Remus Lupin watched Sullivan closely. He figured Sullivan was about to try convincing the little house-elf named Teemo to accept him as its new master. But instead, Sullivan said,
"Teemo, we can put the whole 'finding a new master' thing on hold for now. Your old master's remains are down here—he's nothing but bones at this point. The right thing to do is give him a proper burial so his soul can rest in peace."
"Then I'd like to figure out exactly what happened back then that caused the quality of the wands your master made to drop so badly."
"Right now, out in the wizarding world, your old master's family name is mud. They're known as the poster child for cutting corners, and there's even that rumor he skipped town to avoid punishment."
"I'm sure your master wouldn't want his legacy to stay like that. If there was some hidden reason he couldn't talk about, we ought to set the record straight and clear his name."
Everything Sullivan said came from the perspective of Teemo's old master, and it hit the little elf right in the heart.
Teemo only hesitated for a moment. He reached out with his grimy little hand, gently touched his master's jawbone one last time, and then nodded.
Things went smoothly after that. Sullivan and Lupin buried the wandmaker's remains in the village graveyard and put up a simple headstone. Teemo cried in front of the grave for a long time. Finally, he pulled out a worn journal and handed it to Sullivan.
"Professor Su, you're a good person. My master's name was Anthony—Cartoll Anthony. Toward the end of his life, he spent every Galleon he had trying to cure a curse that was eating away at him. That's why he had to start using cheaper materials for the wands."
"He never ran away. He just couldn't face the customers… couldn't face bringing shame on the family name. He passed out down in the basement one day and… never woke up."
Sullivan flipped through the journal, working backward from the last entries, until he found the part explaining how the wandmaker got cursed in the first place.
It turned out Anthony and a few friends had stumbled across a hidden ruin while traveling—one that was rumored to contain a cauldron straight out of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the kind that hops around on its own.
The whole group was curious and decided to explore it. In the end, only Anthony came out alive, and he couldn't remember a thing about what happened inside.
Terrified, he fled back to Hogsmeade. At first nothing seemed wrong, but soon he realized he'd been cursed. He tried every remedy he could think of, spent the entire family fortune, and still couldn't break it.
The rest matched what Teemo had already told him. Sullivan asked, "Did your master leave anything else behind? A map, maybe?"
Teemo shook his head. "Just some odds and ends. No map."
Sullivan didn't press it. "All right, let's head back for now. Tomorrow I'll have a reporter from the Daily Prophet come by. We'll get your master's story out to the public."
"Even if we can't completely clear his name, at least the people who got those faulty wands will understand what really happened. I'm sure most of them will forgive him."
Hearing Sullivan's plan, Teemo was so touched he burst into tears again. He threw himself on the floor, grabbed the hem of Sullivan's robe, and wiped his runny nose on it.
"Thank you… thank you, Professor Su. Besides Master, you're the kindest person in the whole world to Teemo… thank you… sob…"
House-elves getting emotional and crying at the drop of a hat was something Sullivan still wasn't used to. "Okay, okay, calm down. First, hide that wand of yours. Then I'm taking you to Madam Malkin's to order you some proper clothes."
"Clothes? Oh no, no, no… Teemo can't have new clothes. Teemo's clothes are just fine the way they are," the little guy said, lifting his head with a look of genuine alarm.
"Relax, Teemo, relax. You're a free elf now—your master's gone. You're allowed to accept new clothes."
When Teemo still looked ready to refuse, Sullivan added, "Tomorrow you're going to be interviewed by the Daily Prophet. You don't want to show up in the paper looking like that, do you?"
"Me? I'm getting interviewed? Not you?" Teemo pointed at himself in disbelief.
Sullivan nodded firmly. "That's right—you. You lived through the whole thing. It'll sound a lot more honest and convincing coming from you."
"But… but I've never done an interview before. I'm scared I'll mess everything up for you…" Teemo hung his head, peeking up at Sullivan with those huge, nervous eyes.
"Don't worry, buddy. I've never done one either. Just tell the story the same way you told me. Oh, and leave out anything about that wand— you know how touchy the Ministry gets about that stuff."
