For the first time in just over three years, Rafe Sellaphix stood in Knockturn Alley and looked up at his apothecary. The sign above the door was old, worn and grubby, but it clearly read Sellaphix Apothecary, Est. 1858. Generations before him had built the business up from nothing and Rafe had wanted to continue to grow his family’s legacy. Unfortunately, a three-year stint in Azkaban had gotten in the way. Two closures later and too much stress for his wife of 26 years, the place was astoundingly but relieving still open and Mr Sellaphix was able to take it in once more.
 
Sellaphix had always been a fairly large man with a paunch around the stomach and a full face. Today, he looked quite different. Several stones of weight had been lost to a poor diet and the stress of Azkaban and his hair had greyed considerably. His beard was long and unkempt while bushy peppered black hair was growing out in all sorts of directions. He wore an ill-fitting shirt, trousers and robes, the last clothing before he’d been forced to don the uniform of an Azkaban prisoner. The tie, his only one, had been shoved into the pocket of the black robes.
 
The door to the apothecary grazed against the bell above, signalling to the owner the arrival of a new customer. Rafe couldn’t help but smile when he thought of the owner. His steadfast wife and business partner; the mother of his two sons. As if fate were smiling on him for once in several years, the shop was presently empty (he hoped as a rare occasion). Not wanting any interruptions, Rafe closed the door and removed his newly returned wand from his pocket. He gave it a twist and each bolt could be heard clicking into place behind him.
 
He counted seven bolts; two more than three years prior.

The back door could be heard opening as, he presumed, his wife came to serve her newest customer.
“Can a wizard not get service in his own shop?” The newly freed wizard spoke in what he hoped was a calm voice. He could feel his heart pounding hard against his chest and a rarely felt level of emotion building up as he stood with his arms awkwardly hanging by his sides. “I was promised service with a smile!”.

There was an hour yet before they opened. She was in the office going over some invoices to track down a late shipment.

When the sound of the locks going started, Zelda had only a moment to wonder at what was going on. Anyone who knew how to open them - Figaro or Kurby - would be coming in the back. That left … his voice confirmed it before she had time to think of it. Her stomach immediately twisted into a cramp and she got up quickly from her seat, knotting her hands in front of her. She came out of the upstairs office and out onto the balcony.

She’d been in contact with their lawyer, Talisha Crowe, these last few weeks and knew the release had been approved, but the updates had stopped two days ago. She didn’t -

And there he was. His clothes were too big. Her face twisted into a frown as she was suddenly overwhelmed with feeling. Her silent progress down the stairs was steady but slow. There was no rushing and throwing herself into his arms, just the tense silence holding back sobs and furious hand wringing as she approached. His smile, his stance. He was kidding around, but she saw right through him.

When she reached him, she took his fuzzy face in her hands and pressed her forehead against his. The tears came and so her dozen small kisses were salty. She didn’t know what to say and she couldn’t speak anyway. She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his broad chest. The last time she’d touched him, smelled him, kissed him - it had been three years ago in the courtroom before he … No. That didn’t matter anymore. She could forget that now, let it be ashes and have this memory instead.

For a time, she just held him there taking him all in, every breath that had been taken from them could be theirs again.

Wasn’t that quite the greeting!

All too glad to hold her close for as long as he could, Rafe rested a cheek on her head and pulled her in. The familiar smells of coffee and sage lingered with something unfamiliar where Zelda was concerned. A nose finely attuned to most herbs and potions ingredients, Rafe held a suspicion over what it was but didn’t comment. Instead, he was content simply on hugging her closely, his wife whom he’d not been able to touch in 3 years.

It felt like forever before Rafe loosened his grip and used a rough thumb to tenderly wipe some of the tears from Zelda’s cheeks. His smile down at her was soft and affectionate and his own eyes held a few tears which were close to falling but hanging on. He leaned down, stealing a lingering salty kiss. When he stood straight again, a hand went to her hair and the shot of white. So many things to mention, so many questions to ask. So much time to do it in.

“What you crying for, Zee?” Rafe pulled her in close again, kissing her forehead. “I’ve only been on holiday, love.” If only that were true. If only it had been a 2-week trip away in search of better supplies and new ideas instead of 3 years locked in a cell with a poetic Death Eater maniac. He’d missed so much.

