Chapter Twenty-Two - Kate.

I rub the palms of my hands against my jeans again, though this time it’s in a more manic fashion and I can’t seem to get rid of the sweat that’s clinging to them. Because the sight of the shop has now come into view as I turn the corner and stand stock still to look up the street, reminding me that, in thirty seconds, I will be entering that shop and meeting the probably terrifying owners who will be conducting my interview. Groot showed me a picture of them the other day when I enquired after them and they truly do look like something out of a horror film - grey haired, mad eyes and strange faces. Neither of them were smiling, just looked dazed and as if they were intoxicated or under the impression they were living in a world of rainbows and butterflies. Which is why I am really not looking forward to my upcoming interview.

Usually I’m confident and nothing can get me down, but this time I’m out of my comfort zone. I have no job experience and am basically just winging it with this interview and hoping I get the job - I would have backed out of it if it wasn’t for the trio consisting of my Aunt, Groot and Eel who would probably slaughter me if I tried to. Seriously, they're like terrifying harpies when they band together.

I stop, looking up the street that I have just entered. It’s completely straight and lined by more shops, ‘Oddities and Marvels: Mind-blowing objects and phenomenon for the sanest among us’ located at the very end and facing me as I stand at the other end. I snort at the name that’s displayed in gold letters above the window - I think ‘sanest’ would be best replaced with ‘insane’ if Eel and Groot’s descriptions of the place were accurate - perhaps I shoukd suggest a name change to the owners. It looks like a nice place, though, and makes me curious to know what's held within. It's built in the Tudor fashion of black and white beams, with a large display window of tiny diamond glass panes fitting together to make the one piece of styled glass, and above the window and the door, located to the left of the display, reads the name in spidery gold letters. There are weirder styles of architecture that have been employed as well - stone gargoyles that look down upon you ominously, creatures I cannot begin to describe but like at once and decide to name. Some of the diamonds in the display window hold stained glass prints, random faces and images here and there which I get a closer look at as I near the shop - they don't look religious, but they certainly make me feel like I'm going into a kind of chapel of madness - which actually calms me down. There are more colours produced by the interior of the shop, changing relentlessly in a shifting rainbow - they must be produced by some potion in there, but I can't see anything except for the rainbow due to the Windows being shaded and split by the singular diamond design. In the end that's what makes me go in - I'm mystified to what is producing such a myriad of colours and end up forgetting I'm actually going in for an interview, even saying goodbye to the gargoyle overlooking the door as I pass through.

“See ya later, Ringo.'' I open the door and stepping into the shop, though the end of my sentence is drowned out by the sound of a deep gong sounding. I jump and look round in alarm to see that there's no bell to signify the entrance of a customer but instead a massive, metre-wide brass gong linked to the door and that it sounds every time the hinges move. Over my initial shock, I grin and turn to take hold of the door handle once more, opening it again to cause the gong to sound once more. Moving it again, I begin to move the door in the rhythm of ‘’Here Comes the Sun’’, the most recent Beatles song to have been circulating my head this morning. Forgetting myself, I reach the fourth bar before I’m called to my senses by a voice from behind.

‘’Ah, I do love that song. I never realised the gong would be suitable to tap out a rhythm, but you make it sound quite marvellous.’’ I spin round, letting go of the door, and see a young man standing on the platform that marks the second floor of the shop, though it’s more of a balcony. He has pale blonde hair that sticks out in all kinds of places, even paler skin and light, blue-grey eyes. ‘’Perhaps it can be enchanted to play when someone enters.I never thought of that. Well, I suppose it would be a problem if the customer entering is not a fan of The Beatles, but I don’t believe I could serve anyone who isn’t.’’ He continues, talking to himself in a slight Irish accent. ‘’Perhaps 'Come Together' or 'Taxman' would be a better choice, though - or I could take the gong up a scale so it didn’t produce such a deep sound…’’ He finally turns back to me as I continue to look his way in perplexity. ‘’Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you for the idea, Miss….’’

‘’Fields.’’ I state. ‘’I’m here for an interview.’’ My voice is factual, much of my unusual nervousness having dropped away at the mention of The Beatles.

‘’Interview?’’ His brow creases as he begins to walk down the stairs. ‘’Oh - you mean for the job?’’

