Bethan Ellis, gifted underachiever and barmaid extraordinaire, was early for work – and this wasn't the first time. Sometimes sitting in her parents' house by herself, with nothing to do but wait for the clock to inform her that it was time to start her shift, was maddening. It was the curse of securing employment with odd hours – when she was free and bored out of her mind, everyone else was sitting in their pretty little cubicles, living the dream. She was grateful for her job, since it came with its own very special built-in pseudo social life, but sometimes her built-in social life started to feel, well... artificial. She wanted to leave the house! She wanted to go somewhere other than a pub! She wanted to feel at least somewhat like a real human being with places to go! It was that desperation that, months earlier, had lead her to step into Puddifoot's while she counted down the minutes until she had to be at work. It wasn't the sort of place she'd ordinarily find comfortable, but it had become a destination – a destination with pastries... and, once she'd befriended the owner, it was a destination with free pastries. In other words, it was perfect.

There was something so very liberating about walking past the Three Broomsticks and into an establishment where she wasn't responsible for cleaning the counters. The moment she walked through the door, before she'd even looked around to see who was in there or what the crowd looked like, Beth bellowed out a pleasant “Alright, Dora?” in greeting, her voice loud enough that she could have been heard even if her friend, the cafe's proprietor, was in the back with the tap running. Even knowing that accepting freebies meant sacrificing choice, she took a stroll past the pastry case on her way to her regular table and took a long look inside, as if imagining the flavor of every tasty treat on display. Grinning, she slipped past and plonked herself down in a chair. It was going to be hard to get up and head to work later. It always was. She had to enjoy it while she could.

The morning, so far, had been a rather pleasant one. She was a bit short staffed, but then again, Pandora Puddifoot was always short staffed. At times Dora wondered how her aunt had ever managed to run the place, and then she’d remember that she had been free labor – Auntie Puddie hadn’t been short staffed at all!

The tap was on in the back, and Dora was bent over the large sinks, scrubbing out the used mugs and singing under her breath. Any competent witch could’ve easily waved her wand and the work would have done itself… but Dora wasn’t a competent witch. The pink tinted wand was almost a mockery of everything she simply was not. A frown crossed her features as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot of goop on a saucer, right before the loud enthusiastic tones of a particular barmaid reached her ears.

In spite of her better judgment, a smile popped itself into place, and Dora left the dishes to their own devices. She pulled her wand from her apron and pointed it directly toward the sloshing water. She muttered a quiet scourgify and then squeaked in fright as the water shot upward from the sinks. The werewolf ran quickly from the back, shaking her head as she went. She’d pay one of the local school kids to come in and clean up later.

Thankfully Puddifoot’s wasn’t extremely busy, and those that were there were so caught up in their own business that they hadn’t seemed to pay much attention to Bethan’s uncouth vocals. Before heading over to join her companion in the service industry, she grabbed a piece of wax paper and picked out two delicious-looking pastries, poured two cups of tea, and placed them all upon a tray. Dora took the tray with her as she weaved through the sea of tables to where Beth was sat.

“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you!” She said joyfully, placing the tray on the table and plopping down in the seat opposite Bethan. “I’ve been meaning to get you to try my new recipe! It’s gooseberry fool on Grasmere gingerbread. It’s delicious!” Though she was almost positively sure that Bethan didn’t really care what the treats were (only that she got them), she still took the time to spell it out for the girl, if only because no one else really listened when Dora started talking about food.

Dora put on her best puppy dog eyes and waited, eager for Bethan’s opinion of her newest treat. Though gooseberries weren’t in season – so more expensive to make treats from, Dora simply couldn’t help but try it. Sometimes things weren’t about the money, sometimes it was more enjoyable to see a smile cross the customer’s face.

