"...And 4 knuts is your change, have a nice day, madam!"

Pat yanked the receipt slip out of the cash register and crumpled it up as the customer, a stately woman in emerald green robes, walked out of the store, carrying her purchase, a small box of Cure-All Wart Remover. Squinting one eye slightly to better her aim, she pitched the balled receipt at the nearby wastebasket; it hit the outside edge and bounced behind a display of Sleek-Eazy's hair tonic. She sighed and leaned on the counter, looking around boredly. Anne was heavily into her morning sickness and couldn't work the storefront today, so there was no chance for Pat to have a coffee break.

She hopped off her stool at the register and sauntered over to the magazine section. As she flipped through a teenage beauty publication, she happened to look out the store windows: her eye caught the figure of the dark-haired young man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the supermarket. She leaned against the magazine rack, watching him, and absently flipping the pages of her magazine without reading them.

He's reasonably good-looking she thought to herself, Bit gangly I suppose, but not bad. Wonder how long he's been working there...

Pat suddenly became aware that he'd stopped sweeping and was looking right back at her. She gave a slight squeak and hid her face resolutely behind her magazine. A minute or so later she dared to peek; he'd gone. Relieved, Pat put her magazine back on the rack and wandered back to her counter. She flopped down on the stool and put her forehead down on the counter, breathing a plaintive sigh of boredom. Mornings were always ridiculously slow for business.

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Hmm?" said Pat, looking up. She gave a start and fell backward off her stool and into the glass case of pipe tobacco behind her. It shuddered and wobbled dangerously, but luckily did not fall.

"Are you OK?" said the dark-haired man, leaning cautiously over the counter top and peering down at her.

"Fine," breathed Pat, clutching her stomach with one hand as she grabbed onto the counter with her other and got to her feet, "Just - startled me!"

"I'm sorry, I certainly didn't mean to," said the man, looking genuinely apologetic.

"That's alright, I - well, I'm just a klutz," said Pat, who could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment, as she brushed dust off her sweater, "Is there, um, anything I can help you with, sir?"

"What? Oh, right. I was looking for...some...paint!" he said, finally grasping on an item, "Something bright - for our signs, at the supermarket."

"Oh, you work over there?" said Pat in what she hoped was a casual tone.

"Yea..." he said, raising one eyebrow slightly. After a moment's silence he said, "So...paint?"

"Oh! I'm so sorry - sir," said Pat, now feeling like a complete idiot, "Over here..."

She led him down the far aisle to the hardware section, stopping at a carefully stacked pyramid of paint cans.

"Here we go: super permanent, flashing, colour-changing, self-embossing...Anything in particular?"

"Just something that'll go onto a sign-board nicely," he said, picking out two cans of luminescent cardinal red, "I think this'll do it."
He looked over toward Pat, who nodded in some form of agreement, but said nothing. Finally, he said, "Um...Can I pay now?"

"P - Oh! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," squeaked Pat, hurrying over to the till and trying not to look him in the eye, "That's 4 sickles, 3 knuts please sir."

"You new here?" he asked as he dug around in the pockets of his apron for some change.

Pat nodded sheepishly, her face burning. "My sister owns this place. I'm staying with her for now and sort of - helping out."

He nodded knowingly and counted some coins out onto the counter. "I think that should be enough."

Pat quickly summed the money up, trying very hard to avoid his gaze, and deposited it in the cash register drawer. Handing him his receipt, she said "Thank you, sir. Hope it works out for you."

He nodded, picked up his paint cans and headed for the door.

Pat rubbed her temples vigorously, furious with herself; Aaaah! Stupid, stupid, stupid! What is wrong with you! Why can't you –

"Miss?"

Pat looked up abruptly, just nearly avoiding falling off her seat again.
He was looking back at her from the doorway, a smile splitting his face. "You don't have to call me 'sir' - it's Ty."

He winked broadly at her and stepped out into the alley, leaving Pat staring after him, her mouth slightly open. After several moments she seemed to come to her senses and managed to squeak out a very late reply of "...Pat!"