I nod. ‘’I’m looking for Mr and Mrs Lovegood?’’ I say, refraining from adding ‘What else for?’ It’s not as if I’ve come here to have an interview for being an exhibit - though that would, I’m sure,  increase the popularity in this place.

‘’Well, I am afraid they’re out. Instead, I’ll be conducting your interview.’’ He answers, reaching the bottom of the stairs and smiling.

I look at him confusedly. ‘’And, er - who are you?’’ I question bluntly. He's has been judged as a tolerable person due to his like of The Beatles, but I actually have no idea who he is, only that he’s very strange, slightly creepy and looks to be a few years older than me.

He looks equally confused. ‘’Why, I’m Xenophilius Lovegood. Who else would I be?’’ At his next comment, he creases his brow, then looks at me. ‘’Actually, best not answer that.’’

‘’Shame. I had some good suggestions.’’ I answer, slightly disappointed and eyeing him with humour.

Xenophilius looks at me in a sort of dazed amusement. ‘’I’m sure you did.’’ He turns abruptly. ‘’Now, shall we get on? I’m not very busy, but I do want to work on that gong.’’

I look at it, then back to Xenophilius. Was he being serious about charming it to play Beatles songs upon entry? Because if so my opinion of him has shot up once more. ‘’You can do it now, if you want.’’ He turns as I speak. ‘’I’m not stopping you.’’

He hesitates - I can tell conducting my interview is an order from his parents (all parents seem to make it their buisness to perptually get in the way of the more important things in life - or rather mine certainly do), but also that he longs to give the enchantment a try. He sighs, then shakes his head, answering in his misty, lilting voice. ‘’Unfortunately your interview takes priority. The gong comes after.’’ He starts walking again and I follow, a little disappointed that I don’t get to see him make a huge brass gong play ‘’Come Together’’. ‘’I can put on the Gramophone, though, I suppose.’’

This makes me stop in my tracks. ‘’You have a gramophone?’’

He nods dreamily, looking back at me. ‘’Why yes, of course. We play records frequently.’’

I sigh wistfully, dreaming of sound of Led Zeppelin, ABBA and The Beatles. ‘’Only the headmaster has one at Hogwarts - I don’t get to listen to music unless my friend plays it on her guitar and I sing along.’’

‘’That is a shame.’’ Answers Xenophilius. He sounds genuinely sympathetic. ‘’I would say you could buy one but unfortunately all the enchanted ones were stolen by Seffendrifters last month.’’

I nod. Seffendrifters, a kind of woodlouse that haven’t been proved to exist yet, are very partial to music. ‘’Indeed.’’

"Still, I can play some for you now." He continues.

I stare at him with a kind of awe, eyes alight. "Would you really?" He nods, smiling his strange smile and I can't help but let the same spread across my face. Grinning at him as if he is an angel, for once I don't hesitate to express by gratitude. I'll be able to listen to Abbey Road! For the first time in a month! "Thank  you so much - you are a gift from the gods. "

He smiles dreamily, amused by my answer, apparently, and turns. "My pleasure. One simply cannot survive without The Beatles."

I nod seriously, then follow him up the stairs.There’s silence as he leads me from the stairs through the back rooms, these filled with more unusual objects, though they are less neatly organised and randomly put together. It’s very tempting to stop and look, and almost instantly I halt to inspect a necklace that's hanging from a stand, centerpiece for the jewellry a swirling jewel that changes from blue-grey to bright red as I stop in front of it.

''Aha. Accurate as always.'' Xenophilius speaks before I can enquire after the strange pendant, his comment causing me to crease my brow.

''What d'you mean?'' I question suspiciously, my voice puzzled as my eyes rest on the now scarlet stone.

He moves forward to unhook the necklace from the stand and hold it forth in his hands, golden chain glinting and the centre stone changing to a pale blue as he does so. ''This,'' His silvery-blue eyes inspect as he holds it further aloft, ''is an Aldarte stone.''

I crease my brow. I like to think myself as a fairly worldly person, but I've never heard of one of these, which annoys me. ''Why does the pendant change colour?'' I demand, unintentionally sounding rude, coming closer to get a better look at it. As I do so, the stone changes back to the deep red it was before.

''It's almost like a mood ring,'' Answers Xenophilius, watching the stone switch from blue to deep red as it alternates between us. ''It detects people's characters and changes colour according to them using complex charms.''