It was like Rafe to make light of this; he hadn't lost that. But Zelda couldn't and she through her emotion she managed a long-suffering min-glare. She couldn't. So much had happened there was no way she could pretend it was just a little trip. She looked down and wiped her face.

Zelda just wanted to go home and sit with him in the garden and let the day tick-tick-tick by and catch up on all the moments they'd be grieving for. But the shop needed to open in an hour. Her eyes widened. The boys! They'd been keeping this process a secret from Frank and Figaro on the off-chance it didn't work out.

"Rafe, the boys," she said with a hesitant smile. "We'll just close up, get Frank and Figaro and spend the day."

A small voice in the back of her head wanted to leave the city entirely, but a stronger voice set her jaw and lifted her chin higher. They were finally together again and it was time to be unstoppable.

In true Zelda style, her first thought went to their boys. It had been a mutual decision to keep both away from any of this business and Rafe hadn’t seen them since before his arrest. Figaro had been at school so it had been even longer for him. They’d kept this release under their hats but running to tell them immediately didn’t feel right. Rafe wasn’t so sure that he wanted to drag Frank out of school. In truth? He felt nervous about seeing his sons. Zelda, he’d seen regularly through a screen preventing them from touching or getting even close to one another. But he’d seen her.

The boys?

Frank hadn’t even started Hogwarts when Rafe was locked up. He was a young boy who’d had changed an enormous amount in three years. All of that growing up lost to Azkaban. And Figaro? He’d graduated, he was working for the Daily Prophet. He actually had a job and he had moved out. Rafe had been quite convinced years ago that him and Zelda would be shipping their older son out because he refused to leave.

In truth, did Rafe really know his sons now?

“Can we afford to close up?” Rafe rose a bushy eyebrow, eyeing his wife carefully. He knew they’d been struggling. His arrest had damaged the business beyond repair. Who would really trust them now? Truthfully, this was just an excuse at present.

Zelda saw Rafe’s face when she mentioned their kids, and she slid her hands down from around his neck. These last few years, every birthday, every Hogwarts journey, any milestone for the boys - Rafe had missed them all. For awhile Frank asked about his dad all the time and Zelda, when she could, tried to retell family stories so when Rafe got back, Frank would feel like he knew him. She hoped his letters helped, but it was no substitute. And Figaro? He almost never brought up the topic.

She crossed her arms gently. Rafe’s hesitation, it hurt. But it made sense. They’d all need time. Zelda, she was so ready just to pick things up where they’d left off. But that wasn’t going to be so easy for the rest of them.

“No,” she responded after a moment and tried an optimistic smile. “Let’s wait on telling the boys. Get our stories straight. Fig could drop by, though,” she added. He’d been doing that more.

“There’s time before open. You need food.” She was pained to walk away from him, even for the briefest moment, but she moved to lock the front doors back up so they could go pick something up to eat from a local shop.

Already there was a tension between them that there’d never been before. Rafe had always been proud of the fact that he had the sort of relationship with his wife where they didn’t do secrets, they shared. The Sellaphixes shared their home, their business, their lives and their souls. He’d always proudly beamed over how they made each other whole, two pieces of a puzzle. But they’d not shared this. Zelda had been here for the boys and Rafe? He’d been locked in a cell. Zelda had been in a hospital bed and Rafe had been in a prison cot. What was shared now?

“That’s good.” He was glad that Figaro would drop by. Zelda must have been so lonely. She’d pulled away now and Rafe shoved his hands in his trousers pockets, feeling the nervous energy that he’d certainly not expected or wanted to have. He should have been jumping at the opportunity to throw caution to the wind, close the shop and collect his boys to finally reunite. Three years ago, he’d have done that. The man currently stood in the apothecary felt inexplicably nervous. He felt guilty.

“You need food.” Zelda went to the door and Rafe put a hand on his stomach with a small smile and shake of his head.

“Azkaban diet, Mrs Sellaphix.” Probably not what she wanted to hear. “Even the rats looked appetising.” That was a lie. The rats were too fast! No, she definitely didn’t need to hear that.

