding, “I do hope that you are able to turn it off, this time.” The seeds of doubt having been sown, Mr Privet panicked, wondering how he might ever turn it off. Fumbling crazily with the small buttons, he began pressing them with wanton abandon. “Stop. No,” Harry warned (thought not very loudly). “Harry!” Box shrieked in alarm. “It’ll be a disaster; dad has no idea what he’s doing!”
“Then why did he take it?” she asked ever so calmly. “You wanted him to take it – didn’t you?” he said, “You wanted him to mess up!” Nodding, Harry replied, “He needed to learn a lesson…” “A lesson, perhaps,” Box groaned. “But he might kill himself with in the process!” Seeing his point, having no wish to see a repeat of Mr Privet’s earlier performance with her wand, Harry asked did he need a hand. A huge flame suddenly erupting, exploding from out of the end of the wand sent the poor man into a blind panic. Pointing it through the open window, he said, “Yes, Harry, I do need a hand. This radio has gone berserk again. Just look at it! All I wanted to do was turn it off! It’s crazy what atmospheric disturbances can do, it really is!” Having regained control of her wand, Harry soon had the ‘atmospheric disturbances’ under control, ten offering Mr Privet another go, teasing him, she said, “Would you like another go? I am sure it will go right for you, this time.” “No, no!” he replied, pushing it away. “I think I’ll stick with my old radiogram, in all the forty years that I have been using it, not one flame has ever shot out from it!” “Well, I think it’s about time I was off,” said Harry, when she had finally managed to finish her cup of tea. “You’re going?” Box asked, surprised to be hearing this. “Yes, of course,” she replied. “You knew I only came here to lie low.” “But that was before…now it’s all over…” his said, his voice petering off. Then ever so quietly, he asked, “Where will you go?” Shrugging, she replied, “Don’t know – could be anywhere.” “But…what about all the people...and animals from out the paintings that I made a promise to?” “That’s your department,” she said. “You’ll think of a way to integrate them into this Muddle world of yours. In fact, I’m sure you’ll have a whale of a time, trying.” “But…”
“No ifs or buts,” Harry warned. “It’s time I was off.” Bidding goodbye to his parents, she opened the door and made her way into the garden. Unfolding her magical carpet on the neatly mown lawn, Harry sat cross-legged upon it. Delving a hand into her bag, she withdrew an object, an object that looked incredibly like a Philosopher’s Marble. “And anyhow,” she said, with a mischievous wink, “I do have this to experiment with…” Where did you get THAT from?” Box asked, gawping at it in absolute surprise. “I grabbed it, when Holdavort was trying to pull me into Hell. Ripped it out from his robes, I did. I reckon I deserve it, me being ‘The Keeper’, and all.” Then with a wave of her wand, she said, “Up, up and away.” Rising from the neatly cut lawn, the moth-eaten old carpet hovered a few inches above it. “Is that it?” said Box. “You just fly off, disappearing over the horizon?” “I suppose so…” she replied. “Unless…” “Unless – what?” “Unless…. you would like to come with me?” “Me?” “Yes, you berk, you!” “But, but what about the people and animals from the paintings, that I promised to help?” “We can always make a detour…” “And mum and dad?” Frowning, Harry said, “I draw the line at loopy parents!” Looking in through the kitchen window, Box spied his parents, arm in arm, singing ‘Tiptoe through the Tulips,’ to their hearts content. “Okay,” he agreed, “on condition that we come back, from time to time, to check that they are all right?” “Okay, we’ll keep an eye on them,” Harry promised. “Now are you getting on or do I have to wait here all day?”
Stepping onto the moth-eaten old carpet, sitting cross-legged, grabbing hold of its timeworn, frayed edges, Box listened to his troublesome cousin, his wonderful cousin, as she said, “Up, up and away.� After rising vertically into the clear blue sky, the carpet circled the Privet household, and then speeding off at a tremendous rate of knots, it disappeared from sight over the horizon.
THE END?
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