II:
The next few days trudge on by at an astronomically slow rate. Diana, from sheer force of having nothing else to do, considers ending her banner's short lived career.
At this point, it serves more as decoration than anything else; if she's going to live out the rest of her life as a mediocre shop owner, she certainly can do it without embarrassing herself even further.
But tragically, when she reaches for the parchment, Diana comes to the sudden realization that sometimes, time can heal even the worst of wounds. What had once been an artistic disaster, in mere days, has now somehow become elusively appealing.
(Is it the deep emerald green paint? Or the charming calligraphy she's slaved years on to achieve? Or perhaps, is it the crooked placement of the words themselves, reflecting her own disintegrating hope that she'll have a customer by the end of the week?).
Hands frozen over the banner, Diana lowers her arms and releases a defeated sigh. She grudgingly returns to the store and plops on a stool behind the counter.
When it nears the late afternoon, she resignedly prepares to close shop once again, bereft of a single customer.
If this continues, heads will roll, with my name first on the list, she thinks with sinking dread. Absentmindedly, her left hand outlines a headband in a notebook, with one side of the accessory significantly wider than the other.
"Why is it I can never get these lines straight?" she frowns sourly, fingers twitching for the heavily-abused eraser sitting nearby. Her scowl deepens as she sketches a cute bow on top, so focused she nearly misses the bright ring of a bell.
"Oh!" Her head shoots up, hands flying when she leaps from her stool, nearly knocking over her entire counter. Could it be? Her very first customer? "Hello! Can I help you with anything?"
There is a man at the entrance, shuffling uneasily near the doorway. His frazzled eyes move quickly from side to side, right hand erratically tapping the side of ragged pants.
(Muggle clothing, she notes with envy. Oh, the things she would give to wear pants on the job…).
"Um, hello," he dips his head before removing his loose-fitting cap. "I, er, saw your sign outside. And I needed something rather last minute…"
"I'll see what I can do to help, sir!" Diana's legs nearly vibrate with nervous energy. She knew that banner would be useful. Grabbing a sketchbook and several utensils, she guides the man to the lounge. "Please, have a seat!"
"Ah, thank you," the man sits at the very edge of his seat, hands wrapped carefully around his knees. With a hopefully calming smile, Diana slowly waves her wand, bringing her tea set to the table.
"Now, please, did you need anything in particular?" A heating charm brings the water to a boil as the man searches through her wares.
"Well, I was hoping to get something more personal," he answers hesitantly, glancing around for another moment before slumping forward. "I didn't have the time nor the, ah, funds to go to somewhere in Diagon…"
"That's completely understandable," she nods in agreement as her pot pours out two cups of tea. One is gently pushed forward to the man. "Would you like some?"
The man looks down at the cup - so suspiciously so, that Diana is compelled to add, "It's just tea, sir."
Seemingly abashed, the man accepts the drink, adding one sugar cube and a little milk in as well.
"I'm sure we can find something that will work for you," she reassures, taking a sip of her own tea. "Is it a gift for someone?"
"Well, yes," the man says, taking a tentative sip before glancing down at his cup in surprise. He abruptly clears his throat. "It's for a birthday. My daughter's, in fact."
"Oh, your daughter!" Diana says, instantly pleased at the prospect. "Do you have something in mind?"
"I was hoping for something that covers her head, for the incoming heat," the man confesses, slowly turning his tea cup in circles. "But it doesn't look like you have any of those…"
"You don't need to worry about that, sir," Diana takes a large gulp of her tea and flips to a new page in her sketchbook. "A hat would be perfect for the summer, perhaps a sun hat?"
She mutters a few more things under her breath, and a smile nearly breaks out when she sees the man take another sip of his tea. With a pencil, she sketches a vague outline of a little sun hat with a wide rim.
"Could you tell me a little more about her, perhaps, sir?" she asks, hopefully in a nice, unobtrusive way. "This is only for consulting purposes, I assure you."
