A/N: This story was written for the International Wizarding Schools Championship finals. I am very pleased to announce that my team, Mahoutokoro, has made it into the top three. It's been an absolute pleasure working with everyone this year, and although I didn't expect to ever write again, I'm glad to be part of the team for finals. It's even more of a pleasure to announce that I will be returning next year as Headmistress of Durmstrang. I would love it if you would all consider joining next year—free of bullying and full of fun, I can guarantee you'll love it as much as I do.
School: Mahoutokoro School of Magic
Year: 6 (Part-timer standing in)
Theme: Pygmy Puffs—contradictions/ cognitive dissonance/ confrontations/ confusion (everything from Padma's bright clothing contradiction to her unusual mood, to the gifting of illegal animals, to weather and mood disparities, etc).
Special rule: Incorporate the animal you're given into your story (Pygmy Puff).
Prompts: 1. [colour] purple (main prompt). 7. [setting] Diagon Alley, 12. [dialogue] "Wait! This isn't what I ordered!"
Word count: 3294 words (written on Google docs, using +10% leeway)
Links: Our team of seven writers connected our stories using the following techniques:
Plot points: Each of our stories were focused on the one event: the grand re-opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, including the preparation leading up to it (the day before), and the actual day itself. The re-opening took place on the second anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and the end of the Second Wizarding War. With a party occurring after lunch (and general merriment throughout the day for customers and friends alike), George Weasley has decided to give out free colour-changing Pygmy Puffs (based on mood) to everyone in order to help commemorate the day. All stories are happening within Diagon Alley—some within Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, some in another nearby shop.
To meet the theme, we all included confrontations between characters that would never talk to one another in a normal setting. Purple clothing is a must-wear for the attendees of the gathering. There are also mentions/signs of rainbows within the majority of stories (the weather leading up to it being contradictory to the celebratory mood that is supposed to be occurring).
Additional team bonding: Although we understand it won't gain marks, we all chose to use the same cover picture for our stories (designed by the talented Socks (Socrates7727), as well as having a title beginning with the letter 'M' (in honour of Mahoutokoro).
Other notes: This may be taking the 'confuse you' part of the theme a bit too literally lol, but if you are wondering why an old man would simply wander around a shop, buying things he didn't know just as an excuse to talk and yet not making a good impression anyway, it sadly does happen a bit. I based this story on one particular man at a close relative's workplace, who seems like he just wants company but doesn't know how to ask for it. I know that Xenophilius isn't really that rude (or, well, he is, but it's not quite like this) or that old, but I'd like to think that the war took a toll on both his health and his relationship with Luna (after all, he did sell out her best friends and his beliefs during the war). As such, I believe he and Luna's relationship would've changed (not necessarily icy or distant, but Luna would've become more independent of him). As our theme is to show a contradiction in a way, this is contradictory to his canon self (until the end lol). Padma, too, is supposed to be her non-cheerful self for this reason; although we rarely see her in canon, she's mostly cheerful and only ever grumpy when Ron ignores her, as opposed to this new sullen, distant-from-her-twin girl. Of course, this is written as how she sees things; that is, she thinks everyone else is happy by judging the surface, not actually knowing how they feel (as is made clear with the other stories).
For anyone who has ever had experience in retail/ customer service, you may or may not relate to some of these scenarios. They are all done in good humour (and no, I don't actually believe there is anything wrong with working in such a shop at all). If you haven't already seen it, I highly recommend the Australian show 'Rostered On,' for more laughs. Skirvish's Savings is a made-up store that appeared after the war for people rebuilding their homes.
Finally, I'd like to say a huge thank you to my incredible team. It has been a delight writing alongside them this year. Thank you Lun, Sophie (also my lovely beta throughout), Ninja, Scribbles, Socks, Kayti, Emmeline, Tom, SNL, and our cheerleader, Tychon xx #TeamHootie
Moving On
The sunshine wasn't what she'd ordered.
