Delicata Tatiana Malifica Puddifoot left Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry determined to make her mark in the world.

The world had different ideas.

A good part of it had been her own fault, and over time Delicata had come to realize this, but the girl of forty years ago had no inkling of how misfortune, complications, and sheer bad luck would grudgingly bring her back to Hogsmeade within a year with little more than a tattered deed to a defunct herb shop, the legacy of an ancient aunt.

The Slytherin in her had sneered at the decrepit building, but Delicata had also learned to rein in that part of herself and look for what money she could make from the place. 'Not much' was her first assessment as she walked through the cramped, dark shop. Her auntie Grizella had been of the 'quaint storybooke shoppe' influence, and the place still smelt strongly of thyme and powdered mandrake. Spiders the size of Galleons hung from the rafters, taunting her, and every step on the ancient flooring creaked. Puddles there too. Undoubtedly the roof would need re-thatching, and the walls would have to be treated with Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover to take out whatever essences had soaked through them over the ages.

Still, the shop was in a good location, just off the left turn of the High Street, protected from the breezes off the lake by the trees. The big front window was dusty but still intact, probably toughened with charms against breakage, and there was a good sized apartment over the whole place as well.

Delicata had stretched herself out on the stained stone counter, crossed her hands behind her head and thought hard about what to do.

Hogsmeade had no need of an herb shop; between owls, Floo powder and Apparation most of the Wizarding world could get their supplies without needing to stop in. There were two pubs already, so serving up butterbeer and related tiffin was out and in any case, Delicata had no desire to compete with either Aberforth or Rosemerta, thank you.

Clothing didn't appeal to her, and certainly not books, or stationary, and she had no patience with creatures . . . the memory of her last encounter with a kneazle had her wincing and rubbing her rump against the stone counter under it. Sitting up, Delicata sighed when a shadow passed by the dust-coated front glass. Two shadows in fact, quickly merging into one.

This looked interesting. Moving closer, she caught bits of rather intimate conversation and grinned as she pulled out her wand. One good blast—

"—no place for a snog. It's cold out there and I'd kill for a cuppa before we have to go back," the girl's whine came through clearly.

"—too. Just one more quick one then, hey?"

Delicata held back, running her thumbnail along her wand and thinking. The couple beyond the glass finished their kiss and left, but she didn't notice for a long time.

Yes. Now that was a need unfulfilled. An untapped market. And, she realized, a never-ending one. There would always be students coming to town, always sweethearts needing a little corner to call their own . . .

She giggled. It wasn't a nice sound, but it did have a hint of relief in it and inside, her Slytherin was giggling along.

In a month, Puddifoot's opened.

Delicata looked around and nodded, aware of how much hard work had gone into making the place look inviting. She'd fought against her inner desire for leather, chrome and glass, and had given in to floral chintz, to doilies and tea cozys and pouffes. Little samplers of hearts and rosebuds hung on the walls, and the drapes framing the front window glittered with pink pearls and pansies.

She detested the décor, personally. All of it looked like it had been stolen from some barmy old Hufflepuff's cottage (some of it had, Delicata inwardly acknowledged) and the overwhelming pinkness of everything threatened to give her a headache. But it would work. It had to work because she'd spent every last Knut she had (and a few 'borrowed' from various sources) to insure it.

It was all here for the sweethearts: cozy atmosphere, adorable motifs, and intimate little tables for two set about. There were heart placemats and precious figurines on each table, hints of vanilla and lavender in the air, even a mirror with flower petals around the frame perfectly sized to reflect a couple in love.

Sickening. But necessary. Delicata didn't believe in love much, but she'd been deceived enough times to know what the proper trappings should look like. A lover's teashop where couples could linger for hours, spending Galleons for a fancy tea together.

Lots and lots of Galleons if she could work it right. Oh love potions might not be officially allowed at Hogwarts, but a drop here and there in the shop might be handy. A wink and a smile could do only so much, and after all, romance was a lovely thing. A precious thing, worth quite a bit in the lonely world of Wizarding. Even short, stout, witches and wizards wanted to be adored, Delicata knew. The spotty ones, the awkward ones, the ones always left standing outside of the common rooms—they all appreciated what a little charm or potion could do.

And so the tearoom thrived. The other shopkeepers were chilly at first of course—each student only had so much money, and everyone wanted a crack at it—but when it became clear that Puddifoot's wasn't going to cut into anyone else's venture, then matters warmed up a bit along High Street. Delicata made it a point to stay demure, and put a little flutter into her voice when talking to her neighbors, letting them assume she was harmless and mild. Most of them believed she was, or had lost the edge she'd had when at school, with two exceptions: Ambrosius Flume and his wife Sucette.

Annoying, that. Delicata had never gotten along with either of them all through their time at Hogwarts, and there was the Incident with the Burnt Scarf, and the Matter of the Misplaced Cauldron, both of which were fully explainable and hardly any reason to hold a grudge, but there you had it. Some people were too touchy about their things, and others were too thick to pay attention, Delicata reasoned. In any case those waters were well over the dam now, and everyone needed to let bygones be bygones.

