[C] The Painted Owl

Tucked away in an alley behind Honeydukes sat a small store that rarely saw the presence of a customer. The window was mostly undecorated, aside from a quill painted on the glass in white.

If you approached the store, the quill would move, flourishing grandly before writing out a greeting.

Welcome to the Painted Owl

Within the store, the first thing you would notice was a great amount of noise, though the only living inhabitants visible were a pair of owls: a tiny elf owl curled up at the talons of an extremely large great grey owl.

Paintings and sculptures alike moved and talked and chatted in whatever way they could.

Dick loved his job. He truly did. But the first week of students back at Hogwarts was always horribly stressful. Sorting the new students, helping them work out timetables, and numerous of students eager to pull the first prank of the year. The castle was always chaos.

He never thought he would see the back end of the school week, let alone Saturday. As soon as he finished breakfast he was out of the great hall and made his way down to Hogsmead.

He took his time roaming the streets, smiling and greeting familiar faces. A few of the other Professors had already made their way into The Three Broomsticks. They did invite him to join them, but he declined. He could catch up with them later. He fancied a walk around the village and taking in it's familiar sights and having time to himself that didn't revolve around school.

Dick took a turn on to a small street and was greeted by the quill on the window. Every year he would pass the shop and each time he would ignore it.

He always brought his painting and drawing equipment in advance before the school year, enough to last him a term. He would then restock at the local art store near his home during the holidays.

This year he forgot his sketchbook - of all things. He was going to have his sister send him a new one. But she was always so busy she would probably need a lot of prompting before she actually sent it. By that point he might as well waited for the holidays to get it himself.

Might as well take advantage of the shop while he was here.

Entering the Painted Owl it was unsurprisingly empty of people and surprisingly full of noise. Blue eyes glanced around, he couldn't even see the shop owner.

"Hello?"

Dick would hear a grunt and a clatter of equipment from the back room of the store behind teh counter before a body appeared in the doorway.

The man looked like he was barely in his twenties. He was broad under a set of tightly fitted, deep red robes that matched well with long golden blond hair. He looked like the poster boy for Gryffindor.

Except for, perhaps, the model dragon clinging to the breast of his robes, tugging at a strand of golden hair.

He had a smear of blue paint on the cuff of his robe, and a paintbush tucked behind one pierced ear.

Brown eyes caught blue and the man smiled.

"Ciao," he greeted kindly, lumbering fully out of the back room and leaning slightly over the counter. "Can I help you?" His accent was thick, but understandable.

He was expecting a small old lady as old as time to be running the store. The vast majority of the shops in Hogsmeade's were. Of not, they were run by small old men as old as time instead.

He didn't expect a dishevelled young man to appear from the back room.

Dick returned the friendly smile. The other wizard had a thick but lovely accent. It sounded either Spanish or Italian? He couldn't tell.

"Hi- yeah. I was wondering if sold any sketchbooks as all."

"Sketch- ah! Album per schizzi. Si, over this way."

He stepped around the counter and gestured for Dick to follow him up the small set of steps besides the counter.

The room the steps led into was obviously altered by magic to be much larger than the layout of the shop would allow otherwise.

This part of the shop was very different. While the main floor focussed on selling artworks, this part of the shop was set up with innumerous art supplies.

His robes swept out behind him as he moved fluidly through the isles. "We sell both senza and avendo."

Before they descended the down the stairs he had a quick look over his shoulder. The store was still empty bar the statues and the owls. He would like to have a look around the store later.

The size of the store may of phased a muggle or a muggle-born wizard but it didn't phase Dick. Growing up in the wizarding world made this as normal as breathing.

"Senza and avendo?"

He was slow with the pronunciation. His well-spoken English accent shinning through.

"Ah... Sorry, English is a new language to me." While his father was English, he didn't speak it half as well as his father did. Italian was the dominat language in his life, followed closely by Norweigen.

"You call them... muggle?" He was unsure of the term and his accent butchered the term. It sounded more like muj-ul.

"Magic and non-magic," he tried to explain further.

"You're English is more then fine. You speck it better then I can speak your language." Whichever that was. He still hasn't quite figured out if it is Spanish or Italian.

He nodded to the term other wizard used, the curls framming his face bobbing.

"Yes, muggle."

The term rolled off his tongue with ease.

"Magic please. I have tried muggle books but I hate how, I don't know, open they are? Anyone can just open it up and see the sketches on the page. I am a bit of a private person."

"Muggle," he repeated, making a conscious effort to pronounce the hard g.

"They are on the left." He gestured to the left side of the isle that he'd just stopped at. All types of sketchbooks lined both sides of the isle. The left contained everything from sketchbooks that would only open to certain people to sketchbooks that would show projections from your mind of the image you wanted to draw. That one was popular with younger artists desperate to improve since they couldn't get what they wanted down on the paper perfectly.

"I hope you find what it is you're looking for."

Dick's dimples showed as he smiled and thanked the taller man.

He turned to look at the sketchbooks. He knew the type of sketchbook he wanted. One that was password protected or responded to his voice. Preferably the latter.

