DISCLAIMER: I am not J.K.Rowling or Warner Bros., nor do I pretend to be, nor to I pretend to own anything Potter-ish.

A Summer in Ottery St. Catchpole

by Ashley Donnan

The girl sat perched on the tall stool behind the counter. A continuous 'beep' rang through the pokey shop as she whizzed through a text message on her mobile phone, her thumbs two glittery, purple blurs. She finished off the message with a flirtatious 'TB ASAP' and put the phone back into her jean pocket. Then she raised her blonde head to an exceptionally awkward angle so that she could watch the tiny television fixed to the ceiling.

Glancing away from Eastenders for a moment, the girl's eyes strayed to a stack of beauty magazines piled in the doorway of the dusty storeroom. She bit her lip, and after a moment's hesitation, hopped off the stool and made her way over to the small mound.

She crouched down and began to search through the magazines like a scavenging animal, withdrawing one every so often, before replacing it carefully back in the haphazard collection. Her fingers latched onto something at the very bottom of the heap, and using her other hand to steady the top of the teetering stack, she eased it out from underneath.

The magazine had the photograph of an exquisitely airbrushed actress on the front…as well as a free tube of lip-gloss.

The girl returned to her perch by the till and without interest began to flick through the pages. She reached the back cover in less than a minute and turned back to the front.

With a ridiculously shifty glance around to see if anyone in the empty shop could be watching her, the girl began to wrench the lip-gloss from the magazine cover. In her haste, she managed to rip off most of the actress's chin as well as the lip-gloss packaging.

A rusty chime came from the door, and the girl made to stash the mutilated pages out of sight.

But upon looking up and realising who it was, she gave a harsh snort of derision and muttered, "Oh, it's just you."

It was one of those ginger-haired boys that lived up the road. Everyone in the village knew the Weasleys and their backward kids. Thankfully, they all went to some 'special' school up north during the year, so the only time she had to put up with them was during the holidays.

After a moment ofstaring at his lanky form, she realised it was the youngest one, the one who had come in looking for a 'Wars bar' at Christmas.

Weirdo.

Not giving a damn if he saw her, she went back to picking away at the plastic wrapped around the lip-gloss. It was only when the ginger-haired boy stooped off to the fridge at the back off the shop did she realise that someone else had come in with him.

It was another boy, a bit more normal in height than his friend, with black hair and glasses. He had what looked like a pair of brass binoculars around his neck and a large birdcage rested next to his feet.

He already irritated her. Apart from the fact that he looked like the biggest bird-watching, anorak-wearing swot alive, he was grinning as if this crappy, little village was the best place on earth.

Idiot.

She opened the battered tube of lip-gloss and started applying it to her mouth, wondering if either of those losers fancied her. Probably, she reasoned.

The ginger boy approached the counter, looking apprehensive. The exchanges between him and the shop girl were always trying. He reached the till and slowly separated out all of the items as if the girl might not be able to ring them in if they were too close together.

She forced an appeasing smile as she scanned them through.

"Batteries," she said, raising her eyebrows in recognition, "again. I take it you like them then?"

The boy grinned eagerly at her.

She backed up a bit on her stool, as though he might suddenly launch himself at her.

"That is, um, £6.99. Oh, do you want this too?"

The black haired boy had arrived and placed a newspaper on top of the batteries. He nodded.

"Well then, that's £7.49."

The ginger one gave his friend a quick look of dread before pulling a wallet from his jacket pocket.

The jangling of copper coins reached her ears, and her face fell.

Oh God. I hope I don't have to count his money for him again.

The black-haired boy glared at her.

Did I say that out loud?

The boy shook his head.

Did he just shake his head at me?

The boy's eyes crinkled with apparent amusement.

The girl looked at his eyes, vaguely wondering if he thought wearing coloured contacts was cool. They didn't even look natural; they were a freaky green colour, like bloody neon lights. He should at least swap them for something a bit subtler, she thought. But it was probably just a way for him to get attention, with people saying, "Ooh! Your eyes are amazing!" and all that rubbish.

The boy gave her an odd look and suddenly sighed. He seemed as if he was about to say something when-

"Harry…" whispered the ginger-haired boy, quietly pleading for help as he glanced up from the penny-strewn counter.

Putting an end to his friend's misery, the green-eyed boy pulled a crumpled ten-pound note from his jeans pocket and pushed it into her hand.

"Keep the change," he said shortly, lifting the bag full of batteries, and walked over to the door to collect his birdcage. The ginger boy was looking a bit confused, as though things were moving to quickly for him. He brushed the pennies off the worktop and back into his wallet and mumbled, "Erm…thanks."

She ignored him. When he had left the shop, she got off her seat and walked over to the window. The two boys were walking up the lane now, carrying extra things which she supposed they had left outside the shop. The Weasley kid was hauling the birdcage and a big round cooking pot with the bag of batteries inside it. The other one was dragging a large trunk with the name 'H. POTTER' stamped across the side and a long thin package was over his shoulder.

A fishing rod, she guessed. That's the reason why most people came to Ottery St. Catchpole during the summer anyway, to fish in the river that passed through the village.

She watched them for a few more minutes; soon they were so far away that it was hard to distinguish them through the waves of hot air rising from the ground. The boys then turned left into a field and were out of sight.

The girl turned her back on the window and stalked to her seat.

She picked up the magazine and stared at the large tear across the cover; slowly realising she would have to replace the lip-gloss.

"So Nathalie," she said to herself in a sarcastic tone, "What did you do this summer?"

"Oh, the usual. Went down to Cornwall, worked in the shop, spied on the village idiot, and met his nonentity friend Harry Potter."

She muttered bitterly, "Yep, that's definitely something to tell the grandchildren."

Clucking her tongue in annoyance, she went off to find the sticky tape.

4/1/2006

This is the revised version of 'A Summer in Ottery St. Catchpole'. I don't think any of the changes are ones that a reader would notice, they're just really for me. I have several ideas for this fic, enough to write 'A Summer..." series, all from various Muggle perspectives. I don't know when the next installment will be written though, but it will be sometime.

Ashley.