Friday, July 4th, 2014. 2:15 PM.

  28 Roseberry Avenue, Borough of Islington, London, UK

  Harry pushed through the door into the cavernous Sales Room. The bell over the door didn’t ring, instead saying, “Ooh, here’s a live one!”

  Harry looked up and grinned. The bell gasped, and then whispered, “Mr Potter! Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to be so cheeky!”

  “Just doing your job, no offense taken.” Harry looked around for anyone he knew. The floor was covered with display shelves and cabinets, roughly grouped into separate areas for the tools and the appliances. Staff were bustling about, some of them leading customers through the selections. One dark haired young woman who was by herself caught his eye and smiled.

  “Harmonia, excellent!” said Harry. “Is Dudley about?”

  “Mr. Dursley is up on the office floor, I believe. I’ll letter him for you.” She looked uncertain for a moment. “No, ‘letter’ isn’t right. I’ll... what is it?”

  Harry suppressed a grin. “I think ‘page’ is the word you’re looking for. But I don’t mind running up to see.”

  “No, sir,” she said firmly. “S.O.P., from Mr. D’s own mouth. We... page him when you come in.” she took off briskly, muttering to herself, “Page. Page. Page...”

  His grin broke free as he wandered idly through the room. Harry thought it was an excellent idea for Dudley and George to have both Magic and Muggle employees. Exposure to different worlds made them more easy-going in general, less likely to make errors based on mutual ignorance. In fact, the current generation, as represented here, seemed to have taken it in stride. Their “What’s the big deal?” attitude about magic seemed to irritate older witches and wizards inexpressibly. Which no doubt made it that much more fun.

  He paused by an area made up of desks and chairs, under a sign that read “APPLIANCE ADOPTION COUNSELING.” Harry listened in on the exchange at one of the nearer desks without drawing attention to himself. The young man behind the desk, (his name tag read WENDELL), seemed puzzled.

  “You say Esther.., I mean, the STR-300, is still working adequately, but you want to replace her, I mean, it?”

  The woman was somewhat flustered. It seemed to be a permanent part of her personality, in fact. “Oh, not WANT to replace her. She’s been wonderful, just wonderful! And my daughter is just heartbroken, she calls her “Esther’, too. Always perfect toast, muffins, anything we try. And never a crumb, or any clean up more than a dab with a chamois. But my husband insists, and I was hoping you could, you know, find her a good home...” The woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “I know it’s silly, but she’s like family.”

  The counselor frowned pensively. “Well, that’s an option, of course, but I really doubt she would be as happy anywhere else. Tell me, though, you say your husband insists..?”

  “Oh, he’s got this silly promotion at work..., well, that’s not fair, it really is a major step up, and we’re going to have to do a lot of entertaining, and while our neighborhood is fine, and our home is fine, our kitchen is apparently too rustic. So all my dear little flower patterns and my ceramics have to go, and we’re knocking out a wall for some stainless steel monstrosities... oh, that’s not fair, either. I’ve nothing against stainless steel, and it will be nice to have more room, and self-cleaning and all that...,” she clenched her fists on her lap. “But I want my toaster!”

  She smiled tremulously. “I’m just being silly, aren’t I, Wendell?”

  “Not at all!” said Wendell staunchly. “Perfectly understandable. Here at D&W, we know our products are exceptional. That’s why we call it “Adoption” rather than “Sales.” Our appliances inspire loyalty, and deserve the best families we can fix them up with! This definitely falls under our Lifetime Warranty, so while we could replace Esther, (the little toaster’s already matte surface dulled somewhat more), I believe we may have options you haven’t considered.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The woman, (and the toaster) perked up a little. “Really? Like what?”

  “Do you happen to have any pictures of the kind of appliances your husband would like, Mrs. Wilkie?”

  “Well.., yes, as a matter of fact. I was going to have a look around while I was here.” While she was sorting through her purse, Harry saw Wendell pull a tiny paper airplane out of his sleeve, and flick it towards the floor. The paper colour almost matched the tile, and it took off at such a speed that Harry was sure no one else had noticed. Wendell then picked up a telephone receiver, in a way that made Harry positive he had received only the most cursory of training in its use and function.