----------------

Pat waved a moth impatiently away from her; she turned her eyes to the window and it quietly closed. As nice as it was to have a bit of a breeze on a night like this, Pat wasn't one to enjoy the company of insects that were likely to fly in her face when she least expected it. Settling back down on her bed, her back against the wall and a notebook resting on her pajama-clad knees, she looked intently at the candle on her bedside table which, after a split second, burned more brightly. She smiled in a vaguely self-satisfied sort of way; it seemed her non-verbal spell work wasn't quite as bad as Professor Flitwick had given her credit for. She shook her head, trying not to think of Hogwarts - it would only make this letter harder to write. Exhaling deeply, so that her fringe was momentarily blown away from her face, she tilted her head to one side, wondering how best to begin. After a moment, she scribbled out the obvious first line:

Dear Bitsy,

Pat hesitated. On the one hand, she felt sure that Bitsy was going to hate this letter, perhaps hate her for this letter, but on the other hand, it had to be done. No, Bitsy wouldn't hate her, she would understand - she hoped so, anyway. Pat bit her lip and reluctantly continued.

Hope your Easter's been good! Always nice to get away from school for a bit. Wasn't sure where you were going, but I expect it was your mum's right? How are she and Hamish? I don't suppose his hearing's gotten any better, has it? Ha, and I suppose your mum tried to serve ham again this year - if not it'll be a miracle! I know how you feel, but I'd much rather have that than haggis.

Pat couldn't help but smile; she could picture Bitsy's reaction to her mother's undying attempts to thwart her daughter's vegetarianism perfectly, and it would never cease to amuse her. She shook her head and continued to write.

Can't remember if I told you, but I've been at Anne's these hols. You know, she's got that place above her shop in Diagon Alley? Anyway, yea, so I've been helping out her and Jim and living upstairs with them. Well not with them but you know what I mean. They've been really good about it and they're paying me too; a little bit of cha-ching never hurts! Not the most exciting job, but on the bright side I've met

She stopped, and considered. She knew what she wanted to write, that she'd not only seen but actually talked to the gorgeous guy from across the street. On the other hand, she also knew that if she wrote it then she might as well not write the rest of the letter, because once Bitsy read those words the parchment would be on a one-way trip to the common room fire. A part of her felt almost bitter that she couldn't share this information with Bitsy, something any other normal friend would probably be happy for her about. But with Bitsy it was different: every time Pat had brought up the subject of boys, who she had a crush on or who'd asked her to dance at the Yule Ball, she always regretted it. Bitsy would become cross or moody and would be completely unreasonable about continuing a normal conversation for quite some time afterward. Pat suspected it was some kind of jealousy, but Bitsy would never admit it. Nonetheless, she sighed and finished the sentence in an almost truthful way:

...I've met some pretty interesting people.

Anyway, there's a real reason I'm writing to you. I expect now that you're back at school - or at least you probably will be by the time you get this - you'll have noticed that I'm not exactly...there. Bits', I hope you'll understand, but I'm not coming back to Hogwarts. Not this year anyway. Maybe next year I'll take seventh year over or something. I just can't do it. I need time to sort my life out, sort myself out. And I need to find myself a real place to live. Annie's been great to me, but I can't realistically live here for any extended period of time. And obviously I can't go back home. So I'm looking for a flat right now, though no luck yet. I'm really sorry I'm leaving you Bits'...You know I'll miss you loads, and I'll try to write every week! I hope you won't hate me too much for doing this. I wouldn't be if I didn't think it were necessary.

Hope you write back!
Your friend forever,

Patricia Lauren-Eileen Lacey

Pat, who had felt like she'd been holding her breath, exhaled so deeply that the candle on her bedside table flickered so dangerously, she thought it might go out. She read over her letter once more, a slight lump in her throat. For a moment she considered ripping it up, but she knew it needed to be sent.

Sighing, she folded it up, slipped it into an envelope, and tiptoed downstairs. Feeling fairly confident that she hadn't woken Jim or Anne, she opened the door to the shop front. Sitting motionless on his perch, his head beneath one wing, was Jim's owl, Tribble. Pat gave him a gentle prod, and he lifted his head, blinking sleepily. She tied the envelope to one of his legs and coaxed him onto her forearm. She unlocked the shop's front door and opened it about a foot.

"Go on, Tribble, it's for Elizabeth, at Hogwarts. Hufflepuff table," she whispered, giving him an encouraging scratch beneath his beak. Tribble gave a low hoot and took off from her arm, flying down the street until he was swallowed up by the night. Pat stood in the doorway for a moment, a last pang of regret playing at her heart. But it was soon washed away by a sense of confidence that she has done the right thing.