31 December, Afternoon — See This — Diagon Alley

Ezra took off work early so that he would have time to prepare for yet another party he didn't much want to go to, and was dipping through Diagon Alley for an errand on the way home. It should have been just in and out, but the odd booth had caught his eye — entirely out of place amidst the established storefronts and the dregs of melting snow in the gutters. He watched someone else pay a few knuts for a bonbon and he was intrigued by the oddness of it all. Odd things could be helpful to him, sometimes — his tile game, the cypher he'd discovered in the library. Puzzles were helpful, and this was puzzling... and he had an event to attend tonight, and crowded social scenes were often hard for him. He stopped at the booth and laughed hollowly at the woman's question. What would he like to change about himself? He'd like to not be cursed. Her bonbon wasn't going to help with that. He couldn't have answered her honestly even if he'd thought she could be useful, given that he'd never been able to talk to anyone about his situation. This thought gave rise to what he actually said to her, entirely tongue-in-cheek: "I suppose I'd like to be more honest."

Wouldn't that be something, if someone could ask him a question and he could answer with the truth and be sure that they would hear it! She looked him over and named a price — rather more than the three knuts for the last customer, he noted with a hint of cynicism. Price gouging because his coat looked nicer than theirs, maybe? But it wasn't more than he could afford to lose on a whim, so he handed over a few coins, and she fished out a tiny candy.

He popped it into his mouth and resisted the impulse to pull a face at the taste. The woman behind the table was smiling at him widely. He offered her a closed-mouth smile and turned to go, ready to dismiss this interaction as a cheap grift with some shoddily made bonbons. As he walked away he swallowed, then said abruptly to another person who seemed to be heading towards the booth, "I wouldn't — they're bitter." This was accurate, but he wasn't sure what had spurred him to warn a stranger off the table.

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Above the clearly temporary booth declared the word CHANGES. It was this that caught George's attention—a witch who had had more change in her life than anyone her age ought to have, but who still knew there were many things she wished to change about the life that she had been given. Alas, none of them were those that George felt capable of changing on her own, each far too big for someone of her temperament, skills, and position in the world to wrangle on her own.

And still the stand drew her as though a candle, and she the moth.

"I wouldn't — they're bitter."

It was enough to stop George in her tracks as her attention moved to the speaker, a wizard she had no doubt seen before but did not know enough to attach an identity to. What an odd thing to say—she would not have expected what looked like sweets to be described as bitter, nor was it the sort of thing a total stranger was likely to offer up.

"Bitter," George repeated for clarity. "I hardly think the lady would thank you for turning away her business."

  

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He/Him/His by those around her.
She/Her/Hers OOC and in her own narration.

Ah, so apparently the lad was the self-appointed defender of sketchy Diagon Alley saleswomen. Ezra shrugged and offered half a smile. "Perhaps not," he agreed, and usually would have left it at that. It wasn't really his business whether he went on to buy overpriced chocolates or not. It also wasn't as though he couldn't afford to lose the coins the woman had asked him for, so he wasn't really much put out by the inconvenience of it. And he hadn't had any real expectations when he drifted over, anyway, except to see what it was she was selling.

"But she might have considered that before she charged me thrice for one candy," he added, without any idea what had driven him to do so. Realizing as the words left his mouth that he was being — rather blunt towards a stranger, if nothing else — his expression shifted to a more apologetic one. "Sorry. Don't let me stop you."

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