6 August 2012
Monday at 8am
Sellaphix House
London

It was early on a Monday, a day that Rafe and Zelda kept their apothecary in Knockturn Ally closed. Zelda and her youngest son, fourteen-year-old Frank, were in the kitchen at the rear of the house arguing. Frank stood in the doorway half dressed with a cup of coffee, looking too much like his brother.

"He doesn't live here anymore!" Frank was protesting having to continue to make space for Figaro's things in their shared bedroom even after his brother had moved out.

Zelda had no patience for it. "He's still a part of this family. I'm so sorry if it's a hardship for you not to have the entire closet."

"Can't he be a part of the family and take his stuff with him?" Frank countered, logic airtight.

"He doesn't have room for it."

"Actually, neither do I!" Frank raised his voice now but then clammed up when Zelda looked up from the eggs. "Whatever. I'll be at school in a month. Can I have some money for school books?"

Zelda shook her head. "No, your father will take you."

"Come on, I'm not a first year. Why?"

"No, but I don't need you spending gold when silver would do." They'd been over this before. Frank had costy preferences for school supplies and lately was more into clothes. Mother and son might have continued arguing but there was a tappity tap at the back window.

"That's the post," Zelda said and left the hob to let them in. There were two owls vying for space on the ledge. One had the Daily Prophet, the other a small parcel wrapped in dark grey paper.

Each Monday felt like a good day to shut up shop. The weekend flurry of customers hadn’t been missed, and the regulars knew that bright and early on Tuesday morning, either Rafe or his far more stoic wife would be standing at the counter ready to offer any information and help required. Monday, Rafe had told his far more stoic but beautiful and hardworking wife, was to be a day to spend just them. Or well, with Frank when he was home. Zelda had worked herself ragged during Rafe’s incarceration, and he was trying to get her to take as much of a break as she was willing. He was trying to set them up so work wouldn’t be quite so hard, and this was why Monday was secret parcel day.

“Stay in bed, Zee, let me get us some coffee.” Rafe had tried in vain this morning. Or toast. Toast was always good. Crumbs, she’d pointed out to him. No spell could get rid of every last annoying crumb that came with eating toast in bed. Well that told Rafe. That also led to Rafe awkwardly lingering near the living room doorway to hear the owl’s arrival with the morning post. He could hear Zelda and Frank in the kitchen discussing school supplies. Frank wanted to go and throw their galleons around on pretty new books and uniform items when there were perfectly good, if slightly dog-eared ones upstairs left by Fig.

"That's the post," Zelda informed her son. And indeed, it was the post.

Rafe was quick off the mark, pacing speedily through the hallway and into the kitchen where he snatched up the parcel and tucked it under his arm. “Listen to your mother,” Rafe pointed at his son. “I open my coin purse and moths fly out, not galleons. Have you checked what you’ve already got off the list? Fig left his school books for you, lad. Probably barely read them himself.”

Frank had to take a quick step aside as his father hustled into the small kitchen. It was an unusual pace for his father who usually moved with the steady urgency of a sheepdog confident no wolf dare come near his flock - he didn't run for owls, for example, like Figaro after his Cheese of the Month.

"Of course you side with mum," Frank said rolling his eyes. "I don't want Fig's manky things."

Rafe's swift entrance had not gone unnoticed by Zelda who looked a bit like a ruffled cat.

"What's that?" she demanded of Rafe. "What did you order?"

He'd tried to keep her in bed this morning. 'Have a nice lie in,' her doting husband had said. Now she was on to him.

“They aren’t Fig’s manky things anymore, Frankie, boy.” Rafe grinned at his son, placing a hand on his head and ruffling up his shaggy hair. “They’re your manky things, now.”

Unfortunately for Rafe, Zelda, his beautiful and intelligent wife, was not an easy woman to get anything by. He should have ordered this to the shop then popped out for a stroll or something. ‘Oops, love, I left something in the office. Catch you later,’. Nope, he’d have had to stay in all day, not risking any random wix catching his owl. Then it all really would be over.

“Underpants.” Well that lie came out of nowhere. It wasn’t like he could say it was a birthday present for the wife who was born in January, could he? Underpants, it was.
“I swear you’ve been trying to feed me up, Zee. Practically bulging out of the lot we bought in December.” Frank didn’t need to know that, and with any luck, Zelda would stop asking questions.

“I’ll give you a little fashion show later, wifey. Best go try them on for fit.” Rafe winked, and brazen as ever, turned to leave the kitchen with his package under his arm.

