Chapter 15: A Clear View
Isabelle smiled at Phillip as they effortlessly danced around the floor. She knew they made a stunning couple, and she took great pride in that her date was easily the best-looking man there. Muggle clothes suited him, she decided, discreetly admiring his charcoal grey suit. Most of Phillip's teammates opted for basic black or navy, but she was glad he picked a slightly lighter color. Not to mention that he was an excellent dancer, which puzzled her.
"Phillip?"
"Hmm?" He smiled down at her.
"Where did you learn to dance?" she asked sweetly, as his jaw tightened slightly.
"Here and there. Parties, mostly."
"Ha! You're a liar, Phillip Spence. There's no way you learned how to move like that at redneck keg parties. Now, are you going to tell me the truth," she paused and worked up several crocodile tears, "or, did you not mean it when you said you trusted me?"
Horrified that he was about to make her cry, his eyes opened wide and he quickly pleaded, "Please don't cry? I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh. Or tell anyone."
"I promise," she sniffled.
"Well, you know that I started playing soccer after I broke my arm playing Quidditch, right?" he practically whispered, pausing as she nodded. "I was a natural striker, but I was so clumsy that I'd keep accidentally fouling people. So my coach talked me into taking dance lessons."
"Dance lessons?" Isabelle repeated, more loudly than she planned. "You took ballet?"
"Shhh!" Phillip hissed, his face redder than the Christmas decorations.
"That explains it," she said to herself.
"Explains what?" he grumped.
"The way you hold me," she said shyly, staring at his shoulder. "So strong, but really quite--" her voice broke off as she worked up the nerve to finish the sentence, "gentle. Like you know what you're doing. It's just...nice. I think I'm going to shut up now."
Isabelle buried her head in between his neck and shoulder, which Phillip used as an opportunity to pull her even closer to him. When she didn't protest, or move away, he rested his head on top of hers, and idly twisted a curl around his finger as they swayed to the music. He couldn't help replacing the curl with one of the shiny rhinestone strings across the back of her dress. The last time she wore it, her wrap hid the nearly backless nature of the gown, something he considered an absolute crime.
"Maybe I should introduce you to some of my teammates," Phillip said, after several minutes. Isabelle shook her head and snuggled up to him, closing the remaining space between them.
"Can we just dance? I'm very shy," she admitted, intimidated by the idea of meeting a roomful of strangers. She looked up, her green eyes begging him to understand.
"Sure," he agreed softly. "I guess it's pretty hard, being in a new place and all. I wouldn't know. I've lived here my whole life, so I'm sorry if I'm being insensitive."
Isabelle smiled at his earnest expression, realizing that she was falling for Phillip Spence. "No, it's not just that. I've always been shy. When I was a little girl, I used to hide underneath the table during formal parties."
"You didn't," he laughed, trying to keep his eyes from straying downward too far. The way she pressed against him pulled the bodice of her dress down, giving him a very nice view. He was determined to prove he was a gentleman, however, so he was afraid to mention it for fear that she would get upset. So, he pretended not to notice.
"I so did. Mummy P, that was James' mum," she explained, "would charm the tablecloth so I could see out, but no one could see me. I'd sit under there all night and people watch. Eventually, I'd fall asleep and James would carry me home. Then, Lily wouldn't let me do that anymore after I went to Hogwarts. I had to be a 'proper lady'."
"Bummer."
"No joke. But luckily, by then, I had Bill to pal around with. Remember him, the redhead you though was my boyfriend?" Isabelle teased with a playful smile.
"How could I forget? But come on, you spent the whole night with him, except the occasional dance with other guys. What was I supposed to think?"
"Maybe you should've been thinking about your girlfriend instead," she replied lightly, but with a razor-sharp edge to her voice.
Phillip blanched slightly and gently cupped Isabelle's chin in his hand. "After I saw you walk into the room, she was the last thing on my mind. Has been ever since that night, I swear. This probably isn't the right time or place to say this, but I'm crazy about you. Ask anyone. I nearly went insane when I thought you died. Kind of stupid, since I'm sure you didn't remember me from Adam."
"That's not true," she protested, feeling guilty because he obviously didn't make as large of an impression on her as she did on him. He grinned crookedly, the smile lighting up his entire face.
