31st December, 1890 — Hogsmeade Market
Later in the evening the High Street would be bursting building-to-building, Viola had no doubt, for the New Year’s festivities. For the moment, it was a slow afternoon in amongst the market stalls, quite the contrast to before Christmas when pretty debutantes, holidaying Hogwarts pupils and young men might pass through for gifts and a score of unusually-harried cooks were out sourcing produce for festive dinners.
Now, though, it was icily cold out, the booth-keepers were grumbling amongst themselves and Viola had plopped herself down on an upturned crate, perched behind a small table with the leftover products of her last busy fortnight, in which she had sewn up a small mountain of little dog-coats and cat-boots for the paws of her neighbours’ pets. Her attempts to sell the rest of them at the market had gone down well last time; this week she had yet to make a profit. And considering the fact she had bought herself a hot cocoa, currently serving to warm her hands, she supposed for the moment she had made a loss.
But winter was hardly over yet so all the miniature booties would still have some use, Viola was just considering, when the farmer’s cart she had set herself up next to backed into her little spot, jolting her over onto the slushy street - cocoa, collapsing table, array of handmade pet-shoes and all.
Now, though, it was icily cold out, the booth-keepers were grumbling amongst themselves and Viola had plopped herself down on an upturned crate, perched behind a small table with the leftover products of her last busy fortnight, in which she had sewn up a small mountain of little dog-coats and cat-boots for the paws of her neighbours’ pets. Her attempts to sell the rest of them at the market had gone down well last time; this week she had yet to make a profit. And considering the fact she had bought herself a hot cocoa, currently serving to warm her hands, she supposed for the moment she had made a loss.
But winter was hardly over yet so all the miniature booties would still have some use, Viola was just considering, when the farmer’s cart she had set herself up next to backed into her little spot, jolting her over onto the slushy street - cocoa, collapsing table, array of handmade pet-shoes and all.
