"I hope you won't be too disappointed by the meagre entertainments of La Caunette, after this wild swirl of society events," said Severus as we withdrew to the sitting area. We had just finished dinner – a very good one, for Severus is an accomplished cook who knows how to make the most of the produce of the French countryside.

I had arrived late that afternoon for my annual summer holiday visit. I had unpacked and refreshed myself while Severus put the final touches to the meal, and we had spent a leisurely few hours eating and chatting. Among other things I had told him I had attended a birthday party for Elphias Doge and a lunch with the Weasley family. Hardly a swirl of society events, but to Severus, who still relishes the total absence of any social life, it might seem so.

"I love staying in La Caunette, and you know it," I said. "I'm not a social butterfly who needs daily 'entertainments'. But I admit the Weasley lunch was lovely, even though Sybill was present."

"Sybill? At a Weasley family gathering?" asked Severus with understandable surprise. I had been surprised to see her there myself.

"Sybill. Annoying as ever. Fortunately there were enough people present to dilute her ramblings somewhat. And it made me enjoy her retirement all the more. Like a cold," I said.

"Like a cold? I don't understand."

"Well, you know what it's like: only when you have a cold do you fully appreciate the pleasure of breathing normally through your nose. You don't appreciate that at all when you're well. It's the same with Sybill. When she was around, she was most annoying. Even though in the last few years she taught so few classes that she was hardly a professional bother any more, the mere sight of her still set my teeth on edge. This meeting made me feel the full bliss of her retirement. And other than that it was a lovely party."

"Still, you must tell me all about Annoying Sybill," grinned Severus. "I'll get us both a nightcap."

"Severus!" I said, sternly. "Are you turning into a gossip?"

"Perish the thought," he said, pouring two glasses of Calvados. "I'm merely turning into the kind of good friend who will let you talk freely of a problem. So that you can get it off your chest and feel the better for it. As your host, I should provide a spiritual digestive just as much as an alcoholic one." And he put my glass on a side table with one of his elegant little bows. Severus Snape, a Slytherin and a gentleman.

"Very well, then," I said. "I'll tell you the whole business. Don't blame me if you get nightmares."

And that, with the benefit of hindsight, was the starting point of The Business of Ferrets.

0+0+0+0+0

Before I launch into Sybill's narrative, I must explain about the Weasley's holiday arrangements. They have everything to do with this case.

For years, with the children growing up and the school fees and everything, Molly and Arthur didn't have any holiday arrangements to speak of. Except for that one occasion when they all went to Egypt after winning a prize in the lottery. Many people thought it foolish of them to spend so much on a vacation when they were perpetually stretched for money. But all the young Weasleys still speak of that glorious time, and I think the memory their parents gave them was worth more than new schoolbooks and expensive clothes.

But now that all the children have left home, things are much easier for Molly and Arthur. And once again they have managed to come up with the very thing that will create wonderful memories for their little tribe. They have bought an old farmhouse in Wiltshire near Stonehenge.

The whole family helped with the restoration, and every summer Arthur and Molly go down for a month. All their children visit them, some for just a few days, others for longer. Occasionally grandchildren stay while their parents go off on a few days together. And there is usually one week when everyone is present. The whole scheme works wonderfully well.

The lunch to which I was invited was one in the week where everyone was present. Molly had set up two large tables in the garden, one for us older people, and one for the youngsters. It was a very informal affair, with gingham table clothes and cheerful blue Cornishware. Molly served large plates of cold ham and cold chicken, salads, bread rolls, and pitchers of cider, ale, and lemonade. It was just the sort of thing they will remember later. Granny's summer lunches.

The only thing I would personally consider a downside of that idyllic spot, is that Sybill has bought a small property that is less than a ten minutes' walk away – my little old-lady's bolt-hole, as she coyly refers to it, expecting her listeners to object to the 'old' part. It was the attraction of Stonehenge that drew her to the area, of course.

