Discourse Past Curfew

Tall rickety buildings smush next to each other as they loom over the street. Even the residential floors grow as dark as their shop windows. The quiet bustle of the muggle streets feels further from Diagon Alley than typical. The rushing pounding of my feet falls silent against the cobbled street. I don't have time to ponder the eerie atmosphere as I round the corner and race to the square, flat-roofed building. Unlike most buildings, ours wasn't dark. Light shines through our first-floor windows and softly glows out of the ground floor.

You'd only need to look to the bright crescent moon to know curfew's long past. Dad's going to kill me. It wasn't like I intentionally went past curfew. Pulling my keys out of my jacket's pocket, I feed Mana into the silencing rune branded against my chest as I unlock the door. Happy with the extra Mana, the rune mutes the door's opening and the store bell along with it.

I keep my keys out to unlock the workshop's door while creeping through the store. I just got wrapped up in admiring Lazarus and talking to Kellah that I lost track of time. It's not like it's easy to keep track of the time there; who knows the time of sunset off the top of their head anyway?

Opening the door, I'm greeted by Ms. Bathsheda, Cimsy, and Father. Ms. Bathsheda taps her foot from her seat on the green sofa. Apparent worry sits on Cimsy's face as she manically pops in and out of existence. Father's feet rhythmically pat against the floor as he paces back and forth.

"Miss Catlyn!" Cimsy squeals from atop the landing as her massive eyes spot me. I don't have time to react as she Apparates to embrace me in a hug.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Father begins as Cimsy continues to cling to me. Even more wrinkles fill his aged face as it wrinkles together in anger.

I nod sincerely to Father as I try to calm Cimsy down and get her off me. Father patiently waits for me to calm her down. I finally get Cimsy to release me as I set her down and pat her head. 'I'm sorry for making you worried.'

"Worried! You think I was worried? Worried doesn't even begin to quantify the fear I had that grew every second your state of being wasn't known to me! If you were any later, I'd have messaged the Ministry and searched for you myself."

'I know my actions were unacceptable, and I put you through-' I stop writing as the pound of a fist against the door surprises us all. Was Father louder than the shopkeepers' bell? How did they even- I forgot to lock the door.

Father's years of work selling wands help him hide all but the tiniest amounts of anger and confusion as he answers the door. Standing before him are two wizards, a man and a woman. The woman stands slightly in front of the man due to the cramped aisle. She's a curvy South American of average height, a black fedora over black hair tied up in a knotted bun, and deep black eyes. A thin brown duster sits over blue high-waisted trousers and a yellow blouse.

Behind her stands a plump British man with brown hair and gold spectacles hiding green eyes. Unlike his counterpart, who could pass as a Muggle, his outfit is unmistakably wizard. A green wizard cloak drapes over a white button-up and trousers. Their appearance instantly brings me back to watching them welcome Anne and Cedric back from Hogwarts.

"Apologies, Miss. and Mr. Diggory, but Ollivanders is not currently open." Slight nerves edge into Father's tone. As Father speaks, Mrs. Diggory hides subtle glances at me.

"We are sorry to intrude on your evening. A matter relating to an investigation we are pursuing came up, and we would like to consult you," the distinct twang of America rolls off her tongue with the words.

"Come in." The remaining anger that leaked through Father's salesmen's smile fades. Anyone who reads The Daily Prophet, even The Quibbler, would know the lead investigator on the Half-breed Killer case to be Genine Diggory.

Father lifelessly wanders to the couches and lowers himself next to Ms. Bathsheda. As he does, she immediately takes to comforting him, squeezing his shoulder. Mrs. and Ms. Diggory take the sofa across from them, and I sit on the workbenches stool off the side between them.

"Should Cimsy make tea?" Cimsy asks, fiddling with her hands.

"Excellent idea," Father laughs weakly at how Cimsy asked if anyone wants tea.

"I'd love a cup," Ms. Bathsheda chimes in.

"Gladly," Mr. Diggory responds.

The room turns to Mrs. Diggory, who shakes her head. "Thank you for the kind offer, but I'd have to decline."