He flicked through a few of the sketchbooks, running his hands over the paper and flipping through the pages. He was very particular about his sketchbooks. He liked heavy paper. Smooth enough to let a ink glide over them, but rough enough to paint on. They also need to have a welcoming beige tint to the pages - all white pages were daunting.

Taking his time he finally found the one he wanted. A3 sized and bounded with a soft leather, with all the qualities he desired. He may even like it more then his normal choice of sketchbook, but only time would tell.

"I will have this one please."

He turned round back to Fleck, holding up his chosen sketchbook.

Fleck had busied himself with straightening out the display of quills on the end of the isle while Dick browed.

When the man turned to him and held up the sketchbook he wanted, a crooked little smile played on his lips. When he ran out of space to store paintings and sculptures he made (and no one was buying them) Fleck took to other creative outlets. Book binding was one of them that he thoroughly enjoyed doing. There was always space to sell sketchboos, as it was one of his most sold items.

The one that Dick had in his hand was one that he'd just finished a few days ago. On the back of the sketchbook was a flourishing font in silver ink that emblazoned it as a book created by H.F.Masin

The shorter blond made his way over to the taller one.

"How much then?"

He didn't expect it to be cheap. His taste in sketchbooks never were. But if the quality was up to standard and it was well made then he was more then happy to hand the money over.

"That one is one galleon and seven knut."

Fleck turned, reaching up to stroke his model dragon affectionately as he made his way back down to the main room of his shop and behind the counter.

As he appeared in the room, the elf owl swooped over to perch on his shoulder. He crooned a greeting and scratched her feathered head.

"One galleon and seven knut?!"

He expected it to be more around the three gallon mark. Three gallons and three knuts was what he paid for his normal sketchbook.

Dick followed Fleck to the counter and placed the sketchbook on the counter. He pulled out the money from the pocket of his robe. Two gallons. He passed the money over to Fleck.

"Don't worry about the change. I would feel like a criminal otherwise."

"Ah, no, I can't take. It's far too much." He was being paid almost double his pricing.

"It's just something I make to pass the time. I cannot accept so much for it." He only made them for himself and for something to do when he couldn't justify putting another piece of art that wouldn't sell into the shop.

"No, no please."

His eyes widened in surprise. He thought the name on the back was company name.

"You made this?"

He tapped the sketchbook in question. He really couldn't pay just at the asking price.

"Think of it as a tip then. I insist."

"Si, just last week."

His tanned cheeks flushed just a little. "Then please take something else. A quill? Hera has given many beautiful feathers." The great grey owl behind Dick ruffled her feathers.

He raised his hand, from the art supply room, a number of quills floated, to be shown off to Dick.

They were all large and beautiful, with hand-cut blades.

"No I couldn't."

He as surprised, impressed and ever so slightly envious when he saw Fleck use wandless magic. He had been practising wandless magic for over a year - specifically the summoning charm and the levitation charm - and can only manages to make minor explosions.

He gently took one of the feathers and inspected it. It was just as beautiful and well crafted as the sketchbook. He would expect something like this from a high end shop in Diagon Alley.

"They are beautiful," he bit his lip. It was tempting to say yes, but they should be paid for in their own right.

He studied the quill some more before looking up at Fleck. He bit his lip some more.

"I will only say yes to the quill if, um, well."

He cleared his throat and scratched his now rosy cheek. He wished he never opened his mouth but it was too late now to stop.

"Maybe I could buy you a butterbeer later. I mean, only if you want, of course."

"Butterbeer is not to my taste."

His lips kicked upwards. "I can close the shop. The Three Broomsticks is just around the corner."

As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he chewed on his lip. Of course Dick would already know that. He was very clearly from England, so he would have been visiting the village for years.

"Firewhisky then?"

Dick shock his head, waving his hands.

"I could meet you later if you want? No need to close the shop up for me. I don't want you loosing business."

"More to my taste." Then he shook his head. "The inn does very good hot chocolate. Reminds me very much of home."

Cioccilata Calda was certainly one of the biggest things he missed about home. While the inn's wasn't the same, it was close enough to please him.

"You are the first first customer I've had in days. I think it's safe to assume I will not be having many customers today."

His shop was almost forgotten. It was a surprisingly rare occurrence for him to have a customer.

He felt even worst over the book and the quill now. He will definitely be be paying for a few rounds and maybe lunch.

"I'm Richard by the way, or just Dick."

He extended his hand, internally kicking himself. He should of probably introduced himself first before asking the man out.

"Pleasure, Dick." He didn't even blink at the name, not quite understanding what it meant.

"My name is Fleck."

He tilted his head. "Let me go remove my dragon and changed my robes. I will not be too long."

"Lovely to meet you, Fleck."

He nodded, blond curls bobbing.

"I will probably have a look around, if you don't mind. Are these all yours as well?" He asked, turning his attention to a sculpture.

"Si. They're all mine. If you look around, be careful of the dragons and predators. They have a tendency to bite."

There were a few prowling tigers and snakes and a lot of dragons all lurking on their respective mounts, just waiting for a prospective buyer to get too close. It was probably the reason that he hadn't sold any of them.

"I will be just a moment."

Then he swept into the back room