"Letter for you, Trisha!"

"Coming!" called Pat, hoisting a large box of pocket-sized telescopes onto the top shelf of the store-room; Jim's supplier had sent a double order that morning and four hours later it still wasn't completely stocked. Puffing slightly, she climbed down the ladder and walked out into the kitchen. "Does it say who it's from?

"No, but whoever it is isn't pleased with you," said Anne, holding the red envelope delicately out for Pat, pinched between her forefinger and thumb.

"A howler?" asked Pat in exasperation, "But who - oh. Mind if I take this upstairs then? Wouldn't want any customers to get a blast of this, and the upstairs door will at least muffle it a bit."

"Of course," said Anne, nodding, then, "Trisha, if it's who I think it's from - I'm sure he doesn't mean - well, just don't go to hard by it."

Pat nodded. She had been thinking the exact same thing. "Not to worry - I'm a Gryffindor, remember? Thick skin!"

"Right," said Anne, smiling, "From what I've heard, you lot are a bit thick-headed too."

Pat rolled her eyes, and ascended the staircase at a bit of a jog, the envelope in her hands billowing acrid, black smoke. She slipped into her room, slammed the door shut and threw the letter onto the floor in front of her, before jamming her fingers in her ears, hoping to deaden the sound: a 90-decibal lecture from her father wasn't exactly the kind of mail she had hoped to receive, much less have ringing in her ears for weeks.

But as the envelope burst open, the shrill voice that emanated from it was not that of Reginald Lacey.

"How could you, Lacey!"

Pat's eyes widened in absolute shock.

"Friday before hols and it's 'Oh, right on, see you in a week or so!' - now you've decided to just up and leave! I know you've had your problems, but are you an absolute moron! You were nearly done, Lacey, and now you're throwing it all away? Get a grip! What happened to all your plans, your dreams? Are you telling me you're just going to give up on being a healer? I thought maybe this was some kind of stupid joke at first, but now it's been three weeks past the end of holidays and you're still not back...What are you thinking!"

"I'm not giving up!" cried Pat, forgetting that she was talking to a letter, "I'm coming back! It's just too hard right now...But I'm not giving up!"

"And if that's not enough, I was talking with Simon Pitches a few days ago - he was down at Diagon Alley on the weekend to get a new wand...Stupid git sat on the last one and broke it clean in two...But that's not the point! He told me the most interesting story about a certain someone he saw down near Flourish and Blott's! That's right, I mean you Patricia Lacey! Having coffee! With a boy!"

"Oh god..." groaned Pat, burying her face in her hands.

"I have it on good authority, Lacey, that this boy you were with is a SlytherinHave you lost your bloody mind!? You may have accused me of being a Slytherin-hater in the past which, I can assure you, is quite true, but at least you seemed to have the sense to agree that they're not to be trusted! And yet now you apparently think it jolly good fun to go out with one! And again I ask you, have you lost your mind!"

"But he's not like that!" protested Pat to the letter. Naturally, it did not respond, but its tone did seem to be calming somewhat.

"Pat...I don't know what you're thinking, but I am seriously worried about you. This is not like you to just run off and all. And then this Slytherin guy...Simon said he looked at least four years older than you. Just...come back, Pat. Whatever you're having problems with, I want to help you through it, mate! But this is not cool!"

Then, in a sudden rush of renewed emotion, "And that bloody bird you sent me the letter with has flown off with my Muggle Studies essay! That was a fun one to explain! What the bloody hell are you teaching your animals!"

The envelope exhaled one last puff of smoke and both it and the letter burst into flames; the little clouds of ash hovered in mid-air for a moment before falling gently to the ground. Pat sank to the floor, her eyes still wide with disbelief; she had thought that, of all people, Bitsy would understand.

Trying very hard to keep back the tears of disappointment, she opened her bedroom door and hurried down the stairs. She pushed past Anne, not wanting to discuss the letter – most of which she had undoubtedly heard through the ceiling – and walked through the shop's door into the Alley. She made it as far as post office before she broke down. Ducking into a back alley, she slumped down next to a heap of discarded produce crates, buried her head in her arms, and began to sob.

It's not like this was unexpected, thought Pat bitterly, You knew this wasn't going to end well when you sent that letter. But a howler... Even no reply would've been better. She sniffled, rubbing her eyes savagely with a bent wrist. It's not your fault, she assured herself, Bitsy's always thought of herself before anyone else. She says it's because she's worried about you, but even she knows that she's just mad that you left all alone at th-

"Er, are you OK?"

Pat started and looked up, blinking through her now-raw, red eyes. Ty was looking quizzically down at her, a produce crate in his hands.

"I'm fine," she Pat defiantly, wiping her nose and looking away, embarrassed that she'd been caught in such a state.

"You sure?" said Ty, tossing the crate aside and crouching down beside her. Pat started slightly as he put an arm around her shoulders.

"I-" began Pat hesitantly, "Well, I just got a letter from a friend. She's pretty...upset with me. She doesn't think it's a good idea that I'm not at school right now."

"A friend that gets mad when you make the decision that's best for you?" said Ty, "Doesn't sound like much of a friend to me."

"No, it's not like that," said Pat, sniffling again as she shook her head, "She just gets a little overemotional sometimes."

"Look, Pat," said Ty, rubbing her shoulder gently, "if she's not supporting you in this decision, she clearly doesn't have your best interests at heart. She's made you cry, for Christ's sake."

Pat didn't say anything. She knew this wasn't exactly right, but she didn't know how to respond without having to explain Bitsy to him, something she didn't feel like thinking about at the moment. In any case, the feeling of his hand on her shoulder seemed to have sucked the breath right out of her.

"Come on," said Ty, taking her hand, "we can go back to the shop and get you a tea or something. The trash heap really isn't the best place to be sitting."

Pat swallowed, and after a moment's hesitation, nodded. She allowed Ty to help her to her feet. As they walked back toward Drysart & Son's, she nearly forgot all about Bitsy and the howler, her mind now caught up in the fact that he had not yet let go of her hand.