Bethan beamed at Dora as she approached with her treats – and it wasn't just because she was having baked goods delivered straight to her table. It was nice to have someone look happy to see her for once, and not just because she was in charge of handing out alcohol. It got lonely, sometimes, to always be the one smiling at other people. Patrons at the pub walked in and expected to see her – there was never any surprise when they glanced at the bar and saw who was pulling pints and talking everyone's ears off. When she came home in the evenings, the house was often already dark and its occupants were generally asleep. Having someone around to greet her was a special treat, as sad as that sounded – a treat at least as special as whatever little delicacy Dora was offering her on that square of waxed paper. It was both the smiles and the sugar that kept Beth coming back to a girly little place like Puddifoot's, despite her own lack of girliness.

“Hiya!” she greeted her friend, her eyes finding the pastry she was being offered – she'd seen it in the case and hadn't been able to identify it by sight. It looked good, though! Bethan had never met a sweet she didn't like, and this was no exception. “I've been meaning to come around! You know me. I always come back, like,” she announced jauntily, though it seemed as though she was addressing the pastry rather than Dora herself. She glanced up after a moment, though, her pale hazel eyes silently inquiring about the delicacy that had been set in front of her. She was like an energetic but well trained dog, waiting for the command that would allow her to chow down on her treat. If you stared long enough, it wouldn't have been a stretch to imagine a slender tail wagging wildly behind her.

” It’s gooseberry fool on Grasmere gingerbread. It’s delicious!”

“Gooseberry, you said?” Beth asked, only somewhat skeptically, sticking a finger in the custard-like substance that sat atop the tart – and then sticking that finger between her lips directly. The utterly thrilled look never once vanished from her face, even once she was licking her lips and sucking her teeth. Dora and Beth both provided the other with a service, and the barmaid's rapture was probably worth any real loss in inventory Puddifoot's may have suffered when the wide hipped barmaid made her way through the door. She wasted no time lifting the whole pastry up and taking a bite, experiencing the combination of the cream with the pastry base. She grinned the grin of a small child trying her first ice cream cone, elated.

“If I could eat this every day for the rest of my life,” she started, still in the process of chewing and swallowing, “I would." She resumed swallowing quickly, as though she were starving. "I don't reckon you could bake something bad if you tried,” the blonde concluded. Beth wasn't even trying to suck up for freebies – it was the truth. Even the most exotic treats to come out of the pastry case at Puddifoot's were like heaven on earth, unfamiliar and familiar all at once. Bethan would have made a horrible food critic, since she loved everything, but if there ever was another job that allowed her to eat pastry professionally, she'd fight to the death for that position. Auror department? What auror depatment?

Every fiber of her being was screaming for her to shove the whole thing into her mouth and then eat Dora's, too, but somehow she held off, and settled for another finger dipped in cream. With any luck she'd remember to wash her hands before going to work, but at the moment she wasn't thinking about hygiene or work. “Any news?” she asked her slightly older friend. The only time Beth didn't have much to say was when she was too busy chewing. That was the case now as she took another giant bite.

“If I could eat this every day for the rest of my life,”

The smile on Dora’s face, if possible, got even brighter. Creating masterpieces like the ones sat between the two witches was no piece of cake (so to speak), but it was fun and the end product was well worth the work. Dora often wondered if her family had been coal miners, if she’d enjoy mining as much as she enjoyed cooking, but she highly doubted it.

Dora was pretty sure that even if Beth thought the treat in front of her was totally disgusting, she’d still act like she liked it – simply for Dora’s enjoyment, but the look of pure happiness on the other’s face showed that the compliment wasn’t falsely placed and she truly did enjoy the gooseberries. Dora had almost not spent the money on the ingredients, expensive as they were, but decided that it would be worth it in the end, and worth it it had been.

“Any news?”

This was the main reason Dora loved Bethan so much. With the prejudices placed upon her from her furry problem, not many people sat around to chat, and indeed, the business of Puddifoot’s had decreased drastically since she took over, even though she’d obviously enhanced the services offered. Bethan always asked about how Dora was doing, she was a true friend in a place where friends were few and far between, so Dora cherished her and would give her as much sugary goodness as she had in stock, just for the few minutes of conversation the other lass offered her.