  “Yes, it’s Wendell.” he said loudly. “Is Erik available for a consultation? Oh, never mind, I see him coming along.” He put the receiver back in the cradle, hesitated, picked it back up, and said, “Good-bye.”

  Erik was a short, cheerful young man in rumpled coveralls. His hair was so red, Harry wondered if he was a Weasley connection. He said, “I came as quick as I could,” just as Wendell said, “Could I have a minute of your time?” A little head-shaking, rolled eyes, and arched brows straightened out the confusion before the customer noticed. The two men started peering down at the catalog Mrs. Wilkie had just pulled from her purse.

  Erik gingerly poked one of the pictures, and gave Wendell a doubtful look when it didn't move. “What’s all this, then?”

  “Mrs. Wilkie’s husband wants to re-decorate, and the STR doesn’t fit in with the new decor.”

  Erik blinked and noticed the toaster for for the first time. “Why, it is Esther, innit? Hallo, luv!” Confidentially to Mrs. Wilkie, “Yer one lucky lady. She’s one of our best...” He winced, as if someone had fetched him a kick on the ankle, “...product lines ever.”

  “I thought we might be able to do Mrs. Wilkie an, ah...,” Wendell pulled open a desk drawer slightly, and glanced down at something inside. “...an upgrade, with the new morphing tech chip.” Looking very pleased with himself, Wendell shut the drawer on his thumb. Erik sniggered.

  “All roit, then, let’s ‘ave a shufty.” He tilted the top of the toaster towards Mrs. Wilkie, and started rummaging around the base with a screwdriver, without actually touching anything. Harry spotted the tip of a wand barely peeking out of his coverall sleeve. Several screws and springs appeared out of thin air, and bounced away energetically. Mrs. Wilkie gasped.

  “Oh, don’t hurt her!”

  “No fear o' that, missus,” Erik grunted. “Now let’s take a good look at the picture, little lady, and...”

  The toaster’s outlines glowed, wavered, and the surfaces shifted from flower-painted white enamel to a bright, brushed stainless steel texture. Esther’s outline swelled and became less rounded, but not too angular. Mrs. Wilkie gasped again.

  “How about those ruby glass accents in the picture?” Wendel pointed out helpfully. “Did you want something like those?” Erik gave him an exasperated glance.

  “Well,” hedged the woman. “I was really hoping to find something in a sapphire blue...”

  Erik blew out his cheeks, concentrated, and twiddled his useless screwdriver again. The corner and top edges suddenly inset, filled with a vibrant, translucent blue, and then crystallized into facets.

  “Oh, MY! They look like real sapphires!” (Erik wiped a little sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his coverall). Her face fell a little. “It’s just...”

  The two men glanced at each other.

  “Just what, Mrs. Wilkie?” Wendell urged. She smiled at him.

  “You’ve done so much, I hate to quibble. It’s just, ...my silly, silly husband has his heart set on a four-slice toaster. He just thinks they’re more impressive.”

  Erik’s face cleared. “No worries, missus. ‘Arf a mo’.” He pulled a generic looking piece of machinery out of one of his capacious pockets and stuck it out of sight under the toaster, (where it promptly Vanished). He twiddled a moment, then set Esther down flat and squared her towards Mrs. Wilkie. He stuck his screwdriver in a pocket, grabbed each end of the toaster, and pulled. Two more bread slots and attached casing slid out from under the first, as naturally as a telescope opening. An edge popped up and melded, leaving no seam.

  “Four enough?” he asked casually. “I could do yer six.”

  ***

  Erik vanished into the back, leaving the Transformed toaster on the desk. Wendell, a slightly predatory smile on his face, led Mrs. Wilkie off to introduce her to a lovely family, ah, family of products, that would fit right in with her new kitchen. All, he assured her confidently, with the same “torphing mech” capability.