I hope the Diggory's don't notice how I shake my head only as Cimsy Disapparates.

"Can I see the wand?" Father asks, looking better than before. Although it never happens this late, Aurors and other Ministry law enforcement often come to us asking us to examine a wand, if we sold it, and who to.

Mr. Diggory looks to Mrs. Diggory, who gives a nod of conformation, before pulling out a wand. "Is this one of yours?" he asks before passing it, grip out, to Father.

Taking it, Father pulls on a pair of glasses before analysing it. As he does so, I can't help but scoot the stool for a closer look. While the wand takes all of Father's attention, Cimsy pops next to me; as do four teacups on the coffee table.

Not saying a word, Cimsy hands me a teacup filled with blood. I try to hide my surprise at Cimsy's haphazard handling of my nature as I take the cup and hide the contents as best as possible. Glancing at Mrs. Diggory, I'm relieved to see knowledge of the cup absent from her face as she looks around the room.

I'm careful to not show my teeth and the contents of the teacup to the guests as I sip the blood. Ever since Hagrid mentioned it, I've made sure to suppress the glowing of my eyes when I'm eating to the point where it's now second nature. Even though eating with others only happens occasionally, I don't want to risk it.

"This is not my work. When I make a wand, I carve a small O with the hook of a G at the butt of the wand, and this wand lacks said signature," Father explains, to the disappointment of Mr. Diggory.

An idea flashes through Mr. Diggory's eyes. "Could this be a wand made by a different Ollivander?"

"Unfortunately, no," Father says while folding up his glasses, "the Ollivander family has passed down a wand-crafting method for generations. Although no Wandmaker could decipher this method by examining the wand, any decent one could tell if the wand was made with our technique."

"Could you tell who crafted it then?" Mrs. Diggory asks.

"Hm. Possibly." Father ponders for a moment before extending the wand to me, "Catlyn?"

Understanding his meaning, I start to take the wand until Genine interrupts. "I don't know if it would be alright to let your… daughter examine it."

Father returns the comment with a cool stare. "My Daughter has been working as my apprentice since she was five and has since cleaned, balanced, and performed wand fittings. Her talent as a Wandmaker that I have never seen before. She is now beginning to learn the Ollivander wand-making method in preparation for the W.L.E.

Considering the speed your investigation is going. By the time this trial begins, you can use her licence, my testimony of her skills, her other achievements, and even her near-perfect grades to show her qualifications. You came here for my expertise. It is my expert opinion that my Daughter is more than competent enough to look for any signatures and link said signature to the proper Wandmaker."

I can't help but be warmed by Dad's defence of my skills. With a reluctant nod from Genine, I accept the wand from Father and begin analysing the Dragon heartstring, nine-inch, ridged wand. My mind reminisces as I use the magnifying glass mounted to the desk.

Back in the beginning, I'd have never called him Father, much less Dad. After all, how could I take him adopting me at face value? So when he told me he saw my potential as a great Wandmaker and wanted me to become his apprentice, it appeased my suspicions. It took a year for me to start calling him Father and even longer to be willing to accept the fact that he just wanted me.

"In the morning, We'll check our records to see if we've ever sold one matching its specifications," Father explains to them as they wait for me to finish.

"Wait, I'm confused," Mr. Diggory cuts in, "why would a wand not made by you or any Ollivander be sold here?"

Father takes a sip of his tea. "Most wands sold at Ollivanders are made by me, my father, or any past Ollivander, but not all. Wandmakers partner with us for a variety of reasons. Some do it because they can't produce enough or aren't able to consistently make enough quality wands to make their own shop. In exchange for giving the Ollivander quality guarantee, we get a percentage of the sale. This ensures that the shop always has the right wand for the wizard."

"We'll be needing the wand sale records for the last thirty years. Oh, and the records from your Hogsmeade location," Mrs. Genine's words imply a preference when her tone clearly demands it.

"That will take some time," as Father responds, I can feel his patience waning.