Maybe it was Sullivan's sincerity, but in the end Teemo followed him to Madam Malkin's. The shop was run by a cheerful, middle-aged witch with a generous figure.
She lit up the moment she saw Sullivan—he'd bought four brand-new sets of wizard robes from her just a couple days earlier and made her a nice bit of profit.
"Professor Su! Here for another robe for yourself? We just got in some lovely new men's styles—you should take a look."
Sullivan waved her off with a smile and pointed down at Teemo, who was half-hiding behind his leg. "Not today. I'm here to have a few dress robes custom-made for him."
Teemo looked mortified. Madam Malkin's eyes went wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Oh my goodness, Professor Sullivan —you want dress robes made for a house-elf? Are you planning to set him free?"
Sullivan shook his head. "No need—Teemo's already free. His master passed away."
"Oh, poor little dear. Come here, let me take your measurements."
She was quick and professional, and soon had all of Teemo's sizes noted down.
After paying the deposit, Sullivan and Teemo headed back to the shop in Hogsmeade. Lupin was already there, following Sullivan's instructions and casting Undetectable Extension Charms on one of the rooms. That space was going to become the factory for the magical phones.
Since Lupin working alone was taking a while, Sullivan and Teemo pitched in. Before long they'd expanded the room to roughly two hundred square meters.
Next, Sullivan hauled in all the components he'd built for the integrated semi-automatic molding presses and assembled them inside the new factory space.
There were three types of machines—one for the display screen module, one for the magic storage and signal send/receive module, and one for the processing core module.
Nine machines total, set up in three assembly lines. Operating them was simple: channel magic into the machine, feed in the first raw material, wait for the green light, add the next ingredient, and so on.
At the end there was a final assembly station where the parts from all three lines came together, and voilà—one finished magical phone.
Sullivan demonstrated the whole process for Lupin. It took about three hours from start to finish. With four workers running the lines at once, they could theoretically cut that down to one hour per phone.
That meant, with at least ten workers on an eight-hour shift, the factory could produce twenty-four phones a day.
It didn't sound like much, but it was already over a hundred times faster than Sullivan building them by hand. Satisfied, he told Lupin,
"Remus, your next job is to hire enough workers to fill the positions. Ideally we'll run two shifts and keep the lines going sixteen hours a day. Let's build up a stockpile of a thousand units first."
"That many?" Lupin hesitated. "I'm as confident as you are about the market for these phones, but sales probably won't take off right away."
Sullivan clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Trust me, Remus. Our customers won't just be in Britain. I spent years in America—I've got contacts and distribution channels over there too."
Once the equipment was calibrated, Sullivan turned to the little elf.
"Teemo, since you haven't found a new master yet, how about working here at the factory for now? I'll pay you ten Galleons a week. Your job would be keeping the place secure and looking after the building. Sound good?"
"Can Teemo really do that?" The little guy's eyes welled up again.
"Of course you can. It's settled, then!"
But Teemo shook his head stubbornly. "No, no—that's too much. Teemo only needs one Galleon a week."
"Whatever makes you happy," Sullivan said with a chuckle. House-elves really were a capitalist's dream.
By the time Sullivan got back to Hogwarts, it was past ten at night. He'd sent Tonks a message earlier letting her know he'd be late.
When he stepped into his office, Tonks was curled up on the sofa reading a book, with Coalball—the kneazle—snuggled comfortably in her lap. Somehow she'd already won the grumpy cat over.
The moment she saw him, she hopped up like a proper partner, helped him out of his cloak, and said, "I saved you some dinner, but it's cold now. I'll have Jing Jing warm it up."
For a second, Sullivan felt a strange wave of déjà vu—like he was back in his old life, coming home to a tiny apartment and his girlfriend after a long day.
"Sounds perfect," he said, smiling warmly.
While he ate, he told Tonks everything that had happened that day. When she heard Teemo had spent thirty quiet years guarding his master's bones in the basement, even she got a little misty-eyed.
