The man behind the counter rubbed his eyes, his headache worsening from all the noise the teenagers were bringing. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why he was working in a candy shop, especially one in Hogsmeade, where every holiday season the students from Hogwarts stormed the village. Occasional adults he could deal with, but these tricksters... Maybe Willy Wonka could deal with them, but he was starting to feel like retiring from the job and moving elsewhere.

The other employees didn't understand why he got so grumpy around this time. Then again, they had grown up in the Wizarding world, surrounded by all the magical bangs and the levitating quills and whatever else. He had grown up on the corner of a street in London, where the pictures didn't move and words like "wands" and "magic" hadn't been a part of his vocabulary. And after he had received his letter to attend Hogwarts, every summer had been spent in the same house, where those words still weren't a part of his vocabulary.

He frowned at the memory. His parents hadn't been supportive of him being a wizard, and that first summer had felt like a prison. And he had seized the first opportunity to leave the Muggle world when he had graduated, landing this job. He should have been happy!

But he just couldn't be. Guilt gnawed at his insides, and when the teenagers came, he was reminded of his past, reminded of the hustle and bustle of Hogwarts and all those happy students who didn't look his way twice.

There was a clanging at the door, announcing more customers, and the store became more cramped. Here and there were a couple arguments over certain flavors of lollipops, while others were sampling some of the more exotic candy that caused their ears to steam, or their feet to rise off the ground. The lines at the register kept growing, but the man just silently took the purchases, not even daring to look into the kids' eyes.

"Hello!" a cheery voice said suddenly, startling him. He looked up to see a young redhead, probably fourteen, with the most brilliant green eyes. She was smiling brightly, and the pink in her cheeks gave away the excitement she felt.

"Hello," he replied back with a slight nod.

"Having a good day?" she asked, placing her items on the counter carefully.

"Yes," he lied.

"Did you see that it was snowing? It's so beautiful outside! I can't wait to go home and play in this, come Christmas. My parents and I love making snowmen and snow angels and…" she trailed off, her happy tone suddenly changing to one of sadness.

"What's wrong?" he asked, interested in spite of himself.

"Oh, nothing. Just... not every moment at home will be playing in the snow."

"Oi, Evans! What are you doing here?" a voice sounded.

"Yeah, shouldn't you be comforting Snivellus, Mummy?" another playful voice said.

Two young boys bounded up to the counter with loads of candy, sniggering. The girl was blushing deep red, and a hint of anger shone in her eyes.

"Budge up, Evans. You're holding us up," the kid with glasses demanded.

"We have a date with Zonko's, you realize, and we can't be late," the other said, black hair framing his face perfectly.

"Go away," the girl said, sending the two rascals an evil eye.

“Ouch,� the second boy said, wincing. He quickly gave a grin to the boy with glasses. “Those are fighting words!�

Evans turned her nose up at them, instead pulling out her purse. “How much?� she asked the man.

“Five Sickles and three Knuts.�

She took out the allotted money and handed it to him. Then she quickly gathered up her purchases.

“That’s right, ignore us. Walk away. Go run to Snivellus,� the second boy said loudly. Evans shouldered past them roughly and soon disappeared outside.

The man didn’t know what to do. He began to feel guilty that he hadn’t intervened, but what could he have said that wouldn’t have provoked the boys further?

“Bad luck, James,� the second boy whispered consolingly.

“We need to get to Zonko’s,� the boy called James said, trying to brush off the incident as if it didn’t matter. He placed merchandise on the counter and hastily dug out a bag of coins.

“You shouldn’t have hassled her,� the man found himself saying to the boys, and James could not hide the embarrassment that flooded his face.

“Just teasing,� the second boy replied loftily.

“Just teasing,� James echoed, his eyes downcast. “Come on, Sirius. Let’s pay and get out of here.�

The boys quickly left, but the man kept thinking about how they had treated the nice girl. It strongly reminded him of being the odd man out at school. However, as the customers kept coming, the incident was soon pushed from his mind.

His shift was soon over, and he hurried out of the shop into the snow, noting how all the footsteps were no longer distinguishable. Bundled up in his robes, he began to walk towards the Hog’s Head, hoping that he could avoid the noise level that was always present at The Three Broomsticks. Besides, teenagers didn’t usually find their way to the Hog’s Head, and nobody would bother him at the pub - they were all strange folk anyway that kept mostly to themselves.

But as he was walking, somebody bumped into him, and some bags fell to the ground. To his surprise, he saw it was the redhead from before.

“Sorry,� she hurriedly said, her face flushed with the cold and embarrassment. She quickly bent down to pick up her bags. The man, feeling bad, reached down to help. As he handed her one of the items, she smiled.

“Thanks,� she said, and the man’s heart beat a little faster. He was touched by how kind and mature she seemed to be.

