August 27th, 1892 — Painted Lady

The door of the tea shop opened with a ring of the bell above the door and Chris craned her neck. She spotted her intended companion. Her chaperone had been warned that she was here for a discussion of curses and it would likely be a long afternoon for her, so the woman had settled herself at her own table with a book.

She gave a small wave to indicate where she was sitting. She wasn't sure if Mister Lissington would recognise her, friendly as he was with Endy, his friends sisters' may or may not have made any sort of impact on him, and socially of course the Hogwarts Professor spent more of his time in employment than the second daughter of an upperclass family of writers. Christbel probably counted as something of a Polymath in terms of the width of her learning and reading but her only employment was the one she elected for herself as a writer. If she didn't write, those who liked her writing might be disappointed but she was accountable to no one for her output.

'Professor Lissington, thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me.' she greeted warmly, and threw a now over her shoulder for the waitress to bring over the afternoon tea for the pair. The waitress poured them both their respective drinks, with Chris preferring coffee, but allowing Lissington his choice. 'I'm glad Endy, I mean, my brother was able to reach out to you.' she smiled.

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Wearing

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   Gus Lissington

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

It was no secret that Gus Lissington missed curse breaking; it also wasn’t a well-kept secret he wasn’t too fond of being a professor, and every time someone attached the word to his last name he had a habit of wrinkling his nose in response. Professor Lissington. He was getting better at that, at least, even if most of the time he still felt like a fraud and struggled to understand what kept him there.

Promises, mostly, to his friends and family that he wouldn’t disappear for years again without as much of a word. Gus hated to go back on his word and it was that alone that kept him rooted in England even if most of his heart belonged in Egypt. In fact, only a tiny sliver had been set aside from England itself.

So when Miss Dempsey reached out to him to ask about curses, one of his favorite subjects to date, he’d be quick to reply he’d like nothing more. He wasn’t sure why she’d asked him and not her brother, although of the two Gus was the only one who hadn’t managed to do something daft enough for permanent desk duty — and he did some pretty dumb things if someone as much as breathed a dare in his direction.

The bell above the door to the Painted Lady as he entered, and it didn’t take long for him to spot Miss Dempsey. He raised his hand in response to her wave, a wide grin spreading across his face, and he hoped it was enough to keep his nose from wrinkling as she addressed with the dreaded professor word. He slid into the chair across from her, his hands folding together as he watched the waitress deposit a teacup in front of him; he wasn’t a huge fan of tea but he was a fan of sweets, and popped three sugar cubes into the liquid before he paused, and then decided to add a fourth for good measure. If it wasn’t tooth rotting sweet, he probably wouldn’t like it.

Stirring the sugar in the tea, Gus couldn’t help but grin at her. “I am more than happy to help where I can, Miss Dempsey.” And he was; what a delight to be helpful to someone. “Always happy to do Endymion a favor, plus I’m never too busy to talk your ear off about curses.” One had to know curses to break them, although his specialty was more in defense than offense. He laughed quietly and shook his head. “What exactly are you looking for?”

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She wasn't sure what she had been expecting from the man she was waiting for, although she supposed since he was Endy's friend she shouldn't have been shocked that he was relatively young - and rather tall. He was also more boyish than anticipated. More jovial -she had imagined a grizzeled veteran, some Alan Quartermaine-esq hunter, but he wasn't. He had smile lines around his eyes, and those curls. Well she could just imagine how popular those curls might make him with the ladies.

'I am very glad to hear it!' she beamed, 'Full disclosure, what has Enfymion told you of my interests?' she asked gently, looking daintily over the top of her coffee cup at him. Her alter ego, Mister Whitlock Evergrim was a secret known only to her family, information she shared when she had to. It was partly from a fear that her original novels would not be taken seriously if they knew she was a woman and also the anxiety that it would be greeted with derision or critical censure.

[b]'I mean to write something on this, it won't be about you per se - creative rather than biographical.' she hoped the news wouldn't put him off. 'if it's changed your mind Mister Lissington then I would entirely understand.'

