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Here is a house.
It is pretty and trim and green-and-cream and really ought not to be able to hold itself up like that, and yet here it is, somehow defying the laws of architecture. It is surrounded by a neatly bordered garden of ornamental and useful plants of all sorts: here vegetables, there herbs, there spell components, there rows of flowers.
There is a sign out front. It says only: Magic. Not, Beware, Magic or Magic Emporium or anything like that. Just: Magic.
Sitting on top of this sign is a cream cat with smoke-dark points of color on each paw, his ears, and his face and tail.
All in all, you could be forgiven for thinking that a witch lives here.
thaumobabble
thaumobabble
"So," says Bella, "has soapy lemon water stopped working, then? I keep expecting them to find a way around that; perhaps they finally have."
calendarofcrime
"A bucket of soapy water with lemon is useful only against things in need of a good scrub," she says, "of which wizards are by far the most threatening. A sword protects against more dangers and is less awkward to carry."
thaumobabble
"Better if you want them dead. Not as well if melted for later respawning will do," Bella points out.
thaumobabble
"Troubled about them? Not really - not in either sense - not specifically. Troubled about - death. It's awfully permanent."
thaumobabble
"I'm ruling out a lot of things that won't work," says Bella, brightening some. "At quite an impressive clip, if I do say so myself."
thaumobabble
"I have some time left to work on it, after all, even if I don't manage the trick anytime soon. I'm only nineteen."
thaumobabble
"Rather," agrees Bella merrily. "But at any rate, people I do not know who are less deserving than a wizard trespassing in the Enchanted Forest die on a regular basis, so I am not troubled specially about him."