August 18, 1894 — Padmore Park, Outside the Pit
Charley Goode Millie Potts

Listen. Listen. Protego didn't like it when bad things happened. Of course not. Tragedies were terrible, and any decent person would be horrified and saddened by them. But. But. Such things created a certain need, a need that Protego could fill, and really, if he didn't, someone else would. That was how business worked, for better or for worse. And anyway, Protego did not have any skills that would help in disaster relief--healing was not his strong suit, for instance--and this was better to him than sitting back and watching from a distance.

It was complicated.

That said, it helped to have little shame. Protego had set up his own little stand--magically assembled close enough to rescue efforts to draw attention of the people milling about, but far enough way to not actually be in the way. "Protective charms!" he called out. "Come see Lochrin's protective charms!"

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Charley didn't mind the pit being so close, really. It might have bothered her less if not for all the gaunt faces around the park today. Every time she passed a flower on to someone who was staring harder at the pit than at the colorful bloom in their hands, the urchin felt the urge to go look, too. She might not have her own pit at the bottom of her belly if she could just get a good look at it.

The big sickle pressed into her hand did help, actually. Charley made change quick enough, she could do that in her sleep now, but the man was already walking away with his lilies and camellia. Those were flowers for the dead, and with eyes so hollow and skin so paper thin she might have mistaken him for one himself. He wasn't a ghost, though, she knew that much. The urchin had met a ghost in the park once before, it was almost guaranteed the park would have more after today.

"Come see Lochrin's protective charms!"

There were enough people in the park that she could have spent all day selling flowers at one or two each, and still never get to them all. It was more than came through the shop each day, that was for sure. Charley let herself drift closer to the other hustler with each sale, finally coming close enough to call out in his direction.

"Roses to remember, lilies for loss; a single flower speaks when words cannot."

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Protego considered the urchin coming towards him. Well, she was at least the first person to come 'round his stall. "Aye, let me see what you've got there," he said, gesturing for her to come closer. Protego, of course, respected the grind. At least when the thing the other person was selling had no overlap with his wares. And a business with customers hanging around looked better to other potential customers than being ignored.

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A friendly beckon and a wave was all that Charley needed to approach the seller directly. He might have been Lochrin himself, or just a lowly working chap like she was. The man's grizzled beard surely spoke of long years on the grind, he might attract a few more buyers with the trust of experience than her own youth could draw. She could make a sale or two more nearby, and that was more than the urchin might have wanted today.

"Blooms for the people, up on solid ground or down in the hole" she said, gesturing to the tray held by the strap around her neck. Pointing to each one in turn, Charley named the few that had been popular so far, "Lilies for the gone, and carnations for them still breathin'. Snowdrops for those waitin' and hopin', and azalea for the ones beside."

Craning her neck, the urchin peered beyond the man to his stand of wares, studying them as if recognition would occur from her eyes alone. This kind of magic was still a mystery to her, protecting herself with a spell. She was bad enough at the simplest of shield charms, as a horsefaced Slytherin girl already knew. "What d'these do?"

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Protego lifted one of the charms up so the girl could get a better look at it. "Protective charms," he said. "This one here has a slowing charm on it, to keep a person from hurting themselves if they crash their broom or..." He gestured at the sinkhole. "Have a terrible fall." He usually sold them mostly to elderly customers who were worried about taking a tumble, or parents of very precocious young children. "Can't do much for the folks in the hole, but maybe I can give some peace of mind to everyone else." And anyway, as he'd heard it, magic wasn't working down there, anyway. Magic tended to be a fickle mistress like that sometimes--always failing when it was needed by the most people. Though Protego would rather have it than not, anyway.

"Tell you what," he said, gesturing with the charm in his hand at the flowers. "How 'bout a trade? One of my charms for some of your flowers, and I'll send my customers your way for more if you'll do the same with yours."

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   Charley Goode

Charley had to hold back a laugh at the bits and baubles that the man held up. She could have found the same at the faires her family frequented as a child, before Hogwarts. Wouldn't it have been grand, she wondered, if those too had been magic? The man might never know why the urchin grinned so much, giddy now in the wake of all this disaster.

"An' not a bleedin' soul thought to grab one after that poor girl took a tumble last year?" Now she did chuckle, a little too loud for her surrounding. The urchin bit her lip, but couldn't help the grin hidden behind it from poking through. "Cor, I coulda used this a time or two meself. Deal!"