“Food can wait, Zelda.” He stepped closer and reached out to grab Zelda’s hand and pull her closer again. He spoke quietly, slowly as he looked down at her seriously, “The boys are fine, they can wait.” She’d made sure they were fine.

“You’ve not been fine.”

Zelda scoffed good-naturedly at Rafe's disregard of food, and curled back up with him. He'd gone serious and it wasn't her favorite look on him. She hardened her expresion, but then let it drop again - he had a right to whatever he was feeling right now, but it wasn't going to be easy to just dismantle the fortress she'd built around her hart, brick by brick. She just wanted to take care of him, get him fed, work their way to normal.

He was out! Out early! Zelda wanted to be happy about that.

She massaged her left hand in her right, a habit she hadn't been able to shake. It ached from time to time since the Pentral.

"No, but I'm fine now," he tried to convince him with a smile. "It was bad. I should've owled. Should have listened to Kurby, but ... But it's over. You're here."

He really should eat something.

From the streak of white in her hair to the nervous rubbing of her hands, there was something really off about Zelda. But, in her normal fashion, she brushed off any problem and tried pointlessly to convince him that all was fine. Rafe would have loved to believe that him returning would stop all of their problems, but he had a foreboding feeling that the problems wouldn’t leave, they would simply change and morph.

“I am.” Zelda was drawn in close and he held her tightly once more. Just to be able to touch her again was enough right now, his questions could come later. His worrying could come after that. “And I am hungry.” He lied, but was all too aware of Zelda’s unwillingness to really discuss what had happened to her. She would because he would make her. But not today.

“Food, but let’s shut shop.” He didn’t want to spend the day here working. They wouldn’t catch up then. There was so much missed time. “There’s a lot of time to make up for, Zee.” Rafe had never been the sort to suggest they close the Apothecary. He loved his work and would do it long hours to provide for his little family. But everything could wait. He was home with his wife. No one was going to ruin that today.

Zelda was relieved he relented and was going to let her make something. They closed up and Zelda quickly made up a closed sign: Closed today. Be back tomorrow. Family business, it said. Together they Apparated back to the house in Marylebone.

---

Sellaphix Home
34 Upper Montagu St
Marylebone, London

A short while later, Zelda had made up coffee, tea, toast, and little sausages. "You wash up," she suggested with a little wink. He smelled fine, but a warm shower and a change of clothes would do him good. She didn't normally dote on him to this extent, but she worried he might have forgotten the little luxuries of being his own person.

As she cooked, she tried to take inventory of what had changed here in three years. There was a new sofa, but his old chair was still there. There were more photos of Rafe on the wall than there'd been before; she'd put them up shortly after he left in an effort to remind the boys of him, remind herself. In the den she'd moved the desk under the window. In the garden, all the plants were three years taller and she'd added some trellises for doxy ivy. New rug at the top of the stairs. The bedroom the boys shared, of course, looked now more like Frank than Figaro. Fig's side was used mostly for Frank's junk overflow, but the bed was cleared off. Fig slept here sometimes.

She called up to meet her out back where she set down the tray of food between two chairs, and lit a fire in the little brick fire pit. It was cold, but she didn't care. Zelda lit a cigarette even though she knew Rafe didn't approve. She needed to settle her nerves. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled when the back door opened.

"That's better?"

Rafe spent far longer in the shower than he ever had. It was cathartic, he pondered as he watched the water run off him and into the plughole, to wash Azkaban off. All those nightmares and hellish days were disappearing down the drain. He was never going back.

Out of the extremely long, hot and delicious shower, Rafe combed back his hair and took his time in dressing. He was pleased to find their bedroom unchanged. Even the book he’d been reading before his arrest was still on his bedside table. His clothes were all still filling the drawers, neatly folded up and kept pristine. Today, over his shirt, he pulled on a jumper to keep him warm against the chill to the air. Everything was too big and the belt struggled to hold up his jeans. A pair of brown loafer slippers, the wizard was pleased, could still be found at the bottom of his side of the wardrobe.