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

Gus couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he considered the last time he actually saw Endymion – he’d invited him over under the guise of snacks, but had conned him into helping him find a puzzle box. They’d talked about a few things, mostly joking, but he couldn’t recall him ever speaking about his sisters’ interest. “I can’t say that he has. The only time we’ve really spoken about sisters is to trade stories.” He shrugged, although it was a common fact that Gus adored his little sister – Fig had been sorted into Hufflepuff two years after him and he’d been the one to embarrass her by nearly tackling her when she’d bounced over to join them.

“Were you the one who got cursed by the Pictish comb a few years ago?” A joke, and he beamed at her as he laughed again, shaking his head.

Nodding, Gus’ grin widened before he leaned forward toward her. “No, no. I’m quite interested, Miss Dempsey.” His fingers tapped against the side of the teacup before he finally spoke. “Although let me preface by saying most curse breakers are prone to embellishment, and I can’t say I’m the exception. I don’t lie, or well, I try not to.” He sheepishly grinned as he released the mug in favor of rubbing the back of his neck. Sometimes it just made the story more interesting, and sometimes Gus just couldn't help himself. (Other times he mixed up events because places blurred together after a while.) “Although whatever you’re going to write is probably more creative than whatever kind of tale I could spin.”

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'Well I can assure you that I am entirely innocent of everything he claims that I did, and I doubt he could prove any of it.' she said with a dignified sniff, that she hoped conveyed the right degree of levity. 'and no, that foolishness was undertaken by Porphyria, she was a talking bird for a number of months' the memory made her lip quirk in a smile. She and her siblings were aggressively competitive within their home, but she liked to think them loyal to each other. There was something painfully familiar about Mister Lissington - It took a moment, but if finally dawned on her. It was Figueroa Lissington's older brother! The name should have been a give away but she hadn't drawn the direct connection between them. Of course, she was Foxwood now, and had been for so long that Chris often forgot she had a maiden name.

She smiled slightly at the realisation as she listened to him speak. She could see it now, the same vivid enthusiasm when they spoke, and that crinkle over their nose when they spoke.

'I'm a writer of fiction of Mister Lissington,' she explained to him with a grin, 'exageration is my stock and trade, so feel free to embellish, exagerate or lie to your hearts content.' she held up a note pad, indicating that she intended to make notes on the discussion. 'I'm unsure exactly as to the form yet, but I am hoping to use a cursed object as a plot point, and a curse breaker as a central figure.' This last bit she had only just decided but it was true none the less.

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

“I’m pretty sure my sister would say the same thing, but she’s the mastermind behind all our plans.” He replied as he leaned forward on his hand, resting his chin in his palm. Had he known her better, Gus may have batted his eyes at her to convey his innocence, but he didn’t; instead he hoped to get that he knew how sisters could be, even if he just had the one and not a plethora like Endymion did. A jovial chuckle followed about Miss Porphyria being a talking bird – now that was something Gus could imagine being hysterical and wouldn’t let Fig live down. He was just pleased it hadn’t ever happened to him.

He watched her lips quip into a smile, and he leaned back then and took a sip of the tea, before his face twisted. A fifth sugar cube followed well after the other four had melted, and as he brought the tea up to his lips Gus nodded. Much better.

“A writer of fiction. I’m impressed, Miss Dempsey.” He flashed his own grin at her. He didn't like writing (and people didn't like to read his because he had terrible handwriting that made people squint and guess as to what he'd been trying to say), and tried his best not to do when he could. “We have that in common. I’m a storyteller, though nothing is written. I just like to talk, I guess.” And boy did he like to talk. His grin widened as he nodded toward the notebook – she was a very serious writer then. He took a moment then to dig through the pockets of his pants (thankfully it was still summer and he didn’t have to wear the forsaken professor robes that were attached to dreaded professor word people insisted on calling him), before he pulled out a small box that fit into the palm of his hand; there were intricate designs carved into all the sides. A few portions of it were sunken in, while one or two stuck out a few inches from the other portions of it. He slid it onto the table toward her.