''Can you determine someone's character using it, then?'' I ask, thinking of the rich red colour it becomes when I get close to it. Only I can't remember what red means in divination...damn.

''In a sense.'' He answers. ''You have to guess and no answer is entirely correct. For instance, your colour is bright scarlet, meaning you are passionate, fierce, energetic, and vibrant, among other things, according to the rules of divination.'' He gives me the answer I was looking for.

''Sounds about right.'' I answer, slightly irritated that he came up with the answer before I could. However I like this stone. It seems I've made a new friend - and I don't mean Xenophilius. ''And if I remember my divination correctly, pale blue signifies peace, tranquility, calm, inner energy and harmony?''

''Indeed.'' Answers Xenophilius, moving to hang the necklace back up carefully. ''It can be very accurate with some but no so much with others. Since it's very old magic, a few faults can be expected.''

I look at the engraved metal - history has never been my strong point but I can tell the markings on the metal around the pendant are of a gothic design that's obviously a few centuries or more old. I feel most professional with my next question. ''D'you know how old it is, then?''

He nods. ''Yes - it was made by Basque people in the early 1400s.''

''In Southern France?'' I question, Xenophilius nodding again. Ah, so that explains the name. It must be in the Basque language - the dialect of an old state of Southern France which used to be a country. I've never visited the area but my Father has, being a kind of travelling businessman, and I'm surprisingly well-versed in French geography. ''So the name is in Basque?'' I try to think of what 'Aldarte' could mean...it'll be something sensible, no doubt, but it'd be great if it was something completely ludicrous. Sadly, the world doesn't work that way. My head, however, gives it a name before Xenophilius can answer. 'Albert' will suit it nicely.

''Aldarte means 'mood'.'' He answers, then cracks a smile that makes him look strangely like the cheshire cat due to the fact the gesture isn't dazed or dreamy. ''I always call it the 'Albert' stone, though, ever since I was a child and I couldn't pronounce its real name.''

I try to contain my surprise. Well, that's a creepy coincidence, I think, then question him again, wanting to know as much about the pendant as possible because I actually want to find out more about it. I've never been interested in artifacts before, but then again, I've never come across any that are as intriguing as this.

''How is it enchanted?'' I question, making my voice sound professional and cool.

''There are a set of old, complex spells cast on the jewel - ancient spells, in fact, so dated that it's impossible to study or even untangle them. That's why the pendants are so very rare - they can't be made anymore.'' Xenophilius answers, voice misty again as he regards the necklace. He seems to slip between moods in an instant, one minute matter-o-fact and sensible, the next, dreamy and almost dazed. He kind of looks like a fish when the latter demeanour takes over him, which makes me come up a name for him. ''Goldfish'' will suit him well until I find something better, though his blonde hair is more platinum than gold. I've been thrown off my game today, though, I'll come up with a more suitable choice of title when I'm out of this shop and not surrounded by distractions.

''So you can't replicate it?'' I question. He shakes his head and I frown. Dammit, I wanted to buy one. It'd make a great present for Eel. She's very nervous of people and she could tell their intentions using that necklace and decide whether to punch or hug them - it'd be very handy. ''They must be rare then. How much would this one cost?''

Xenophilius creases his brow. ''Well, it's not for sale, but one in this condition would cost...hmmm, about two hundred and fifty galleons?''

I stop my eyebrows from going sky high at this and attempt not to show the shock I'm harbouring within - I'll never get my hands on one if he's telling. Two hundred and fifty galleons...a.k.a. £1200...only rich arseholes would be able to afford that. Which begs the question - are the Lovegoods posh toffs? ''And you just keep it up here?'' I say bluntly, my polite act dropping away. ''Where anyone could steal it?''

Goldfish looks surprised, as if it never occurred to him. ''No one's ever stolen anything here before.'' He answers.

I scoff slightly. ''If this were Liverpool...'' I say, surveying the room full of priceless artifacts. Yes, if this were Liverpool, they'd all be gone. Even in the wizarding areas you have to watch out for skinheads who'll mug you without a seconds thought. ''You should really install a defence system.'' I say, turning back to him.

''Yes...yes, perhaps.'' Goldfish replies dreamily, the reality of the fact a lot of this could be stolen dawning on him. ''That may be a good idea.''