Frank performed being sick and Zelda flicked her wand, casting a spell to snatch away the parcel from under her liar of a spouse. The box flew to Zelda's waiting hand. Frank didn't have to be told to be on his way - there was no hope here for anything other than something deeply awkward occurring. Frank took his coffee and left, having to chalk up the morning as a loss.

Zelda turned the paper-wrapped package over in her hands, making no remark on Frank's leaving. Not everyone understood she and Rafe's relationship. Zelda, to so many, seemed so joyless and always serious, and Rafe, dishonest and never serious. But truly, Zelda found Rafe hilarious and his attention made her bubble up - all on the inside of course. His playing cat-and-mouse with a piece of mail was as amusing as his pants cover story.

The package was wrapped in dark grey paper, the nice textured kind, but a water stain here or there and an out-of-place wrinkle showed the paper to having been reused for another purpose. Nothing was embossed, the only writing was Rafe's name and their address in a white ink. She turned the thing over and over again, feeling the weight of it. She guessed a heavy jar of something.

"So what is it?" she asked, not yet moving to actually open it in front of him. She didn't sound cross now that Frank had gone. "It's not Drammes."

It had always been a joke between them, that they'd give it all to Drammes Apotheke one day and retire.

She was too good was Zelda Sellaphix. She’d always seen through Rafe’s little schemes and plots. Perhaps that was why the pair had always been a team, with Rafe not clever enough to get anything past his wife. From the ministry, they’d hid her part well in the Runespoor plot but she’d not been an innocent bystander by any means. Now, when Rafe was actively trying to keep her out of it, his mission was failing at the first hurdle.

Gone was the parcel from his hands and shortly following it, his son left the room. Now, Rafe span on his heels to eyeball his wife. Well, not she knew it was too heavy for underpants, unless they belonged to a really fat giant.

“I’ll level with ye, Zee. A project. It’s probably best you don’t know.” He hazarded, with a shrug and an awkward expression.

The eggs Zelda has been cooking had paused themselves, the enchanted pan removing itself from the heat to hover a little above the stove. A project, Rafe claimed. Zelda said, "hmm," and set the parcel down on the little kitchen table. She exuded suspicion.

A project. "What kind of project is better when I don't know about it?" she asked, even though she understood exactly his meaning.

"We're doing just fine. The books are good, even with Figaro helping. And O'Keefe is handled. No more of that dodgy wolfsbane in Knockturn."[1] She crossed her arms and shrugged. Might be that Rafe disagreed about their financials, but they were out of the woods in Zelda's conservative estimation.

"So I don't know what kind of secret project you could possibly think was a good idea."

There was a note of worry in her voice.

1.	4 Aug 2012 - The Boot in the Supply Chain - Zelda had used her connections to neutralize Lochlainn O'Keefe's competing potions business because he was selling Wolfsbane unlicensed.

Zelda, his bright, stern, efficient Zelda saw no necessity in her husband’s planned extracurricular activities. She’d expertly survived the three years of his incarceration, keeping their business running and their roof over her head. For that, Rafe held a deep and unending respect for her. In that time, however, she had aged and stressed and been through the ringer. Rafe didn’t want to leave her ever again with so little in their Gringotts safe. Before, he’d always been relaxed, not worrying himself about a lack of safety net. Look where it had gotten them.

“Of course, it is a good idea, shining light of my life.” Responded Rafe, closing in on his wife. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. “I only have outstanding, genius ideas. Look at you. Marrying you was my idea. Case closed.” Zelda was immune to flattery, and her husband knew it.

“I don’t want to be doing just fine, anymore. You deserve better, love.”

People didn't always understand Zelda and Rafe together. When he gathered his arms around her waist, though, it was all comfort. She put her fingers in the grey hair at his temples and let him spin whatever pretty web he would. He smiled; she kept her dark brows level. When the boys caught them like this in the kitchen, there was always a gagging fit.

She wouldn't deny his strange sort of intelligence, the way he saw things others didn't. The man was sly, there was no doubt about it. But ...

"I'd kill you if I lost you again," she said after a long pause. "I won't have it, dear. I don't want any more calamities."

“I know.” Zelda didn’t want any more calamities. She didn’t want to be alone again. Rafe understood that, for he would do anything possible to stay by her side and make sure she never had to worry again. Sadly, life threw bludgers at the Sellaphix family, and they needed to prepare for them with more than a piddly amount of galleons for emergencies.

Rafe leaned down, resting his forehead against his wife’s. Like this, they remained for at least a minute.
“No silly mistakes, this time. And no one that can blab.” He paused, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “Well, none that will want to blab when they know how good the product is.” Now, he waggled his eyebrows and planted a kiss on Zelda’s forehead.

