June 10th, 1892 — Honeyduke’s Sweet Shop

Mornings were always the quietest time of day for John. Whether it be stocking shelves at Honeyduke’s or cleaning up at his father’s pub before opening, the early hours of the day provided time for reflection and getting lost in thought to the rhythm of the monotonous daily chores. He had also taken the opportunity to use the daily duty of putting out fresh product to familiarize himself with the sweets that the shop sold. He’d only been there a week or two.

Then there were the early bird customers starting to drift in. John would tally up the cost of their purchases and put their money in the register before sending them on their way. It wasn’t all that difficult. He was good with numbers and dedicated a good few days to committing the prices as well as could be hoped for. Customers came in, customers paid, customers left. With traffic still manageable, he let his eyes wander across the store to watch out for potential trouble.

He wiped some dust off the counter and watched the last customer he had rung up finally meander over to the door. But something was off. He had seen them hovering around the fudge display for quite some time and could have sworn they had taken some. But no fudge was in the items they finally brought to the counter. He looked them over and briefly saw it, the corner of the wrappings used for the fudge.

John waved his wand under the counter, closing the ajar door before the customer tried to open it the rest of the way. He was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps they’d simply forgotten they still had it. However, he still made a mental note of their face and clothes in case they tried to take off. “Not forgetting anything?” he inquired across the store.

---

  

---

He was always up with the sun; the farm required a lot of work and he found it much more enjoyable to work when there was light out because it was so much easier to see the critters. Some of them were a lot meaner than others, and there wasn’t much Cliff hated more than trying to figure out what had bit him in the dark. With Hogwarts being out for the summer, he and his brother (with the help of their younger sister under their feet) had knocked out most of what needed to be done, and they’d agreed to take a few hours off.  And he was excited for that. His feet hurt, his shoulders ached and the sun was showing it was going to be yet another hot day.

Leaving his siblings to their own devices because he wasn’t their parent, contrary to popular belief, Cliff apparated to Honeyduke’s for a morning treat. He picked up a few Toothflossing Stringmints for hygiene purposes and some Pixie Puffs because he was tired of making breakfast and having his sister whine that his cooking was awful.  He'd been making his way toward the counter when the fudge display caught his eye, distracting him momentarily. It was full and looked freshly made, and the smell made his mouth water. Cliff didn’t even like fudge.

It didn’t stop him from slipping a piece into his pocket as his mind worked through the idea that yes, his friend would forgive him for blundering him in the head with a quaffle if he gave him a piece of fudge, and no, he couldn’t actually afford it. Having Algae forgive him outweighed pretty much everything else. Cliff managed to pay for the other items and smiled to himself while getting away with another theft (his fingers had been very sticky in the recent weeks), yet as he went to move through the doors, they nearly closed.

Turning sharply, Cliff’s eyebrows knitted together as he snorted. “Yeah, I’m forgetting how rude Honeyduke’s employees are.” He stuffed his hands into his pocket. “Is there a problem?” He cocked his eyebrow at the employee. He knew him! Or had at one point.

---

John Griffiths

---

  

---

[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]

John kept his wand in his hand but out of view, never one to be caught off-guard. He’d dealt with enough unruly muggles as a barkeep to not be ready for trouble now that he could carry his wand freely. Not that he expected the interaction to go south. A lot of thieves would either just make a run for it or fess up when caught red-handed. But desperation could make people do funny things. John didn't particularly feel like being jinxed if the fudge larcenist was a bit too jumpy.

The expression on the thief’s face could best be called incredulous at the thought of being stopped. But there was something else in his eyes. A little glimmer of… was that familiarity? John stared back and couldn’t fight the same sneaking suspicion. The voice, the face, the attitude. He knew it all from somewhere. Certainly not at Honeyduke’s before. He would remember someone from the past two weeks. Little snippets of memory floated around his head. Quidditch matches at Hogwarts, heading up to the Gryffindor common room after dinner. The face was difficult to place precisely, and the name to go with it eluded him entirely.

“A problem? Well, I don’t think that there has to be a problem.” he quipped as he nodded towards the fudge display. “There’s a hole in that fudge display you were hovering around. And it wasn’t there before. What a mystery, isn’t it?” As he spoke, he nodded not so subtly to the offending pocket where he’d seen a glimpse of the wrapping. He hadn’t stepped out of the door yet. John could be amenable to him returning the stolen item and leaving only with that which he actually purchased. But if he wanted to make things difficult John would just have to have a meeting with the Hogsmeade Constabulary.

---

Clifford Hillicker

  

---

Cliff found his eyes drawn toward the fudge display as the man nodded at it; he turned back toward him, sharply, a frown pressed against his lips. He hadn’t realized that the man had been watching him - generally he was a much better thief, and the only excuse he could think of was how early in the morning it was. Normally he was hard at work, which didn't require a lot thought. He liked to have more people around, more of a plan because Clifford couldn’t afford jail time. (Figuratively and literally - he was barely scraping by and his little sister was incapable of caring for herself.)