“This is what your brother helped me find. I’m not quite sure what's inside of it because it’s the one thing I could never quite break the curse on, but I'm going to find out.” It used to burn whenever he touched it, but he’d broken that curse a few months ago. Now it just spit fire whenever he tried a spell on it it didn’t like. “My Da has a collection of cursed objects at our house in Bartonburg, if that ever strikes your fancy. I think I still have a genie lamp I was trapped in in a box, too.” His nose wrinkled; Gus had been trapped inside for months before someone was finally able to pull him out, and then he’d gone and lived in it for a few weeks afterward because it had been homey. “It’s not actually a bad place to sleep, once you can get yourself in and out of it.”

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She laughed heartily at Mister Lissington's joking admonishment of his sister. It was good to know the Dempsey's were not alone in their behaviours.

Fig knew about Chris' writing endeavors, about the reality of Mister Whitlock Evergrim, her old school friend who had been one of her first proof readers, subjected to Chris' adolescent writings, including the short story in which Mister Evegrimm had been born - the cantakerous, and not very talented man who is possessed by the ghost of a recently deceased female writer, and used as a conduit for her writing. The story hadn't gone anywhere but it's protagonist had served as her alter ego for years now, hit upon when Chris had expressed her fears that mysteries written by an upper class lady wouldn't be taken all that seriously as works of literature. Chris had been sure that publishers would expect her work to contain the sort of stoic Christian moralising that marked the work of so many of her contemporaries. She had little time for that sort of writing, and to avoid the need to feign any such sentiment Mister Evergrims took on the mantle of author. While she made no particular attempt for public edification for her writing if one set out to discover who Mister Evergrim was, it wouldn't have taken too long to trace the writing back to Chris.


The prospect of being face to face to actual cursed objedare was a little frightening, thrilling but frightening. She wasn't sure if she was ready for that. There was something very different in writing about cursed objects, even in interviewing those who been exposed to them, and actually being face to face with one herself - no she wasn't entirely sure she was ready for that yet.

'Well I very much intend to take advantage of your willingness to tell stories.' she smiled, and took a few notes, trying to glance between her notes and the gentleman. 'From what I understand you've traveled extensively with your work before you came back to teach at Hogwarts? Can you tell me something about that?'

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

Basil Foxwood had given him the same look of skepticism when he’d found Gus fiddling with the box in the middle of his guest room as Miss Dempsey was giving him now, as if expecting it to burst open and curse the lot of them. While it was entirely possible it contained something like that, it wasn’t going to do much of anything just sitting out in the open, untouched. Gus knew that because he’d been trained – and worked – with cursed objects on a daily basis for over a decade, and sometimes he was forgetful that other people didn’t. Cursed objects were considered almost evil although sometimes all they were doing was protecting something important.

Everyone had something worth protecting, didn’t they?

So, poking the box with his finger once just to make sure it wasn’t back to burning him when he touched it, his eyebrows knitting together in anticipation before he chuckled quietly to himself, the redhead tucked it back inside his pocket to deal with later.

Then Gus nodded, folding his fingers back around the cup. “Well, I left the day after the term ended. Gringotts provided a portkey to Egypt, and from there I was paired with a curse breaker with more experience than I had. I was an apprentice for a couple years, and it’s really just learning how to spot curses before you trigger them. After I finally dropped that title to become a full-fledged Curse Breaker, I traveled extensively between Egypt and South America, with a couple of small stints in the Middle East.” Gus picked up the cup to take a sip of the sweet tea. “Each place is different. For me, Egypt was more about tombs and breaking curses to look for valuables. The Amazons were more about breaking curses in hopes of finding something like ruins that might hold treasures. I went through a lot of caves and jungles. Both had their advantages and while I loved being outside, Egypt was definitely my favorite.”

He wet his lips before he beamed; Gus adored talking about these years. “The Amazons you meet a lot of creatures, and that’s typically the danger. But the Egyptian tombs? People will go through great lengths to protect what they believe is worth it. You could never know what to expect when tasked with looking for treasures.”