Pulled back, Rafe took his wife’s arms and peered down at her. “You trust me, yeah? I could tell ye. Heck, you’ll be able to increase demand. But it’s risky business. Worth it in so many ways, but risky. Like waking Frankie up before 7. Only worse. Much worse.”

Zelda hated thinking about what could happen. Rafe getting locked up had been the most horrible, scary thing that had ever happened to them. It sobered her, it made her more careful, it made her go grey. Rafe wasn't totally wrong, though. Things were stable and steady for now, but they would be hard-pressed to weather another disaster. The poisoned reagents, her Pentral, Figaro getting attacked - there was always some doom around the corner it seemed.

She sighed and stepped out of the embrace to finish breakfast. As much as she hated to think about the criminal dangers again, one thing was worse: secrets separating them.

"So, what is it?" she asked, getting the eggs going again. "You can't keep me out of it now."

“The truth or a beautiful lie?” Rafe asked. The look Zelda sent back at him confirmed it. The truth. No secrets between them. That was when marriages started to fall apart, wasn’t it? Rafe wasn’t sure what he’d do without the glue that kept his little family together. For a few moments, he watched his wife at the stove, continuing to cook the eggs for their breakfast. His gaze shot sidewards to the closed door which led to the hallway where Frank had retreated.

With a sigh, the wizard dropped his heavy self into one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table. He placed the box on the surface and used his wand to open it. “Do you know how many unregistered werewolves there are in Britain, Zee?” asked Rafe, pulling out of the box the ingredients he’d ordered in secret. “Do you? Because I don’t. No one does. Exciting isn’t it?  Well, maybe not so exciting if you are an unregistered werewolf, or, if you are caught between their teeth.” He shrugged, sitting back, content that he’d received what he’d paid for.

“But, think of the market. Open ended, isn’t it? And all on the lookout for decent quality wolfsbane potion that’s going to curb their insatiable urge to rip people apart.” Rafe pushed himself back up from the chair and came back, closer to Zelda so he could reach into a cupboard above her head for a fresh mug. “I can charge what I like and they’ll pay it because they need it.” Still close, he looked down at his wife and grinned. “You can reward me later for my genius, darling wife.”

Wolfbane Potion, there it was. Zelda actually checked down the hallway to make sure their sweet little boy Francis wasn't listening. Zelda had brought Figaro inside last year[1] but their youngest needn't be involved ever if possible.

"I wouldn't call it genius, love," Zelda said and closed the kitchen door. She was hesitant, but had not yet burned the incriminating parcel.

"It wasn't sixth months ago that I was neighborly to that boy who was selling his own wolfsbane potion," Zelda said, speaking of Lochlainn O’Keeffe.[2]. "We didn't want him attracting the wrong kind of attention. We've still rebuilding."

The plan was to get right, look right, and build trust with their regulars so that if they did have to step out for them, they'd be secure doing so.

1.	9 Nov 2011 - All Part of the Plan
2.	10 Feb 2012 - Tourists to the Gutter

He’d heard it since boyhood; ‘Opposites attract’. It was exactly what had happened with Zelda and Rafe Sellaphix. Zelda was serious and cautious, and no one dared cross her. Rafe? Well he was an outwardly jolly soul with a rather overwhelming need to rebel against the Ministry at any chance he had. He adored his wife and her prudence, but he also adored creating just a little chaos that might make them some more money.

“And rightly so, Zelda dearest.” said the wizard as he filled the kettle and popped it on the hob to warm up. “If you knew the lad was selling, then he wasn’t discreet, was he?” He dropped some tea leaves in the teapot and then leaned back against the side to watch his wife as she considered his plan.

“I, however, am very discreet,” he told her with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “Like a silent but deadly fart. I’m not getting caught this time. No partners in crime. Just good old Rafe Sellaphix doing what Rafe Sellaphix does best.” Brewing perfect potions.

Rafe Sellaphix's ambition was infectious. It caught you off guard and drew you in; his comical confidence seemed to disarm him in others' eyes and this made him all the more effective and doing whatever the hell he set his mind to. Zelda looked past her shoulder at him on the other side of hob. She wasn't frowning anymore, but she wasn't entirely convinced.

"What about Kurby?"

Kurby Bagnold, who'd been around for ages, as much a part of the family as the kids. He'd been there to keep things pulled together when Rafe had gone to Azkaban and later when Zelda had been possessed by the Pentral. He'd helped out when Figaro had been attacked in the safe house. Zelda and Rafe had been there when Kurby needed it, and he was loyal to them in return. The Sellaphixes had never put him in a position where he'd be in any legal conundrum, but getting into Wolfsbane? That would put them square in his house.