At 5:20pm, Sir Rodger of Maintenance tapped on the heavy black door that protected the Office of Spell Experimentation.  It was a dangerous task, one that was always decided by a cutthroat game of Wand, Parchment, Stone.  After several minutes of eventual beating upon the sturdy portal, a dark figure wearing large, unsightly goggles answered the door.  The sight elicited a jump and a very high-pitched squeal from the brawny man, and just as quickly the door was shut again. 

Two minutes later, the lovely, elegant figure of Ms. Marietta Grimlish exited the room.  She had been working on a rather exciting variation of a burning curse that the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had sent down the previous day.  She had forgotten the time once again, and hurriedly cleaned up her work space, sealing the artifact back up before she left for the weekend.  It was a timely interruption, however, and as she bid the maintenance worker a good day, she began mentally composing a shopping list for Monday.  The Department's stocks were low, and her own personal stocks needed replenishing as well.  She had an idea nibbling at the tips of her mind on how to accelerate the curse into internal flames, but was still working on how to restrict the loop of magic once the spell was cast.

Upon her exit of the stately Ministry building, Marietta's heavy hiking boots plodded their way to the edge of a rather dark alley.  Although the Ministry officially discouraged anyone helping Knockturn's economy, they were typically able to cater to her needs more aptly and without as many questions as the Menagerie or Jigger's might ask.  The sun was fortunately beginning its descent, but still remained blocked by her hooded cloak, before she ducked into the cool shade of Knockturn's alley.  Spring was in the air, and while she hated the sun's extended stays above the horizon, she was eager for her children to be back in her arms.  But first, she had to capture the curse before the idea escaped her.

Borgin's typically had handy objects to use for practice upon.  While most experimenters preferred animals, Marietta couldn't bear to try her more morbid charms on the living.  Blocking the alley, however, was a slightly familiar figure in the midst of an  intense conversation with another proprieter.  As she approached, Marietta was slightly amused to hear an intense debate over the price of an African shrunken head.  Although the offered quite an interesting variety of objects, they were typically incredibly overpriced.  It was quite nice to see someone taking him to task for his outrageous price-gouging.   

Eying the piece in question, Marietta gathered up her social bravery, buffeted by the appeal of being on the apparently winning side of an argument.  "Excuse my intrustion," she started, with a mild cough in attempt to make her presence known, "If you're truly interested, I have quite a collection of heads at home. They're taking up a bit too much space anyway, I'm sure I could part with one or two if you'd like," she spoke, refusing to glance at the store's owner for fear of a dirty glare.

He was trying to be as amiable as possible, but this dealer was trying his nerves!  BAH!  He could get a head CHEAPER and FRESHER if he made a few owls to his tribe in Africa.  Nico had been in touch with them on a few occasions, usually for occasions such as this, an exchange of goods.  TEN galleons!  His derriere!  It had enough dust on it to make a feather duster sneeze.  He needed the hair and the stitching which held its eyes shut to fix, oddly enough, the taste of one of his potions.  Without the fibers it would all go bananas!  And not in a good way either.

Puffing up his chest and adjusting the goggles on top of his head he raised a rubber finger threateningly when he heard:

"Excuse my intrustion,"

His finger deflated.  Finally, a savior!  “Ooo…” he hunched and tapped the tips of his finger together, “a few to spare, eh?” he gave the manager a sideways smirk.  “Do you know of any specifics as to what tribe?  Whether the head was a native to the tribe’s land or foreign?”  Through trial and many, many errors Nicodemus found that these were very important details to consider.

The noise was nerve-wrecking. The commotion in the alley around the shop and ill-mannered, loud...yes, generally loud people wrecking his poor nerves. As if he went to sit and read in the midst of Piccadilly circus, for crying out loud. Throwing his book over his shoulder (and breaking something in the process), Desmond got up from the armchair lazily and crawled in front of the dusty counter.

Dragging his feet slowly, he approached the shop window, attempting to figure out what was going on. Instead however, he looked at his grim reflection on the glass (maybe it was time to clean the windows) and scratched his head. The messy hair fell over his dark, hollow eyes as he tried to fix a less disinterested expression on his face. Suppressing a yawn, he locked his thin hand around the doorknob and stepped out in the midst of this...event, facing a lovely group of wizards, one young witch and a vile, little shrunken head. Desmond had a thing for shrunken heads. As in he really didn't like them.

"“Do you know of any specifics as to what tribe?  Whether the head was a native to the tribe’s land or foreign?”

Unsuccessfully wiping off a thick layer of dust from his almost moldy, moth-eaten tuxedo, he decided to put himself in the center of attention. "Why would you want a shrunken head?" he exclaimed loudly (yelled), looking at the young wizard. Coming from a shop assistant, this was a very odd question, but Desmond had a point (or at least believed that).

"I mean, look at this...ugly thing," he pointed at the head, obviously not caring what its owner thinks. Then he turned his attention to the witch, a grin appearing on his pale face. "Don't you think the lady has a nicer head?"

“Ooo…“a few to spare, eh?  Do you know of any specifics as to what tribe?  Whether the head was a native to the tribe’s land or foreign?”

Ignoring the increasingly irate owner, Marietta focused on the interested buyer.  Although her children enjoyed playing with the African artifacts, even they had noticed the heads slowly overtaking the apartment.  "Oh, I have quite a few from the Fang tribe you might be interested in, although I believe the majority are of foreigners," she replied, refusing to view the angry owner.  One glance into his fuming eyes and Marietta knew her knees would start buckling.  However, the idea of finding another connoisseur of shrunken heads, as this gentleman seemed to know more than the standard evilly-inclined street urchin, Marietta knew facing her fear of confrontations would be worth it.

