Read Tom Collivander and the Order of the Thunderbird, A Potter Parody Page 2

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  The next week brought about the hottest weather England had experienced for decades. The sweltering heat, in the high thirties, meant that, whilst Diagonal alley became more crowded, Collivanders took a step in the other direction. Shoppers enjoyed sitting in the shade, eating ice creams or drinking cool beers, not browsing for new wands. Hence, Tom left his uncle to mind the shop and went wandering out in the street.

  As he’d lived in Sweden for many years, the heat affected him more than others. Wizard clothing generally meant wearing long robes that covered your whole body but Tom couldn’t cope with that. He walked round in flip flops, shorts and a vest. As a result, he received many glances and stares from other shoppers. One woman even accused him of being a muggle.

  He wandered on, without talking to anyone else, not going anywhere in particular, just enjoying the sunshine. He reached the end of the strip and went inside the Runny Cauldron. He’d been in there only a few times so far but always found it interesting to meet wizards from all walks of life.

  Today was no different. The pub was packed as expected and Tom struggled to make his way to the bar but once he did, the barman, who was also called Tom, greeted him and introduced him to an older man who wore a very luxurious set of robes and a pocket watch. “Tom, this is Horace Snailshell. He’s just been to Sweden and so I thought you might like to meet him.”

  “Nice to meet you Horace.”

  “And you, m’boy. Tom Collivander is it?”

  “Yes sir… So, where in Sweden did you go?”

  “Stockholm.”

  “That’s where I used to live!”

  “Then you might be able to help me. I went in search for some decorations to upgrade my home.”

  Tom interrupted him. “You went all the way to Sweden for some decorations!?”

  Horace was taken aback by Tom’s surprise and so tried to explain. “I wanted some new sculptures and I heard rumour of a blacksmith in Stockholm with unmatched skill.”

  Tom knew Horace was talking about his parents. Horace must have seen it in his expression because he asked, “You’ve heard of them haven’t you? Where are they? I couldn’t find them.”

  Tom started to feel sick at the casual mention of his parents. He just managed to say, “They’re dead.”

  “Good gracious! How did you find out?”

  Tom was starting to hate this conversation but knew he had to get over his parents death’s eventually so persisted. “I’m their son.”

  “Merlin’s beard! M’boy, I had no idea!”

  Neither of them spoke for a while. Tom struggled to remain still and Horace stared at him cautiously. Eventually Horace asked casually, “How did it happen?”

  Tom thought he could cope, but the way Horace had asked the last question so casually had triggered something in Tom’s brain that started to make him dislike Horace immensely. He got up from his stool, said, “I’m sorry, I can’t,” and quickly left the pub and sought the solitude of the back room in Collivanders.