It wasn't like Padma could choose what the weather was like anyway, but a little bit of rain would've been lovely. A heavy, soaking downpour would've been even better. It would've given her a reason not to have to fake a smile as she walked down the bustling street of Diagon Alley, trying to squeeze past shoppers who didn't seem to have a care in the world.
She slipped past one couple who were standing in the middle of the road, chatting excitedly about the re-opening of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The store was set to open the following morning, with as much noise and chaos as the Weasley twins made—or used to make. George himself was standing in front of the shop, grinning as he ordered Alicia Spinnet to line up a few fireworks along the rooftop.
Padma turned away, unable to stand the sight of it all. How could he be smiling like that? How could he throw a party when he'd lost someone so dear to him? It'd only been two years since the war had ended… how could anyone be expected to move on so quickly? It was callous.
Her hands shook as she unlocked the door of Skirvish's Savings, trying to quell her memories of the war. Thankfully, she only had four more hours of her shift left, and then she could spend the rest of the week at home, away from it all.
"Hey! Padma, isn't it? Hold up!"
Sighing, she spun back around to see George smiling at her.
"Yes?"
"Don't forget about tomorrow," he said, thrusting a bright pink and purple flyer at her.
She took it and stared at it. Something purple was whizzing around the words 'give away,' moving too fast for her to make out what it was. It didn't matter, though, for she didn't plan to find out.
"Sorry, but I'm not—" she began.
When she looked back up, however, George was already sprinting back across the street. "Don't forget to wear purple!" he called over his shoulder. "Any shade will do—lilac, violet, lavender—you name it! Party's on after lunch!"
Lavender…
Scowling, Padma shoved the flyer into her pocket. She then opened the shop's door with a little more force than intended and got straight to work straightening potion bottles on the shelves.
If someone had told her two years earlier that she'd be working in a shop like Skirvish's Savings, she would've laughed in their face. She'd always been destined to do great things with her life, rather than potting around a small shop that sold potion ingredients and tacky homewares. She'd planned to help Parvati and Lavender with the financial side of their own shop: a robes boutique that offered a free prophecy with every purchase. But, as one of them hadn't made it to see their dream come to life, it'd only been fair that neither she nor her twin pursued it either.
She didn't mind Skirvish's, though, apart from having to don a hideously bright uniform. Here, she could decide for herself if she wanted to be distracted by customers, or if she wanted to allow her mind to go over the battle again, and what she could've done to change it. She didn't have her parents nagging her to comfort her sister, or for her to be her normal, smiling self.
"Hello? Hello? Are you open? You really shouldn't keep paying customers waiting."
No, the only problem she had to deal with here was demanding customers who were only concerned with saving an extra Knut on already-reduced items.
Plastering a smile on her face, Padma turned to the old man standing behind her. "I'm sorry, I just had to duck out for lunch—"
"Bah! Always with the excuses! Now, where are the everlasting candles?"
"Over there... same place as they were yesterday…"
"Should be displayed where people can see them," he said. His cane clanged against the stone floor as he hobbled over to the shelves.
Padma rolled her eyes. The man was always in the shop, often spending hours at a time going through each item and complaining that they'd been made by exploited creatures. She wasn't sure how old he was; between his long, white hair, the wrinkles around his piercing blue eyes, and his rather odd dress sense, he appeared quite senile. He was never accompanied by a wife or carer, but he certainly needed one; someone to ensure he didn't buy five lots of cheese graters would've been nice.
He hummed as he examined a pile of towels she'd neatly folded earlier that morning. He pulled each one out, thumbing the material, before tossing them back onto the shelf. His hand then moved to the gold chain hanging around his neck, toying with its strange triangular pendant.
"These towels aren't soft. People need soft towels, you know," he said.
She gritted her teeth and went back to sorting a range of tea cups that whistled a different tune depending on the type of tea poured into them. She didn't know what she hated more: that people like George could move on so quickly, or customers who didn't realise that there were bigger problems in the world.
