The merchandise inside the shop was much more interesting than that displayed on the street. And it seemed to be in a state of flux. They started in the outer aisle, one side of which was made up of the displays against the wall of the circular room. They planned to follow it until they came back to their starting point, then move inward one aisle. It wasn't until they came up on the entrance the second time that they realized they had made almost two laps.

  Iris gave Barry a startled look. He winked at her, and said to the room at large, "Enough o' that, then. Wait yer turn."

  Things settled down after that. Not perfectly, mind you. Iris spotted a figurine of a golden unicorn foal, with eyes that looked like smooth, polished sapphires. It was posed lying down, head up and ears perked in interest. She smiled, and stroked the curved back with one finger. It felt like china, but strangely warm.

  On around the curve of the aisle, she spotted another in the same style. This one was standing awkwardly, front legs spraddled out, as if it were just learning to stand. That one elicited a small 'aww' sound from the girl as she passed.

  On the very next table was a third, this one posed with its rump toward the aisle. It was looking back over one shoulder, and had one delicate forefoot raised. Iris glanced back at the other table, to see if the pieces were as identical as she thought. The space where the other piece had stood was empty.

  Iris gasped, looking back at the figurine. It was still there, but had changed position. It was turned around, and looking back at the empty space on the previous table, just as Iris had been. There was an odd expression of curiosity on its fine ceramic features.

  Iris touched it again. Still rigid, inflexible china. Still slightly warm. Greatly daring, she picked it up, standing it on the palm of her hand. She watched it intently for about half a minute. Just a figurine.

  She looked to the side, and said, "Mum? Come look at this, please."

  Emily turned to her. "Oh, how sweet!"

  "Yes," Iris said. "But it keeps..." She looked back down at her palm, only to find the foal curled up in her palm, looking very drowsy. The sapphire eyes barely showed under drooping eyelids. She closed her fingers tentatively. Still hard as a rock, but she somehow got a sort of snuggly feel from it.

  James had been watching. "Looks like you made a friend," he said matter-of-factly. "Better check the price with Barry before it gets too attached."

  Barry's back was to them, but he called out merrily, "Special discount fer quick bondin's!"

  Emily's mouth quirked. "We'll work something out. You'll have to teach it to behave around Nana 'Tuney."

  James snorted, as always, at his Great-Aunt Petunia's nickname. 'As always' did not, of course, include when she was present.

  Iris got that warm, snuggly feeling again, and hugged her hand to her chest.

  ***

  James was thoroughly enjoying the shop. He loved magical things with a lot of personality. At Grimmauld Place, he and the coat rack had a good-natured running battle over his clothing. James would try to toss his coats and jumpers just far enough away that the coat rack had to extend itself, literally, to catch them. The coat rack, in turn, would snatch scarves and caps off him to throw down the laundry chute. To be fair, the items were, quite often, actually dirty.

  Every display he passed had strong-willed magical items of one sort or another. There was a feisty old Pastillines Tin that kept snapping at his fingers. A medallion he really wanted a closer look at played Hide-and-Seek with him along two tables and a display case. A two-sided shaving mirror on a pivot kept flipping over and over, each time showing James' reflection with a new minor deformity. Buck teeth replaced piggy little nose replaced jug ears, getting more extreme, and, frankly, more rude. James finally blew a raspberry at it. The mirror replied in kind, but coated the inside of the glass with so much spit, it had to stop to clean itself up.

  Something at the next display caught his eye. Leaning against one end of the display case was what looked like a Muggle skateboard. Iris had been skateboarding since before she met James, and she had quite a talent for it. There were good skateparks all around the Guildford area, and she and James spent quite a bit of time at them. She had done a fairly good job of teaching James the basics, and he enjoyed it. His only problems were a bit of 'tween gawkiness and a lack of practice. It also didn't help that Iris' boards were all proportioned for a petite girl.

  James had been meaning to get his own board for a while. Maybe if he had been given a little more warning about the extended visit... Nah. That wasn't his folks' fault. In fact, he was pretty sure he knew exactly whose fault that was.

  He lifted the board and looked it over curiously. It was obviously used, but well taken care of. The deck itself seemed sturdy, with no cracks or wear around the edges. The bearings, trucks, and hardware looked as good as new. Setting it on the floor, he toed it gently to and fro. It moved smoothly, with no catches or vibrations.

  He rested his foot on the deck without putting any real weight on the board. He didn't notice Iris coming up behind him until she said, "Whatcha got?"

  Startled, he pivoted, forgetting his foot on the board. Panic flashed through him, as he imagined launching the board across the room full of delicate, complicated, and quite possibly explosive magical items. Worse than the panic would be the embarrassment of falling flat on his bum, possibly wrenching his leg, and definitely ruining their day out.

  Instead, the board pivoted smoothly with him, shifting slightly back to steady him as he began to stagger. It didn't roll forward or back, seeming to be attached to the floor.

  He carefully removed his foot from the board, then pushed it gently with the toe of his trainer. It rolled forward a little, then stopped. He picked it up again.

  "Whoa. Did you see that?" he asked Iris.

