20 Nov 2011
10am, Saturday
Sellaphix Apothecary

Figaro leaned on the counter at the family apothecary, and let his eyes close. If this is what it meant to fulfill family responsibilities, it hurt. He'd offered to take some weekend shifts so his mum could rest - he actually had to talk her into it. She wasn't the type of witch to easily accept help, and she was clearly hesitant to trust Figaro, who had never shown much promise (or interest) in the family craft, nor was familiar anymore with her regulars. But he'd convinced her and she'd now relented four times since the shop re-opened during Halloween-time.

Per his mum's instructions he was tasked with wearing his apron, brown with a black scarab on the front.

Last night had been everything a birthday pub raver should be, but he was one of those sorry souls for whom hangover cure spells had little effect. So he had a whole-arse pot of coffee keeping warm on a mini cauldron burner and was working his way through it. The clock chimed quietly. Time to open. He picked up his wand off the counter, gave it a wave, and the seven locks on the front door opened in clinking, clicking, clanking series.

And zip! Up went the shade. And flip! Round swung the closed sign to open.

Job done, he let his eyes close again. He was properly dozing when the bell on the door startled him and his head nearly slid off his hand.

Usually, Hannah wouldn’t venture into Diagon Alley. Nowadays, she avoided the place like she wished she could avoid the full moon. No one wanted to be stared at or judged while doing their shopping so she always left it until she had no other option. If the Apothecary was open in the evening, she’d have come without the likelihood of anyone else being there. Unfortunately, people were an unavoidable and unpleasant circumstance of life.

It was cold outside, and when Hannah stepped through the doors to Sellaphix Apothecary, she wore a thick black muggle coat and a purple scarf wrapped around her neck and head. From her pocket, she pulled a piece of parchment with a shopping list.

Fortunately, Hannah had made acquaintance with Zelda Sellaphix during her past visits to the family run business. She’d never thought to mention, however, that she’d done the odd monthly check up of the witch’s husband who still sat incarcerated in Azkaban. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the owner opening up the apothecary today. Instead, it was a young wizard who looked far more interested in climbing back into bed than serving his customers.

“Where’s Zelda?”

It was a customer, first of the day. He rubbed at his eye and righted himself to look halfway professional. His mum had never even attempted Service with a Smile, but she did expect the boys to be alert. Figaro blinked and then actually saw the witch: much more attractive than most of their customers. (Apparently, shopping for beetle eyes in Knockturn apothecaries wasn't most youths' idea of fun.)

Figaro was suddenly motivated. The son-of-apothecaries slid off the stool and ran a hand through his hair. Got to look presentable.

"Where's Zelda?"

"Hi," he almost blurted, with a smile.

Probably should answer her question.

"She's out, but she'll be back Monday. I could help you, though. Zelda's my mum, so. I'm Figaro. Sellaphix. "

He pointed to his chest where there was no name badge.

"You here to pick something up? What's the name?"

A great chunk of the business was delivery and special order, so it shouldn't be terribly odd that he'd asked her. He fixed his hair again, aware he probably looked like a wreck.

"Hi," the wizard was suddenly more interested in serving than sleeping on his hand, causing Hannah to raise an eyebrow. She lifted her hands, pulling the scarf down from her head as he introduced himself as the owner’s son. Prisoner Sellaphix’s son. Zelda had never struck her as a mother. But then, what did a mother seem like? It wasn’t as if Hannah would ever use her own as a comparison. If anyone, Johann’s mum, Camille was the ideal version. And as a father? Well, she’d never admit it to him, but that would be the hairy old fool Knox.

Knox; the reason she was here in the first place. Yet another hastily scribbled note with an address and a name. Hannah wasn’t sure of the moment she’d once more agreed to continue their little moonlighting venture as backstreet healers, but in truth, she no longer minded. Illegally healing her fellow werewolves was a start to betraying orders from the ministry. Level 2 and 4 could go drown themselves in the blood of those they’d destroyed with their ridiculous and restraining laws.