“Well, I got a lovely howler in the post this morning. Someone thinks that I flavor the Earl Gray with wolf urine,” Dora let out a small laugh, and then picked up the fork before her. “I replied that it was simply bergamot and that if they were interested in the taste of pee, they’d need to take their business elsewhere,” She cut the smallest of bites from the pastry before her and popped it into her waiting mouth. She chewed on the morsel for a moment and then swallowed – then she pushed the treat toward Bethan. “Here, have both,” She said, then put her hand beneath her chin.

“What about you? How’s work?”

 Bethan had been raised in a home with a mother who loved taking care of her family. Mum wasn't a stepford wife or a perfectionist, but she was the sort who took real pride in spending time with her children and spouse, and she was excellent at making sure there was a hot meal on the table everyday, even on days when it might have been easier to throw up her hands and cry. As a result, Beth had grown up surrounded by delicious smells and had always been encouraged to clean her plate as to not drive her poor, hardworking mother crazy. Though she cooked, mum was no chef. When she prepared treats, they were treats of the more ordinary variety – the sort that her youngest daughter could help her whip up in a pinch. Beth would argue that there was no better biscuit in the world, but that had more to do with her desire to keep them coming than their actually quality. Things like 'gooseberry fool' had never before come from her oven. Regardless, Beth's upbringing had instilled in her a love of food and a desire to track down and devour newer and more exciting treats, and Puddifoot's filled that desire. She didn't care if her frequent visits meant she looked more 'well-fed' than society believed she should. Society had clearly never been to Puddifoot's.

By the time Dora was telling her about the bigoted jerks who frequented her establishment, she had crumbs stuck to the front of her knitted jumper, which were in danger of staying snared in the fibers for a good, long time. Beth did not seem like she could possibly care any less. She'd been dropping crumbs on herself for a lifetime and looking a mess had long ago lost its novelty. “Is that a fact?” she asked, her eyebrows drawing together in some concern. She'd ceased eating long enough to speak, which said a lot about her reaction to the news of the howler Dora had received. “I don't get it,” she ranted, sounding incensed, shaking her head bitterly, “I just don't get it! They've got nerve,” she grumbled – then paused to take another tiny bite of her tart. “I know one thing for sure – whoever they are, they're cowards. They can't look you in the eye and say it? It's a good thing you've got a sense of humor, mate. If it were me, I'd probably have tracked them down and killed them, though I suppose it's a bit more tricky with your condition and that.”

”What about you? How’s work?”

“It's work,” Beth responded with a shrug, eying the second pastry she was being offered and wondering if she could really get away with devouring two. She'd come hungry, and it was delicious... and it had been given to her. With a mischievous, child-like grin, she slid the other witch's sheet of waxed paper toward her on the table, pleased that her snack time didn't have to end when her first pastry did. She licked her lips and then continued. “No new dead bodies or nothing, if that's what you're asking about. I suppose that's a good thing, but I wouldn't mind a little more excitement. I reckon my wand's getting bored of cleaning charms and that. I know it's awful to say, but I didn't mind the diversion so much.”

Dora nodded toward her table mate, a small frown on her face. It truly upset her when negative things happened to good people. “I knew Hector, his death is a shame. Quite unnecessary, that. I didn’t know him well, mind, but he knew Auntie rather well, always complimented her on her ginger snap recipe,” Leave it to Pandora Puddifoot to rate the nature of a man through his palate. “And if you’d like a bit more excitement, you know I’ve an apron with your name on it. I’d rather fancy a bit more help around here. Nothing like love to bring excitement to an establishment,” Dora winked her long-lashed eye at the barmaid. It was true, if Beth ever needed or wanted a new occupation, the werewolf would hire her in an instant. She was a hard worker, and good work was indeed hard to find.