"Why would you want a shrunken head?  I mean, look at this...ugly thing,  Don't you think the lady has a nicer head?"

"For it's magical properties, of course!" she replied, slightly flabbergasted that someone might not want a shrunken head.  Sometimes, she truly wondered over the state of wizardry.  Personally she thought the shrunken head bore quite a bit more interest than her own, but the question itself was immaterial.  Her head was not the one for sale, although it did make her consider putting such a stipulation in her will if her death did not result in vampirism.

[Apologies for the delay]

"EEE!" he could not help himself from squealing.  "Oo!  Oo!"  he tapped his fingers and hopped a bit as if his mother had just asked him which candy he would like off of the shelf after begging and whining since they had stepped foot into the store.  Or like a monkey being asked if he wanted a banana.

"By any chance do have any unfortunate Greeks?"  Silly Europeans, always sticking their noses where they did not belong!  Granted, he was a silly European who had visited African, but they weren't the Fang tribe and he certainly was not there to press them into hard labor for his new African Paradise Vacation Villa or as "savages" to be posed around on his commercial safari.

However, Nico was somewhat grateful for these idiots.  Their stupid invasions were the reason why they were among the most common victims to have their head shrunken after their body had been dealt with.

He then smelled something... smoking?  Turning about he saw the proprietor he had been trying to buy from earlier positively fuming from the ears.  For a moment he just stared at the man and tilted his head, wondering if he had eaten on of those Weasley candies.  After blinking a couple times he wiggled his arms at him, "Oh bugger OFF!" he shouted in annoyance, sticking his tongue out at his back as the fiend stomped away.

Turning back the professor shook his head, "Now, where were we, Miss--"  Oh dear, he hadn't caught her name.

Thankfully another man decided to poke HIS nose in somewhere he did not belong.  Hmm... maybe he should drag him along next time he visited the shamans at the camp...

Nicodemus raised his finger and dropped his jaw when again... it deflated.  The good witch beside him had answered the greasy boy's question quite nicely.  "Indeed!" he agreed, fiddling with the goggles on top of his head.

"For it's magical properties, of course!"

She was raving. Magical properties! A stuffed ferret had more magical properties than the rotten piece of nonsense this dirty, little street dealer was offering. While Desmond was hardly a shrunken head expert he never actually saw anything useful happen with them. Sometimes they talked or giggled which made them even more annoying than they actually are. If someone gave a shrunken head as a gift to Desmond, he would put it in it's righteous place - the bottom of the Thames.

When the excited wizard expressed his agreement with the crazy witch, Des rolled his eyes. What else did he expect from a man who while squealing in excitement  sounded like a parrot on a synthetic drug.

"Indeed...indeeeeed," he imitated the wizard, however failing to sound as interested. As far as he was concerned, a shrunken head had no magical properties. "Watching the vile thing rot might be the most exciting activity related to shrunken heads, if you ask me."

Leaning against the door of his shop, he watched the group which shared the same odd  interest in shrunken heads. If he was a real, capable salesman he would have offered the wizard some shrunken heads they had on sale in the shop. However, as far as Desmond was concerned - they had no shrunken heads. Picking his dirty nails for a second, he grinned to himself.

"Ever tried playing cricket with a shrunken head?" he asked no one in particular. "Now that is one useful magical property."

"By any chance do have any unfortunate Greeks?"

Marietta's twin eyebrows scrunched together in similar fashion to how a fuzzy caterpillar might scrunch itself together to catapult further.  Unfortunately, this attempt did not yield any forward motion.  "I'm unsure whether I have any Grecian heads, but I have quite the assortment of aquiline noses," she replied, mentally going through her massive catalog of heads.  She was glad the gentleman shared her excitement for the heads, and also her surprise at the other gentleman's dislike.  However, this was the reason her sister was the one planning to teach at Hogwarts, and not herself.  For her dear sister's sake, however, Marietta supposed she would have to inform the poor urchin to some degree.

"Watching the vile thing rot might be the most exciting activity related to shrunken heads, if you ask me.  Ever tried playing cricket with a shrunken head?  Now that is one useful magical property.

Actually, she hadn't thought of playing cricket with a shrunken head.  Marietta gazed off into the distance, imagining herself hitting a sixer off a decaying Brit's head.  They were a good bit lighter, it was actually an idea worth thinking about, at least after she had exhausted all possible uses for the head in question. 

"Perhaps," she admitted, after a moment's hesitation, "But have you ever heard the shrunken head cry beneath the blue corn moon?  The high pitch accelerates sopophorous' growth, and the beans turn a rather lovely shade of lavender that increases their potency."  It was quite a useful trick, for those with less patience than herself as well as trimming the budget.  It held twice the kick, which meant cutting the amount they spent on sopophorous beans in half.  It had been quite a coup for Miss Grimlish when she presented the information.

"But have you ever heard the shrunken head cry beneath the blue corn moon?  The high pitch accelerates sopophorous' growth, and the beans turn a rather lovely shade of lavender that increases their potency."

Oh my… 

The lad’s chin nearly dropped to the floor as he looked at the wonderful woman standing next to him.  At that moment she seemed to him… gorgeous.  The words which flowed from her mouth were like mana from heaven.

“Habba-Ha-habbitah…” he attempted to speak, failing miserably.

“I think I…” and then he fell backwards like a chopped tree, his eyes full of hearts and bananas with top hats and canes tap dancing merrily around his head.