His eyes narrowed as the man nodded toward the pocket where the fudge was placed. Cliff did his best not to shove his hands into the pocket despite the packaging sticking out, choosing instead to huff. Loudly. In general he wasn’t amiable, and it showed with the amount of friends had in his life - he could count the number on one hand, and well, even if he lost a finger or two, the amount would still ring true. “A mystery indeed. Maybe you’re incompetent and you’re just trying to pin your mistake on me,” He snapped. Not sure how to get out of this situation without giving up the fudge, Cliff slid closer to the door.

“Care to pat me down, sir?” Sarcasm dripped across his words. Clifford took another step toward the door. He grinned then, wide and unfriendly before he turned sharply around and pushed the door open. The man had seen his face, which wasn’t going to end well for him, but he absolutely needed the piece of fudge in his pocket. He tripped over his feet as he scrambled out the door.

---

John Griffiths

---

  

---

[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]

The man was caught. He knew it, John knew it. Now the only question was how they were going to proceed. Once again the fudge thief shuffled back towards the door. John felt his own muscles coil like a spring, ready to leap into action. When he tried to throw the accusation back in his face, John raised an eyebrow of disbelief. “Really? Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” He would have loved to add the man’s name to the end of that sentence, but the feeling of familiarity had yet to give way to proper recognition. He suspected a fellow student in Gryffindor, and if he had a long think on it he could probably pull the name out of his memory. For the moment he watched the thief shuffle closer to the door and prepared for what would come next.

“No need, I know exactly where it is.” he spat back, just as sarcastic. With that parting exchange of words the man took off through the door and scampered out into the street. John sighed and hopped over the counter to catch a glimpse of where he was going. He doubted his ability to catch up with him on foot. Even if he could, it wouldn’t do to return to the store with a single piece of fudge recovered only to find that someone had taken advantage of the shopkeep’s absence. And he wasn’t about to start throwing around hexes in the middle of High Street over stolen fudge.

When he laid eyes on his fleeing thief, a thought popped into his head and he smiled. John lifted his wand and cleared his mind. He knew exactly what the package of fudge looked like. He had set it out on the shelf earlier that morning and seen it peeking out of the man’s pocket a minute earlier. John kept the mental image in his mind and said a prayer that his charmwork was still sharp before speaking the incantation “Accio fudge.”

Summoning items took a lot of practice for him to get right in charms class. John went over Professor Ruskin’s instructions from all those years ago and hoped that his skills were sharp enough to summon the fudge (and possibly the offender with it). Or, if not that, catch him off-balance for a moment keeping hold of the package. And at worst, well, at least John would walk away with the knowledge that he needed to set some time aside for practicing his spells.

---

Clifford Hillicker

  

---

Clifford was almost thrilled to have gotten away with fudge. Was it worth all the hassle? Probably not, but now it was just the thrill of the chase. He’d had sticky fingers for years and hadn’t gotten better at sticking things in his pocket and walking out without as much as a second glance. Today he was either today, likely, or the man was just too observant, even more likely. He rested his hand on his knees and panted as he turned a corner, pausing only to shoot a look over his shoulder to see if he’d been followed. He hadn’t, thank goodness.

Although a moment later he felt the fudge lifting from his pocket, and while his fingers made a grab at it, it was much too fast. His fingers gripped at the edge of the packaging and he cursed loudly when he found himself right back in the damn shop in front of the shopkeep, who was holding the package. Clifford wrinkled his nose. Why would they bother trying to sell the fudge now - there was no way to know what he’d done with it. (He should have licked it.)

Narrowing his eyes, Clifford weighed his options: turning tail and running again, which was going to hurt his pride more than anything else, or throw caution to the wind and take the fudge that clearly belonged to him. (At this point he might as well pay for it, but that was behind the point.) He squared his feet, met the man’s eyes, smirked and then shot forward in an attempt to tackle him.

---

John Griffiths

---

  

---

[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]

When he saw the fudge and thief flying back around the corner of the nearby alley, he grinned and mouthed a thank you to the sky. He would have to send Professor Ruskin a thank you letter for working with him after class on the summoning charm. The package found its way to his hand and the man who ran out was at his feet. John smirked a bit.

John watched the other man climb up to his feet and stare at him. He recognized the look on his face. He had seen it many times, but usually a bit slower, on the faces of drunken patrons of his father’s pub. It was the face of someone who was about to strike out in anger and let their temper get the best of them. And only a moment later, he was flying at John.

Although he tried to steady himself the tackle connected, and he fell to the floor with the thief. Which was not a very good position for the thief. John was halfway decent with a wand, but he’d been on the receiving end of enough inebriated fisticuffs to know what to do. He grabbed the other man by his jacket lapel and pulled him closer to issue a threat. But his eyes met the thief’s and something clicked. That nagging feeling of familiarity had given way to realization. His grip on the jacket loosened and he muttered “Cliff?”

That’s where he knew him from! Clifford, another Gryffindor and house Quidditch player he went to Hogwarts with. It was a miracle the attitude hadn’t given him away sooner.

---

Clifford Hillicker

  

---