15th January, 1891 — Magical Miscellany Auction, Hogsmeade Hall

There was a lot to look at here, and Savino had surprised himself by being interested in nearly all of it.

Not that he was going to needlessly throw away fifty galleons to take home all these curiosities, but he could certainly see the potential benefits in some. The invisibility cloaks felt like they could be useful – to stop himself looking odd in public, mostly; to disappear from parties early; maybe even to hide from his mother for a few hours? – and Savino had had a passing fancy about the necklace of charisma, too. Not that he couldn’t be passably charming without it, but he was depressingly aware that he didn’t possess nearly enough charisma to convince people that visions he’d had about them were true. Making people more inclined to take him seriously could be invaluable. (And the necklace might be a more morally questionable tool, he considered, in the wrong person’s possession. So maybe he ought to bid on it after all?)

The aura-revealing opera glasses wouldn’t be as much use to him on a future-looking front, but he was interested enough in people and their behaviour generally to find the idea of them appealing; and then there was that lullaby book, which was probably moreso meant for small children’s bedtimes, but which Savino privately wouldn’t mind having, just to read to himself. And here was a grandfather clock of some interest – Savino stopped short in the aisle in front of it, gazing first at it and then dropping his eyes to the copy of the auction catalogue he was clutching to read the description of it. Was it just a party trick kind of charm on it, or was there some actual merit in its predictions, some proper divining algorithm...?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Savino said quickly, sensing someone at his shoulder but still half-preoccupied by circling items madly in his copy of the auction catalogue, trying to whittle down the choices of what to bid on. “I’m in your way, aren’t I?”

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   Reuben Crouch

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Dorothea Twycross wouldn't have missed an event like this for all the world. She'd been a collector since the age of fourteen, but since her return to England several years ago her acquisitions had been dwindling even as her income had steadily grown. There wasn't anything she needed, necessarily, but why wait until something was necessary in order to buy it? That might have been her philosophy when it came to new dresses, but never with magical gadgets and gizmos. Mama was here somewhere (ever supportive, even if she didn't exactly understand the utility of Dot's planned purchases today) along with one of her brothers (slightly less supportive and slightly more obviously bewildered) but Dot had wandered off on her own to get a better look at the merchandise. Where had it all come from? She hadn't seen so many interesting things compiled in one space for ages, and she'd been keeping her eyes out!

She wanted a closer look at that clock, having heard some of the other auction-goers talking about it, but someone was in the way. Dot wandered over anyway, and smiled brightly when the fellow took notice of her. "Oh, no, not really," she reassured him. "I'm not going to buy it. I'm sure it's out of my price range." Or if it wasn't, it would at least take up the lion's share of her limited budget and prevent her from getting something else of interest. Besides, convincing father to rearrange the parlor to display it prominently might prove problematic. "I just wanted to take a look. I've never seen this kind of magic before."

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Beautiful set by Kit!

He let out a breath of relief when he found the young lady hovering nearby was not at all put out by the obstruction. (Savino had already sensed the impatience of a few people directed at him today – and he hadn’t needed any aura-showing opera glasses for it, either.)

“Oh, yes,” Savino said, stepping sideways and ushering her forward so that she might get a better view of it alongside him, whether she had interest in buying it or not. When she mentioned its magic, he smiled back at her to express a shared curiosity. “I was just trying to understand how it worked, myself.” Not that he could tell much from the contraption itself – he still had one eye on the catalogue description, to see precisely what kind of magic had been used – but maybe the best way to see what it did was to try it out.

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Dot shot him a much obliged look as he made room for her. She approached the clock and stood on her tiptoes to peer at the hands on the face. They were colored, but not labeled, presumably so that they could represent whatever was placed into the clock's compartments. Maybe they had labels that would come up once something was inserted. She wished that the auction house had left something in one of the compartments as a demonstration; as it was the clock looked lifeless, sitting there.

"Imminently," she read off the clock's face. "That's quite bold. Most of the divination tools I've seen don't come that close to promising speedy results. But you know," she continued, tone turning speculative. "I'll bet it's only half divination and half the way people react to the news. A young woman who believes she'll be married imminently carries herself rather differently than one who doubts it'll ever happen." Self-fulfilling prophecies were a large part of her income, in fact, in her role as a consultant. The tarot readings she provided dealt almost exclusively in self-fulfilling prophecies, though luckily her customers didn't often catch on to that. Not her recurring customers, anyway; Dot worked best with the superstitious sort.