"I suppose that is understandable," the man answers haltingly, and takes another sip of his drink. "My daughter is turning seven today. She has blonde hair, like her mother, and I believe her favorite color is blue…"
A image begins to form underneath her hands, but at the man's wavering voice, she pauses to glance back up.
The man's hazel eyes turn downwards, the lines on his face becoming more pronounced. "Forgive me, young miss. There's not much I can give you beyond that."
A hum travels from her throat as she lowers her sketchbook onto the table.
"There's no reason to apologize, sir," she begins slowly, hands clasped in her lap. In the back of her mind, a voice shrieks DANGER, DANGER, DON'T FUCK THIS UP, DON'T FUCK THIS UP.
"I can tell that you care very much for her," Diana adds quietly, even as the voice continues to scream. "You've come all the way here to get her gift, with a specific idea in your mind. That, more than anything, tells me of how much you love her."
The man takes another sip of his tea. With a wry smile, he admits, "It certainly doesn't seem so at the moment. It's already difficult enough trying to make ends meet, but I've been terrible with everything else - I missed her birthday last year and it broke her heart."
Very casually, Diana brings her drink to her lips.
"It makes me wonder if I've made a mistake," the man rubs the back of his neck and rests his forearms on his legs. At a moderate pace, Diana mirrors the same position. "I'm struggling to support our family. I'm forgetting things left and right - I, I just wonder if I've made a mistake with all of this. Being here, being, being a father."
Silence fills the shop. As if realizing what he has just said, the man blinks and gives a hard look at the near empty cup in his hands.
"It's really just tea," Diana says with a strange smile on her lips. She stops briefly before continuing. "And if I may be frank with you, sir - to me, the love you have for your family makes it clear that you don't truly believe it's a mistake."
She picks up her sketchbook and writes down a few more notes, and adds, "Times may be hard, but your family is there for you. Despite your heavy feelings on this matter, you're trying so hard. It would be impossible for them to not notice."
In the next quiet moments, Diana presents her drawing to the man. "And how does this look to you?"
"That," the man stumbles, clearly still reeling from some sort of revelation. "That works."
"I'm glad you think so, sir," she beams, standing as she pulls out her wand.
Giving it a wave, she summons several materials, including a spool of braided straw. The straw itself is one of her favorites, when made from the fiber of knotgrass and several other magical plants, the material becomes incredibly malleable to magic of all sorts.
"What, what are you doing?" the man follows her to his feet, ducking away from the items flying by. The materials settle down gently after the tea set has been cleared off.
Diana raises her wand and near immediately, her magic, like a warm summer day, rushes through her.
"Just a few minutes please," she tells the man, eyes creasing at the confusion on his face. "This is my favorite part."
"Wait, you're going to make it here? Now?"
Pushing the man's rising voice away from her thoughts, she unravels the spool of straw with a twirl of her wand. With a soft murmur, the straw begins to slowly intertwine with other strands, tightening to take shape. Eyes nearly closed from the image in her mind, Diana hums a section of a Beethoven symphony.
The warmth of her magic flares with heat as she considers the love of a father, the desperate, humble, wishful love of a father. The magic grabs the thoughts, the endless love, the fondness, the hope for blue skies, and several sections of the straw hat begin to form.
Her arm moves in tangent with the dancing materials, scissors snipping off loose ends, magic attaching itself between the separate parts. To keep it all together, she carves a symbol at the top and whispers a call:
"Joy of all, your heart be pure
Let no sorrow remain at the hearth
Leave your troubles behind
And remember the sun."
She opens her eyes and takes a glance at the frozen man, keeping her magic in place, steady and flowing.
"Can you give me her name, sir?" she asks, quietly, and the sound shakes him out of his stupor.
"It's, it's Emily," he says just as softly, still fixated at the sight in front of him. "But we call her Emma."