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Chris had a near endless number of questions when approaching a topic for her latest novel. She had spent 6 months reading about locks and lock picking when trying to work out a plot point for The Mystery of Erasmus Munch, which had included buying and then trying to pick more than a dozen types of door locks. The miads had been driven to dsitraction by Christ replacing the lock on her room with one of her jerry rigged varietals and then locking it to see if it was possible to gain entry through any other common means. It had been worth it in Chris' view but she was sure the maids would have a very different opinion of the lengths she had gone to to achieve artistic realism. She had already begun to read extensively on curses, but somehow the sort of practical engagement with her subject matter that had, to date brought a good accessibility to her writing seemed like a very different, a very dangerous kettle of fish.

The truth was that Chris was itching to touch it, but discretion told her not to - not yet. There were too many unknowns, too many variables. Christabel's mouth formed a soft O as he listed off the places that his adventures had taken him, and in her minds eye she saw the red headed man standing amidst desert stands, a hot dry wind whiping his hair and attacking that too pale skin of his, perhaps in one of those bedouin head wraps to keep the elements at bay. Yes the picture was indeed forming in her mind.

'The sorts of people who comission you?' she asked, scribbling furiously, 'Who usually sends you out into the wilds? and why?' Chris couldn't imagine the sort of person who might engage a private curse breaker -somehow she made the assumption that their intention was nefarious - or at least self centered, after all they sought access to something to which the original owner had every intention to keeping everyone away.

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

“Goblins, of course.” Gus answered with a slight chuckle. “Well, more Gringotts than Goblins, but of course they run the back, so.” He didn’t finish his sentence, instead drifting off as he timorously rubbed the back of his neck. Goblins were known to be mean and greedy, so it made sense to him that they would be the ones to have a job such as a curse breaker, sending off wizards without any formal training to places that were dangerous – he’d encountered  many dark or otherwise dangerous creatures, artifacts, and even –

“Sometimes we’d meet rival wizards from other countries going for the same treasures, but I’m not sure who sent them out.” Gus shrugged; oftentimes they weren’t very friendly but he wouldn’t say the few he’d met had been out to kill him. They just wanted him out of commission long enough to steal the treasures. He laughed again and shook his head. “For me, Gringotts only really cared about one thing: bring old treasure troves that would turn a profit.”

His fingers curled around the cup before he paused to take a sip; all the talking was making him parched. “We all have our own ways of doing things, some more…impugnable than others. Sometimes you wonder if what you did was the right way of doing it; you have to live with decisions you’re not proud of. Gringotts didn’t care though, as long as the job got done.” He prided himself in following the laws of the countries he was in as best he could; the thought of intentionally hurting someone was disgusting and turned his stomach into a giant knot. Gus was much better at defensive spells than he was offensive, and there was a reason he was the Defense Against the Arts professor; he was weary about showing them dark spells, but even Gus knew one had to learn them in order to know how to defend against them. (He could spin a few dark spells himself, although he'd rather dig his own grave than ever do that.)

Gus blinked forward to meet Miss Dempsey’s gaze before he allowed an easy smile against his lips. “I know it sounds like a terrible career because you could die with one wrong move. But the adventure of lifetime outweighs the risks every single time.” He didn’t regret ever being one.

Hell, he’d go back in a heartbeat.

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Of course! she thought and if she had been alone she would have slapped her forehead. Of course it made sense that the goblins would be involved in it. She nodded along, taking frantic notes as he spoke, looking up only periodically to scribble furiously on her note pad. While he explained his role, she bit her lip and didnt speak only to make small noises of shock, surprise or interest, stopping her transcription only now and then to star or underline some point or other that felt like it had particular potential in making something interesting for her story.

'It sounds rather wonderful' she breathed, a little breathily. 'I imagine once you are trained and equiped for the danger it doesn't feel quite so frightening! Right now I wouldn't know the first thing about curses, or breaking them, and so would be unequipped, once equipped I imagine the travel and excitement would be wonderful' envy was setteled thick in her voice.

'So I have questions' she breathed, her eyes widening in a sheepish expression that was all most embarassed, with almost too many questions to wrap her head around, so she glanced back at her notes, and the stars she had made for herself. 'So are the goblins after the treasures?' she asked, trying to get her head around it. From what she understood they were merely bankers, or at least that was the only way that she had ever thougth of them and their work. The idea of them having a vested interested in the accumulation of additional treasures had never entered her mind. 'Why? You don't hear about goblins getting rich? What do they want with the items? Power?' she pressed, wondering there was some sort of delicious conspiracy there that could be leveraged into a major plot point.