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Beautiful set by Kit!

“Ah, so your bet is on it being a psychological party trick?” Savino asked with an amused smile, as if that was not what actual divination methods were regularly relegated to in most of society, too. Of course, people tended to want the same questions asked of diviners, party or not: the big personal ones – marriages and careers, family, relationships, death. And there was always a possibility of a reading being just as self-fulfilling in the way she had described, even if it had merit. Having something foretold – be it true or false – made people act differently. That was the power of it, he thought: to grant an opportunity for one’s journey to alter, even if the destination couldn’t. (Savino could have ignored his visions of his own future, if he’d liked, and might have decided to have precisely nothing to do with Divination in his life. But he hadn’t.)

And Divination was partially psychology, of course: the positive reinforcement of some encouraging Tarot card reading could be profoundly helpful to someone’s morale, Savino thought; but this young woman was right, the imminently was a rather strong declaration for the clock to have. Savino glanced at the label reading never and wondered whether the clock actually dealt out negatives too, or if it had a bias. “Do you think it ever gives bad news, or just shows what people want to hear?” He wasn’t sure they were supposed to be sampling the auction items before they bought them, but he dug around in his pocket anyway, looking for something on him he might be able to sneak into a compartment and see. His death would have been a good test case, but he didn’t think he had anything with which to symbolise it. Instead, he found a loose coin and turned it over in his hand, considering. A question of future wealth, maybe?

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Dot offered him a mildly abashed smile at his first question, but forbore to answer it. She wouldn't have called any magical artifact a party trick, exactly — particularly when there was a chance it did something more than what she currently understood. She wouldn't like to be caught out being wrong about something like that, after all the work she'd done in studying magical theory and all the time spent collecting artifacts like this one. On the other hand, she was reluctant to be perceived as naive by anyone, and she knew that her age and her gender did her no favors in trying to avoid the label where most were concerned. If he was inclined to dismiss it, she would hardly speak up to disagree and come across as some wide-eyed, superstitious fool.

"Sometimes bad news is what people want to hear," she pointed out as he continued. Not that anyone would ever admit to it, of course, but Dot's customers often fell into this category. A woman who had thrown a poorly received party did not want to be told well, yes, nothing you can do about it except move on. She wanted someone to tell her she'd been cursed, and that getting rid of the new cherub statue in the garden and then burning sage around the house for three consecutive mornings would make her next party a raging success. Bad news was easier to swallow than the mundane truth, most of the time. Dot considered the clock momentarily, then shifted her gaze back to him and caught the motion of his hands in his coat pockets. She tilted her head to the side as she worked out what he must have been doing, then raised her eyebrows appreciatively. "You're intending to try it?"

Hopefully he didn't happen to have a wedding ring in his pocket, or anything equally significant — this interaction could turn from amusing to quite dour if he was planning an imminent proposal and the clock informed him he would marry never, or something similarly shocking. Dot was good at comforting strangers, but she hadn't expected to do it today — and usually when she had to do that, she was paid for her time.

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Beautiful set by Kit!

“Well, you have a point there,” Savino agreed, delighted that this girl had hung around to discuss this with him – although she had caught him rummaging and caught onto his next move as well.

“I don’t know if we’re, ahem, really supposed to sample the lots before we bid,” he said, tone low and conspiratorial, hoping that she wouldn’t care enough to get him thrown out of this auction for it or make him buy the clock if he broke it or anything – “but I’d like to know if it works.”

He contemplated the clock again, uncertain whether a coin would be connected enough to him personally to have any power, or whether he could think of a question that was not too open-ended; so instead Savino pulled out a business card for the family company, running a thumb over the embossed Z and shifting forwards to open one of the clock’s compartments. Hoping it would be significant enough, he slipped the business card in, chose his question and focused expressly on it, as he might have when making a Tarot spread: When will I take over the company?