"Emma," Diana tastes the name on her tongue, and laughs. "What a lovely name."
The newly formed hat flips over, and gold thread stitches through the straw inside, printing out in loose cursive, For Emma. A string of baby blue ribbon wraps around the base of the hat, resting gracefully with a bow on the side. A tiny sunflower, cut from the vase on her countertop, inserts itself next to the bow.
Inhaling deeply, Diana releases a heavy breath and with it, the magic held within the air.
Immediately, the materials surrounding her drop none-too-gently onto the table. The straw hat, on the other hand, lands gently in her hands.
"Wh-What was that?" the man stutters, breaking the eerily kept silence. "What was that magic?"
"Oh, well, it's quite experimental at the moment," Diana says bashfully, before remembering that she's trying to sell a business, and tacks on quickly, "But it's completely safe! Tested by the Ministry and everything."
"I see," the man says slowly, and when it looks like he's ready to bolt, Diana swiftly gives him the hat.
"At least try it on, sir," she gives an imploring smile. "It's charmed to resize for little Emma, of course."
Still appearing rather suspicious, the man places the hat gently on his head, the sight only slightly ridiculous.
"I," the man starts before stopping. He removes the hat and waves his own wand over it.
"No other charms, or hidden curses," he mutters, going through some rather impressive diagnostic spells. A single rune flares to view underneath the top of the hat. "Wunjo? That's not harmful either…"
Finally, the man raises wide eyes at her. "What is this?"
"Like I said, it's quite experimental," Diana says, unsurprised at the amount of suspicion directed towards the item.
A flick of her wand brings over the Ministry stamped proposal from her drawers. She presents it to the man. "Studies don't deny the impact intent has on magic. I'm simply exploring the effect it has when mixing charms and runes into fabric. It's not too far off from what what many are already doing."
The man accepts the document blankly, barely glancing over the heavy stack of papers until the words catch up to his ears.
"Well, the idea is very unfamiliar to me, but I think I can understand where it comes from," he says after a while. He eyes the hat in his hands while a tiny smile forms. "I apologize for the suspicion, miss. I would love to purchase it, if that's possible. Although the cost…"
"That's lovely to hear, sir!" Diana beams, rushing to the counter where her register stands. "That'll be nine sickles and three knuts."
"What? That's far too little," the man says in protest. "Just considering the amount of magic you must have put in here - "
"Nine sickles and three knuts," she interrupts serenely. "Take it or leave it, sir."
A momentary pause before the man lets out a deep sigh. Pushing over the appropriate amount, he gives a disbelieving smile. "This wasn't what I entirely expected walking in here, but I'm glad I did, nevertheless. Thank you for this, miss."
At those words, Diana smiles, putting the money safely away and shakes the man's hand heartily.
"No, thank you for allowing me to do this, sir," she walks him to the front door, and nods appreciatively. "Please tell little Emma I said happy birthday!"
"I will," the man chuckles, the motion easing the tension along his features. He puts on his cap and tips it off to her. "I'm sure your own father is proud of how far you've come. Have a good evening, miss."
"Good evening, sir!" Diana calls with a wave. In her mind, she decides to let that sudden topic remain buried for now. There's no father in her life at the moment, and there certainly never had been. Perhaps, in that previous life, but well. That's another world away.
She lets her hand fall as soon as he apparates away. When she enters the shop again, she collapses onto a nearby couch from sheer nerves.
"A sale. An actual sale," she mumbles face first into a pillow. "I'm going to sleep for a whole week now."
It's a tempting thought, but no, she's an adult now with a full time job. An adult, with a full time job, who still hasn't picked up any groceries.
"Fuck," she then says, her words muffled and mangled through the cushion. "Is it going to be cereal again tonight?"
As if the planets had spoken, Diana did, indeed, have cereal again that night.
.
.
.
where are we going this? you don't know, i don't know, we are all collectively in a perpetual state of confusion.
till next time!
- SE