Mid-afternoon on a Thursday wasn't the shop's busiest time, but it was by no means the slowest time for business. Normally Norrie would not be the only one in the shop. She was too prone to awkward blunders - both physical and social - to be a reliable salesperson. Her place was stitching in the back. However, between the flu outbreak, a sick grandson, and the loss of staff due to new employment laws, Norrie was indeed the only one in the shop.

She was passing the time by embroidering behind the counter. Even with magic, the stupid little patterns were incredibly time-consuming. Norrie had begun to suspect that her embroidery was superior to whatever Twifflit and Tattings was offering, because more and more customers were coming in and asking for the wretched stuff. Oh well. It paid the rent.

The sound of the chime above the door made Norrie look up from the abysmally cute - what were they? bearcubs? - she was applying to some rich pureblood's robes. She felt her stomach jump into her throat. This was not a familiar and regular customer that would forgive Norrie for any clumsiness. This woman was new, and judging by her clothing, very, very rich.

Norrie practically jumped off her stool and squeaked, "Hello. How can I help you?"