I leave him to contemplate the defense system idea, drawn to the artifacts along the wall and walking forward to inspect them. They become more and more fascinating as I inspect them; Jars of bright blue powder that sparkles like starlight; a curved, machete-like sword with strange runic designs and a green scabbard upon which reads the worn words, some letter missing: 'Li aev n Eve star'; a sprig of a strange tree, plum-purple jewelled leaves sprouting from whining, ivory-white branches. I stop as I find a particularly curious model of what appears to be a woman, though a very strange looking one, wearing long purple robes and holding a glowing staff, violet hair framing her face and eyes the same strange violet colour. I'm reading the label with a furrowed brow ('Void Witch, 14th century, Austria') when Xenophilius' voice calls me to turn back round.

''You come from Liverpool?'' He asks floatily, now holding a clipboard and examining it with confusion, as if he's never seen one in his life. I leave the model and approach him.

''I was born in Staffordshire but yes, I live in Liverpool.'' I say, moving to look over his shoulder at the checklist. I've lost my previous shyness and regain my usual attitude, pointing to the box that he should tick and speaking blatantly as I withdraw. ''Have you ever used a checklist before?''

''Not really, no.'' He admits mistily, grateful that I pointed out what to do. ''Date of Birth?''

''May 18th, 1959.'' I answer, standing still. Is this the interview? I remember all that Groot said about how I should handle it but simply remain myself as I stand before him - to be honest I don't think Goldfish cares about the questions, he's more interested in looking at and explaining the artifacts than conducting a proper interview.

''Full name?'' Eyes still on the checklist, Goldfish turns to walk down the long room.

''Katherine Elizabeth Fields.'' I follow him as he drifts along.

''Qualifications?'' He questions.

''None.'' I answer, my voice smooth. ''Unless you count blowing up shops using their own produce.'' He looks at me with both intrigue and amazement. ''I accidentally set off some experimental fireworks.'' I explain. He nods and smiles at me with...wait, is it admiration? Appreciation? Man, this guy confuses me.

''Interests?'' He continues, eyes back on the checklist.

I know what my answer should be, but instead the words that slip out of my mouth are entirely honest. ''Putting dickheads in their place by duelling them, naming everyone and everything, experiencing and seeing the weird and wonderful of this world and being generally strange.''

He looks at me and I bite my tongue, knowing that I was far too honest there. I don't regret it, but perhaps I could have been a little less forward in my expression. However, he simply smiles slightly and ticks a box on the checklist, which makes me wonder what exactly he was verifying - that I'm stark raving mad and would be a danger to work with? Or that I'm not the right kind of weird to be working here? Perhaps it a warrant that'll get me sent to St. Mungo's again. Well, nevermind, at least I was honest. The medication's just making me a little rash...at least I hope it's the medication and not just my tendency to blurt out whatever I think after I've known a person for more than ten minutes or less.

''Optimum working hours?'' He continues.

''Weekends and evenings.'' I answer. There's silence as he ticks another box and I cast a sweeping glance around the room, eyes flickering of the contents of the shelves. There so many wonderful items - all of which I want to take a look at, and I find myself forgetting that I'm actually here for an interview, instead concentrating on satisfy my curiosity for all the intriguing objects around me. How come I've never seen here before? It's most peculiar that I didn't accompany Groot and Eel here - unless they were on a secret mission...hmmm now that is suspicious. Have my two agents gone rogue?... As always, my mind begins to wander and I simply stand there whilst Goldfish walks calmly away, apparently unaware that I am not following him. However, my eyes suddenly land on an item that intrigues me so much that all thoughts of agents and missions are forgotten - though I will be putting some questions to Groot and Eel later. I still don't understand how I have never entered the shop before.

I take a step forward towards one of the shelves on the other side of the room and text the object in question and pick it up carefully. The reason it intrigues me so is because, well - it's simply a plain box. Like the other items I can see you longer shelves it's not colourful, magical or giving off a delicious smell (ok, only three or four items seem to be the culprits but it's tormenting when the room smells like fish and chips and you haven't eaten since eight o'clock in the morning). It's just a plain, rectangular box; covered in black velvet with tarnished silver clasps. Which begs the question - why on earth would the Lovegoods or something this potentially boring? Or is there something more exciting inside? That was only one way to find out, I think to myself. Places to hand on the lid, I open the box up gingerly, possibilities of what it could contain rushing around my head. A miniature house elf? Bomb that will blow me to pieces once I've lifted the lid? Or perhaps some Nargles? I've always wanted to see one of them...

