Flypaper

The "Ottery St. Catchpole General Stores" was owned by an ancient wizard named Henrik Puckle, who was fast losing his grip and his memory. He employed Muggles, since they were the majority in their mostly non-magical, slightly magical community, and so the General Stores catered mainly for Muggles, but also for wizards; though, of course, the certain shelves containing Anti-Horklump Powder and Doxy Antidote were invisible, inaccessable to the everyday customers; in other words, everything out of the ordinary that the shop sold was unplottable.

Mr. Puckle had long since stopped serving in the Stores, and so on the day in which our story takes place - a dull, drizzly Saturday in August - a young, spotty Muggle named Arnold and known as Arnie was in charge of the till instead, and a younger, pale girl named Luna and known as Loony had a problem with (not magical, but) Muggle pesticides...

The mist clears...

Luna Lovegood didn't mind dressing as a Muggle; not because doing so created a rare occasion where she did not stand out amongst her fellow wizards and witches; but because she loved to wear ridiculous clothing without those puzzling, derisive stares and whispers she received from other girls, as they surveyed her latest outfit. No - many of the magical community were as unaware that they appeared to be mad when wearing Muggle clothing as Luna was everyday, whatever she did, said or wore. She knew that some people called her a Luna-tic and various other (barely) clever nickames, but she didn't care - it was never on her mind. And so today, Luna was at her merriest and most serene as the chimes signalled her entrance into the General Stores, and she wandered in - wearing a tutu, spotless wellington boots, a macintosh and elbow length, ballroom-style kid gloves. And a Panama hat.

Arnie couldn't help but stare, and feel more than a little nervous; this girl, sixteen or so, whoever she was, had an infamous reputation amongst the inhabitants of Ottery St. Catchpole; once in a while, she would stray into the Village Hall, or the park, or the General Stores - though previously, Arnie had not encountered her. His fellow workers, all spotty youths of similar age and either gender (called, for instance, Billy, Adrian and Annabel) had told amusing tales of "the Loony in the green wellies".

And today, Arnie was faced with facing her.

Then again, she seemed fairly harmless. She was amiably strolling around the General Stores, stopping to pick up imaginery items from equally imaginery shelves. Mad as a hatter, evidently, he concluded; but dangerous as a butterly. He went back to his "work" - reading the Weekly Catch of Catchpole (a fishing magazine - it was, after all, Arnie's main interest and only passion).

"I don't think you should stock this, you know..." She sounded as away-with-the-fairies as she looked. Nevertheless, despite her dreamy tone, Arnie jumped, dropped his paper and jumped again - the Loony was brandishing a packet of Flypaper in his face.

"Huh - what!" Then he remembered Mr. Puckle's Golden Rule; that the customer was always right. "Why not... erm... Madam?" Was it out of date, if that was possible, for flypaper? Was it, perhaps, not PC? Or was she just off her rocker?

He knew which of the three he supposed was the case.

"Because Flypaper kills flies..." she said, as though it was not common knowledge - merely a far-fetched theory that people were apt to deny...

"Yes, Madam." Arnie affirmed, (amazed at Arnie's astounding alliteration). "It is a powerful adhesive that, when a fly comes into contact with it, glues it to the paper so that it can then be removed and disposed of..."

Her large blue eyes were drinking in every word, but yet not quite focused. "Yes," she agreed. "So the fly generally ends up dead, then. Well, that's why I don't think it's a very nice idea to stock it."

Arnie merely gulped and gasped simultaneously.

"You see, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack's diet mainly consists of flies and asparagus, and while asparagus is plentiful, flies will die if you sell this Flypaper and the Crumple-Horned Snorckack will, too. They're already endangered - besides, it's not exactly pleasant for the flies, is it?"

She said this all in one, long breath then turned, returned the Flypaper to the shelf and wended her way towards the door. At the sound of the chimes once more, Arnie breathed a sigh of relief, and put the receiver down - he had been dialling the second nine in nine-nine-nine.

"Just wait 'til Annabel hears this!"

And the mist filled his vision once again.