"Potions, spells, lucky charms, get them here ladies and gentlemen!" I shouted above the din of the crowd, "Guaranteed to work for love, luck, money, whatever you need!"
"Got anything for a disgruntled wife?" A greasy-fingered man shoved a fifty pound note in my face, his face splotchy red and eyes shifty.
"Caught you cheating or sick of the drinking?" I took the money and put it in my bag before lifting the ratty tablecloth to check the stores.
"Both!" He grunted at me with an ugly grin.
Rolling my eyes, I handed him a bag of herbs and a small vial. "Buy her some jewelry, leave it in the bag overnight under a new moon. Slip the vial in a glass of the richest red wine you can find. Problems solved by the end of the week."
He shoved the two in his pocket. "Pleasure doing business with you, girl!"
Obviously, everything was a placebo. It's illegal, or at least unethical, to sell magic items to muggles. Some random herbs that smell nice together, a few drops of scented water that wouldn't ruin the wine. And every wife likes to get jewelry. But during the downtown Renaissance Faire season, it was the best way to earn money on the side. I really ought to find a job suited for a proper witch, with my outstanding marks in nearly every subject at Beauxbatons I would have no trouble doing so, but everything in England sounded so stuffy. Either I became a professor at Hogwarts, recently reopened after the war nearly two years ago, or I worked for the ministry, which sounded almost as bad as a muggle office job to me. I'd rather sell grass and water on the sidewalks, dressed in full witch attire with a dusty black lace dress and a crooked hat.
"Hey lady!"
I was used to being shouted at, but it was rude nonetheless, so I took my sweet time turning around. "Yes?"
My face fell when I recognized the customer. They were a regular, which was bad news, because it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that everything I sold didn't really work.
"You know, I bought this bottle of love potion last week. Hundred pounds. And you know what, I ain't walking around with a new girlfriend, am I?"
"Sir, sometimes they take a while to work. Who did you give it to?" I asked tediously, accepting the fact that with the scene he was causing I wouldn't be able to work this faire again.
"My old boss lady, and she downright rejects me! And the week before I bought me a luck spell but I lost half my money in the horse race. You're a phony!"
"Sir, the spells only work—"
"Hey everybody! This witch bitch is a fake, let's get her!" He screamed, but I had already taken off a second before, shoving my bank bag into my skirt's pocket and shoving my way through the crowd.
I cursed under my breath as I ran. I've had upset customers before, but none have gotten that angry. Most know subconsciously that what they're buying is fake. They buy it as a last resort, or as a pretty souvenir. What an idiot that guy must have been. I really needed something else to do for a living.
Ducking into a small café at the end of the street, I could hear the mob run right past. As I caught my breath, I looked at the bulletin board on the wall and saw an advertisement for assistant nurse and magical healing practitioner at Hogwarts, in the faint shimmering text that only magic users could see.
What the hell, I thought to myself. It was worth a shot. If it was really boring, I could always make and sell some real potions on the side.