Diagon Alley was packed with people. Wizards and witches in robes and pointed hats, with children or alone, wandered along the alley. A constant hum of voices rose from every direction.
"Just look at this—dragon liver and unicorn horn have gone up in price!" an elderly witch complained loudly nearby.
"Seems crowded here in summer," Richard remarked calmly. "Scott, what's the situation with the wizard bodyguard? In a crowd like this, he'd be useful."
"Kid," the detective sighed heavily, "finding a mage like that turned out to be no easy task. Everyone I spoke to was either shady, or racist Muggle-haters, or a complete bungler—armchair experts who can only protect someone in theory."
"Is there really no one at all?"
"There was one wizard—pretty decent with magic—but he turned out to be a werewolf," Scott replied. "Another one seemed okay, but he was too short—about your height and Harry's. If things got physical, he'd fold. And relying on magic alone… pfft!"
"What's wrong with a werewolf?" Richard asked.
"He's a werewolf!"
"And that's it?"
"Yes."
"Does he eat children for breakfast, rob, rape, kill?"
"No, kid," Scott shook his head. "I've spoken with plenty of wizards, and nothing like that's ever been noted about this guy. But they say he's not exactly strong on responsibility. And really, the fact that werewolves are contagious is reason enough!"
"Alright, Mr. Potter, I get it about the werewolf—forget him. What's wrong with the short guy?"
"He's a quarter goblin," the detective explained. "Because of that, his reputation among wizards is pretty low. Eccentric, sure—but nobody's said anything bad about him, and that says something."
"If he's not good enough as a bodyguard, could he at least work as an escort?"
"I don't think so," Scott shook his head. "He may only be a quarter goblin, but he's a racist."
"Scott, with those selection criteria, you could eliminate every wizard in Britain. Every single one of them is at least a little bit of a racist Muggle-hater. Even that damn half-giant gamekeeper—who, you'd think, being himself a grotesque mutant, the spawn of a twisted love between man and giant, would know better—but no, he's the same!"
"Kid, take it easy, people are starting to stare," the detective said. "I'll keep looking for a suitable candidate, but I'm not making any promises."
"Yeah…" Richard drawled. "Looks like I'll have to recruit staff myself. Probably best to start straight from Hogwarts."
"Look!" Harry exclaimed, pointing at a massive crowd in front of Gringotts Bank. "There are a lot of people here."
"That's strange," Richard noted.
"Very strange indeed," the detective said. He approached a wizard in an old-fashioned beige suit and asked, "Excuse me, could you tell me what's going on?"
"Oh! You must not have heard?" the wizard eagerly replied, clearly happy to share gossip. "Yesterday, the Daily Prophet published an article saying someone tried to rob Gringotts. The goblins told the reporter nothing was stolen, but you know how they are—they could be lying. So I'm here to withdraw my money. Safer that way."
"I see…" Richard stretched the words thoughtfully. "Just ordinary panic. Harry, Mr. Potter, we'd better not go into Gringotts today—or for the next few days. I've got some spare change. It should be enough for robes, potion ingredients, and wands."
"Then let's go to Ollivander's!" Harry said.
"I'm not going to that old goat!" Richard declared flatly. "Last time he threw me out of his shop without any explanation. No thanks! Do what you want—I'm buying my wand from Jimmy Kiddell."
"Then I will too," Harry said in solidarity.
Richard tuned out the noise of the crowd until an interesting conversation reached his ears—a young witch in a green robe speaking with an elderly woman in a worn cloak.
"Suspicious," the young witch said.
"What is, dear?" the old woman asked.
"Not long before the attempted robbery, St. Mungo's admitted the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He'd been shot by a Muggle—with a fire-tube."
"You don't say?!" the old woman stretched out her words with the curiosity of a seasoned gossip. "A Muggle, you say? If I recall correctly, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts these days is a half giant. His hide is almost like a dragon's!"
"Yes, exactly! A friend of mine from minor injuries said the big guy drank half a pint of Wiggenweld Potion. What incredible resistance to magical effects!"
"And what's suspicious about that, dear?"
"Well, Hagrid kept saying he needed to go to Gringotts on some very important and secret business! He was forever trying to sneak out of the hospital before he was fully recovered. And on the very morning of the robbery, he left St. Mungo's…"
"Oh, Merlin! Where are the Aurors looking? Non-humans robbing banks and walking free afterward!"
Harry called out to his friend, who had frozen in place:
"Richie, are you coming?"
"Yes, Harry, Richard, let's go," the detective said.
Jimmy Kiddell's wand shop was located a little farther down the alley. It had a pleasant interior—clean and tidy, with boxes of wands neatly arranged on shelves lining every wall.
A young, average-height, round-faced wizard with thick chestnut hair greeted them with a practiced smile, his brown eyes quickly scanning each of the boys.
"Welcome to my shop. Heading to Hogwarts this year?"
"Yes, sir," Harry replied.
"You," Mr. Kiddell looked at the young lord, "are Richard Grosvenor. You've been here before. Now I can sell you a wand. And you, young man?" he turned to Harry.
"Harry Potter, sir."
Mr. Kiddel's eyes widened in surprise.
"Harry Potter?! What an honor! And why did you choose my shop instead of..."
"That's because of me, Mr. Kiddell," Richard said. "Unlike Mr. Ollivander, you treated me kindly. So I recommended that my acquaintances come to your shop. Has Mr. Finch-Fletchley visited you yet?"
"He bought a wand from me a couple of days ago," Mr. Kiddel confirmed with a nod. "Thank you for the recommendation, young man."
"You're welcome. Happy to help," Richard replied without a trace of irony.
(End of Chapter)
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