"Well, if you break a window, I'll just make you fix it with your new wand," he teased. He was obviously intending no such thing. Even if he thought the restriction on underaged sorcery was a little silly (having been allowed to do magic outside of school from the moment he'd been able to, himself) and even if their position in the center of Hogsmeade meant they were very unlikely to be caught, he wasn't intending to invite any additional scrutiny to his shop at the moment. Not, at any rate, until he'd sorted out what they were going to do about Billie and her approaching school year.
Her comment about being able to help pay for supplies made him smile subtly, but he didn't address it. He neither needed nor expected her to 'help,' as she called it, just as he didn't fully expect her to contribute around the shop in order to 'earn' her accommodation there, but he had the sense that this distinction was important for her, and he could respect that. She'd been independent for longer than any child ought to have been, and while he would have given a great deal to go back in time and make it so that that wasn't the case, it had taught her some things that he thought were rather admirable. How many eleven-year-olds had any real appreciation for hard work? It certainly hadn't been something he'd developed that young.
"I think the letters come out at the end of July," he said in answer to her first question. "But it's been a while since it mattered for me, so I could be wrong. There's — some things we'll have to talk about, before you actually leave for Hogwarts," he added, a little hesitantly. Maybe he ought to just put it off until the end of July, when there was actually a letter. Maybe it wouldn't even be a problem; maybe they'd done the math wrong on her birthday and she wouldn't be eleven until after the start of this school term, buying him another year to figure things out. That was an empty hope, though, and he knew it. He may not have been in contact with her mother when Billie was born, but he knew roughly the date he'd been, ahem, involved in the process. It would have had to have been the world's longest pregnancy to push her birthday clear through to September.
But they'd have time to talk about all of that later — right now, they were finding her a wand, and this was a much less complicated ordeal (at least for Gideon) than having a serious conversation about the future. "Mmhm, wave or tap or swish. Whatever feels natural to you, when you hold it," he explained, leaning against the nearest shelf and crossing his arms so that he could watch when she tried it out. "This one's fir and phoenix feather. My father always said fir wands were for survivors," he commented. He'd heard the stories of resilience from the owners of fir wands recounted from his father's lips many times throughout the years. Unfortunately for his father, the collection of fir in the shop hadn't been able to save either it or the old man from succumbing to the Hogsmeade fire years ago.
Her comment about being able to help pay for supplies made him smile subtly, but he didn't address it. He neither needed nor expected her to 'help,' as she called it, just as he didn't fully expect her to contribute around the shop in order to 'earn' her accommodation there, but he had the sense that this distinction was important for her, and he could respect that. She'd been independent for longer than any child ought to have been, and while he would have given a great deal to go back in time and make it so that that wasn't the case, it had taught her some things that he thought were rather admirable. How many eleven-year-olds had any real appreciation for hard work? It certainly hadn't been something he'd developed that young.
"I think the letters come out at the end of July," he said in answer to her first question. "But it's been a while since it mattered for me, so I could be wrong. There's — some things we'll have to talk about, before you actually leave for Hogwarts," he added, a little hesitantly. Maybe he ought to just put it off until the end of July, when there was actually a letter. Maybe it wouldn't even be a problem; maybe they'd done the math wrong on her birthday and she wouldn't be eleven until after the start of this school term, buying him another year to figure things out. That was an empty hope, though, and he knew it. He may not have been in contact with her mother when Billie was born, but he knew roughly the date he'd been, ahem, involved in the process. It would have had to have been the world's longest pregnancy to push her birthday clear through to September.
But they'd have time to talk about all of that later — right now, they were finding her a wand, and this was a much less complicated ordeal (at least for Gideon) than having a serious conversation about the future. "Mmhm, wave or tap or swish. Whatever feels natural to you, when you hold it," he explained, leaning against the nearest shelf and crossing his arms so that he could watch when she tried it out. "This one's fir and phoenix feather. My father always said fir wands were for survivors," he commented. He'd heard the stories of resilience from the owners of fir wands recounted from his father's lips many times throughout the years. Unfortunately for his father, the collection of fir in the shop hadn't been able to save either it or the old man from succumbing to the Hogsmeade fire years ago.