But Molly assured me Sybill was a very pleasant neighbour. The young girls especially were very taken with her, and they loved the small tea parties to which Sybill occasionally invited them. I could readily believe it – at Hogwarts, too, there were always several girls who had crushes on Sybill. They admired her prophecies, her highly unusual classroom, and her … well, I suppose one could call it 'artistic looks'.
On more than one occasion I have had to tell a girl that imitation is not always the sincerest form of flattery.

So Sybill, too, was invited to the family gathering. And for the first half hour after her arrival, she managed to make herself the centre of attention. To give her her due, she did have a story to tell.

It seemed that her geriatric bolt-hole had been burgled. Sybill had been off on a walk in the countryside, or, as she put it, "a spiritual path of meditation and contemplation which one so needs to restore the tranquillity of the Inner Eye".

Upon her return, the mere physical eye had not noticed anything amiss, until she stepped into her kitchen to make tea. There she saw that her freshly-baked shortbread, which she'd left cooling on a rack, had gone missing. Someone had taken more than half of it – but not all, funnily enough.

At first Sybill thought one of the Weasley children had been very naughty. A not entirely inconceivable idea.

But then she found that something else was missing, too. It was a highly spiritual object as Sybill called it, a framed drawing she had made herself.

Sybill's doodle seemed to have been a Mandala. No surprise there. She had used the colours of all four elements, "to unite the powers of Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water in a magical allegiance of protection." And the need for this so-called magical allegiance was explained as well. Not that some good protective wards wouldn't have worked better.

Sybill had added the wordings of her "two strongest, most important predictions. Folded into the design of the Mandala, protected by its sacred form, unreadable to the uninitiated."

Well, hardly unreadable. Young Rose told me later that "Auntie Sybill really, really is a Seer, never mind what Mummy says, because she did predict that Uncle Harry was the Chosen One, and it was all in the Mandala that has been stolen. And another prediction, too. About a Servant and a Master." But Rose had not managed to find out the exact wording of that one. "Everyone knows the prediction about Uncle Harry, of course. So I really, really wanted to read the other one, and I would have cracked it, if only it weren't gone."

She would, too. A very clever little girl. She may not see eye to eye with Hermione where Sybill's predictions are concerned, but she is very much a chip of the old block. It will be a pleasure to have her at Hogwarts in a few years' time.

Anyhow, the Mandala and the shortbread had both gone. And the truly interesting part was that the thieves had signed their crime. On the wire rack Sybill had found a little scrap of parchment with the inscription The ScAvengers were here!.

"And then Sybill kept prattling about the ScAvengers, and how the Dark Arts must be involved, for they only attack the Great Heroes of the Resistance, of which she is one. Or so she claims. But Harry soon put a stop to that, thank heavens," I told Severus, and took another sip of my Calva.

"The scavengers? Who are they, and why does it involve the Dark Arts? And Potter?" asked Severus.

I should have realized that he knew nothing about the ScAvengers. He doesn't read the Daily Prophet, other than the articles I send him occasionally.

"The ScAvengers," I corrected, and explained how they write their name. "They're this year's Summer Craze. It isn't important – some pranksters, I dare say. But the Prophet makes much of it.

"So far there have been three burglaries, and the pattern is always the same. They steal food and what one might call a souvenir.

"The first victim was Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron. One morning he found that half a fruitcake was missing – a left-over from Elphias's birthday bash, actually. There was this same note that the ScAvengers had been there. He didn't think much of it – a childish prank, he assumed. But then he noticed that a picture was taken as well. It was a framed picture of Harry, taken when Ron and he gave a party at the Leaky to celebrate passing the Auror Entrance Exam.

"Tom was proud of that picture. You know how he tells everyone that Harry first entered the Wizarding World through his pub?"

"I certainly know. Young Harry Potter Claimed His Inheritance Right Here In My Pub. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a thousand times," said Severus. "Everyone who goes to the Leaky was subjected to it at some point. And now you're telling me his customers couldn't have a quiet pint without Potter glaring at them? If these ScAvengers put an end to that nonsense, I like them already."