"Would you like to go somewhere and talk? Maybe take a drive? There are some crazy Christmas lights around town," he suggested, subconsciously holding his breath.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
Isabelle wondered what his intentions were, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, she really loved tacky light displays. This time, when Phillip opened the door with a smirk and a flourish, she laughed and threatened to hex his face like that permanently. He sat down in the driver's side seat, turned the car on, and turned to face her.
"I was wondering, that is," he began, stopping to take a deep breath. "I meant it when I said I'm crazy about you. I don't know how to say this other than to just say it. Look, I know I blew it with you once. Would you give me another chance?"
"What?" She stared at Phillip as if he'd lost his mind.
"Please," he pleaded.
"What on earth do you want me for?" Isabelle snorted. "You've made it pretty clear how little you think of me."
"You propositioned me!"
She choked a small sob back and buried her head in her hands. "I didn't have a choice. I needed help, and I didn't think you'd help me any other way. I was desperate to keep Harry, and I thought that maybe if you talked to him, I could--"
"Oh, Isabelle." Phillip reached across the center console, and held her as tightly as the awkwardness of the car would allow. "You didn't have to offer me favors to get me to help you out. I helped you for nothing, remember?"
"But, why? What do you want from me?" she cried into his dress coat.
"For you to stop living this way. Isabelle, are, um, are you in some sort of trouble? Is someone hurting you?"
"N-no. No one's hurting me. But, you got so mad at me! Why would you want to go out with me after that?"
Phillip sat up and wiped the tears from her face while looking her straight in the eyes and saying, "I wasn't mad at you, not really. What I was mad at, furious actually, is that you'd think that the only way to get ahead is to sell yourself. The only way I figure that you'd get that idea is if someone hurt you pretty badly. Is that true?"
"Maybe," she offered, beginning to tremble uncontrollably.
"Hey, it's all right," he repeated soothingly, over and over, until she calmed down somewhat. "Whatever happened, it's all right. Don't worry, I won't push you to talk about it. It's just that I want to make something perfectly clear."
"What's that?" she asked, her face red, swollen and blotched with tears.
"Whatever you had to do to get here, alive, I won't ever hold against you. That's in the past now. It's over. Want to know something?" He barely waited for her to nod before continuing, in a choked voice, "Isabelle, you're worth more than you give yourself credit for. If you give me another chance, I promise I'll treat you like you deserve."
"Wouldn't your mates make fun of you for having a girlfriend in high school?" she wondered.
"Yeah, until they saw what a knockout you are," Phillip joked. "Seriously, though, who cares what other people think? I don't. People can mind their own damn business and leave us to ours."
A smile spread across Isabelle's face. "All right, let's give it a go, then."
-----
Isabelle circled the parking lot at St. Bede's Catholic Church for the third time, impatiently drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. If she didn't find a parking space soon, she might be late to Mass. And considering that this was Harry's first Midnight Mass, she wanted to be on time. Frustrated, she gave up, parked across the street in the William and Mary parking lot, and Apparated inside the church with Harry.
"Oooh, pretty," he breathed, clapping his hands together in awe at the brightly decorated church. "Look, Aunt Is-belle, pretty tree."
"That is a pretty tree," she agreed, quickly taking off their coats and hanging them in the coat room, too frazzled to think of the Shrinking Charm. She picked up her nephew, walked into the sanctuary, and fell into one of the last available seats with a relieved sigh.
"Where's Phillip?" Harry asked innocently, looking around.
"He's not Catholic, love, so he doesn't go to Mass. But, he'll be at home when we get back, to help us get ready for Santa Claus. Ok?"
"Ok," he answered, mollified. "Do you fancy him?"
"Yes, I do. Do you think he'd be a good boyfriend?" Isabelle asked, bouncing Harry on her lap.
"I like him. Do you like to kiss him?"
"Harry!" Her eyes opened wide in shock. "That is not your business, young man."
He shrugged and turned to face the altar. "I saw you kissing him last night. Gross."
Isabelle didn't know what to say to that, so she simply whispered a quick reminder to Harry to be quiet during Mass. He raised a chubby finger to his lips and giggled as the priest walked to the front of the sanctuary and raised his hands in a welcoming fashion. Somehow, Isabelle managed to keep a stern expression, even though she wanted to laugh at her nephew so badly.