'And these rival wizards' her questions wizzed onwards, 'How serious do the rivelrys become? Has any ever truly tried to harm you?' She was a little appaled at the interest in her own voice, but she couldn't help it. the thought of a machiavellian enemy for her hero was just too perfect.

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

Miss Dempsey was very passionate about her work, Gus noted, as the woman across from him seemed to make noises of interest, or paused to press her quill against the notebook harder than she had previously. He could only wonder what would come of this; how much truth she would use and how much she would twist into fiction. It didn’t bother him either way because he’d been prone to stretching the truth at times, and well… any curse breaker he’d ever crossed paths with always wanted to make themselves a little more exciting than they appeared – it made sense when everyone around them was in the same career path and lived just as exciting lives.

He smiled softly and leaned his elbow against the table before resting his chin against his palm. “There’s always a little fear, even after being trained because no two tombs are ever the same. And well, if you meet more curse breakers you’ll see we’re all alike; we all live for adventure, so really, nothing is too dangerous even if you don’t know what the heck you’re doing.” Gus laughed as he reached forward absentmindedly to plop a sixth sugar cube into the tea. He nodded them at her. “The travel is why I did it at first, honestly.” He’d seen everywhere he’d ever dreamed of – and more, but he didn’t want to rub it in Miss Dempsey’s face. Women didn’t have the same career options and it seemed unfair to speak of things some could only dream of.

Gus blinked at her before his lips quipped into a smile. “It’s not necessarily about getting rich, it’s about having something that no one else has. Imagine owning Tutankhamun's death mask, or Excalibur; there’s only one that exists in the world, and everyone knows you own it.” Sure they were after power, but they were also prideful creatures, wanting more than anyone around them. “I think they’re just greedy. And of course it wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted to be more powerful. The Ministry just gave back control of Gringotts to them in 1865, and I’m pretty sure they never want to lose it again.” Especially with all the treasures kept in the vaults of Gringotts – they couldn’t touch it if the Ministry owned the bank and decreed it.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her. “Just the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone gets word that there might be something valuable in a tomb, or there were rumors of a treasure someone came home with in a cave, so other people go there.” Gus paused as he appraised her, but he still pressed forward. “I wouldn't say I had a rival, but you’d be surprised how often it happens. And aim to get them out of the way, but not kill. You’re not after them, just the treasure. Although in the heat of the moment, as spells are whizzing past your head, you don’t quite remember that tidbit.” Gus nearly winced. “But no one I know has ever died from a rival wizard.”

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Chris was more pleased than she could possibly express by his indulgence in her excessive line of questioning. She knew she could be a lot, knew that she could be over keen and over eager and he was bearing it like a champ and inclined towards indulging her which would make him Chris' best friend. And she could be a very good friend.

He was right of course, she could definitely understand why you would want to own something else had, simply for the sake of owning it. There wasn't much of an equivalent in a society ladies life, but she would certainly understand the impulse.

Chris realised she was just listening - tapping her quill against her lip, lost in her fantasy of herself in hot dark tombs, with air that smelled dry and warm, getting colder and colder as she went deeper and deeper into the depths of the tomb. Riding a camel across a flat expanse of burning sand, her hair whipping in the desert breeze. Merlin what she wouldn't give for that experience! She was envious that men got their Grand Tours, she would have given her left hand for the chance. A trip to a mysterious tomb, her own real life mystery rather than merely writing about it.

If she ever married she might be lucky enough to do some traveling, or otherwise she would need to wait until she was officially a spinster before she would have those sorts of freedoms, and likely not ever if she wanted to retain her respectability. Which was a deeply depressing thought.

She started suddenly, ralising she had been lax in her notes, lost in the story and scribbeled a few more notes. 'eh...Whats the most interesting...or perhaps dangerous treasure you've personally ever gone after? Is there a curse that is especially famous amoung curse breaker circles?' she asked, back to business and not wasting time in catching up the notes.