But today is not my lucky day. Opening the lid, I find it to be a musical box, a little pottery figure turning round whilst music plays creepily. I roll my eyes - maybe the box was been nothing to get excited for, seeing as it simply plays a tune which sounds like it's from the soundtrack of a horror film. Disappointed, I'm about to close the lid when Goldfish calls from behind, making me jump off my skin and remember that I am actually here for an interview perhaps have not have gone rooting around in the collection of items.

"Ah, the unexplainable phenomena that is my old musical box." Goldfish approaches me, smiling at the box fondly and apparently not at all bothered that I just wandered off and started picking through what apparently is his stuff.

"How is it an 'unexplainable phenomenon'?" I question bluntly, looking at the box with intrigue once more.

"It's to do with the song it plays -  maybe you recognise it. You have any knowledge of folk music, anyway." He answers, actually making me be quiet for a change as I listen closely to the tune the box is playing. I don't know it, that's for sure - folk music isn't my thing - unless you could call Ten Green Bottles a folk song, which I sing constantly on car journeys to annoy my fellow passengers, but since I am perpetually yelling at  Scottol (Laura - she's another one of Peggy's owls and also a scot) to stop singing 'The Skye Boat Song', I don't think I would be classified as a fanatic of the genre. And there's no way I can look professional in front of my interviewer after letting go of what I classify as my best manners.

I'm about to question him further when I realise that I do actually know the song, and look up at Goldfish quickly, eyes dawning in realisation. ''Wait - the song - it's Crow on a Cradle, isn't it? The song?''

A smile spreads across his face. ''Yes. How do you know? Very few people could give me the correct answer.''

''Is it a typical question you ask your customers?'' I retort with humour, then answer: ''I know because my first Step Mother used to sing it when I was little. I don't know where she got it from, though.'' I take a closer look at the box and find that there are words carved in tiny writing in the lid, but it's in a language I don't understand. Goldfish notices me peering at it and fills me in.

''I believe those are the words.'' He offers. ''But they're written in Celtic, like the original song lyrics were.''

I look up at him, creasing my brow. ''What are the actual lyrics? I can't remember them, only the tune.''

He smiles and reaches to take the box off me. ''May I?'' I shrug and hand him the musical box, unsure of what he's about to do. Closing the lid, Goldfish clears his throat and then opens it up again, beginning to croon the words to the song in his soft Irish lilt whilst the little figurine in the musical box, a violin player, spinning as the musical plays eerily. I listen intently to the lyrics, which confuse and enchant me with their eery feel and the haunting tune.

''The sheep's in the meadow

The cow's in the corn

Now is the time for a child to be born

He'll laugh at the moon

And cry for the sun

And if it's a boy he'll carry a gun

Sang the crow on the cradle

And if it should be that this baby's a girl

Never you mind if her hair doesn't curl

With rings on her fingers

And bells on her toes

And a bomber above her wherever she goes

Sang the crow on the cradle

The crow on the cradle

The black and the white

Somebody's baby is born for a fight

The crow on the cradle

The white and the black

Somebody's baby is not coming back

Sang the crow on the cradle

Your mother and father will sweat and they'll slave

To build you a coffin and dig you a grave

Hush-a-bye little one, never you weep

For we've got a toy that can put you to sleep

Sang the crow on the cradle

Bring me my gun, and I'll shoot that bird dead

That's what your mother and father once said

The crow on the cradle, what can we do?

Ah, this is a thing that I'll leave up to you

Sang the crow on the cradle''

He warbles the last verse in a deep baritone voice as I continue to crease my brow, trying to work out the meaning.

''Sang the crow on the cradle...''

The music stops and suddenly the lid of the box snaps shut, Goldfish removing his fingers just in time to avoid them being smashed, and he looks to me. I don't acknowledge him, though, just stand there and repeat the lyrics and finally come to a conclusion after about thirty seconds.

''It's about the cold war - isn't it?'' I say, the first half of the sentence spoken to myself before I look to him.

