As she neared the pair, she accio’ed the wand which sailed into her hand. ’Probably stolen’ she scoffed and deposited it into her purse, she could have it snapped or given to the aurors – she would decide that later. Her ladies maid had skittered off to see if one of the shopkeepers could use his fireplace to call the aurors to take the boy into custody.

When she realised who held the boy by his arm her mouth dropped open with shock to the degree that it took her a moment to realise that it was conduct unbecoming a countess. ’My Lord Crossridge?’ she asked her confusion evident in her tone. It had been some years since Gwendolyn had shared company with the Baron, and while there were many great houses of England where she might not have expected to remake his acquaintance – the wet streets of diagon alley were not among them. As far as Gwen knew he was a muggle! Her family was one of the very few magical peerages of England, thanks to her own mothers introduction of magic into the Sherington bloodline, and her husbands predated them by only one generation.

’I cannot be mistaken! It is you Baron!’