Still, she was glad she didn't have to see Honeydukes from her front window, or speak to the Flumes on any regular basis and that was good for a long while.

But then came the rise of He Who Screwed Over All Wizard Economy Among Other Things, and Delicata found that although Hogwarts had been rebuilt, and that although they were holding classes again, finally, that her teashop wasn't bringing in much business these days. The school still had sweethearts, but a number of them only stopped in for their first dates, or only stayed long enough to be seen by others. There were mumbles about it being too old-fashioned and more about the tea itself being less than spectacular.

And THAT was annoying. For years Delicata had kept the same brands of biscuits and tea on hand—mostly Auntie Gin's Spell-icious jammy dodgers and Merlin's Magic—and they'd been tried and true. Cheap at the cost as well, and if the biscuits were a little stale, well they weren't the reason you were at Puddifoots' anyway. As for the tea, it was a bit old fashioned, but nobody had ever complained before.

Before.

Now she heard the little excuses and saw the eyerolling as students sauntered by. Out of all the descriptions, 'frumpy', 'twee' and 'out-of-date' made her blood boil. She considered her options and did what any self-respecting Slytherin of her generation would do: she cheated.

Delicata Puddifoot lowered her prices, lowered her lighting, and brought in new nibbles to tempt her customers. Gone were the jammy dodgers and in were the cream puffs, the petit fours and the lovely assortments of chocolate, all crafted into hearts ready to be carved with initials (chocolate, souvenir quill and candy ink all sold separately of course) She added a selection of slightly naughty teas: Slytherin Seductress, Ravenclaw Rogue, Hufflepuff Honeypot and Gryffindor Steady, all of which were simply Merlin's Magic with different levels of love potions in them.

She tried to keep the costs of her renovation down, and managed for the most part, but when it came to the chocolate, Delicata knew she'd have to use Honeydukes. There was no getting around it; Muggle chocolate wouldn't do, not for wizards. Getting it was simple though—she had an associate at Borgin and Burkes who bought the stuff on owl order and send it back to her—and with a few quick spells, Delicata could shape the bars into hearts easily enough with no-one, especially Ambrosius, the wiser.

And it seemed to be working. At least her shop was fuller now, along with her account at Gringotts, and with a little luck she'd finally have enough to settle a few of her debts once and for all. Maybe even have enough to go see the World Cup this year in style. Everything was going along just fine, as far as Delicata Puddifoot was concerned.

-oo00oo—

"Are you quite sure about this?" Winston asked nervously. He stood between Boris and Hyacinth, out of the wind but uneasy nonetheless.

"It's got to be done," Hyacinth replied, chin high. She reached for the door handle to the shop, wincing as the tinkling chimes above announced her entrance. Stepping inside quickly, she drew in a deep breath. It was knocked out of her as Boris plowed his way inside, dragging Winston behind him. They rocked a bit, huddling in a tight group and looking around.

A few couples looked up, briefly, before turning back to their own affairs, and Hyacinth was the first to spot the empty table on the far side of the shop. "Come on," she murmured, and headed for it, weaving around people as she did so. The steamy warmth of the shop was a welcome change from the chilly wind blowing up High Street, and already her muffler felt sticky.

Settling down, Hyacinth unwrapped herself and opened her coat, taking careful note of her surroundings. The teashop was everything she'd been told it was and yet she still wasn't prepared for the degree of cloying sweetness to the place. Random showers of glitter and tiny paper hearts showered down periodically.

"It's falling into everyone's tea," Winston observed mournfully. "Nasty."

"Probably edible," Boris offered. He sat on one side of Hyacinth, his expression making it clear that the dainty chair under him was not as strong as he would like.

Menu scrolls appeared at each of their settings, and Hyacinth opened hers. The listed items sparkled. It took delicate skill to create this sort of Charm, and she grudgingly admired the work even as she looked over the selections.

"Hufflepuff Honeypot?" Winston whispered in a scandalized tone.

"Pffft, that fits you," Boris replied. "But I am not a Seductress. It should be something better. Slytherin Sexypants maybe."

Winston looked up, mouth pursed. "Really, Boris? We're in a little village teashop, not a . . . ." he didn't finish as both Hyacinth and Boris looked at him expectantly, each with a small smile.

"A . . . ?" Boris prompted.

"A place that is not a teashop," Winston finished. "For Merlin's sake, don't draw attention, all right?"

"He's right," Hyacinth murmured. "So. I'm going to have a cup of Steady and one of the little chocolate heart samplers. How about you two?"

"A pot of Rogue," Boris decided. "At least that's a better name. And one of the big Hearts, I suppose."

They waited as Winston agonized for a while. He looked up, finally, and sighed. "Cuppa Honeypot, if only for House loyalty, and some cream puffs."

"No chocolate?" Hyacinth teased.

Winston shook his head. "It gives me spots."

In that little awkward moment the scrolls disappeared, and Hyacinth looked around as discreetly as she could. There were a few faces she recognized—the Head Boy for Ravenclaw certainly, and a girl she vaguely remembered from Herbology.

