Henry and Daniel chatted for so long that when they finally bid Tom farewell and passed through the bar to the back courtyard, they were startled to find the ground already wet and slick. Daniel tapped the wall brick with his wand, revealing Diagon Alley shrouded in a hazy mist. A cold drizzle fell, pattering against shop roofs and glass windows before winding its way down to the cobblestone street below. Puddles gleamed, reflecting the warm light spilling from the shops on either side.
A few wizards, smelling of cold and damp, jostled past them and into the dim interior of The Leaky Cauldron. They stomped their boots heavily on the worn, indistinguishable carpet, calling loudly for Tom to fetch them drinks while unbuttoning their thick winter cloaks, each heavy with countless tiny beads of water.
"What damn weather!" Daniel complained. "I hope whoever's on duty today remembered to shut all the windows… Anyway, Henry, what's your plan now?"
Henry, holding several bottles of brandy, was gazing at Diagon Alley through the rain-smeared air.
"I still need to buy some white wine, and… applewood. Do you know where to get decent applewood, Daniel?"
"Procurement day, eh?" Daniel said. "Applewood… for grilling, a fireplace, or consumption?"
"Uh, for starting a fire," Henry said. For starting a fire for a bad-tempered dragon.
"The Magical Menagerie should have some applewood kindling for salamanders," Daniel mused. "Ah! I remember now, Barnaby's Herbal Emporium has some too! Besides that, that shop over there selling all sorts of odds and ends probably has some as well, likely cheaper than anywhere else."
"Herbal Emporium, Magical Menagerie, or the odds-and-ends store," Henry repeated. "Got it. I'll check those three places."
"Give my regards to Barnaby," Daniel said. "I need to check the windows by the bookshop, then get myself an ice cream."
Barnaby's Herbal Emporium was incredibly crowded.
The air was thick with a stale, comforting, sneeze-inducing scent. High shelves stood everywhere, crammed with prepared herbs: shriveled white fruits; things cleaned to the bone that looked like peach pits; vibrant green leaves floating in golden liquid inside round glass jars; baskets of plump, bubble-like beans; a huge, coiled bundle of something with leaves and roots at the bottom shelf, like a roll of hemp rope; two baskets of dried, withered leaves that reminded Henry depressingly of autumn leaves piled by the roadside; and several rust-colored plants with coppery, plate-like flowers that slowly turned, tracking his movement through the shop.
Henry was so engrossed he didn't notice what he stepped on. The next moment, a bone-chilling shriek reverberated through the small shop. Startled, he jumped back half a step and looked down to see a large, dark red puddle that looked like blood.
Just then, the small door in the corner opened. A witch with jet-black hair stepped out, wearing an apron and gardening gloves.
"Hello," she said calmly, as if she hadn't heard the shriek at all. "What can I get for you, sir?"
"I… I didn't mean to!" Henry raised his voice over the screaming. "What is this thing?"
The witch stared at Henry, puzzled, then suddenly seemed to understand. She gestured for him to wait, pulled off a glove, and tilted her head, intently digging into her ear. After a moment, she extracted a cotton-like substance and immediately raised an eyebrow.
"Oh," she said, pulling her wand from her pocket and giving it a wave. "They got out again."
The shrieking stopped instantly. The dark red puddle by Henry's foot vanished with a slurp, followed by a sharp click like a lock snapping shut.
"Terribly sorry, sir," the witch said, starting to dig in her other ear. "What were you after?"
"That thing just now—" Henry gestured vaguely at the floor. "What was it?"
"Red Moss," the witch explained. "Used to accelerate blood flow. Some potions call for its powdered form… Or, you can just use it as an alarm. You heard them scream. Very fresh batch."
"I believe it," Henry said, heart still pounding.
The witch asked, "An ounce, sir?"
"No, thank you," Henry said. "Do you have any applewood?"
"Applewood? No. But I have apple leaves."
Henry shook his head. "Don't need apple leaves, but thank you."
"You might try the Magical Menagerie. They probably sell that sort of fuel," the witch said. "Who suggested you look for lumber in a herb shop, sir? I wouldn't even think to look here myself."
"A friend," Henry said with a smile. "Daniel. He works at Flourish and Blotts. Guess he misremembered."
"Ah, Daniel," the witch said, nodding in understanding. "Well, give me a moment. I just remembered I do have some applewood."
The witch disappeared back into the little corner door. Henry heard the sounds of frantic rummaging—bang, clatter, thump—filtering through the crack. Her voice floated out: "How's Daniel been?"
"Aside from being annoyed by the Ministry's raid and the big bookstore cleanup, he's doing quite well," Henry called back. "But that's all over now."
"Sounds like you really are friends," the witch said. She pulled the door open and dumped a large pile of wood onto the floor with a loud clatter. "Applewood—oh, and I'm Barnaby Bumb. Call me Barnaby."
"Henry. Henry Anthony. Pleasure to meet you," Henry said, looking down at the timber.
He had never seen applewood in such large chunks. They looked like slices of an apple tree stump—a very, very thick apple tree stump.
"Oh, you're the Muggle Studies professor!" Barnaby said, looking even more pleased. "Pomona's mentioned you. I'll give you a ten percent discount."
Henry couldn't help but laugh. "Thank you."
"How's Pomona these days?" Barnaby asked. "Is her new greenhouse built yet?"
"Not yet, but the location's finalized," Henry said.
