SEVEN
“The little kindness is five euros, the bigger one is ten, and the do-it-yourself love charm kit is twenty-five.”
“Oh, love charm is good, yes? We will take it,” one of the two young women who stood before me said in a charming German accent.
I handed over the box and took her money. “Forgive my ignorance, but who are you dressed as?”
The woman smoothed a hand down her floor-length black dress and matching belted waist cincher, pulling down from the top of her head a silver metal mask. “I am a death eater!”
“So you are. Er . . . isn’t that from Harry Potter? Not a Wagnerian opera?”
“Yes,” she said, pushing the mask up before waving to her friend. “Sabeine is Hermione.”
“And a very good Hermione you are,” I told her, handing over the change and admiring her Hogwarts robes. “Enj