"That's Clara Pennington," Winston whispered as he stared over Boris' shoulder at another table, "and Alec Singh. Had no idea they were a couple. Fancy that."

"I see one of your friends," Boris said slowly, motioning with his chin to someone off on Winston's left side.

"Yeah?" Winston began to turn his head but just then a trio of cupids circled overhead, each carrying a steaming cup of tea and distracting him. They set them down in front of each person, and a moment later, two more cupids brought Boris his pot, navigating carefully to set it in the center of the table.

Hyacinth didn't want to feel charmed by this, but a tiny part of her was. Grumpily she reached for her cup, studying the brew. "Smells like plain old Merlin to me."

Winston topped his with two spoons of sugar and sipped it before nodding. "Yeah, I think you're right. What about yours, Boris?"

They watched him drink a mouthful.

"Tea," he shrugged. "Hot, though. Not bad."

"So that's something else that's not entirely aboveboard here," Hyacinth grumbled. "Honestly, where does she get off renaming things?"

"She's looking this way," Boris observed. He leaned forward and laid his huge hand over Winston's.

Winston blinked. "Er, I say—"

"Shhh, just smile, Honeypot boy, and show how delighted you are to be with me," Boris urged.

Winston spluttered slightly, and Hyacinth noted that when he blushed it stood out well on his apple cheeks. "Honeypot boy?"

"It is what you are drinking," Boris reminded him. "And I do not think calling you 'Puff boy' would be wise in this place."

Now Winston made a slightly strangled sound of suppressed outrage that Hyacinth stopped with a little pat on his cheek. "He's teasing, Winston, all right? Take a sip of your tea and relax."

Winston did as ordered, glaring over the top of his cup as Hyacinth watched her sampler dish arrive. The tiny chocolate hearts were dusted with glittery gold and pink sparkles.

Hyacinth gritted her teeth. She snatched one up and bit into it, closing her eyes all the better to concentrate on the flavors.

Yes, oh yes, definitely Honeydukes, she realized. This was a chunk of Espresso Express, the rich blend of chocolate and coffee as blatantly obvious to her as a neon sign. To be sure, she finished the little heart and licked her fingers.

The second piece was Chocomallow. The third, Mocha Magic. With every bite Hyacinth found herself growing more righteously indignant as she recognized the blends her uncle had developed over the last two decades. These were flavors she'd grown up with, had helped mix and mold, helped to sell.

"Er, sorry I'm late—is everyone all right?" Roger asked.

Hyacinth opened her eyes and glanced up, startled out of her snit. Roger dragged over a chair and sat opposite her, his hair a bit wild from the wind as he unwound his scarf from his throat.

"We're having tea, "she told him. "We're fine."

"Really." Roger very deliberately looked from Winston to Boris and back again. Hyacinth followed his gaze and immediately understood his skeptical tone. Boris still had his hand over Winston's, and was leaning over the table, gazing at him in a particularly intense fashion. For his part, Winston was smiling, the dimples at the corners of his mouth dinting sweetly.

"I think," Boris sighed, "that the tea is very good and that Winston is обожаемый."

"I have no idea what that means, but it's adorable," Winston replied. His eyes were slightly glazed although his tone was still normal-sounding.

"Boris, what are you drinking?" Roger demanded in a soft voice. "For the love of St. Mungo are you sure you're all right?"

"Da," he replied, lightly caressing the hand in his.

Hyacinth tried not to smile. "So she's dosing the tea with love potions as well. Honestly, is there no level to which this woman will not stoop?"

Roger shot her a sharp look. "Have you had any tea? Oh Lord, you've had chocolate as well . . ."

"I'm fine," Hyacinth assured him with a wave of her hand. At that point the chocolate heart that Boris had ordered appeared, the cupids resting the velvet-lined box on the table. A fluffy pink quill rested next to it, along with a tiny bottle of pink and red ink.

Roger eyed it dubiously. "And that's for . . . ?"

Boris beamed. He opened the ink, dipped the quill and proceeded to write 'Я люблю Уинстона' on it in neat letters. He added little flourishes before turning it towards Winston.

"Marvelous, you big lovely bear," Winston beamed. "What's it say?"

"It says 'Я люблю Уинстона,' of course," Boris told him proudly.

"Well, there we are," Winston nodded. "Of course it does."

"Oh dear," Roger murmured, shooting a concerned glance at Hyacinth. "This could be a problem."

"Agreed," Hyacinth nodded, stifling a giggle. "Perhaps we'd all better go outside and get some air."

"Must we go? I'm not done with my tea, and my creampuffs haven't come," Winston protested lightly. Hyacinth hooked an arm around his, levering him out of his chair.

"You're done with this tea, certainly," she informed him. "And I don't dare let you have a creampuff at this point."

"I must come too," Boris insisted, saving Roger the effort of trying to tug him along. With another fluffle of scarves, loose change and hastily wrapped goodies they began to make their way out of the shop, Boris still holding Winston's hand.