Harry Potter: Master of Talismans

Harry had found a book about curses. When I asked what had attracted him to it, he grinned and said, ‘Dudley,’ which explained his interest without telling me much about Dudley. I decided not to discourage the reading. Hagrid would presumably stop either of us if the purchases began to fulfil Emma’s warning too literally.

At the cauldron shop, I bought the standard pewter model Hogwarts required. Then I noticed a gold one which could stir its own contents, keep a controlled low heat and shrink for storage. After weeks of trying to work from Dad’s experiments with whatever I could find at home, I had considerable difficulty walking away from it.

‘Yeh don’t need that for school,’ Hagrid said. The price had made him stop beside me. ‘Haven’t even started Potions yet.’

‘That’s why I’ve bought the pewter one as well. This would be for the research.’ I watched the shopkeeper demonstrate the stirring again, imagining how often Dad’s instructions assumed I could maintain something at a steady heat. The cauldron wouldn’t teach me the rest, but it might make that particular part less difficult.

Hagrid didn’t look convinced, yet he let the purchase go ahead. The gold cauldron shrank to a palm-sized disc, making it the first thing I had bought which actively improved my prospects of carrying everything. Harry watched the demonstration and decided to buy a compact gold one too, in addition to his required pewter model. I had been considering a remark about unnecessary spending until I remembered who had started this.

‘You could cook supper in that,’ I said. ‘Mind you, I’d want to decide between stew and potion ingredients before using it.’

Harry examined the small disc in his hand. ‘It would be easier to put away than a saucepan,’ he said. He packed it with his things, evidently pleased that having money had allowed him to choose something for himself.

Scales, a telescope, quills, parchment and the remaining supplies joined the growing collection. I was checking what was left on the list when we reached Slug & Jiggers Apothecary. Jars filled the window, and for once I didn’t have to wonder whether the shop might be relevant. I had a separate page of questions for this one.

Hagrid saw me take out Ken’s ingredient list. ‘Let me have a look,’ he said. ‘Some things in there won’t be for young wizards.’

‘It’s mostly from Dad’s notes.’ I handed the page over rather than try to explain every item. He recognised the sort of work immediately, which made me feel better about showing him, although he began rejecting things almost as quickly.

‘Not these three,’ he said, indicating the entries. ‘Dangerous, restricted, or both. And yeh won’t find Runebark in an ordinary apothecary. Never seen one carry it.’

‘Dad mentioned less ordinary suppliers.’ I watched his expression become distinctly less encouraging. ‘I take it that means a black market?’

‘It means don’t go lookin’.’ Hagrid returned the page, making certain I knew which items he had ruled out. ‘Yeh’re eleven, Oswald. Get what yeh can use properly first.’

That left enough to begin with. I still had treated paper at home, and Hogwarts ought to teach me more about the work before I needed to solve every supply problem. I put the rejected items aside for now and followed him in, where the smell nearly drove Harry and me straight back onto the pavement.

Roots, powders and less identifiable things occupied jars from floor to ceiling. I endured the air long enough to buy the permitted materials: common potion bases, mineral preparations, clean cinnabar, dragon-blood tree sap and other ingredients Ken had used as inscription media. None of it supplied a new stack of treated Runebark. Before paying, I asked whether a legitimate seller ever had that in stock.

The apothecary offered very little encouragement. Occasional lots turned up, he said, but age, storage and price made them a doubtful purchase. What happened between harvesting the bark and processing it mattered as much as finding the tree. That matched the difficulties in Dad’s notebooks rather too well.

‘If a sound batch does come in, could you remember the name Mercer?’ I asked. He promised nothing, but I had at least asked somebody who might have a useful answer one day. For now, I collected the supplies he could actually sell me and escaped outside with Harry.

Harry sniffed his sleeve and made a face. ‘It’s in my clothes,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that’s how they keep people from staying long enough to argue about the prices.’