Bang!
She almost dropped a teacup when a large boom rippled through the store. Cursing, she peered through the window. One of the fireworks Alicia had been setting up had gone off, showering the street in red and green sparks—sparks that looked like curses being shot back and forth. Once they disappeared, a few bystanders applauded, to which George gave a bow.
Closing her eyes, Padma took a deep breath, trying to rid herself of the images of battle the sparks and bangs brought to mind.
"Can I get some service here?"
With another deep breath, she opened her eyes and helped the old man with some wire cauldron scrubbers. At least she wouldn't have to deal with any of them tomorrow.
An early morning start was not what she'd ordered.
Shivering in the chill of the morning air, Padma increased her pace. The sooner she got to the shop, the sooner she could go home. She couldn't believe that Romilda had called in sick that day of all days—actually, she could. Romilda was always calling in 'sick' without much notice; she had no doubt the brunette would miraculously recover in time for the party at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes later that day.
Her sister jogged beside her, a box of purple rosettes in her hands. "Are you sure you don't want one? You're going to be the only person not wearing purple today," Parvati said, holding out one of the ribbons.
The rosettes were over two years old, made by Parvati and Lavender during one of the particularly grim days of their seventh year. Padma remembered the pair of them sitting in the Room of Requirement, making them to cheer people up.
She shook her head. "I'm good."
Parvati sighed and put the rosette back in the box. "Are you alright? It's not like you to not want to fit in…"
"I'm fine."
They were nearing the middle of Diagon Alley, which already seemed to be packed despite the early hours. It didn't take her long to spot why: George Weasley was standing at the front of his store, dressed in striking magenta robes and a pink top hat. He was holding a wicker basket, inside of which something was moving. As they drew closer, trying to avoid impatient children dragging along their parents, he pulled out something fuzzy and purple.
"Aww, Pygmy Puffs!" Parvati squealed before her face grew sullen again. "Lavender would've liked them."
"Yeah."
Padma's stomach churned. She looked at her sister, whose brown eyes were full of tears. Her own eyes stung, but before she could tell Parvati that she understood how she was feeling, the girl shook her head.
"Look, there's Hermione; I might say hello. Don't forget to join the party after lunch if you can get off, alright?"
Padma watched her sister duck through the crowd and head towards Hermione Granger, who was sitting by herself on a bench, looking extremely nettled. They began talking, no doubt bonding over their fallen Gryffindor—because of course, sharing a dorm with her meant that only they could be sad to have lost her.
She turned her back on them and marched over to Skirvish's, ignoring George's booming voice informing people that there were still plenty of Pygmy Puffs available. She wasn't the only one ignoring him, though. The old man was outside the store, rapping his knuckles against the window and peering inside.
"We're not open yet," Padma said, unlocking the door.
The man snorted. "Well, you should be; everywhere else is open."
When she entered the store, he hobbled inside after her, ignoring the 'CLOSED' sign on the door.
"Wait! This isn't what I ordered!" he said, plunking down a cushion on the counter.
Padma looked at the cushion. He'd spent two hours the previous afternoon deciding on it, knowing there was a no returns policy on sale items.
"Is there something wrong with it?" she asked.
"I wanted lilac; this is mint. You gave me the wrong one."
"But you picked—"
"I want my money back."
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we cannot exchange or return it if there's nothing actually wrong with it."
"It's not the colour I wanted," he said, his hand trailing up to his necklace again.
Padma's cheeks felt hot. She glanced out the window, trying to calm herself.
It didn't help, though. The streets were even more packed now, with people jostling each other to get inside the joke shop. Her eyes were immediately drawn to one of the customers, whose bright blond hair stood out as he tried to convince a pretty brunette not to accept a Pygmy Puff. He shouldn't have been there, free to roam the streets and live a normal life. She didn't care what people said; Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater, and it was because of him and his friends that other people weren't able to walk around themselves.