"Welcome to St. Bede's," the priest boomed out. "It is our tradition here to begin the Mass with special music. I'd like to introduce Jake Parker, who's been a member at the Church for some time now and is active in the Campus Catholic Ministries at the College next door. A few weeks ago, Jake stopped by to have lunch with an old man, and we got to chatting about the Mass. He mentioned that before his first Midnight Mass, I told the story of how the song 'Silent Night' came to be, and what an impression that made on him."
"What the..." Isabelle whispered, unable to finish her sentence because Harry turned around and shushed her with his whole hand.
Jake Parker, a Catholic? The idea that he was at all religious made her want to laugh aloud. But sure enough, the priest finished his introduction, and a clean-cut, well-dressed Jake strode to the dias, with a guitar in his left hand. Harry gasped and tried to bolt out of Isabelle's lap.
"Be still," she fussed, charming him to her in case he attempted another escape.
"But, I want to go to Uncle Sir-us," he whined, squirming and patting her face to get her to pay attention to his pleas.
"Love, your Uncle Sirius isn't here." Oh, how I wish he was, she thought wistfully. But then again, I wouldn't be here, now would I?
"Uh-huh," Harry insisted, turning her head to the front, where Jake sat, on a stool, telling the story of "Silent Night". "Right there, Aunt Is-belle. I miss him. Please?"
Isabelle frowned, and looked at Jake critically. He did resemble Sirius from a distance, but not so much that anyone would confuse the two. But, there was no convincing Harry otherwise. Eventually she had to take him out of the sanctuary before he disrupted the Mass. Sighing, she bundled them both up and headed back to the apartment.
Leave it to Jake Parker to ruin Christmas, she thought irritably, walking into the living room where Severus looked at her and raised an eyebrow quizzically.
"Minute Mass?" he asked dryly, as Isabelle slammed the door shut.
"No, we had to leave," she explained through clenched teeth. "Get this. That stupid prat Jake Parker is a Catholic. Even better, he sang before Mass. And even more ridiculous than that, Harry thought he was--"
"Uncle Sir-us," the little boy finished cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the purely murderous look on Severus' face. Isabelle gulped, fearing the worst. Sure enough, the next words out of Harry's mouth were, "Where is he, Aunt Is-belle?"
"He had to go away, Harry," Isabelle said quietly.
"Why? Why doesn't he love us anymore?"
"He does love us." Her lower lip trembled slightly. "I promise."
"Where's Gracie?"
"I don't know. Where is Gracie?" Isabelle repeated, giving Severus a pointed look. He scowled and put his fingers together irritably.
"Do not push your luck," Severus said, in a dark, deep voice.
Luckily for her, Phillip arrived early, saving her from a lecture by her guardian about inappropriate topics of conversation. Harry quickly forgot about Sirius, or Gracie, in the excitement of decorating the Christmas tree, a Leland Cypress, of course. Even Severus nearly smiled at Harry's antics and constant chatter. Unfortunately, the little boy was hopelessly clumsy, and kept knocking down ornaments. Once he nearly toppled the entire tree, but Phillip saved it in time.
"I don't understand," Isabelle sighed. "I mean, I'm a dancer. I have great balance, and so did Harry's mom. And his dad was a star Quidditch player."
"Maybe he's blind," Severus suggested snidely.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Perhaps he takes after his godforsaken father and can't bloody see. As in, needs ocular assistance in order to function properly." The sarcasm dripped from his words. He hated it when Isabelle was slow on the uptake. Usually she was quite clever.
"Ohhh." Her eyes lit up with understanding. "You know, that makes perfect sense. Maybe Harry thought Jake was his uncle because he couldn't see well enough to tell the difference."
"Master of the obvious," Severus mumbled inaudibly, wondering how his life had turned out this way – sharing the holidays with the son and sister-in-law of his mortal enemy. And worst of all, he didn't mind. In fact, he was having fun, though he'd rather undergo multiple rounds of the worst curses imaginable than admit it.
-----
"What do you mean, the Camaro is superior to the Trans Am?" Phillip snorted incredulously, looking at Isabelle in disbelief. "What do you know, anyway? You're foreign."
"I may be foreign, but I still have good taste," she replied archly, turning around to look at Harry. He'd been awfully quiet during the entire car ride, which was never a good thing. Luckily, he was happily playing with a toy Snitch that Severus, of all people, gave him for Christmas. "Do you like your toy, Harry?"
"Yup," he chirped, watching the Snitch's wings slowly flutter up and down.
