When I arrived back at the shop with no memory of the walk home, I discovered a small boy sitting on the front steps, solemnly staring at me.
"Good afternoon," he said politely, looking up at me with huge chocolate brown eyes. It was the look in those eyes that reminded me who he was.
"Hey, little guy," I said, crouching down to look him in the eyes. "Mike, right?"
"Mark," he corrected quietly.
"Where are your parents, Mark?" I asked. Once upon a time, I wouldn't have cared. Once upon a time, I would have thought it was funny to see a little kid like Mark give his parents the slip. But that was before I found out what it was like to worry desperately for someone's safety…before I had lost anyone. Before I had lost Fred.
"Foolish and Blotts," he answered precisely. I hid a smile, wondering what Hermione would think of this pronunciation of her favorite store's name.
"Do they know that you're here?"
"No." He glanced up at me to see what I thought of this. I tried to keep my face impassive and apparently succeeded, as he decided he had to explain more. "It was boring," he said.
I couldn't help it. I laughed.
He smiled big then, and I could see that he was missing his front two teeth. I wasn't sure why, but my eyes filled up then and I had a sudden desire to have kids. Never before had I wanted to be a father, but with Mark looking up at me with his eyes shining like that, and those two teeth adorably missing, I ached for what had gone missing in my life. We had grown up, my siblings and I. There were no more teddy bears or loose teeth, finger paintings on the walls or mud pies in the halls.
I hadn't realized how much I missed the family, not only Fred, until then.
I stood up, brushing the dust off my knees. "Do you think your parents will be worried when they find you missing?"
I know that it's cliché, but the light went out of his face like someone blowing a candle out. "I hadn't thought of that," he said. "We'd better go find them, hadn't we?"
"Yes, we probably should," I agreed.
He hesitated and I could see there was something more he wanted to say.
"What is it, Mark?"
"Can I…" he looked up at me and seemed to gain courage. "Can I buy a Pygmy Puff?"
He pronounced the 'g' in pygmy like the 'g' in 'giant.'
Misreading my pause as hesitance, the little boy stuck his hand into his pocket and came up with a handful of Sickles. "I've been saving up my pocket money for weeks," he told me earnestly.
"Come on in," I said with a smile. "How did you find out about Pygmy Puffs?" I asked curiously as we walked in.
"I saw the ad in the Daily Prophet," he said, clearly distracted by the bright colors of the shop.
"Really?" I said in surprise, leading the way over to the shelf where little balls of fur bounced around happily.
"Yes. It said that the Pygmy Puff was the perfect pet to curl up in bed with and talk to when you were feeling down."
I blinked. It had been Ron's idea to start advertising specific products, and Verity had been assigned the writing of them. I had forgotten entirely about that particular ad, and how Mark had stumbled upon it was anyone's guess.
"I want that one," he said, pointing to the far corner of the cage. I reached in and pulled out an electric blue one.
"No," he said firmly. "The other one."
I glanced back in the cage. The other puff in the corner was a light shade of purple. I pulled it out and handed it to the delighted boy, who began petting it at once.
I reached under the shelf and pulled out the box of Puff Care Ware, complete with a small bed for it and comb. Puffs love to be brushed.
"Okay, Mark," I announced, leading the way to the cash register, "the puff costs eleven Sickles and the Care Ware costs nine, so that's one Galleon and eight Sickles."
Mark's face fell. "I don't have that much," he said quietly. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."
I flinched. Too often as a child had I heard the shopkeeper's verdict followed by my mother's regretful 'I'm sorry, George. We just can't afford it."
"Tell you what, Mark," I began, and he looked up at me hopefully. "I'll give it to you now, and if it's okay with you're parents, you can come in every weekend and work until you've paid it off. How does that sound?"
The ecstatic look on his face answered for him.
We found his parents without difficulty. I knew too well what the look on a worried parent's face looked like, having witnessed it more or less every day of my childhood. Fred and I had not been easy to take care of.
His mom had been nearly hysterical when we walked up. I didn't blame her. She had lost a daughter.
I had lost a brother, a friend…
"Oh, thank you," she gushed, hugging me tightly. "I really don't know what I would have done with Mark missing, I really don't."
His dad hurried up beside us, echoing his wife.
They had no objections to my deal with Mark. For that matter, his mother whispered to me quietly that she hadn't seen Mark so animated since…I understood her hesitance at finishing the sentence.
It was hard to admit that our loved ones were gone.
Oh, Fred…I found myself talking to him in my head, telling what was going on in my life. I had tried to break myself of the habit. Clearly I had failed.
"I'm glad to be helpful," I said, and hurried away, feeling the eyes of the adult Browns on my back. Yet when I glanced back at the corner, only Mark's dark eyes remained on me, one arm cradling his new pet.
That night, I wrote letters.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Sorry for not being in contact so much. Things are busy here at the shop, but I do miss you, and the rest of the gang. I love you.
George.
See what they made of that. Hopefully they wouldn't be too worried.
Dear Bill,
What's up with you? I haven't heard from you or Fleur in a while. How's life?
I miss you.
George.
Dear Charlie,
How's life in Romania? No dragons injured you yet? It's lonely here, without everyone. I miss you.
George.
Dear Percy,
This one was harder to write. I started again.
Dear Percy,
I love you. What's going on in your life? I haven't had any idea what you do with your time since the cauldron bottoms. I don't like that. You're my brother, I should know what's up in your life.
George.
That was enough. They would think I was crazy as it was.
One more though…
Dear Angelina,
I'm sorry I was such an idiot.
No, bad way to start a letter. I tried again. And again. By the time I gave up, there were five or six started drafts. None of them were any good.
Dear Angie,
How's Australia? I miss you. I'm sorry I was an idiot.
Dear Angelina,
I'm really sorry about what I said. The Warriors aren't that lousy.
Dear Angelina,
I didn't mean to say what I said about Fred. I miss him so much.
Dear Angelina,
I wish I wasn't such an idiot.
I needed help.