Lachlan did not enjoy wintertime. At best, the need for jackets was inconvenient; at worst, the freezing temperatures had a tendency to kill off the vegetables in his garden and forced him to purchase his own food instead. The only upside to winter was that the dragons were more amenable to the prospect of being handled. He'd managed to get his hands on a few scales in the past month, as well as a handful of teeth from a toddling dragon on the reservation. At least it made making money a bit easier.

It had become routine since the beginning of December: weekdays were spent on the isles, and weekends were spent trading in London and Hogsmeade. Saturdays he visited the busy London magical markets and on Sundays the Hogsmeade shops, and on this particular Sunday he had a bit more than usual with him. The shopkeeper had gone into the back to calculate an offer, leaving Lachlan standing alone in the low-ceiling shopped. He did not think much of it when the little bell above the entranceway rang—not until a familiar voice filled him with dread.

Fallon. He could not bear to look at her directly, instead opting to glance at her out of the corner of his eyes. He hated this. He needed out.

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