Spoiler
When Father had asked him at supper to come along with him the next day, he'd nearly jumped for joy. The thing about going out with his Father was that it hardly ever happened, so when it did he had to make it count.
The night before, he had it all worked out in his head. First they'd go to Quality Quidditch Supplies and Father would say pick one thing, and Cai would take ages picking because there were at least a dozen things he wanted. Then they'd have scones and tea and Father would tell him about The Family Secret. What’s that? Well it wouldn’t be much of a secret if he knew, would it? But he was sure there was one. Next, Father would need his help with something and Cai would be right there and would be very useful indeed, and later Father would say to Mam, “he was very useful, that boy” and Mam would look up from what she was doing and say, “there's lovely” and bake him a chocolate cake.
They arrived in Diagon Alley at dawn. Dew and morning cold had frosted the window panes and behind them the small army of mannequins stood frozen. Creepy they looked, like they might come alive at any moment. Further back into the shop coats hung shoulder to shoulder on a brass railing, a ghostly queue of faceless men.
His father unlocked the door and went in ahead of him, taking off his gloves finger by finger before he put his hat on the stand. Cai entered dutifully after him, carefully stepping over the creaky floorboard by the entrance so as not to rouse any bad spirits. Bad spirits? Sometimes notions entered his head unbidden which was why Mam called him imaginative and Elowen called him a nutter. He'd learned not to tell her his stories anymore.
Father took out his wand and with a casual flick of his wrist, turned on the lights. In an instant the eerie atmosphere was dispelled and the shop interior flooded with pleasant, warm lights.
“Counter needs clearing,” said Father and Cai knew better than to complain. The convenience of magic was not one he had earned yet and Wesley Blackwood did not tolerate idle hands in his shop.
The morning was spent clearing the counter, sorting the paperwork, counting the gleaming coins in the register. After that, he worked on the drawers: collars stiff and collars soft, and studs and links, all neatly labeled in Grandad’s handwriting on their little brass frames. Cai would deftly count them, “forty collar stiff, twenty white, seven blue, thirteen red.”
For a while, Cai didn’t mind counting collars because he was thinking that after this, they’d go out, and the going out would be better for the counting. You’ve got to earn going out, you’ve got to put your best foot forward. He carried parcels up from the basement two at a time when one at a time would have done. Father said, “steady” but he said, “I’ve got it,” and he had got it. “Good lad,” Father said, and Cai felt very pleased.
Light was coming through the window panes when Cai set the last parcel down on the counter. Father looked at his watch.
“Right, Cai, I’ve business over the way.” He got up and did his cuffs, left first, then the right one - as if they needed doing. “Mind the shop for me, there’s a good lad.”
“Mind it?” He must’ve sounded very put out, because Father was arching an eyebrow at him.
“Yes, mind it. You seemed very keen on being here yesterday.”
Aye he’d been keen for the treats, keen for going to Quality Quidditch Supplies, keen on eating scones and drinking tea and being told secrets and-
“I won’t be long,” said Father. He was putting his gloves back on. “An hour, maybe two. If anyone comes in, be polite and tell them Mr Blackwood will be back by noon.”
Cai was stood very still behind the counter. “How many are coming in, like?”
“There are no appointments,” his father answered simply as if that settled it. Then he went to the door, put on his hat and said, "Good boy,” like he was some pet dog specially trained to guard the shop.
Nobody’s coming in… That was the thing of it. Not the minding, mind a shop he could, he could mind a shop brilliantly, and if a wizard came in wanting a coat he’d sell him two coats and a scarf besides and the man would go away saying "what a marvel that boy is, what a miracle, what a dwtty1 boy". But nobody would be coming in, and if nobody was coming in, then what did the shop need minding for?
Sighing, he sat down on a velvet stool by the fitting mirrors, elbows on his knees, chin resting in the cup of his hands while he stared listlessly at his reflection. What was he supposed to do for two whole hours all by himself, then? The three mirrors gave him three of himself, so he supposed he wasn’t alone, but all three of him were eleven and bored stiff after he’d watched the clock on the wall tick miserably for five whole minutes. Agony, this was!
It took two more minutes of silent torture before he slid off the stool and went wandering around the shop. That’s when he saw the stack of old newspapers near the plush chairs of the front waiting area. With nothing better to do, he sank into one of the chairs and picked up an old copy.
BREAKING! Merrow Found Guilty
His interest was stirred a bit by the mention of Hogwarts, then doubled when he saw his uncle’s name in the paper. He wasn’t sure about any of the other people in the story, but what had his uncle to do with any of this?
1: dwtty - Something or someone that is cute or sweet.