Sensing the tension, Ms. Bathsheda offers a compromise. "We could get you the records of this location's last five years and send copies of the rest later. Is it doable?"

"That's fine," Mrs. Diggory gives in.

'The wand, Dragon heartstring, nine inches, ridged, doesn't bear any signatures of well-known Wandmakers. Its craftsmanship is pretty standard as well. This wand is likely either the work of a lesser known Wandmaker or was made for black market sale,' I write before sliding the note and the wand to the middle of the coffee table.

"Catlyn, could you go up with Cimsy and grab the records for the last five years?" Father requests. Nodding, I leave the Diggory's to read my note.

Cimsy follows me as we go back through the shop and up its stairs. The first floor is an H-shaped landing overlooking the shop on one side and a balcony overlooking the workshop on the other. Shelves stacked with extra wands line one wall with record books dating back decades line the other.

*Start from the most current record. It should be somewhere over there. I'll work from five years ago, and we'll meet in the middle. Sounds good?* I sign to Cimsy, getting a nod in return.

As we search, Mrs. Diggory begins a new conversation below. "I couldn't help but overhear the argument you were having before we came; would it be too intrusive if we asked what that was about?" In a softer and less confrontational tone, she invites Father to start over with her.

"I was just lecturing her about staying out past curfew," Father responds in kind, agreeing to wipe the slate clean.

Glancing away from the records and down at them, I see the ping of recognition in Mrs. Diggory's eye. Wait, they wouldn't be here at such a late time unless they only just got the wand. That means the Half-breed Killer claimed another victim. She's fishing for information! And now she knows I don't have an alibi.

"You know," Mr. Diggory begins, "I don't know if you know this, but our daughter and son are friends with Catlyn."

Father's face lights up at the topic, "Leanne and Cedric, right? Catty has told me so much about them."

"Leanne mentioned wanting to hang out in the evening sometime and have Catlyn show her around Diagon Alley and London. You know, learn about some of the nightlife," Mrs. Diggory says, sending a prickle up my spine; That doesn't sound like Anne.

"Well, as of tonight, she's grounded!" Father shouts, so I know he's also telling me, "and even then, she's not allowed to stay out after dark."

"With the Half-breed Killer running around, that makes sense," Mrs. Diggory comments while implying my status as a Half-breed. Although the Ministry is aware of my parentage, at least my birth mother, they are not officially aware of my vampirism. Did she see my teacup? I made sure to finish it and leave it far away from her before heading up, so that couldn't be it.

"Agreed. It would be bad if they mistook her; what do Muggles call it again? Ah, yes, her albinism with the characteristics of a Half-Vampire," Father shoots back as Cimsy and I meet in the middle.

Only Father's closest friends, those who rescued me, and Hogwarts know of my status as a Half-breed. Although most of the wizarding world suspect me of a Vampiric nature, my long walks in the sun and the limited knowledge of Half-Vampires have discouraged the idea. There was even an article on theories about me. One was that my mouth was incredibly scared, which caused my inability to speak. Father would have worked to take it down if it wasn't for the sincere words on respecting my privacy at the end.

As Cimsy and I come down with stacks of books in our arms, Father moves to stop the conversation. "It's getting late, so we'll work on making copies of the rest in the morning."

"Is it possible to see if there are remnants of a Trace on the wand?" Mrs. Diggory asks Father, leaking desperation.

"What are you thinking?" Amos questions.

"If there are remnants of a Trace on it, we could look through our records and match its signal," Mrs. Diggory explains, making Mr. Diggory grin at the idea.

"That way, we could identify the wand's owner. Victim or killer, knowing the identity of either could be a momentous lead." Mr. Diggory exclaims, giving away some details and earning the stink eye from his wife.

"Catlyn?" Father asks, turning all eyes to me.

'There were no hints of a Trace placed on the wand. Either there never was one, or it was so long ago that there are no remnants. You found this wand at a crime scene and are trying to discern if the wand was owned by the victim or killer, am I correct?'

"Yes," Mrs. Diggory begrudgingly admits as she gives her husband another stink-eye.

'If that's the case, I can help.'