"Coward…"
"Excuse me?"
Padma blinked. Drawing her attention from the window, she realised that the old man was still standing in front of her.
"Oh, er, sorry," she said. "Alright, fine, I'll return it, but this is the last time."
The man harrumphed and snatched up the coins she withdrew from the register. Rather than leaving, however, he began his usual routine of wandering around the store.
She sighed and began to prepare the store for opening, but it seemed no one was patient that morning. No sooner had she stacked some bottles of beetle eyes, the door opened and happy chatter and music from the street engulfed the store. She whipped around to tell the new customers they were closed, but something purple and fluffy zoomed inside with them, emitting a loud squeak.
"Oh, no, no, no, no!" she said, lunging at the Pygmy Puff.
The creature squeaked again and darted out of her grasp. It bounced around the shop, knocking over a selection of ugly brass photo frames and sending the teacups crashing to the ground.
One of the customers, a witch with a short, brown bob, chuckled. "Isn't it darling? That Weasley boy is a genius."
"I wanted a purple one!" her young daughter said, pouting. "Not a pink one."
Padma repaired the teacups with her wand before looking around and spotting the Pygmy Puff scuttling around the floor. When it saw her coming, its fur changed to dark violet, and it scurried away to a bookshelf, leaving behind a pile of tiny, glittery, black pebbles.
"Don't hurt it! Mother, don't let her hurt it!"
"She won't, dear. You, girl, leave it be; those creatures are for people who have lost someone and need comfort, not to chase around. Now, how much can I get for this frame? There's a tiny mark on the corner, so I imagine it'll be discounted…"
Padma ignored the woman and reached for the Pygmy Puff. It stood still as she moved her hand closer, but just before she could grab it, it shuffled between some cooking books.
"Merlin's balls!"
"Why, I never! I'll be speaking to your manager. Such language from an employee!" the witch said.
She took hold of her daughter's hand and stormed out the door, letting in the loud chatter and music again. It added to the headache that was now forming in Padma's head. She turned to the old man, hoping that he'd also leave, but he was staring out the window at the cheerful customers outside.
As the morning turned into afternoon, things didn't improve. Although many of the customers had dwindled off, she'd been given no respite from reminders of the celebration. When she'd stepped out for a quick lunch break, she'd spotted Percy Weasley speaking with Luna Lovegood. She'd not expected much from Luna in the way of displaying appropriate emotions—after all, the girl's hair had been dyed purple in honour of the day—but she had from Percy. The Weasley boy had always seemed sensible to her: Head Boy, studious, law-abiding… She'd thought that at least he, of all people, would've pointed out to somebody that the celebrations were inappropriate, rather than entertain a Pygmy Puff like nothing was wrong.
The music from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was still blaring through Diagon Alley. If she hadn't had a headache before, she did now.
"Can't you do something about that?" the old man asked, who'd only left for an hour.
Padma resisted the urge to glare at him and continued sweeping up the rogue Pygmy Puff's latest mess. "I would if I could."
He wandered straight past her, making his way to the counter. Dumping a box of automatic potato peelers that he'd bought that morning, he clicked his fingers. "Can I have some service here?"
"Just a moment."
The Pygmy Puff peered out from beneath some towels. When it saw the old man, it gave a delighted squeak and scuttled over to him, scattering the pile of glittery, black pebbles and clumps of purple fur that she'd just swept up.
"Hello? Some service?"
Groaning, Padma dropped the brush and headed over to him. Her head was now pounding, not helped by the way the man was drumming his fingers on the counter. The Pygmy Puff jumped up beside him, dancing around and scratching the glass surface with its paws.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
"I've changed my mind. I'd like this in purple, please," he said.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but as I told you this morning, we cannot exchange or refund for change of mind—"
"Can't you make an exception? I'm one of your best customers…"
"I'm sorry, sir, but—"
"Come on…"
The Pygmy Puff danced over her hand, chirping in her ear, as the music from outside grew louder. Her cheeks burned, and she turned away from the man's piercing gaze. Looking out the window, her headache now excruciating, she was met with the sight of more of her laughing friends.