She glanced down at the tray, humming to herself as she picked up a bouquet that might be worthy of a protective charm like his. "Right, so...snowdrop and azalea, natural-like. Give them yer selling to a warmth of heart. And...then, oh aye, hawthorn and camellia. 'Cause regret's all 'round here, an' alls us need hope that someone's comin' back over the top."

The urchin tossed her head toward the pit, and looked up at the man's charm. It wasn't the sort of bouquet that Mrs. Mann would put together, but she wasn't here now. They seemed like an even enough trade for a charm, particularly one she didn't know would even work. Holding out her hand, she gave the bauble a skeptical look, "How's one s'posed ta know that's really workin'?"

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"Folks'll always think they're safe until something big like this happens," Protego said, bemused. He'd seen a little uptick in business last summer after the Bixby girl's accident, but mostly from worried mothers of aspiring quidditch hopefuls. People were good at compartmentalizing sometimes.

"A demonstration then. Of course." Protego looked around. "Here." He gestured for the girl to follow him a little ways away--a safe distance from the pit, and still well out of the way of the healers and assorted rescue efforts--the people doing actual important work here. They were still close to his table, well within eyesight. But there was a tree stump nearby, tall enough that he had to hoist himself up onto it, and tall enough that if he jumped off unassisted, he'd probably hurt himself at least a bit, even if not seriously. "Now," he said, holding up his hand so the amulet could be seen again before he closed his fist tightly around it. "Watch this."

Without further ado, Protego jumped. And, for a moment, it felt a bit like someone had cast a cushioning charm under him, and his coat billowed out behind him like a sail as he floated down to the ground.

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   Charley Goode

The urchin's look of approval only grew more intense when the man climbed the tree stump, looking all at once like the death-defying performers at the new circus in town. His jump might have been the stuff of legend, if only it had been just a few —and a few more— feet higher. Still, when he jumped off and didn't come crashing right to the ground, Charley couldn't stop her mouth from unhinging and letting out a drawn-out, "Whoaaaa!"

In an instant, she was at his feet again, ready to fork over real money for the amulet. Not that Charley could spare a single knut, not after all she'd given away in flowers today. She was sure that Missus Crouch would understand, but Mrs. Mann kept such strict accounting that even her kindness in the face of disaster might fall under scrutiny. It was a good thing she wouldn't have to chance it, with the man willing to give up such a precious charm in exchange for a few flowers.

"En't never fallin' a roof or tree again," Charley said offhandedly, holding out the makeshift bouquet to the man at last. She kept her other palm out to him, ready to take ownership of her new safeguard. The urchin was already putting together the right words to direct crowds to the man's business, after her own naturally. "Now, so as I do it proper, what am I callin' ya? Can't exactly say 'Oi, jes shuffle on to that wizardy bloke over yonder.'"

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Protego traded the amulet for the bouquet before doffing his cap to the urchin. "Protego Lochrin, at your service," he said with a grin. "I've go a shop on the high street, too, and my brother's got another Lochrin's down in Diagon Alley, too." Replacing his cap, he led the way back to his stand, placing the bouquet in a place of prominence enough that passersby would see it. "And who should I say I got these from, then?"

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"Protego, 'course ya are." Charley grinned back, her know-how didn't just extend to flowers anyway. She wouldn't have thought anyone named for a spell would embrace it so much, but standing before her was just such a wizard. Quite a crafty one at that. The urchin hung the amulet from a buttonhole on her vest, sure that she would make use of it herself before long.

And when she could afford it, visit his shop for more useful charms.

"Charley," she told him in return, tucking one foot behind the other to offer the best curtsy she could with a tray of flowers —and without a dress. Charley liked a handshake better, herself, though a bow was usually simpler most times. Introductions aside, she tipped her head down toward High Street, making sure to note that she wasn't exactly a self-made flower girl. "Of Montague's House of Flowers, a bit down past yer shop, I reckon. Best blooms in all of Hogsmeade, an' don't let nobody tell ya different!"

The passing rustle of more Ministry wizards, they had that self-important look that Ministry folk did, caught the urchin's eye. For one brief, fleeting moment, Charley could almost grasp at that same self-importance. Should things go her way, she might have her own shop someday. Then she could make deals like this sort every day, and never need to answer to any more Mrs. Manns. Someday, but not today. There were more mourning and shaken folks around her, their faces practically begging for a flower to light them up.

Before she wandered away, Charley just offered an off-handed sort of farewell, "Well, best be gettin' back to it..."

It might not be long before the Ministry folk thought otherwise about pretty flowers around their morbid sort of work, so she ought to sell as many as she could in the meantime.

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