Diagon Alley; purveyor of items large and small, fantastic and weird, and of all conceivable shapes and sizes. Crowded shops and booths were overrun with equally diverse clientele – pinching and prodding, weighing with their eyes and testing for soft spots and cut corners. It was impossible to keep from being swept away, impossible to simply browse, and impossible to come out of any shopping endeavor without (at the very least) bruised feet.
Padma preferred things quieter, to say the least. She liked things orderly, and neat, and she liked them to go exactly how they ought to go – and Diagon Alley certainly did not go where anyone told it to. She, much to Parvati's horror, liked catalogues. She liked to order away for things and then, in around 3-5 business days exactly, she liked to receive them in their crisp packaging, all ready to be used. However, much to her chagrin, there were a few things that simple could not be ordered away for – or, more specifically, when you ordered away for these things you ran the risk of being unpleasantly surprised.
Fruit was one of these things. Padma had tried sending out for fruit, and had ended up with a box containing a bunch of bananas and a veritable colony of spiders that proceeded to (1) scurry on their merry way almost immediately upon being discovered and (2) gave her sister multiple minor strokes over the course of the next month, until they eventually succumbed to the dreary English weather. Thus, from that point on, Padma made a solemn vow to brave that crowds, and strange smells and bruised toes for her weekly Produce Restock.
That morning, the goal was apples. Lovely, green apples that would sit so nicely in the palm of her hand, and (apparently) spruce up their flat considerably when placed decoratively on the kitchen table. Apples to have with peanut butter, and to bake into pies, and to leave embarrassing drips of tart juice in the pages of her favorite books. The notorious downfall of several well-known ladies, and the reason Padma Patil was willing to tolerate both an overabundant stock-girl and a embittered cashier.
A half – no, one dozen, please, and there you are. Free to leave with your purchases and wade back through the crowds into civilization once again, laden with your perfect, crisp reward and sated until next week.