  "See what?" she replied. "You toed the board around. A little more smoothly than I expected. Probably shouldn't fool around with it in here. though. It's a pretty nice board."

  "Maybe a little too pretty," he said critically. "I'm not a real fan of pink."

  Iris shrugged. "That can be changed. What would you like?"

  "I dunno." He looked around the shoppe. "See the purple in that stained glass lamp?"

  Iris looked where he was pointing, looked back, and went, "Eep!"

  James looked curiously at her, then looked down. He barely managed to not emit an 'Eep!' himself. The board was now purple. Not just purple, but translucent, backlit, stained glass purple.

  Emily came over to see what her daughter was Eeping about.

  "Oh, my!" she said. "That is a nice board, James."

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "It just changed color when James asked it to!" Iris enthused.

  "And it kept me from falling when I slipped," James admitted reluctantly.

  "Let me see it, said Emily. James handed it over, a little unwillingly.

  "Mum knows boards," Iris assured him. "She's the one that taught me." She suddenly giggled. "And Dad, no matter what he thinks."

  Emily set the board on the floor and mounted it. She shifted her weight, front and back, side to side. Sliding her rear foot back, she let the front trucks come up off the floor, perfectly controlled. Windmilling one forearm slowly, she pivoted 180°, then lowered the front end.

  She shifted her weight around again. She started speaking in a low voice, as if to herself. "A little lighter than me, deck could be a bit springier." She bounced a bit. "Better. Not very experienced, stiffen the springs." She shifted side to side again. "Ah-hah." Glancing over at James' feet, she muttered, "Feet already larger then mine, but still shorter in height. About an inch and a half wider, four inches shorter, move the front trucks back an inch and a half, rear up inch and three-quarters."

  She dismounted and held out a hand to James. "Stand on it. Keep hold of me."

  James did so.

  "Shift your weight about, the way I did."

  Again, James did so. The board didn't try to roll out from under him. He bounced experimentally.

  "Feels good!" he said. "How did you know how to do all that?"

  Emily shrugged. "It's obviously a magical board. I just asked it to do things I could do to almost any regular board with tools." She frowned down at the board. "James, are you serious about getting this?"

  "Yes!" James was excited. "I have money saved!"

  "Well, you are going to have to tone it down when you are out in public, you know that, right? You are going to have to ride it like it was a plain old non-magical board. That means you can't do any tricks magically that you haven't learned how to do without magic. I like that the magic will keep you safe, but you have to be, what, Muggle-safe as well? Am I making sense?"

  James nodded seriously. "Absolutely. I don't want to make trouble." (Somewhere, in two separate Far Aways, Harry and Ginny had identical chills run up their backs).

  "Good enough." Emily sighed. "First things first, the transparent glowy thingy has to go."

  The board stopped glowing, and became opaque, though still in the same purple shade.

  "Excellent. Play with the colors if you want, just not to excess. The main thing out in the Muggle world is to maintain a low profile."

  The board obligingly turned invisible.

  ***

  After getting the board straightened back out, Emily picked her over-sized bag up off the floor, and they started toward Barry's desk.

  Barry looked over as they approached. His gaze lit on the knitting needles poking out of the bag, and his face disappeared into that laugh-line smile.

  "Yer a knitter!" he said delightedly. "Did'je make it over to m' knitting goods?"

  "No," Emily admitted. "Mr. WInkle, it would take weeks to go through your shop properly, and even then..."

  "True 'nuff, aye, true 'nuff," he said with satisfaction. "Y' stay in one place along, and th' tat builds on yeh. But there's somethin' Ah'd hev y' see, iffen ye don' mind."

  He hopped off his stool. To their amazement, he almost disappeared behind the desk. He barely had to duck to fit under the access flap. As he darted through the room, they saw that he wasn't a dwarf or a small person. He was just an old, old man, who had never been large to begin with.

  He did not move like an old man though. He was back before they could take another breath.

  Back atop his stool, (although no one had seen exactly how he got up there), he set a small, light chest on the desk. It wasn't very prepossessing, looking as if it had been a little too close to a fire. It was clean, mind you, but stained by smoke, which had obscured some kind of glossy finish.

  Emily frowned for a moment. Barry opened the chest carefully, but it had surely been repaired as much as possible. The hinges worked smoothly, and as the lid opened, a scent arose. It was warm, woody, and floral, with sweet and spicy notes.

  Barry must have noticed their reaction. "Rosewood," he said softly. "Both th' box and its burthen are Rosewood."

  Emily's eyes were closed as she savored the scent. She spoke, a little sadly, "It was my mother's favorite, and my grandmother's. The only reason it isn't mine..." She opened her eyes, and shook herself slightly. Then she saw the items Barry was lifting from the chest.

  Contraptions was the only word James could bring to mind. Small simple wooden devices, one with a thick spindle and a crank wheel and handle, the other a criss-cross lattice of wood on a base. The latter looked as if it would stretch out and compress back.

  "A Yarn Ball Winder & Swift set," Barry was almost whispering. "Ah've no idee t' age. They come t' me mebbe twenny-year gone, th' box sealed by fire. But when Ah gots 'er open-like, there they was, sweet-scented an' not even singed."