"Don't let go of it," Isabelle warned. "Phillip's driving is bad enough as it is. We'd be in real trouble if that Snitch started flying around the car."
Harry nodded seriously as Phillip frowned, grumped something inaudible, and turned into the massive Wiz-Mart parking lot. The little boy's eyes opened wide at the sight of rows and rows of the most unusual vehicles imaginable. Unlike their English counterparts, who preferred to use as little Muggle technology as possible, American wizards tended to be much more in tune with their surrounding culture. And as a whole, American wizards held an extreme fascination for all motor vehicles.
Instead of traveling by broom, or smuggling in an illegal magic carpet, they would purchase a Muggle vehicle and soup it up however they liked. On the way inside the massive, sprawling store, the trio passed by a Volkswagen Super Beetle that was covered with electric green fuzzy carpet. Isabelle's jaw nearly dropped when she saw an entire Quidditch team pile out of a white Monte Carlo Super Sport. Before she could stop herself, she mused that a flying motorcycle wouldn't be out of place one bit in this parking lot.
Perceptive child that he is, Harry lifted his head from Isabelle's shoulder and quietly said, "I miss him, too."
"Miss who?" Phillip asked, wondering why Isabelle stiffened and set her jaw determinedly.
"Harry's uncle had a flying motorcycle," she explained in a matter-of-fact tone, shifting her thoughts so her nephew wouldn't pick up on more of her thoughts or emotions. "He used to love flying that thing. When Grace was born, she was premature and colicky. Sometimes the only thing that would put her to sleep is if he'd put her in a basket, charm it to the bike, and ride around Great Britain for a few hours."
"Oh," Phillip said, wondering what kind of reckless wizard would put his infant in a flying motorcycle. But, he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to start a fight. Isabelle was quite sensitive about her family, and he preferred to stay on her good side.
"I went too!" Harry exclaimed, hurt at not being included.
Isabelle raised an eyebrow. "I thought your mummy didn't let you go because it was dangerous."
"Mummy didn't. Daddy let me," he answered with a devilish smirk that was James Potter all over.
"I see."
She fought a smile, wondering what Lily would think if she knew. Probably not something very nice, she decided, walking into the store and peering at the directory for the optometrist's office. On the way, Harry begged to stop at least ten times to look at various things, and the only way Isabelle could placate him is with the promise that they'd look around the store after he saw the eye doctor.
They were nearly late as it was, barely making it on time to Harry's appointment. The optometrist at Wiz-Mart was the best in the entire region, and she kept a busy schedule. Isabelle quickly filled out the forms, praying that the examination wouldn't cost too much. She borrowed money from Severus to cover the expense of the exam and Harry's glasses, but she knew that he really didn't have the money to spare. She desperately needed a job, and planned to begin looking that afternoon.
A wiry witch with bushy, bluish-grey hair opened an office door, and called out the pseudonym that Isabelle made up for Harry to use during the holidays. Luckily he remembered his "secret name", and bounded towards the examination room. Isabelle followed him, unwilling to let him from her sight.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry emerged from the tiny, dark room, holding a multi-colored lollipop. Isabelle followed, holding a thick piece of parchment covered in purple scribble. She looked at Phillip, down at her nephew, then at the parchment again.
"Something wrong?" Phillip asked, stuffing an automobile magazine in his coat pocket and standing up.
"I hate her," she replied simply, scooping up Harry and storming off towards the racks of eyeglasses.
"Uh, why do you hate the optometrist?"
"I don't," Isabelle said shortly, clenching her teeth. "Harry, love, why don't you go look at the toys over there for a minute? Don't go too far, though."
She watched him head over to a display of small, magically enchanted basketballs that randomly changed size and color. Satisfied the he would be amused for a few minutes, she said to Phillip, "He's bloody blind as a bat."
"Nice alliteration," he drawled, trying not to laugh at her accent, which grew thicker when irritated. She glared at him, but chose to ignore his statement. Besides, it was good alliteration, she proudly decided.
"He can't bloody see. Why didn't my pathetic excuse of a sister notice that? Oh, wait. That would require her paying a second's worth of attention to Harry, now wouldn't it?" Her words dripped with sarcasm, and she felt like punching something. Hard.
"Why?" Isabelle continued, her voice beginning to wobble. "Why can't I keep Harry? I love him, and it's obvious that Petunia couldn't really care what happens to him. It's just not fair."