The wizard pointed to his chest and the witch continued to regard him, mildly perplexed. Was he temporarily on release from St Mungo’s? Was she supposed to reciprocate in kind?

“Hannah.” She pointed to her own chest, no name badge. “Bombay.” She held her note up and smiled encouragingly before speaking slowly, as if he might not understand. “Are. you. sure. you. can. help. me. Figaro?” Maybe he’d been badly mentally damaged by his father’s incarceration?

Hannah Bombay. The name rang the tiniest bell, but it didn't come to him. He became a tad distracted when she started talking to him ... real ... slow.  Figaro stopped smiling for a doofus for a moment. What was she okay?

 "I guess that depends, Hannah Bombay. What do you need? I don't want to brag, but I'm considered very useful."

He inspected his nails, so humble.

"Is that your list?" he nodded at the paper in her hand. "I can have a look."

She hadn't given an affirmative response to his delivery question. She was here to see his mom, so probably a regular who'd know her way around the store. If she knew her way around, then she'd probably have just started getting what she needed. Maybe she needed something from the back. He wasn't saying that's where the Runespoor venom had been kept, but that he hadn't been allowed in there until recently.

Hannah didn't look old, but he was now sure they hadn't overlapped at Hogwarts. He did the mental math. Twenty-five maybe.

Hannah doubted just how useful the wizard who’d previously been falling asleep at the counter really could be. She didn’t however, voice such doubts despite her expression clearly displaying them in the arch of her brows and pursing of her pale lips.
“Milk thistle and angostura will cure the hangover.” She could smell it on him, the pungent remains of an alcohol fuelled evening preceding this morning’s shift in his parent’s shop. A heightened smell was only one of the abilities she’d developed with thanks to her curse, and for a healer it had, begrudgingly, come in handy at times. “You could also chew some mint leaves.” She offered a small smile and handed over the detailed list.

“Your mum usually gives me a discount.” Bright eyes then danced back up to the wizard’s gaze. “Either that or she can’t count.” It was clearly never going to be the latter or the family run apothecary would have been run into the ground by now. Hannah had never asked why the low prices had applied, but she’d always simply thought it may be some connection to Knox. That old bearded bear got around and seemed to know everyone. There was no escaping him.

Hannah Bombay was still giving him the same doubting look he'd received more than a few times before, but it was usually short-lived. Fig knew he was shite at first impressions, but he was also mostly indifferent to being disliked. He leaned forward onto his elbow again.

"Thanks." He'd mostly given up on hangover cures because he was cursed. But it was nice of her to offer. He took the list and began skimming it, but looked up from it when she claimed Zelda gave her a discount.

He nodded, faking that he was convinced. "Oh, mhmm, that sounds like a very true thing."

Figaro, like Hannah, knew very well how tight Zelda kept the books. Locked down, impeccably documented, above reproach. And then there was The Other Book. A discount? That was The Other Book. He looked back down to the list. He bit his lip in thought.

Oh. Oh. It was little known, even to Figaro, that despite his relative ignorance of Potions and academic limitations, it wasn't possible to be raised by a potioneer and herbologist in an apothecary and not immediately recognize ingredients of Wolfsbane Potion. He glanced up at Hannah, and fluttered a smile. He knew as well as anyone that it wasn't strictly legal to be brewing it on your own - Ooooh... The epiphany showed all over his face.

Hannah Bombay. Hannah Bombay. She'd been in the paper; a clipping had been passed around school when Hannah Bombay had been arrested along with the former headmaster for werewolf stuff. Damn.

He let his momentary astonishment pass, all too aware he wore his emotions on his sleeve, and smiled.

"I got you." Yeah. Hannah was exactly the kind of person Zelda'd be giving a discount to: interesting, below board, and in the paper for all the wrong reasons. He scooted his stool back and came around the counter and nodded that he should follow him to The Back.