"Are you heading back to Hogsmeade tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yeah. Gotta pick up Teemo's clothes and handle the Daily Prophet interview. But I'll be back in time for afternoon classes."
"Can I come with you?" Tonks asked, batting her big eyes and giving him the most pitiful look she could manage.
"Of course you can."
Early the next morning, Sullivan and Tonks headed to Hogsmeade together. First stop was Madam Malkin's to pick up the rush-order outfits—five complete sets.
There were two styles. The first was classic British butler: crisp white shirt, red plaid waistcoat, and a sharp black suit.
The second was a green explorer's outfit—purely Sullivan's mischievous idea, since the elf was named Teemo, after all.
Once Teemo tried them on, he went from looking like a street urchin to a surprisingly dapper little fellow (by house-elf standards). Sullivan figured he might even introduce him to Jing Jing one day—sparks could fly.
Teemo stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, hardly able to believe it was himself. When he looked at Sullivan, his eyes started filling up again.
"No tears, no tears—you'll get the new clothes dirty," Sullivan said quickly. "Take the rest of the sets to your room. You can rotate them. Now get ready—the Daily Prophet reporter will be here any minute."
Teemo sniffled, held back the waterworks, stowed the spare outfits, and followed Sullivan out to the front of the shop.
A new sign now hung above the door: "Flying Feather Magical Phone Experience Store." The logo was a single black feather shimmering with hidden iridescent colors—the kind you only notice when a raven's wing catches the sunlight.
It wasn't long before the door swung open. A woman with bottle-blonde curls and sharp spectacles strode in, wearing an emerald-green silk dress that hugged her figure. She had a certain haughty beauty, but the sneer on her face ruined it. Rita Skeeter, in the flesh.
Trailing behind her was her personal photographer, Bozo, whose camera flash went off the instant they stepped inside, catching Sullivan, Tonks, and Teemo mid-conversation.
Skeeter scanned the room with obvious disdain. "So you're the ones who dragged me all the way out here? Hard to believe this little hole-in-the-wall has anything worth writing about. Get on with it. I hope your story is at least mildly interesting."
Sullivan had invited her on purpose. For one thing, her poisonous pen made for gripping articles that people actually read. For another, he had leverage—she was an unregistered Animagus, which was very illegal in wizarding Britain.
He stepped forward politely. "Good morning, Miss Skeeter. I'm Sullivan, Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. This is my friend Tonks, and this is Teemo."
"Oh, Muggle Studies? I thought Hogwarts scrapped that pointless class years ago. You must have a lot of free time on your hands—after all, there's not much to 'study' about Muggles, is there?"
"Tonks… I've heard of you. New Auror recruit this year, Metamorphmagus by birth. What are you doing wasting your time here?"
"Ah, I've got it! You've fallen head over heels for this handsome—but utterly average—Muggle Studies professor. So you quit the Aurors and used your hard-earned savings to open this sad little shop for him!"
"What a touching tale. Bozo, did you get the sign out front?"
"Yes, miss!"
Sullivan and Tonks both felt their eyes twitch in unison. If Snape's tongue was dipped in venom, Rita Skeeter's had apparently been marinated in essence of king cobra and stinking bishop cheese.
Before Sullivan could respond, Skeeter barreled on. "Wait—just one moment. Did you say this house-elf—Teemo, was it?—is your friend?"
"Oh my stars. Poor Muggle Studies professor. So low on the Hogwarts totem pole, bullied by students and shunned by colleagues, that he's reduced to befriending a house-elf."
"What a tragedy. This exposes a glaring flaw in the Hogwarts education system, a damning indictment of teacher quality, and a heartbreaking lack of empathy among the student body."
"The Ministry of Magic must immediately investigate the mental well-being of Hogwarts staff and students. Yes indeed—this is Albus Dumbledore's failure. Even the greatest wizard of our age can't manage everything perfectly."
"Brilliant headline: 'Hogwarts Professor in Dire Mental State—Dumbledore Shares Blame.' This will sell papers like hot cauldron cakes. Bozo, get another shot of the professor with his little elf friend."