Phillip smiled sadly, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his head on her shoulder. They stood silently for a minute, watching Harry try to eat his lollipop and play with the ball at the same time, rather unsuccessfully. "I know it's not fair. But some things aren't in your control."
"Nothing's ever in my control," she said quietly, in the angriest voice he'd ever heard, from anyone.
"That's not true," he replied optimistically.
"Name one thing, just one, that's in my control," Isabelle challenged. He thought for a minute, then smiled and turned her around to face him.
"Well, about Harry, you can't control when you get to spend time with him. But you can control what you do with the time y'all have together. That's one. Here's another: I'm about to kiss you, right in the middle of Wiz-Mart," he said, blue eyes flashing wickedly.
"How can I control that?" she asked flirtatiously.
"You can either let me, or--" Isabelle interrupted him by throwing her shyness aside and kissing him, not caring who saw her. After a couple of minutes, he actually looked slightly embarrassed and whispered in her ear, "And I thought you weren't the type of girl to make out in public."
"I'm not," she said sassily. "Just wanted to make it clear to those stupid girls who follow you around like sodding groupies that you have a girlfriend."
Phillip's eyes flew open. Since when was Isabelle possessive about him? Not that he minded, but still. He couldn't help leaning in for another kiss, having waited for a chance with her for so long.
"Gross," a small voice huffed to Isabelle's right, immediately breaking them apart.
She marveled at how indignantly offended Harry could look, considering his age and stature. Feeling like she'd just been caught snogging by James himself, her face turned bright red and she fought for some semblance of composure. She felt incredibly sorry for any children of Harry's, especially daughters.
"Why do you do that anyway?" Harry asked, making a face.
"Well," Isabelle floundered, "um, because we like each other."
"Why?" he followed up immediately, crossing his arms across his chest. She fought an urge to laugh because he looked so much like his father.
"Because I said so," she said in an authoritative tone that indicated the subject was closed. She smiled down at him and teased, "Just you wait. You'll find a girl you like and kiss her one day."
Harry's eyes grew large as he hissed, "I will not."
"You will too. Anyway, come on. Let's pick out some eyeglasses." Isabelle made a mental note to remember this conversation for future reference. He really cracked her up.
Still indignant, Harry grabbed her hand possessively, frowned at Phillip, and began leading them towards the glasses. Harry didn't know how glasses would make him see better, but he was excited about getting anything brand-new. Afraid that he wouldn't get them if he misbehaved, he patiently waited while Isabelle talked to the sales clerk.
"No," she was saying, "I need a pair that will grow with him. And that are easily repaired with very simple charms."
The tall, thin wizard clucked and stared down at her. "Miss, are you sure all that is entirely necessary? Those options do not come cheap."
"Positive," Isabelle nodded, internally wincing at the price tag attached to a pair of small, wire-framed eyeglasses she plucked off the children's rack. They looked a lot like a pair James wore when he first graduated Hogwarts. When she put them on Harry's still-baby face, he truly was a miniature of his father. "These. These are the perfect pair."
"Are you sure?" the sales wizard asked again, in a low tone. "These are our top of the line frames. I'm sure he could get by with--"
"Yes, I'm absolutely sure. Do you like them, Harry?" Isabelle asked as he studied his image in the mirror.
"Yup," he nodded.
"Well, it's decided, then. How long until they'll be ready?" she inquired politely, but inwardly irritated that the salesman kept second-guessing her. Didn't they work on commission, anyway? she thought, annoyed.
"Two hours," he answered, handing her a stack of parchment forms to fill out.
While she wrote so much that her hand nearly cramped, Phillip kept Harry entertained by playing indoor soccer outside the eyeglass center. When it came time to pay, she was grateful that neither heard the amount – over a month's rent. She gulped, wondering how she would ever pay Severus back.
On the way to the toy section, Isabelle spied a small sign in the apothecary's window. She paused, picked up Harry, and walked closer. Sure enough, it read, "Help Wanted" in large, block letters. Shifting her nephew on her hip, she boldly walked up to the window and rang the bell to get the small wizard's attention. He finished the potion he was working on, then walked over to her.
"Can I help you?" the apothecary drawled, taking out a quill and a thick notepad.
"Actually, yes," Isabelle answered winningly. "I'm here to apply for the job advertised in the window. See, I'm a--"
"Teenager," the man answered dismissively. "Sorry, sweetheart, but I need someone to help make potions and such. Not a secretary."