He nods, smiling. ''Correct. You got there quickly, most people interpret it differently.''

I don't acknowledge the compliment. ''I don't understand - what makes it an 'unexplainable phenomenon'?'' I question almost imperiously.

Goldfish looks down at the box in his arms, then back to me. ''Well,'' He smiles, ''That's the interesting part. As I say, it involves the song. 'Crow on a Cradle' was written in the mid sixties - 1965, I think - yet this box dates back to much later than that - the 1800s.''

''Couldn't someone have enchanted it with the song before then?'' I question. I won't believe in the unbelievable until I have proof.

Goldfish shakes his head. ''This box was found by my father in Ireland, in the basement of an old hall, lodged in a wall. The hall was abandoned and the basement hidden - my father found it by accident. And that was in '62 - he didn't learn how to open the box until he returned to it in '68. Imagine his surprise.''

I stare it and a smile begins to spread across my face. ''That is so awesome.'' I look up a Goldfish. ''Congratulations, you just made me believe in an unbelievable theory today.''

''I believe I can manage more than one today.'' He says, smiling with humour.

I raise my eyebrows. ''Really?''

He grins, then turns around and nods to the shelf that I was inspecting before. ''For instance, that model you were looking at.'' He walks towards the miniature statue of the lilac-robed witch and points to it. ''It dates back to the 14th century and yet if you look closely, you can see a coin in her hand.''

I peer at it and see the piece of money, about to comment that it man nothing when I see that the coin has a tiny piece of engraving on it that, with my excellent eyesight, I realise is a carving of President Lincoln. I look up at Goldfish instantly. ''A Lincoln coin?''

He nods, eyes bright. ''Indeed. It is possible that a talented sculpture could add that to the figurine, but it still makes you think.''

I nod, and am about to comment when he suddenly turns, apparently remembering something, and walks to fetch the clipboard again. I raise my eyebrow as he looks up. ''Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Fields?'' He questions, watching me closely.

''What?'' I ask ludicrously, unintentionally rude. ''What planet are you-''

''Muggle ghosts.'' He cuts across keenly, ignoring my comments. ''Ghosts of Muggles.''

I pause. Another coincidence. Of course I do - I've always thought that Muggles become ghosts too, but a different kind - more like spirits. There's too much prove to say otherwise. One of my pet dreams is to prove that to be true. ''Yes, why?''

Goldfish turns back to the checklist. ''It's just a question.'' But the smile playing on his lips says there's more to it and I regard him suspiciously. However, before I can say anything, he speaks again. ''Relationship status?''

''Single.'' I answer, wondering what sort of checklist his parents have given to him. ''I wholly dislike relationships, they take up so much time.'' I add warily.

''My opinion exactly.'' He looks up and gives me a quick smile before looking back to the list. ''Academic Record?''

I swallow as I'm reminded of this. Ah yes, the bit I was dreading and managed to make myself forget. My expression becomes heavy as I reach into my pocket and pull out the scroll and hand it to him, Goldfish noticing as he looks up to take it. His expression becomes wary, but he says nothing and simply nods before opening up the parchment.

I wander over to the shelves again whilst he reads it, not wanting to see his expression, and walking between, find another item that intrigues me and also helps to forget about what's written on that sheet of parchment. It's a steaming potion that is giving off a myriad of colours, very like the ones that had been creating the colours behind the window downstairs - only this time the colours are shades of gold and yellow rather than a rainbow. Even me, seldom a creative soul who can put words into poetry and notice the beauty in things, fill with wonder at the beauty of it. It's like pure sunlight has been bottled, the contents of the jar bright and the source of the wondrous steam of gold and yellow. I continue to gaze at it, eyes wide and mind forgetting where I am, until Goldfish scares me again by speaking from behind.

''Beautiful, isn't it? The colours are almost as lovely as Vinnitou breath.'' He says as I stare at him, parchment still in hand, though he seems to have finished reading it.

''Vinnitou?'' I demand, eyes still on the parchment and face wary, smile having faded. Is he not going to mention it? Or tell me that I need to get out of here right away? He should if he's actually read what's written on that scroll.

''A rare breed of Dragon,'' he answers, still gazing at the colours mistily, his pale blue eyes alight. ''Instead of flames, they breathe gusts of bright, golden dust and light, like rays of sunlight.''