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

Leaning back against the chair, Gus crossed his arms around his body as he chewed at his bottom lip. Her question was an interesting one, and in the decade he’d spent traipsing around the globe, it was one he hadn’t encountered. Maybe his friends thought all the treasures he went over were interesting, as Gus wasn’t ever afraid to spin the tales of his adventures to anyone who would listen. As time wore on it became more to fellow curse breakers than those in London, and often they spent time trying to one up each other for whose story was cooler. (Gus often backed down because he enjoyed listening to the tails of adventure just as much as he liked to speak of them.)

“There’s a bunch of hidden cities in South America that have yet to be discovered. Paititi, El Dorado, and my personal life goal, Ciudad de los Césares. We’d all like to break the curse hiding them, but I don’t think that’ll happen in our lifetime.” Gus shrugged, because even as much as he wanted to believe the stories, an entire city made of silver seemed implausible. “As for the most dangerous… We found a music box that played a very unusual song… a Fwooper singing, just at a very low and slow pace. See, a Fwooper’s song can drive you insane by hearing it, but the music played so slowly that none of us really understood what was happening. We fought, really fought, with spells and words. We saw things that weren’t there.” Gus flicked his gaze up to her and shot her a lopsided grin. “It’s quite an odd feeling, going crazy without realizing it. Luckily someone figured out it was a Fwooper we were hearing and placed a silencing charm on the box.”


It wasn’t the most dangerous by far, but it was the one that came to mind; it could have killed them without any of them ever realizing it – they could have spent the rest of their days in asylum over exposing themselves to a silly music box. Gus still hated the idea of evening listening to any form of music box.

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Oh South America! So exciting! She scribbled down both, perhaps one would be her Solmons Mine. 'Oh I have great faith in your Mister Lissington' she grinned, 'perhaps my work of fiction will be a biography before I get it completed!' she could barely contain the excitement in her voice, not that she wanted to waste her time writing something for it to become obsolete when the legend became reality, but if she was honest being connected in some small way, even as tangentially as through a book, to something as magnificent as cursed hidden cities.

Her eyes widened as he recounted the tale of his interaction with the curse box, her mouth forming a soft shocked 'O', as a cold finger of dread trailed up her spine. Chris' mind, felt like all she had in some respects, she thought it her greatest asset. The idea of someone messing with that was so frightening to bear, slowly going mad without even realizing it! Oh my goodness, it was a delicious plot point to use in a her book, but she was sure the reality would be a lot worse.

'And what was in it?...the box I mean. she asked enthralled.

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I am my mother's savage daughter, The one who runs barefoot cursing sharp stones

I am my mother's savage daughter, I will not cut my hair, I will not lower my voice
MJ made glory

His entire face flushed pink at her words, and he laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s very kind of you Miss Dempsey, but I promise there are many others who deserve that honor more than I could.” He dropped his hand back to wrap around the mug in front of him, but not before adding a seventh sugar cube. (At this point it was a nervous twitch for him and something for him to do with his hands.) He could think of several more deserving individuals, some of them included people he’d never met; they were the ones who found treasures people could only dream of, or followed every rumor to the edge of the earth in hopes of uncovering them. “But it will be exciting to see some things cemented in words by a true author.”

Gus grinned at her, wide and unjudging as he watched her face twist with excitement. He enjoyed spinning stories for her because it was nice to have someone who wanted to listen, rather than some of his friends who’d groan when he brought things up. “Underneath the ballerina, who was quite insane from having to listen to the bird since the creation of the box, or so I’d believe, we found a wand. We thought the box belonged to Miss Gormlaith Gaunt and we’d found Salazar Slytherin’s wand she was said to own, but unfortunately it was proven to be a fake.” The disappointment dripped in his own voice, but it was important to see that not all treasures were much, if anything at all. It was the journey to getting there.

“A bit disappointing, but I’ve also heard rumors that the Hogwarts Founders treasures are still hidden in Hogwarts somewhere.” And as a professor there now, he could look as much as he wanted. (Why this had just occurred to Gus was shocking.)

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