Written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry assignment 2.

Geography, task 5: write about someone recovering

Word count: 895

I step out into the street, shivering in the cold night. The door creaks as I open it, breaking the silence that only comes in the dead of night. Every cell in my body is telling me not to continue, that this is wrong. My every breath feels stolen, like I shouldn't be alive. Stepping into the shop is awful, like sneaking into an empty classroom that you know Peeves is headed for. Ginny says I should come here, though, at least walk around. She says it's the next step to recovery, but I don't even know what recovery means anymore.

I light up my wand, though trying not to draw attention to the small shop. It's just as cold inside as it is out: this place has been uninhabited for too long. Cobwebs hang in the corners, and a thick layer of dust has gathered over the displays. I pick up one of the bottles, reading the label. It's one of the first things we ever made, a simple potion that imitates a dung bomb with just one drop.

I walk into the back, not sure what to expect. Thankfully, no bogarts have moved in. Knowing what mine is, I would have left immediately. I walk on, undisturbed. The cauldrons sit there, waiting for me as always. Our notes are still sitting on the desk, the ink long dry and starting to fade. Carefully, I pick them up, and begin to gather ingredients from the many jars sitting on their shelves. I light a small fire underneath the cauldron, conjure a spoon, and begin the process of stirring the liquid. I'm up all night, mixing and adding, and adding some more. I add to the notes, too, though not much.

When the first rays of dawn filter through the window, I debate leaving. But I can't. I've started, and so I light a second fire, this one under the smaller cauldron, and quickly make the mixture I know so well. I throw in a handful of sticks, allowing the potion to boil and soften the wood. Soon, people begin to arrive in the alley, I draw the curtains around the back window so no one can see inside. The front windows have been boarded, by whom I am not sure, but you haven't been able to see inside since the battle.

I bustle about the front part of the shop now, cleaning everything so that it would have satisfied even Filch. My stomach rumbles, reminding me to eat, so I leave the shop through the backdoor and Apparate into the Leaky Cauldron for breakfast. Tom takes my order without commenting on why I'm here, after avoiding the place for so long, and I manage to eat in peace, without being interrupted.

I decide to Apparate back to shop, trying not to let anyone see me. The potion is done now, so I bottle it, ready to test it in a moment. The sticks I boiled are nice and supple, and as I take them out, they feel flimsy in my grip. I set the fake wands to-be out to cool, and add the silvery potion to the stone bowl that was purchased just before the battle.

Dipping my head inside, I'm amazed to find that it actually works. The memory look-alike is showing me a beautiful fireworks display! This unfinished project truly is beautiful; I just wish he were here to see it with me. The next order of business is simple: tap each product with my wand to see if it will still work. The charm wasn't my idea, and I feel almost guilty using it without him, but I press on.

By the time I've removed the small handful of stale pranks from the shelves, the normal hustle and bustle of the alley has returned with the morning. The entire shop is set up now; there's only one thing left to do. I step out the front door, not one person looking my way, and point my wand towards the sign above my head. The boards on the windows dissolve into nothingness, the shop lights up, every window sign, the lights inside, the lights outside, all of it, shining brilliantly. People turn to stare, yet I just stand there, a little unsure of what to do. A moment longer they stare, each person silent and waiting, each person wondering if this is a hoax. I open the doors as wide as I can, motioning for people to come inside.

The response is instantaneous. They begin to pour in, children begging their parents to let them have just a little extra money, parents eyeing the many pranks easily directed toward children. A few girls look disappointed at the absence of pygmy puffs, but it won't take long for me to get some more. It feels wrong to see their smiles without him, to hear the laughter without his as part of it. The products grabbed from shelves are ones he will never see sold.

I step behind the counter, almost wishing I hadn't done this, when I spot a parchment slip that was not there before.

Dear Forge,

good luck!

-Gred

Smiling, I slip the note into my pocket, ready to face the first customer.