"Hello? Are you listening?"
She took a deep breath, but her whole body was shaking. Why did no one care?
The Pygmy Puff continued dancing, its squeaks growing shriller, and the old man continued rapping his knuckles on the counter.
"Well, can you help me or not?"
Everyone was so blissfully happy…
"Well?"
"NO! No, I cannot help you!" she exploded, unable to keep it in any longer.
The Pygmy Puff immediately went quiet, its fur turning a light lilac. It scooted closer to the old man, who blinked at her.
"Excuse me?"
"I said 'no.'" Her cheeks felt like they were on fire and hot tears filled her eyes. "No, I won't help you. Perhaps you could be the one to help me instead, hmm? I would love it if everyone stopped complaining, stopped telling me what to do, stopped demanding I move on!"
She glared at the man, who opened and closed his mouth. He'd probably get her fired. She didn't care; she'd only applied for the job to get away from it all, but that hadn't worked, had it?
She stormed around the counter and plopped down on a spindly display chair, the tears falling down her cheeks.
The old man's cheeks were also red, but his blue eyes softened as he walked over to her. "There, there, I can imagine it's a tough day. Why don't you tell me about it?"
She looked up at him, caught off guard by his gentle tone. He was the first person to bother asking her how she felt, and with a sniff, she replied, "She was my friend, too."
The man nodded. "Go on."
She wiped her nose with her elbow. "Everyone is fine to move on," she said, jabbing a finger at the window, where people could be seen laughing. "They think it's okay to celebrate and laugh and forget the pain of the war. They think that because they're fine, everyone else should be, too. Just because Lavender was my sister's best friend didn't mean her death didn't hurt me any less. I cared about her; I lost her."
The tears plopped down onto her apron. She looked up at the man, but he was staring out the window. The skies had finally decided to open up, and rain lashed against the glass.
"I know how you feel," he said.
Following his gaze, she saw that he seemed to be staring at Luna, who was against the window of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, still chatting with Percy. It finally dawned on her that the man was none other than Luna's father. She'd only seen him once, or rather, his picture in a magazine that Luna had long ago thrust under her nose. She should've guessed by his strange clothes who he was, even if he now appeared more haggard.
"People tend to forget that the war impacted everyone in different ways," he said, sighing as he continued watching his daughter and Percy. "They don't realise that people want to talk about it, or about anything at all, really."
A bubble of guilt swirled in her stomach as she realised why he was always in the shop. He hadn't been there to make her life more difficult; like her, he felt alone.
"I suppose they're happy now, though, and I can't complain about that," he said, finally drawing his eyes from the window and winking at her.
Despite her tears, Padma's lips lifted into a small smile at his choice of words. A small squeak caught her attention, and she turned to see the Pygmy Puff cautiously making its way over to them. It nudged her leg hesitantly. When she bent down to pat it, it leapt into her lap.
"It's okay not to be okay; move on in your own way. I dare say, though, your friend wouldn't have wanted you to miss out on all the good things, would she?"
She nodded. Lavender wouldn't have wanted her to mope around; if anything, she'd have made her find a name for the Pygmy Puff. With a shaky hand, she patted its soft fur; it purred and changed from lilac to a pretty lavender.
The old man glanced out the window again. "It's stopped raining. You know, rainbows are a way of starting over after a cloudy day. Perhaps, with no more irate customers around, we could make the party after all?"
She smiled as she looked out at the rainbow that'd formed. Holding the Pygmy Puff, which was now purring, she followed Mr Lovegood to the door.
Lavender's death still hurt, but a simple conversation was exactly what she'd ordered.