One of the clock’s hands clicked into motion, spinning faster than clock-hands usually did, as if it were thinking – and he was trying to approach it from a skeptical standpoint, but Savino still caught himself holding his breath as it slowed. It ticked past imminently and he let out his breath, watching as it finally fell to a stop pointing at never.

He had wanted to ask a question about the future he was mostly certain of, as a test, and that was as true an answer as anything Savino knew. He was sure of his death, that he wouldn’t outlive his grandfather or father; and he had no interest in making a career in business either, so would not inherit it sooner than never as long as he could help it. It did fall under the category of bad news he wanted to hear, of course, but that was not the sort of thing the clock could have just guessed at if it had just been an impersonal, rudimentary party trick. It was much more than that, then.

Savino nodded thoughtfully at the clock, and glanced across at his companion with a smile. “Well, I’m satisfied there’s something to it, at least,” he admitted.

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   Dorothea Twycross

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Dot wasn't inclined to stop him, since she was equally curious herself. As he drew something out of his pocket and slipped it into the clock, however, it would have been difficult to say if she was more curious about how the clock worked or about what he'd tucked into the compartment. She'd always been interested in people, which was why she was so good at what she did, and this was something of a unique opportunity. Even if she didn't know this fellow and might never talk to him again, she didn't want to pass up the opportunity to glean something so personal about him. She popped up slightly on her toes to see what he had in his hands, but wasn't able to get a very clear look before he'd put it into the clock. It was a piece of paper, that much she could tell, with clean-cut edges. Perhaps he had some sort of question written on it that he wanted the clock to answer, but why would he have just had that lying around in his pocket? She would have noticed if he'd scribbled something down, or used a spell to write something on it. Hm — puzzling.

The clock's response and his reaction to it were even more puzzling. A piece of paper, never, but he didn't look disappointed by it. He was smiling. She considered. "Was that the answer you were expecting?"

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Beautiful set by Kit!

“Oh, yes,” Savino said easily, still smiling, but she had been watching so intently that he felt as though he ought not to be so cryptic about a simple question. “Inheriting the company,” he explained, offhand, as he leant forwards to retrieve the business card from the compartment. Tucking it away again, he shrugged lightly. “And I’m sure it’s right, as sure as I can be.”

And now this woman was aware of his expectation too. No real context behind the notion, of course; but with any luck she did not just happen to be Hogsmeade’s most vicious village gossip, because he was sure his parents would be displeased to hear of any new rumours taking hold about him or the family.

Not that it would actually hurt him too badly, Savino considered idly – the fewer prospects he had for his future, the better, at least when it came to public opinion and his mother’s plans. In fact, maybe he ought to try harder to make himself an idler and a rogue, to get himself written off as good-for-nothing faster. (He glanced down at his catalogue again. Some of the other items were beginning to look quite tempting, from a causing trouble perspective.)

“Is there anything you wanted to ask it?” Savino asked the young lady as he stepped back from the clock. That might depend if she had anything of use on her, and she had said she had no plans to buy it; but she had seemed intrigued enough by it that she might still want to try it for herself rather than trusting his attempt.

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Dot hadn't been planning to ask him directly what question he'd put to the clock, but as it turned out she didn't have to. She wasn't sure what to think of that. Hopefully it hadn't been too obvious that she was interested? She was interested, of course, because she was interested in everyone and everything, but she hardly wanted this young man to think her an insufferable busybody. He was still smiling, though, so if he thought her a busybody at least he didn't appear to also find her insufferable. His answer was interesting: inheriting a company, but never was the answer he was expecting. A second or third son, perhaps (or fifth or seventh, for all she knew), but one who still had some stake in things. Why else walk around with one of the family business cards (as she now presumed the little rectangle of paper to be) in his pocket?

At the question he posed her, she turned a thoughtful glance towards the clock. She hadn't been planning to ask anything, as she hadn't thought it was allowed. No one had stopped him, though (or even seemed to notice), and now it seemed like she would be remiss not to ask the clock something, while she had the opportunity. Particularly if he thought there was some merit in the charmwork behind it. Maybe it would tell her something she didn't know, but even if it didn't, it was bound to be interesting.