Barnaby sounded envious. "Must be nice living at Hogwarts. Plenty of space for greenhouses all around."
"Pomona still complains they keep getting farther from the castle," Henry said, pointing to a few of the applewood pieces. "I'll take these, please."
"No problem," Barnaby said, weighing them deftly. "That's fourteen Sickles total. With the discount, that's…"
"Twelve Sickles and—" Henry struggled to calculate. "Seventeen and…" Wizards really made their currency unnecessarily complicated.
Barnaby decided for him. "Let's call it twelve Sickles. Give Pomona my regards, and ask if she has any fresh Bubotuber pus. That hag Umbridge and the Ministry scum took all of mine. Merlin knows what they wanted it for," she said venomously. "I hope the Bubotuber pus blinds them, so they won't think to raid my little shop again."
"I'll ask Pomona," Henry promised, handing over the coins. "By the way, I don't think you need to worry about Umbridge coming here again soon. She's about to be appointed High Inquisitor, sent to Hogwarts to investigate… uh, things that happened at Hogwarts in the past, and people who are still there now."
"Oh, Merlin's beard!" Barnaby said sympathetically. "Would you like some Devil's Snare, Henry? I can give you some for free."
After saying goodbye to Barnaby, Henry returned to Hogwarts first to drop off the brandy and applewood in his office. He managed to fit all the brandy bottles into his bag and shrank the pile of applewood, carrying the miniature logs in his hand.
He greeted students along the way. Most were having snowball fights by the Black Lake or enjoying their weekend in the warm library or common rooms (if they didn't have too many essays due). Even so, Henry ran into plenty of familiar faces.
"Good afternoon, Professor Anthony!" a student said cheerfully. He looked like he'd just escaped a snowball fight. His black robes were covered in melting snow, dripping steadily onto the floor near a fireplace.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Toller," Henry said with a smile.
"Just getting back from somewhere?" Toller asked curiously, eyeing Henry's damp hair and robes.
"That's right, Diagon Alley," Henry said, gesturing with his wrapped parcel. "Procurement day."
Toller asked worriedly, "Not Coconut Ice, is it, Professor?"
"No, not that," Henry said. "A gift for the very culprit who made me buy all that Coconut Ice."
When Henry returned to his office, all his pets were gone. Clearly, they weren't opposed to going out; they just didn't want to go shopping with him. Considering they were a group of undead pets, Henry found their behavior rather commendably discreet.
He stuffed the applewood into his wardrobe to keep the cat from using it as a scratching post and hid the brandy under his bed to prevent the cat from developing a taste for it. After doing all this, Henry looked around the room. It hit him, then. He really lived here.
He was about to spend his second Christmas at Hogwarts. He had almost been a professor for as long as he'd been a cashier.
Lost in these thoughts, Henry strolled out slowly. In the corridor, he heard Moaning Myrtle sobbing again. A few first-year girls burst out of a bathroom and rushed past him like a gust of wind, only to stop at the end of the corridor. They looked at each other and laughed at the startled expressions on their faces.
"No wonder they say not to use that bathroom," one said. "I thought the flush was broken!"
Another said, "She's terrifying! Why does she hide in the toilet?"
"Who knows? Wizards will do anything," a third girl said, still slightly out of breath. "Did I tell you? I have a distant aunt who works at the Ministry. I heard her say during the raid for dark objects, they found a cursed toilet! Anyone who uses it gets hemorrhoids. Agonizing ones."
"Disgusting," one girl said. "What's a hemorrhoid?" another asked.
They left. Henry stood in the corridor, privately wondering what on earth the Ministry planned to do with all the confiscated items.
From what he'd heard, the Ministry had acquired: one precious herbology trowel, a pile of dark arts books and some innocent meeting minutes, one very useful cleaning ledger, a basket of Bubotuber pus, and one cursed toilet.
The most effective plan Henry could imagine was to plant a field of Bubotubers and build an outhouse right next to it. Anyone sneaking a taste of the pus would be cursed by the toilet inside.
The Entrance Hall was also full of dripping-wet students, running, chasing each other, clutching snowballs, occasionally slipping on the icy, Peeves-polished floor. Filch tried viciously to herd everyone outside, but two snowballs flew in through a window and smacked right into his scrawny back. He whirled around, yelling at the students outside.
As he left, Henry spotted several Weasley children by the doors.
Ginny was shrieking with laughter, pelting Ron with snowballs, a huge smile on her face Henry had never seen during his stay at the Burrow. Ron retaliated fiercely, packing snow. Percy, who seemed to have just returned from Hogsmeade, stood on the cleared path, shouting Ron's and Ginny's names, oblivious to Fred and George sneaking up behind him.
Henry glanced at the snow depth and didn't stop their play. He realized he was becoming more and more like a wizard, because he didn't worry about them catching colds at all. As students (and sometimes professors) often said, "Madam Pomfrey will fix it."
He was just a bit puzzled why Ron wasn't with Harry and Hermione as usual. But he soon spotted Harry near Hagrid's hut.
Harry was talking animatedly, gesturing with his hands (it looked like the sort of thing Wood usually diagrammed), while casually kicking apart snow piles Hagrid had shoveled aside. A huge black dog trotted beside him, turning its head to look at him, tail wagging.
Henry headed the other way. He was going to Hogsmeade, then Apparate to a familiar Muggle supermarket. He had drinks to buy for his grumpy cat.
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