Sweetheart? Isabelle fought the urge to be irritated, and instead replied, "Good, because I'm an expert in potions making. I'm sure I'm more than good enough for what you need here. At my old school, I actually taught potions to the younger students."
"What school?" The apothecary narrowed his eyes at her foreign accent.
"Beauxbatons," she lied easily, knowing that Professor Dumbledore had manufactured flawless transcripts for her.
"Did you transfer to Spotswood?" he asked, doodling on the pad of parchment. "No. I was too advanced so I study at home," Isabelle answered cooly. "Listen, I know you don't believe me, and I don't blame you. So, why don't you test me?"
"Test you?"
"Two minutes of your time. Pick a potion, any potion, and I'll make it right now. If I can't, then I'll go on my way, with an apology for wasting your time. But if I can..."
The apothecary was quite eager to rid himself of this irritating, blonde teenager and get back to work, so he quickly interrupted, "Fine. Make Wit-Sharpening Potion."
"All right. May I?" When the wizard nodded, she walked inside, still carrying Harry. She took a quick inventory of the shelves, and quickly replied, "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't."
Triumphant, the wizard, whose name tag read Earl, attempted to shoo her from the laboratory, but she stood her ground. "Miss, you said that you would leave. Must I call security?"
"Sir, I can't make the potion because one of the ingredients is missing. Wit-Sharpening Potion calls for scarab beetles. You only have common American ones here. So, you asked me a trick question. No one could make that potion, not even you," Isabelle said calmly.
"What? I always carry scarab beetles," the apothecary huffed, searching the shelf. After a minute, he stood up with a sheepish smile. "I stand corrected. Welcome to the Wiz-Mart Apothecary Department, Miss – what's your name?"
"Isabelle," she replied, shaking his outstretched hand. She didn't want to give her pseudonym last name, in case Harry had a lapse of memory during all the excitement of the day. After all, he was only two and a half.
"Earl," he said, eyeing her with respect. "You have guts, kid. I'll give you that. How about starting after New Year's? Things will slow down after the first, so I can train you then."
I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, she thought with a small smile. "Sounds great."
"Good. Come in next week and we'll make up a schedule."
After talking for a few more minutes, Isabelle bounded over to Phillip, who was talking to a middle-aged lady. She felt as impatient as Harry, and quickly tired of whatever her boyfriend was saying, not that she was paying attention anyway. She was far too busy being thrilled that she actually found a job. A decent job, at that.
"Oh," Phillip started, finally noticing that Isabelle and Harry were standing there. "Where did you disappear to?"
"I got a job," she couldn't help but gush.
"How lovely," the lady said in a surprisingly frosty tone. "Where, at the check-out counters?"
"Oh, no," Isabelle laughed. "I'm the new assistant apothecary. When I get my NEWT levels, which I simply have to push Severus to let me sit for as soon as possible, I'll be a real, live, official apothecary. Isn't that amazing?"
"Quite. Well, Phillip, it was nice to see you. Take care," the lady stiffly said, before turning on her heel crisply and walking away.
Isabelle turned to him and asked, "Okay, who was she, and why was she so rude? What did I do?"
"You didn't do anything," he answered distractedly, watching her retreating frame. "That's Mrs. Norris."
"Mrs. Norris," she repeated, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. He looked at her, shocked and nearly offended.
"What's so funny?"
"It's just...just..." she choked, "that the caretaker at Hogwarts, a horribly mean man named Mr. Filch, got a kitten in my fourth year. He named her Mrs. Norris, which was such a stupid name for a tiny, evil ball of fluff. It was really funny. Guess you had to be there."
"Guess so." Phillip visibly shook himself and forced a smile on his face. "So, you're gainfully employed, huh? Any chance of a discount?"
"You wish." She playfully turned her nose in the air, in a terrific mood.
"Can we look at the toys now?" Harry quietly asked, feeling a little neglected. Isabelle looked down at him, smiled, then swung him around in the air.
"Absolutely. That all right with you, chauffeur?"
Phillip nodded slightly, trying to focus on the scene in front of him. He didn't expect to run into Mrs. Norris, though he should've, especially somewhere like Wiz-Mart. But, things change, and people must move on, without feeling guilty about it. At least, that's what he told himself while joining Isabelle and Harry at a massive display of toddler toys. That life goes on, whether you're ready for it to, or not.