"Quite," I said. Where Harry is concerned, Severus has a chip on his shoulder the size of a house, and there's no point in arguing.

"The second case was more serious. Food-wise it was just the better part of a batch of flapjacks, but the burglary was at the Weasleys' house, and their clock was stolen. You remember the clock? The one with the family names on it that told Molly and Arthur where everyone was? Now, that clock was valuable.

"And Sybill is the third one. But they seem back to taking just food and a souvenir."

"I see," said Severus. "And your idea is it's a series of pranks? Perhaps a group of young wizards who dare each other?"

"Exactly," I said. "I think it's some sort of secret society – a teenage one, you know. They call themselves the ScAvengers, and new members have to steal food for the group, as well as a souvenir. To prove that they didn't just buy the food, but actually broke in somewhere."

"And now they do realize the clock's value, but they can't return it, or it would land them in a pretty pickle," said Severus, quick on the uptake as ever. "You should investigate, you know. The Case of the Cake Criminals. Only, that would make a second alliteration with C's. The Case of the Ferocious Food Frauds, perhaps?"

I glared at him. I have solved only one case that has a – much regretted – alliteration in the title, and Severus knows perfectly well why I couldn't call it The Case of the Red Herring. He disagrees, of course, and thinks it would have done Lucius all the good in the world. Ever since I told him the tale, he gleefully refers to his old ally as Kipper Malfoy.

"If they had continued with valuable objects like the clock, I would expect Mundungus to be behind it. And you know you wouldn't enjoy another detective story where Mundungus has dunnit.

"But this group of youngsters? They are very wrong, of course. But I can see how it happened. What they are doing here is just one step up from a kitchen raid at Hogwarts in their eyes. I have wondered, briefly, whether we shouldn't be sterner on those. Because in a way they are right: it is just one small step up. Technically, a kitchen raid is theft, too.

"On second thoughts, however, I do still think a kitchen raid is the kind of prank most of us have played – it's harmless fun, it's a bonding activity. Remember that time we went down for a snack and heard those Hufflepuffs?"

"I certainly do," said Severus. "And I still think the way you Transfigured and slid under the cupboard, in one smooth move, is one of the neatest actions I've ever seen. My leap into that storage room was much more undignified."

"But you could stand up straight," I said morosely. That kitchen floor had been cold, the space under the cupboard too low for comfort, and Pomona's little colony of badgers had selected and prepared their food at leisure. They could afford to: I heard some excellent, whispered protective wards, and a very good muffled Silencio. Never underestimate badgers. They're not slow; they're well-prepared and methodical.

"But I see your point about the pranksters," Severus said. "They do feel it's just a small step up. They truly don't realize the enormous invasion of privacy that is a burglary. And the clock was clearly a mistake. Someone wanted to do something very impressive, and now they don't know how to solve it."

"If I find out that a group of Hogwarts students is behind it," I said, "the difference between a kitchen raid and burglary will be made perfectly clear. But I'm not going to spend my precious holiday chasing them.

"Of course, you might take up the case yourself, you know. You would be good at detecting. And you could always ask me for advice."

Now it was Severus's turn to glare. "I dare say I might manage on my own," he said. "I could do a halfway decent Sherlock Holmes, I think. And you'd make a lovely Watsonette."

Severus may be more fortunate in his looks, but he is every bit as conceited as Hercule Poirot, and that's the fictional detective he should emulate. He could pull off the French, too. It's a shame no-one in their right mind will mistake him for a hairdresser.

In the end we spent a pleasurable few minutes listing possible other suspects. Severus suggested Rita Skeeter – if the story won't come to the reporter, the reporter must make the story. I suggested Augusta Longbottom – a glutton, and she may well think that Neville has lived in Harry's shadow for long enough and that removing Harry's portrait from public places would change this. These are both delusional notions, but, as her long-suffering former prefect knows, common sense is not Augusta's strongest point. And she always was a complete madcap.

We had a good laugh over it before we retired.