“Cowards are a dime a dozen around here. The sad part is that most aren’t as vocal as I am about our condition. The Ministry’s doing its best, but with the resources they provide, we’re treated as little more than cattle. Just an additional number in their registry books, I despise it.” A hard glint, rarely seen in the fun-loving witch’s eye, appeared, lighting Dora’s face with a bright passionate fire. “I’ve thought about ways to help the underprivileged. What about the poor souls that had a rocky start as a werewolf? Those that hurt people unintentionally and are too scared to get registered for fear of retribution? It’s just not okay. It’s a vicious cycle, and no one’s willing to do anything to change it.” A sigh escaped from Dora’s closed lips. It took quite a bit to rile up the witch, but love for her fellow man was one of those things – it just got under her skin and made her blood boil.

The only times Dora truly felt like a werewolf was when eating steak and talking about the human condition. “I’m so sorry, Beth. I didn’t mean to take the conversation into such negative territory. Back to the gooseberry! Think it would be a big seller? It’s rather expensive to make, see, but it’s worth it if people will actually enjoy it. I just want to get out of the ‘biscuit and tea’ mentality and truly open our customers’ eyes to tasty treats. Think this would help the cause?”

“One day, Dora, I swear to you, one day I'm going to come in and wash every dish in the whole place,” Bethan insisted as she licked a few sticky crumbs from her lips. “It wouldn't be too much trouble, and I probably owe you a few weeks worth of work by now, what with all of the samples I've tried,” she told her friend with a cheeky smile. She was always well fed when she stepped into Puddifoot's, and she knew full well that the friendly proprietor wasn't as handy with a wand as most. Bethan's cleaning charms had gotten considerably better since she'd taken up work as a barmaid, and she could now flaunt an uncanny ability to get a glass shiny and clean without saying a word, and with nothing more than a flick of her wrist. It wasn't exactly the sort of skill she'd hoped she'd be honing this year, and it didn't see much use outside of work. If her mother knew how handy she was with cleaning spells then she might actually require her to clean, and that just wasn't acceptable. She may have improved her charmwork, but Bethan Ellis was still a slob at heart. “I'll stop by some morning, like, maybe after the rush, but I can't tell you when or it'll ruin the surprise,” she grinned, looking as sneaky as any helpful little brownie.

The discussion turned somber very quickly, as it often did when the curse of lycanthropy made its way into the conversation, and Beth nodded along with the appropriate seriousness as Dora ranted about the plight of the affected population. “Brynn's trying, you know,” she reminded her friend. Beth's sister was an overworked mess, and it was all for the love of werewolves. The two sisters were both over zealous in their own special ways, and while Bethan had decided that her fight involved maintaining the law and making sure kids didn't get needlessly injured, Brynn had decided that her fight was to make sure that werewolves could successfully navigate the system and live the fullest lives possible. “I wonder if any of those loud idiots have ever met a werewolf in their lives. That's what makes it harder, you know. People are scared of nothing! Not that you're nothing, mate – I only meant you aren't remotely scary, and I'd help you much quicker than I'd help any of those noisy bigots giving you trouble, like,” she swore sincerely.

” Think it would be a big seller? It’s rather expensive to make, see, but it’s worth it if people will actually enjoy it. I just want to get out of the ‘biscuit and tea’ mentality and truly open our customers’ eyes to tasty treats. Think this would help the cause?”

“See, I'm a bad person to ask, cause I'll eat anything,” Beth admitted, just as she finished up her second pastry, leaving behind only the crumbs on her sweater. If there wasn't a chance she'd end up with a mouth full of tiny fibers, she'd probably eat those, too. “But since you're asking me,” she started, giving her lips a good licking, “I think people like what's familiar - and I can only speak for myself, but I definitely didn't grow up eating gooseberries, and if I was coming in off the street, it wouldn't be with gooseberries in mind, isn't it?” Just because something was delicious didn't mean that someone would order it. When Bethan thought 'tea shoppe,' she did think of pretentious pastries, to an extent, but if she were ordering for herself then she'd probably just want a good old familiar scone – and not just because she liked eating the clotted cream with her teaspoon... but mostly because she did.