  He looked up to Emily. "As ye walked up, Ah noticed yer needles. Large-like, they ere, like m' mum 'n all used whin Ah was a bairn. An' they be rosewood, tu, roight?"

  Curious, James leaned down to Emily's bag and sniffed. The knitting needles did have that same scent, faint but unmistakable.

  Emily was still for a long, long moment. "Yes, Mr. Winkle. Yes they are. And what you have there is truly a treasure. I recognise... the design. Much as I would love to..."

  Barry snorted. Even such a rude noise sounded merry coming from him.

  "Lass, d'yeh think Ah'm here t' get reech?" He gazed around the room, content written on his face. "Ah finds things, and Ah loves them. Until some comes along tha' kin love them better. Thin Ah takes a little money, an' Ah finds other things."

  He beamed at the three of them. "Tha'll be the wee unicorn, an' wha'ever tha' contraption is, and the winder and swift. A Sickle should cover the lot."

  Emily looked as if she was about to cry. "But, Mr. Winkle... Barry, I, we can't..."

  "Pish-tosh," he said firmly. "A Sickle Ah says, and a Sickle shall ut be."

  Emily flipped her hands in the air, giving up. She fished around in her purse with one of her knitting needles, coming up with a tiny pouch, dangling from cinched strings. Loosing the opening, she poured a small pile of wizard money onto the desk. She selected a Sickle and handed it to the tiny man.

  He smiled at it, then cocked his head and examined it more closely. The broad grin came back.

  "Oh, yer a pawky, canny, gallus 'un, m'dear. But ye'll no git ol' Barry that easy." He set the Sickle carefully by the pile, and selected a different one. "This'un'll do me fine."

  Baffled, Emily asked, "What? Was something wrong with the other?"

  Barry's tangled hoary eyebrows shot up. "Yeh truly dinnae know? Ah thought yeh were tryin' t' overpay me, like." Recognizing that Emily was truly at a loss, he grunted in amazement. He picked up the first coin in his other hand, and held both out, edge-on.

  "See them numbers?"

  Emily nodded, looking at the serial numbers on the edge of the coins.

  "Them first eight numbers, that tells ye the goblin that minted the coin. Then there's a dash, and th' number after tha' tells yeh the in-dee-vee-jal coin's number. See wha's differ'nt-like?"

  James was peering over the desk, agog. "There's only three digits! That had to be one of the first coins that goblin made!"

  "Fust an' only." Barry said solemnly. "Ah knows that goblin's number by heart. He wuz a bran' new Gringotts employee back, oh, four, five hunnert years ago. He made exactly two hundred and seventy-three Sickles, got called away t' a meetin', and the entire bunch of 'em got eaten by a Common Welsh Green tha' was passin' by." He paused. "Tha' was whin Gringotts roofed over th' courtyard."

  He shook his head. "Some goblins got no luck a'tall." Brightening up, he said, "Less than twenny o' them Sickles are known. T'won't make y' Zabini-rich er enythin' like, but t'wd be a nice chunk."

  Emily shook her head, "I just had it tucked away, and put it with... never mind. Barry, I thank you, I'll get someone to check it for me."

  Barry rubbed his head through his wispy white hair. "Not to speak ill of Gringott's, but those goblins might get a bit, weeel... Ah'd j'st tek it elsewhere." He looked out the entry and his eyes lit up.

  "Just th' feller! Young Garrick over there c'd put yeh right. He's a dab hand at sech."

  Emily, Iris and James turned to look. Garrick Ollivander was standing outside his shop across the way, holding the door open behind him as he looked up and down the street. His nose was twitching, and he occasionally waved a hand in front of his face.

  "Wrackspurt!" chortled James. At Iris' puzzled look, he said, "Haven't I ever told you about Aunt Luna? You just wait!"

  Emily watched as Mr. Ollivander, after one last look about, turned and re-entered his shop.

  "No," she said softly. "I don't think we'll bother him."

  Turning back to the desk, she spoke. "I would at least like to recommend your shop. I know a number of people who need things to love." This brought the big smile back. "But," she continued. "I didn't see a sign outside...?"

  Barry sighed. "Did thet blesset thing fall agin? Ah j'st had it put back up in... in...? Wull. Huh. Ah guess it hez bin awhile." He scowled in thought.

  "Whin wuz ut? Say, lad, while yer standin' there, c'd ye knock that ugly glass clown onta th' floor?"

  James enthusiastically complied. Broom in the back spun in joy, and started sweeping up the aisles toward the mess.

  "Whin wuz ut?" Barry repeated. He looked to Iris. "Say, gel. Who's th' King naow?"

  Iris gaped. "Um..." she stammered. "The Queen is Elizabeth...?"

  At Barry's frown, she weakly added, "...the Second?"

  Barry's face cleared. "Ah, yus. I heared abut tha'. Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, er suthin' like?"

  Emily said faintly, "They call themselves 'Windsor' now. Or sometimes 'Mountbatten.' Barry, how old are you?"

  His eyes rolled up, while he was visibly calculating.

  "Seven Hunnert and Seventy-Eight," he said at last. "Come August."