“You’re welcome,� he replied.

The girl gathered the last package and began trekking towards the castle. He watched her go, wondering why, of all the people in the world, she interested him the most.

With a small sigh, he turned back to his original path, sincerely hoping to ease his headache with a good drink.

As he entered the pub, he took note that there were four others, all seated apart from one another. Of course, their faces were all hidden, causing the man to feel conspicuous. He reminded himself, as he always did, to come with his face covered next time.

He made his way over to the barman, who was wiping mugs and glasses with a rather dirty rag that seemed to have been through the mill once or twice. It was a familiar sight that gave the man comfort. At least some things didn't change.

"Butterbeer, Aberforth," the man ordered, sitting down next to the counter.

The barman silently set down a bottle of butterbeer before resuming his cleaning duties. The man popped off the bottle cap and took a long swig. He immediately warmed up, and the cares of the day began to dissipate.

However, he could not shake one thought out of his mind: the girl talking about her family. She had been so happy, but her change in tone had a familiar ring to it. It reminded him of when he used to talk about his parents. He would start out being excited, wanting to visit them so he could leave behind the loneliness and queer looks and teasing. But then he'd remember that it was no different at home - there was still loneliness, still queer looks, still the mocking from neighborhood kids. He briefly wondered if the redhead had the same problem, but he suddenly found that he could not focus his thoughts. A fog started to creep into his head as he drained the last of his drink.

"Another, Aberforth," he said, a little loudly. Aberforth didn't even bat an eye, just whipped out another bottle. The man contemplated it, twisting it in his hands, before he popped the cap and began swilling the drink.

What if he had never gotten his letter? Would his life have turned out better? Or would it still be the same, just him in a Muggle pub, drinking spirits and drowning his soul? There was a constant sense of failure with his life, and he felt like blaming the magical community. But if he really thought about it, he could only blame himself - that is, for being born a wizard in the first place. Maybe he could even place fault in magic itself. Or maybe…

He shook his head to clear the musings. Nothing was making sense anyway. Contemplative, he eyed the butterbeer. With a slight shrug, he drank the remaining gulp.

"Aberforth!" he cried out, with a slap to the counter. The barman appeared with a third bottle, and this time, he actually said something.

"Third one's a charm."

The man chuckled, as he always did when Aberforth said it, even though they both knew he would probably have yet another bottle.

Where had his life gone? The sparkle in the Evans girl’s eyes had brought back memories of when he had been youthful, had a similar outlook on life. But now he didn’t even find joy in the holidays. Now he worked a mediocre job that he hated, and he didn’t even have any friends. And he couldn’t go back to his family - they had completely shunned him once he graduated. No, he was left to ponder the state of his living while downing several butterbeers in a strange pub. What a miserable existence.

He glanced at his watch to see that only a half hour had passed since he came into the place. He proceeded to look around the room, taking in each of the other customers. Slightly amused, he wondered if they felt as depressed as he did. Or maybe they just liked privacy.

The last swig was gone, and he debated whether or not it was worth it to get another. What he really wanted was someone to talk to, someone to share his emotions with, someone who could give him advice. He stared over at Aberforth, but quickly concluded that the barman wouldn’t be one for talking. And the other customers were strange enough that he didn’t dare approach them.

Interestingly enough, he found himself wishing he could talk to the redhead. But how was he to find her? And how could he possibly go about explaining things? She was too young to understand what he was going through. But his befuddled mind wouldn’t listen to reason. There was something about her that made him feel youthful again, ten years younger. How, then, was he going to locate her? He just couldn’t imagine that Professor Dumbledore would be okay with his asking to see Evans.

Maybe he didn’t need to talk to her. He glanced out a nearby window to see falling snow, and he recalled the girl’s words: "Did you see that it was snowing? It's so beautiful outside!� How he yearned to have the same outlook!

He stared at the bottle in his hand, pondering the effect drink had on his life. Perhaps he could have the same outlook as the girl if he forwent the butterbeer.

The minutes ticked by as he held the empty bottle, struggling with his decision. Was drinking really all that bad? And who could say that his life would improve if he didn’t have one more? The drinking itself hadn’t caused the people around him to shun him - it had been the fact that he was different.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he set the bottle on the counter, along with the other empty ones. He reached into his pocket for some coins, but as he began to count them out, he felt the urge to put them back and stay. With a quick shake of the head, he placed the money next to the butterbeer and stood up. He was determined to leave.

And yet, as he turned away from his chair, he just couldn’t bring himself to quit now. It was too much a part of him, and besides, what else would he do with his time? With a moan, he sat back down and rapped the counter.

“Bring another, Aberforth,� he said with a sinking heart. And as he waited for his drink, he gave one last glance to the snow outside. It didn’t seem likely that he would ever be able to change his life. But did it really matter?