Alan Baker had no use for wands, of course. If one were to Prior Incantato his outdated, duct-taped rod of walnut wood and dragon heartstring, its most recent use would have been the enchantment of the long-lived neurons in Alanâs own mind. This enchantment, possible only for those who were capable of seeing themselves as a complex amalgamation of neural impulses, allowed him to bypass both wands and words. Alan did this, not for show, not for power, but because wandwork distracted him from his reading.
Unfortunately, there was no legal spell to get rid of barflies.
âHey- hey mate, you gotta- gotta minute to-â
Sobrius, Alan thought, placing one hand on his neighborâs forehead without looking up. He pondered whether or not to cast a silencing barrier, even in violation of the Leaky Cauldronâs safety code.
âThanks,â said the now-sober man, âReadinâ more of that Muggle trash, I see.â
Alan closed his eyes and counted to three, but when he opened them, the man was still there. Alan lowered his âmuggle trashâ in defeat, meeting the baggy, bloodshot eyes of the wizard sitting across from him.
Alan leaned forward, placing his hands steeple-like on the table. âMr. Fletcher, do you know why time turners donât send you into space?â
âThe sky, yâmean? Cause theyâre fer time turninâ, not apparation.â
Alan had to take a deep breath. âNo,â he replied, âIf time turners werenât anchored to anything, the Earthâs rotation alone would be enough to ensure a time travelerâs demise. But someone at the ministry was clever enough to anchor them to a carefully guarded object that never moves relative to the Earth.â
âFascinatân,â slurred Mundungus, whose eyes had glazed over once it became clear that Alan didnât actually have a time turner on him.
âBut time turners are still very limited,â continued Alan, more to himself than to Mundungus, âThey canât go more than seven hours back, and not forward at all, and only in increments of one hour, and they only work on Earth⌠no, theyâre very clumsy, if one truly pauses to think about it.â
âWhatâs yer point?â
âMy point is that while wizards are slowly stagnating in their backwards remnant of the Dark Ages, Muggles are making progress, ever reaching for the light. Do you know that they donât need magic to craft a hand of living silver?â
âBah,â was Mundungusâs only reply, âYouâd be best mates with that Weasley nutcase at the ministry, you would.â
Alan stood up, silently casting an infantes gelata to check for paradoxes. âI donât know why I bother with you,â he sighed, âyouâve just wasted another two minutes of my time. Perhaps I bother because I have time to waste.â
And he twisted, as if to apparate, but instead faded out of existence with a distinct vworp. The air swirled in the wake of his departure, blowing back Mundungusâs straggly ginger hair.
âMuggleborns,â the short wizard muttered, then turned back to his drink.
Thirty minutes earlier, Alan lounged contentedly within his quieting barrier, stirring his cup of tea absently and rereading one of his favourite Muggle books. He wondered, vaguely, which planet held the nearest sapient life, and what their magic would look likeâŚ
titsay
stormborns
kaledo-art
gummygunk
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
snowghoul
janainaart
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