"I don't know what I have that might be significant enough," she admitted, with a frown. She had a small purse with her, but on examining its contents she wasn't inspired by any particular question. A handkerchief, a fan, a pair of gloves, two stray buttons that had fallen off of previously worn dresses which she'd meant to sew back on but had forgotten about. A coin purse and a house key. Those last two could make something, perhaps — a question about achieving financial independence from her parents, or moving out of their house — but those sorts of questions were complex, for a woman in her position. Even a 'good' answer from the clock may not mean that those things were being achieved by the route she wanted; she might be moving out of her parents' house because her father had foisted her off on some unlikely lad to marry, not because she had made her own way in the world. And what would she do if the answer was never?

Well, perhaps it would be better to know, regardless. Then she could at least plan for the eventuality — and there was no saying for certain that the clock was right, or whether it had only given the gentleman a lucky guess. "Let's try this," she decided, holding up the house key.

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Beautiful set by Kit!

It was Savino’s turn now to try and not look too interested, while she considered her possessions on hand.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he enthused, when she held up a key. It might have been for something else of personal value, some large chest or maybe a Gringotts vault, but his first thought was that it looked like an ordinary front door key. And a house – a home – was an interesting avenue to ask about. He was sure it would be significant enough to work.

However intrigued he was, he wasn’t going to ask her the specifics of her question, though; not unless she felt inclined to tell him, and he didn’t think she would be. “Please,” Savino simply said, gesturing her forwards and opening a compartment for her key with a little flourish, as if he were properly employed here as the day’s divination-clock-operator. That done, he stood to the side trying to look casual and glance elsewhere as the clock hand spun, as if to afford her some sense of privacy.

He couldn’t entirely help himself, though – he had delayed looking back for as long as possible to best give her time to read and digest its answer, but at last his eyes fell on her again, hoping to decipher something in her expression. Savino raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, silently asking how did it go?

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   Dorothea Twycross

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Dot tried to focus on a question as she inserted the key into one of the compartments, and not let her mind drift towards what she thought the probably answers might be. It was difficult to keep her mind from drifting there, though; different possibilities for her future branching out ahead of her like so many paths on a garden trail. So she did have an answer that she was hoping for, admittedly, by the time the clock hand began to move. When it landed, her brow clouded over with confusion. She considered the clock for a moment, then stepped up to remove her house key.

"That was a bit of a surprise," she admitted, having noticed the question in the way he was looking at her. She shrugged and half-smiled, as if to say well, what can you do about divinatiom? She supposed he could probably see where the land had landed (Soon) since she hadn't heard it tick back into place yet, and since he'd offered her a bit of an explanation about his question she thought perhaps he was owed the same.

"It's not a bad answer," she continued as she replaced the key amongst her things. "I'm just having difficulty seeing exactly how it might come about on that timeline. But I suppose soon is the most vague of any of the areas on the clock, so perhaps I'm reading too far into things," she allowed. Soon might mean months or years, depending on who was doing the reckoning. Soon did seem — well, sooner than she'd imagined — but maybe she was looking at things a little askew due to her youth. Maybe soon in this case really meant two or three years, which was in line with her vision of things... albeit one of her most optimistic visions of things.

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Beautiful set by Kit!

A surprise, she said. He could not work out whether it was a good surprise or bad one from that alone, but then he did not know the exact question she had asked, so it was likely futile to try and guess at the meaning of her answer. Soon.

Probably good, he felt; but good or bad, she didn’t seem entirely convinced by its suggestion. “Yes, that’s true. And I suppose that is the trouble, with it giving one no sign of the how one arrives there, just the destination,” Savino mused, in understanding; a fierce believer in the value of divination he may be, but he also held that though certain points in the future were fixed, all the threads leading there could be – to some extent rearranged. There was some room in the journey to change how one got there. (Or so he hoped.)

“You could maybe try some –” arithmancy, he had been going to suggest, having occasionally found divining by numbers afforded a sharper sense of scale and soonness than some methods; he would use Tarot for a hint at the how of it all, he imagined. But he trailed off prematurely; a bell had rung suddenly in the room and caught him quite by surprise. He had lost track of time here, and smiled apologetically. “Oh, I think the live auction’s starting.”

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