Harry let out a grunt in answer. "No more than usual," he said, growling mildly under his breath. He'd never owned a car that ran more than nine days in ten. The Beetle had set that astounding record, up until it was destroyed by a Mayan abhorrence.
Long story.
He pressed the clutch, trying to get the engine to turn over, but it sputtered again, and Harry swore under his breath. "Don't suppose you know the number of a decent mechanic in town, do you?" he asked, without glancing up. Another gentle stomp on the clutch, a turn of the key, and the engine caught this time. "A ha!"
The car immediately stalled.
"Hell's bells," the wizard muttered, running a hand along the back of his neck where the hairs were prickling at--
Cold. Hairs. Back of neck. Harry tried not to freeze in terror, and managed to turn his head towards the young man, albeit a bit too slowly for a casual glance. "Early night tonight?" he said, his voice light.
His right hand was slowly reaching for the blasting rod laying on the passenger seat.