All the Wrong Choices

1945 had started off a great year. My old Transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore, had managed to defeat the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald. He was sentenced to life in Nurmengard. I remembered the day I had got the news: an owl had dropped off a newspaper on our stoop, and it was on the front page. Tom and I had moved into a small flat above the Coffin House, a shop in Knockturn Alley that sold Dark Arts materials related to raising the dead, a month and a half prior.

Knockturn Alley wasn't my ideal place of residence by any means, but Tom had started a job at Borgin and Burkes, an antique shop a few buildings down, so it only made sense for us to live close to it. Plus, although this flat was a shoebox, it was dirt cheap (probably due to the shop it was above), and as a couple of newly graduated Hogwarts students that was exactly what we were looking for. We had plenty of money to purchase a house thanks to my inheritance, but we wanted to wait until we had real careers.

We were willing to compromise; I simply wasn't to be wandering the streets alone after dark, and if I had to work late at the White Wyvern pub, Tom would be there fifteen minutes before my shift ended to accompany me home. One Friday night, however, Tom wasn't there to pick me up from work. Figuring he had to work late at his own job I waited inside of the pub for as long as I could, but my boss soon told me he wanted to lock up and go home and gave me the boot.

Our flat was only a few buildings down from the pub, but Knockturn Alley was an awfully terrible place. It was the wizard equivalent of New York City, I'd imagine. I held my purse tightly as I walked the half a mile or so back to our flat, holding my wand tighter. Hardly anyone was on the streets, but that didn't mean no one was lurking in the shadows.

My walk home was uneventful, thankfully, and Tom was sitting on the sofa with his back towards me when I unlocked the door. I shut and locked the door behind me before knocking on the wall next to it. He jumped and turned to face me, a look of horror suddenly washing on his face. “Shit,”

“Forget about me?” I asked, hanging my jacket on the coat rack.

“Sorry, Nora,” Tom muttered, “It slipped my mind. It won't happen again.”

He was being oddly short. I walked around the couch and looked at him.

“Tom? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I've just had a hard day at work.”

“What's that?” I asked, nodding to a small golden cup sitting before Tom on the coffee table. It had two finely-wrought handles with a badger engraved on the side and few jewels throughout it. “It's pretty looking, huh?” I reached for it and Tom quickly grabbed my hand.

“Don't touch it.” I pulled my hand away and watched him. “It's an artifact. Someone brought it into my work today. It supposedly belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.” My eyes lit up and I reached for it again before quickly stopping myself.

“Really?” I asked. “It's so nice. Who would want to sell that?”

“I asked myself the same thing,” Tom responded.

I pulled my shoes off and headed into the bathroom, calling to Tom over my shoulder as I had so many times before, “Well, when you're done admiring it, put it on the mantle with the rest of the stuff you've brought home. I'm going to take a bath.”

“Nora?” Tom called as I ran a hot bath. “Is the clip on your locket still broken?”

My hands flew to the locket around my neck and I quickly took it off, leaving it on the bathroom sink as I bathed. “Yes, it is. The clasp in the back is a little weird, too. A chip, maybe? Will you have a look at it at work tomorrow?”

“I'd love to,” Tom called back.

“Evening, love.” Tom spoke as soon as he walked in the door. He placed his coat on the rack and wrapped his arms around me from behind, kissing the back of my neck. I laughed from his touch and tried to wiggle my way out but he wasn't having it. I felt my locket clasp back around my neck and I gasped.

“You fixed it,” I noted, my hands rushing up to feel it.

“I told you I would.” Tom nodded, straightening it out.

“It feels so different. Like it's brand new.” I murmured, playing with it as I went back to serving dinner. Tom had scarfed half of his dinner down by the time I sat down with my plate and began to eat. “Oh. I forgot about this…”

“About what?” Tom asked, glancing up from his plate.

“This came in the mail today,” I reached for an envelope that I had wedged in the crack between the counter and the wall, “It's from Albania. Do you think…” Tom watched me for a moment before tearing the envelope from my hands and standing up from the dinner table. He tore open the envelope and read the contents of the letter, a smile spreading across his face.

“Well? What does it say?” I asked eagerly.

“Quit your job. We're moving to Albania.”