Anthony returned the sleek seven-seater to the agent and apologized for the monkey that had made off with the rearview mirror casing.
The agent, looking like he'd heard it all before, asked if they'd visited the nearby zoo. He glanced through the window at the spotless back seat and gave them an approving nod.
The six students stood by their packs, proudly claiming credit for the Scourgify charm.
Their Portkey wasn't set to activate until eight. They decided to walk.
Streetlights cast a quiet glow over the damp pavement. The moon peeked out now and then from behind scudding clouds. Chimneys on the pointed, pale-brick roofs puffed smoke. Through white lace curtains, they could see people relaxed in their chairs, laughing, their dinners glistening with grease on their plates.
Most shops were closed. Only a few corner pubs and restaurants were still lit, patrons talking loudly inside. A waiter bent to wipe a table, the light gleaming off his thinning hair.
"Electric lights are like the school candles that never burn out," Ian said.
"They're eating lamb and carrots," Cedric added.
They were all either on tiptoe or crouching, ducking under the G.G. posters plastered on the glass, peering into the restaurant with hungry eyes. They looked like six cold, starving little match girls.
"Want dinner?" Anthony asked.
"No, Professor," Cedric straightened up. "I'm not hungry."
"Me neither," Angelina said. "I must have eaten too many of those cream almonds and toffees."
Anthony nodded. "Then we'd better move on from this window before some kind soul asks if we need help." He pointed at the glass.
While the students had been studying the little Muggle eatery, their breaths had left six uneven, foggy patches on the windowpane. Each patch looked cold. And very, very hungry.
…
Even though everyone claimed not to be hungry, when the evening breeze carried the sweet, rich smell of roasted chestnuts, Anthony still handed out three pounds each. If they wanted to buy something, he told them, they had to go talk to the vendor themselves.
Roger and Annie were the first to buy two paper bags of sugar-roasted chestnuts. They spoke a few words with the vendor and hurried back, bags in hand.
"He asked if we were tourists," Roger said. "I told him we were students. He asked where, and Annie said Scotland. He said his cousin went to school in Scotland too, asked which county. Professor, which county are we?"
Anthony considered. "People don't usually ask that many questions… But if you really meet one, tell them it's top secret. Say you'd be taken to court if you leaked it."
"Professor, wouldn't that break the Statute of Secrecy?" Annie asked.
"People usually don't believe it," Anthony shrugged. "Besides, we're not hinting at anything supernatural. There's got to be top-secret things in the world."
…
They passed a closed jam and honey shop. Ian lingered by the window, staring inside. He stayed so long that the owner, busy tallying his books, finally noticed. The man pushed the door open and asked if he wanted something.
Ian glanced uncertainly at Anthony. The professor gave him an encouraging nod. Ian stammered, "I… I only have three pounds."
"You're a student, aren't you?" the owner asked in a soft accent, a kind smile appearing under his bushy beard and long face. "Three pounds might not get you my honey, but come in, lad. We can chat. What kind of jam do you like?"
"Lingonberry and raspberry," Ian said, his voice growing more confident. "But I'd still like to see the honey, sir. Any special ones here?"
"Where are you from, lad?"
"Er, top secret," Ian said.
"What?"
Ian shot Anthony a pleading look. Anthony chimed in. "The north, sir. We're from Scotland."
"Oh, ha ha!" the owner laughed. "Then I dare say all my honey is special! Local bees, local flowers, right? Wildflowers, clover, all sorts of blooming things… Winter's coming, sir. Bees don't like going out in winter. This is nearly the last fresh honey you'll find. Here, have a taste."
He enthusiastically produced a small wooden honey dipper, unlocked the sealed sample cabinet, and pulled out a jar glowing amber.
"Taste it. It's definitely not like Scottish honey," the owner said. "Not to boast, but my honey is carefully selected. Look, this one I kept for myself. Last year I sold out completely, had to buy supermarket honey to get through winter. Supermarkets! They sell the worst stuff at sky-high prices!" He shook his head, frowning.
"I'm sure some supermarkets don't do that," Anthony couldn't help defending them. "Supermarket goods are curated. If people don't buy, the supermarket loses money stocking them."
The owner paused. "Of course, sir. Of course." He gave Anthony a puzzled look.
"It's too strong," Ian said after a taste. "And there's a sour note. This honey's been stored too long."
The owner looked displeased. "That's the character of our local honey, lad. That's the floral notes."
"No, that's definitely…" Ian stopped. The owner's eyes widened as if insulted, looking wounded.
Ian faltered. "I… I don't know. Maybe it really is different from the honey back home."
"Of course it's different!" the owner said. "Think of the distance. Where in Scotland are you from?"
"TOP SECRET!" several students chorused.
"Alright then," the owner shrugged. "Anyway, it's very far, right? Different habits, different accents, of course different honey…"
Ian walked out of the shop in a daze, three pounds poorer, clutching a small glass jar of honey.
Halfway down the street, he suddenly twisted the lid open and scraped a bit out with his fingernail to taste.
"It's wrong!" he cried. "This is last summer's honey! Just filtered!"
"Wasn't I kicking your shin back there?" Annie said. "Professor Anthony was coughing too."
Ian said mournfully, "He seemed like such a good man! And I didn't think Muggles could lie!"
His classmates glanced around suspiciously at the word "Muggle," gesturing for him to shut up.
Anthony looked around too. Not a soul in sight. The Portkey activation time was near. They were walking down this quiet lane, heading for the most deserted spot.
"Professor Anthony…" Ian wailed.
"Don't take it too hard, Mr. Williams," Anthony said. "Compared to when we started, you have a jar of honey, a bit more experience, and you haven't lost any money. Doesn't that feel better?"
"I'll never trust a Muggle again," Ian declared.
"You just thought Muggles shouldn't be clever enough to fool you," Mark commented.
"Come on, Ian," Cedric said. "Didn't Lee Jordan trick you last term? Are you never trusting a wizard again either?"
"That's different!" Ian looked sadly at the honey jar. "My aunt will laugh at me."
"Let her laugh," Roger said carelessly. "She's never been tricked by a Muggle."
"At least it is honey," Anthony said. He thought of his own purchase, the "Elixir of Life."
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