''Why haven't I heard of these dragons?'' I question, still distracted but slightly confused. I know almost every strange claimed-not-to-be-true creature in the book and I hate to look ignorant.

''They're not your textbook creatures.'' Xenophilius says in reply, eyes not moving away from staring at the potion. ''Very rare and strange - and they died out a century ago. The dust from their breath is very expensive and only dealt with on the black market, for some unknown reason. The Ministry were very stupid with that classification.''

I look at him. ''Wait - this potion contains Vinnatou breath?'' I let out a sound of disbelief, then grin. ''Well, I'm impressed you deal with the black market.''

He sniffs in return, then looks at me. ''The potion is a project of mine. It's similar to the potions downstairs, which are specially brewed to give the drinker a feeling of refreshment and liveliness. Only this, well - with the addition of the breath and some other specialised ingredients, it could give life.''

''What?'' I question in disbelief. ''Like-''

''Like an elixir of life.'' He nods, then looks at me. ''Which is why I have work on it.''

Well, I think, I may or may not have found a weird, strange and badass male me. Ultimately, Xenophilius Lovegood has surpassed all my expectations. And you know what? I actually like him. Truly, I think this guy could be a friend. I've judged him and now I do believe he's perfect for another best friend - he has passed the Kate Friendship test.

''You deal with the black market?'' I say, raising my eyebrows. There's admiration in my voice, though - you've gotta be pretty brave to do that. Or stupid. But I think it's the latter for old Goldfish here.

''Yes.'' He says, sending me a sidelong glance. ''So we're not so different, you and I.''

I scoff incredulously. ''Similar we are, but I'm sorry to say that I do have dealings in the black market.''

''I read your academic record.'' He answers, watching me with a slight smile, though his eyes are wary. My face becomes stoney at once. ''That's was quite a trick your friend pulled last year.''

''It wasn't a trick.'' I snap, looking at him fiercely. Perhaps Goldfish isn't my friend after all. I keep flitting between the two options, whether he is or he isn't. Why couldn't this be simple? ''She got hurt. I got hurt. It wasn't for thrills, unlike you and your black market business.''

His face becomes serious. ''I wasn't implying that. And I don't involve myself in the black market for thrills, I do it for work. I want to make people believe the unbelievable. Everyone - even witches and wizards - are so conventional. No one goes out of their comfort zone - not in England anyway. Ireland is different. That aside, I want to make a difference, and I don't like dealing illegal substances but if that's what it takes to save society, I will.''

I calm down, then pause, looking up at him and raising my eyebrow. ''How will making an elixir of life open their eyes?'' I question, voice unintentionally suspicious.

''It's the first step.'' He answers shortly. All of his dreamy, dazed demeanour has fallen away, making me think that that part of him is cause by his parent's influence, and underneath lies a young man who knows exactly what he's doing. There's silence as he looks at the potion, then back to me.

''You won't tell my parents?'' He requests, watching me warily.

I raise my eyebrows. ''Why would I? It's your business. Plus I won' ever get to meet them, will I?''

''What?'' He says confusedly. ''What d'you mean, never get to meet them?''

''Well I'm not going to land the job, so-'' I begin, knowing that my manners, confrontations and basically entire character destroyed my chances at getting a job here.

''Katherine, you got the job.'' He interrupts, watching me earnestly.

I snap my gaze onto him. ''You're giving me the job?'' I blurt out.

''Well of course.'' He looks at me as if it was obvious. ''You're the perfect candidate.'' He brings forward the clipboard and thrusts it into my hands. I turn my gaze onto the checklist and find that, on all the questions there, the end box in the line labeled from 'terrible choice' to 'perfect' is marked - on all the questions I was marked 'perfect' - even on my name, for some reason, though I don't question it because, let's face it, it was compiled by his parents.

I'm so astounded I just stare at the parchment for a few seconds, then joy explodes in my heart. I'll be working here - examining the intriguing artefacts, discussing Hoodleshanks with customers, listening to the Beatles all day long - it's perfect. For the first time in a long while, I feel excited. And I show that excitement, the joy that I'm feeling, very simply. After all, I'm feeling as happy as I am now, the only thing I can do is jump around a room manically like a frog and sing along to my favourite songs.

''You mentioned a Gramophone?''