Rafe made a conscious decision not to go into the boys’ room. Not yet. He needed to prepare himself mentally for it. So, he walked straight past the door and down the stairs. He didn’t enter the living room and made his way straight through the familiar kitchen, collecting a second cup of tea on the way.

"That's better?"

“It’s like I’m a new man.” He smiled down at Zelda, squeezed her shoulder then leant down to kiss her head, because he could. Rafe plucked the cigarette from between Zelda’s lips. He’d quit years before Azkaban and had tried enforcing it on Zelda. Now, he looked at her and shrugged with a knowing smile in response to the look he received and placed said cigarette between his lips for a drag. “It’s bad for you, you know.” And he plonked himself down beside her.

"You look like a soggy wolfhound," she said at his thinness and wet hair. Him stealing her cig, that was old Rafe. She leaned over and took it back, patting his cheek.

"Eat something first," she urged, ashed the cigarette and took a draw.

She didn't know what to talk about first and would have been happy to sit there next to him, her legs warmed by the fire, all day. Zelda looked up at the brightening sky. It was foggy and threatening rain.

"Francis got a special award in Potions class," she said. "Some kind of little badge for a perfect Sleeping Draught."

She looked at him and lifted her eyebrows, then looked back at the sky. "Thank Merlin."

Ah, Frank. The family's last great hope.

“Eat something, right. Clearly I need reminding.” Rafe smirked and pulled a plate close, grabbing 2 slices of toast and beginning to butter them as he listened to how Frank, their youngest, could still bring success to the Sellaphix family. Figaro had been a write-off for the next Albus Dumbledore a decade ago. His parents loved him dearly, but a parent’s love was never going to give the kid the fire up his arse that he needed to really make something of himself.

Frank was, or so Rafe remembered and was told, a different kettle of fish. Fig had always taken after Rafe, he was daft and fun to be around. He rarely let things get to him. Frank was Zelda’s mini-me. He was serious and focused. He was dedicated and smart.

“Kid takes after his Dad.” Rafe started to pile a few sausages onto one of his slices of toast before squirting on a large amount of brown sauce. Perhaps he was actually hungry. “He shown any interest in the apothecary?” He was young, Rafe knew. But he was the last chance they had of keeping it in the family. “Or we’ll need to get busy quick. Heirs don’t make themselves.” He winked cheekily at his wife and slapped the second slice of toast on top of the sausages to form a toasted sandwich that was far better than any meal he’d had in three years.

"Ha!"

Zelda barked out a laugh through a half-closed mouth holding the cigarette, which she then removed and flicked into the fire. Another kid, that's all they needed. Two boys and two pregnancies was well enough for her. She got her own toast and took a bite of the corner, dry. Couldn't deny the fun in making them, though.

"Mmhmm. Had to kick him out over the summer so he'd spend time with kids his own age. He's good with his wand. Knife, too.  You never know, though. Kids change. You see his posters? Pretty sure he's going to go for the lads."

Zelda kept her gaze above the roof tops. The city was waking up, the sound of muggle car traffic. She liked talking about Francis. Francis was easy. He was sweet, stayed out of trouble, independent. She ate more on her toast and sat back more comfortably in the padded garden chair.

Rafe took a great big bite out of the sandwich, allowing crumbs to drop down into his beard as he chewed. It was good to hear about the kids and Zelda was clearly much happier discussing them than herself. There was no change there. But what did Rafe really have to contribute when it came to sharing? ‘I learned how to write a limerick and my cell mate used rat bones as a toothpick.’ wasn’t quite the same as ‘Our son’s good with his wand and very clever.’

“He’s never gonna’ play Quidditch?” Rafe replied, eyebrows raised. Definitely not Francis. Zelda must have traded him in for another boy. The sandwich was lowered to his plate and he had some tea. Then more tea. For the next sip, he closed his eyes and sat back, holding the cup. It tasted like tea! Actual, real, flavoursome tea. Each sip came with a moan of contentedness. Who’d have thought that a cup of tea could make a wizard so happy?

“And don’t be so sexist, ladies play Quidditch too.” A finger was pointed in his wife’s direction with a playful smile before he waved a now empty teacup at her. “Did you do a pot?”