#t-lden

Peter hadn’t wanted the damn thing, he’d only gone into the shop looking to drown his misery in a little chocolate (he always ate when he was down, if not for him being unable to eat when stressed he’d probably be the size of a house). But no the damn shop owner just had to recognise him from The Prophet’s article about the ministry attack and gushed about how lucky he was and how he deserved something fun. So they’d all but thrown a bottle of their strongest love potion at him and insisted it was on the house. 

With a flushed face he left as quickly as he could, back still smarting with every step, didn’t look where he was going and promptly bashed into someone, stumbling back, dropping his bag and bending forward in pain at the jostle to his injured body. “S-s-” his words were stuttered, smothered under the pain he was trying to reign in, by the time he was upright again he could his chocolate bar, and the damn love potion, were both on display having rolled out of the bag. 

With an embarassed sigh he lent against the wall, just the thought of bending over to pick them up made him want to cry. “S-sorry.” he finally muttered out.