"Oh, mhmm, that sounds like a very true thing." Sellaphix nodded along, not at all convincing. Hannah cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. This was a mistake.

Zelda’s son had clearly twigged what half of the ingredients on her list were for; it read all over his face. As such, she was sorely tempted to turn on her heel and leave the shop immediately. Waiting for Zelda had been preferable but she couldn’t wait for Monday to begin brewing potions. They were time sensitive, unfortunately. It was only a marginal relief when Figaro Sellaphix smiled. He didn’t seem like the sort to report her with his suspicions. Zelda clearly hated the aurors, as did Hannah; one could only presume her son was similar.

Now finally alert and catching on, the wizard vacated his stool and led her into the back room. Hannah was quick to follow, leaving the door open behind them.

“Is Zelda aware you’re minding the store with a hangover?” At least, she presumed, whatever he’d drunk had gone enough for a hangover to appear. But he looked tired. Too tired to be any good serving in the apothecary for the day. “Or bringing people into the back?”

Fig lead Hannah down the narrow hallway at the back of the shop, it took him a wand and three keys to get the door open. Sellaphixes didn't joke around about security and discretion. He did notice that Hannah seemed more on her guard now, but she'd followed. He felt rather proud that he could, in fact, get her what she was looking for.

The backroom was bigger on the inside and covered in shelves, drawers, cubbies and crannies. There were crates and barrels on the floor and dried plants hanging in bunches from the ceiling.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked and put his hand over his mouth to smell his breath. He started pulling open drawers - the labels were faded and some were in code so he was relying on his general recollection of where things here.

"She trusts me, don't worry. And what am I going to do, turn you away? That'd get me killed quicker than this hangover. Here."

Figaro carefully handed Hannah a half-dozen small vials, each containing a black shimmering powder. Pulverized black quicksilver.[1] Then he knelt down and cracked open a crate marked with a large omega.

It contained what he expected so he slid it out from under the shelf, squatting next to it.

"Want to pick some out?" The quality should all be tops, but he figured she'd know best which ones she wanted.

"You can trust me, by the way. I've known werewolves before. I know the system is terrible."

1.	We haven't done much with Wolfsbane Potion ingredients that I can find, so I'm trying to come up with things that seem expensive.

For someone who’d seemed so uninterested in being at the Apothecary and someone whom she’d not seen there before, Figaro Sellaphix appeared to know his way around his mother’s shop.
“Puffy eyes and cracked dehydrated lips. It’s obvious.” The healer cordially answered the wizard’s question.

The vials were dropped with a clink into the handbag hanging from her shoulder and she moved closer, bending next to him for the crate. They were suddenly very close in the cramped space. Hannah reached into the crate and took out a couple of the large leaves to examine them.

“Why should I trust you Figaro Sellaphix?” Hannah found herself looking at the wizard, brows furrowing. “You aren’t even wearing a name badge.” A thin finger pointed to his chest and she smiled. It was rare for Hannah Bombay to ever make a joke, but there was something slightly settling about the young hungover son of Zelda Sellaphix.

She lifted a leaf to her nose to give it a sniff and closed her eyes.
“It’s not the system that is terrible, Figaro.”

"I don't even own a name badge," he admitted.

He watched Hannah inspect the giant moonwort. It was usually a really tiny plant, apparently, and these larger palm-sized leaves were better because of how long Wolfsbane Potion had to cook. At least, that's what his dad had told him. Leaf-to-stem ratio or something. He mirrored her motion and pickled up a fan-shaped frond, a few leaves still connected to each other.

"I don't know, Hannah, the system is pretty shit," he said sweetly, mirroring her tone. Of all the Sellaphixes, Figaro was the one mostly likely to give the Ministry of Magic the benefit of the doubt, but not so much in recent months, for a few reasons. But more than taking some early morning political stand in between counting beetle eyes and rotating candles, he was messing around.

"The system just yesterday," he sniffed his leaf deeply, "pissed on my rug. It was a really good rug."

The system pissed on Figaro’s rug? A look of bewilderment flashed across Hannah’s features as she internally queried if she and Figaro Sellaphix were having the same conversation. Metaphorical analyogies were sometimes something that Hannah needed to really atune herself to. She took things at face value and struggled to use her imagination in such a manner. Yet, things improved with time and she was able to understand, to an extent, what Figaro was trying to get at.

“It was 12 days ago that you were…pissed on, wasn’t it?” She was staring at him intently over the now lowered moonwart leaf. She was, of course, talking about his questioning at the Ministry of Magic. His name had briefly appeared in the paper, but then, who managed to avoid it, nowadays?

“What happened yesterday, then? You don’t seem astute or tenacious enough to have done what they said.” There was no offence meant, merely observation.

Oh, good. She knew. How nice. Fig had just been being awkward in an attempt to impress her - he'd had no intent to have a discussion about his recent legal troubles. But she already knew. Just. Lovely.

Figaro tilted his head and blinked at her, his smile a thin line.

"That's a common misconception, actually. I am keenly Astute and Tenacious. However, you are correct. That particular rug pissing was a whole twelve days ago, yet it seems so near. Can't wait to forget about it."

There was a stack of wide shallow baskets stuck in between two large glass jars. He moved to get one down for her, if she wanted to set aside her chosen moonwort.

"Yesterday, that was my - " He paused just very briefly: at what age did people stop talking about birthdays? "A lot of us went on a pub crawl. Some of us have close birthdays. So there was a fair share of getting piss drunk. Hence hangover."

Fig shrugged with a grin. He was talking about himself way too much.  Like, ask her a question or something.

"So you like potions?"

Good one.

Figaro Sellaphix spoke and Hannah Bombay couldn’t help but smile. He was different, jovial and lacking in seriousness. when was the last time Hannah had a conversation lacking in seriousness?

He wanted to forget his own ‘rug pissing’ while Hannah considered how she might be able to trump him with an entire flood. That wasn’t, however, a topic for today’s trip to the apothecary. Or ever. She, too, would have appreciated being able to forget but she knew that that would never happen. Her own flood of horror would shape her future. Figaro’s would doubtlessly only shape the few weeks post event.

Hannah stood up straight and also deposited the moonwart in her bag, presuming the wizard was taking note of everything to draw up the bill. He seemed, however, more interested in explaining the reason for such a bad hangover and Hannah nodded. Her last birthday had been spent in Azkaban so she certainly hadn’t celebrated.

"So you like potions?"

Oh, wow. She couldn’t help herself, Hannah laughed.
“I’m a healer, Figaro.” Was than an answer enough? “Do you like plants?”

A Healer! Fig was impressed and felt for a very shot moment leagued out. But he promptly put any self-deprecating thought out of his mind. She was clearly not a typical Healer. And he was not a typical shop-kid.

"Oh shit, yeah. I love plants, plants are the best. Minerals can bugger off. I mean, fungus. Fungi, they can stay, but don't let me catch an insect, got it? Plants for Minister."

He glanced at the list again. Mercury, check. Moonwort, check. There were still a few more things on the list of the Backroom variety. Not necessarily illicit in themselves, but they were bellwethers for brews that might be. Case in point, pickled myrrh.

"But you're a Healer. That's brilliant. So you like St. Mungo's?" he asked, sliding the moonwort crate away.

"'Scuse me," he touched her shoulder for a moment so he could stand back and get a better view of a high shelf.  He scanned for a sign of the distinct vessel.  He drew his wand and levitated down a large round jar filled with large chunks of myrrh suspended in a thick red-gold syrup. 'Pickled' was just a common name for what this was - ichor of callow spiders. Thank Merlin there were tongs.

He set it on a small work bench and started prying off the stuck clamps that held the lid down. A label on the jar said 1994. Good pickled myrrh took time.