Sellaphix Apothecary
8:22 p.m.


Moira stood in front of the door to the Sellaphix Apothecary, hood pulled over her head due to the falling rain, and debated once again on the wisdom of returning. After her fight with Figaro almost a week prior, going anywhere he might be left her with an uncomfortable feeling. She didn't regret telling Bagnold everything in the end, but maybe she should have sent him some sort of warning.

On the other hand, this was a place of business. An establishment she liked more than any other apothecary she had visited in the past. If her ex-friend was managing the counter, the worst that could happen would be him tossing her out and not accepting her business. Which would be an incredible shame.

The reason for her visit this time was a matter of quantity. The supplies she had bought from Zelda previously had done wonders but it wasn’t enough for all the animals on their property. The pegasi they used in races especially had to be kept looking at their best and those horses tended to get testy from pent up energy during the off season.

Steeling herself for the possibility of seeing her old classmate, the young witch opened the door and stepped inside. Warmth and herbal scents were the first thing to greet her. Lowering her hood Moira glanced around. The interior was as cosy as she remembered but this time the one minding the shop was an older gentleman. Likely this was Figaro’s dad.

In that case, maybe she’d ask for another wideye potion too. The one Zelda gave her was almost empty.

“Halò,” she greeted, walking further into the shop.

It probably wasn’t possible for Rafe Sellaphix to be in better moods. He was 5 days away from his first family Christmas in over 3 years. 4 years ago, Frank had been 9 years old, and Fig had been 15, still at school. He and Zelda had, as usual, shut up shop for the holidays to enjoy some good old fashioned family time with their boys. Rafe was, therefore, eagerly awaiting such a day this year. Kurby and Rosheen would be there, too. It would be wonderful.

It was fairly late evening and Zelda had gone home to sort dinner. Rafe was pottering around ready to shut up shop shortly when he heard the chime announcing a customer. It was a late hour for most of their regulars, but then, with Christmas approaching, people were doing their shopping later. A quick pop to Diagon Alley after work, maybe a few filtered down to Knockturn.

Rafe had just been taking stock of a shelf of healing herbs near the main counter. Frank had rearranged them, ordering it all alphabetically which, in truth, made far more sense than potency and what it was used for. Rafe supposed his son thought in a very different way to him. They’d always joked, him and Zelda, that they each had a son to act as a mini version of themselves.

Lowering his clipboard and twisting, Rafe watched as the young witch made her way through to him and the counter. She greeted him, a Scottish accent. He smiled, putting the clipboard on the shelf and walking around to the counter, hands now shoved into the pockets of his apron.

“Evenin’.” He greeted. She wasn’t, as far as she knew, a regular. Unless she’d started coming in the past few years. “How can I help?”

So far, there was no evidence that Figaro was anywhere on the shop. He could have been in the back but there was a stillness to the shop that spoke of closing time. Moira was glad she made it.

The first word that came to mind about the older man was ‘warm’. Despite the time spent in Azkaban it was still there in his smile and his eyes. Or perhaps that was the excitement of being out and with his family again. Or maybe she was reading too much into what little her ex friend had told her.

“Aye, sorry for the late hour. I just got off of work.” There had been a small emergency with one of the cows that kept her past the end of her shift this time. Somehow the cow had gotten herself stuck in a fence. All the injuries had been minor, fortunately, and easily treated.

Pulling her list out of her pocket, similar to the one she had given Zelda, she offered it to him. Many of the ingredients were the same, to make ointments and pastes for the horses and animals at home. Two ingredients were different. Those were meant for calming agents when a wand couldn't be freed up to cast the spell or if the creature was immune to such spells.

Watching him, Moira wondered if Rafe would be as curious as his wife or more so.

“We’re still open.” Rafe muttered with a shrug and a smile. In reality, they probably shouldn’t still be open, not after what Kurby had told him yesterday. He’d told Zelda not to be here alone, and here he was, well into the evening, still allowing customers. Not his wisest move, and upon considering it, Rafe made the decision that he’d be closing up as soon as this customer was done.

Rafe took the list and pulled on the glasses that had been hanging from a string around his neck. Brown eyes scanned over the items and bushy brows frowned.
“Odd mix of items for a young witch.” The gaze came over the glasses at her. “Wideye?” He asked, lowering the parchment. “You know we make that here? Can be a tricky one to brew.” Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d never actually been to the shop before. She sure looked out of place with her youngness and her Scottish accent. Couldn’t have been older than Fig. But she had a job. A real job maybe, not just fetching coffee for reporters.

“Ye been here before?” Regardless, he moved from behind the counter to start gathering what she needed.

When questioned about the Wideye potion on the list, Moira gave him a quiet look. She would give an explanation if she needed to. It was doubtful many people her age required such an item. Any suspicion for her request would be entirely understandable. It was an odd assortment of ingredients.

                      “Ye been here before?”

“Aye. Once before. Earlier this month.” Back before werewolves, ambushes, and mysterious plots had made her life a little less simple.

In two short days her friend, and best friend’s girlfriend, Abby would be going and having her pentral guest, Iona McBoid, removed. The cousin who died before Moira was even born. Duncan and her dad were trying hard not to think too much about it and while her reasons were different so was she.

“I met your wife, I think.” Moira knew. “She seemed nice.” Though stern. She suspected that was mostly just the witch herself, and had little to do with raising two boys alone more or less while also running the shop while the man before her had been in Azkaban.

Better to play dumb about their family dynamics. Ignore everything she overheard.

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of Zelda seeming nice. Now, Rafe knew that his wife was nice. She had an enormous heart and had always put their family above anything else. She had a great, dry sense of humour and she let him be him, which was most certainly a challenge at times. But Rafe had, in all of his 26-year marriage and almost as long career in Sellaphix Apothecary, never heard a customer refer to his wife as ‘nice’. Most seemed to think of her as a bit frosty. That was because getting to know Zelda was like cooking beef. If you rushed it, it was tough and chewy. But to put her in the oven as a slow temperature and let her cook gently? Then she was soft and mellow and deliciously tasting. Zelda tasted much better as a beef and ale casserole than a gristly steak, for sure.

“Can’t have been my wife, kid. She’s more like cold toes when you meet her. Cold and unwelcome. Gotta let her warm up.” He frowned and shook his head. “Not unwelcome. Mrs Sellpahix is like, ah… tea, don’t let it go cold. Nope. Ah…turkey. No. Right, snake fangs. Yup.” Sometimes Rafe put his foot in it with all his ramblings. He meant well. His normal clients knew that. “Billywig stings…billywig…oh mollywinkles! Bloody kid’s moved them.” Frank had been working at Sellaphix’s during Rafe’s time in Azkaban, and he’d decided that a rearrange would be good.

“Fresh or dried? Budget or quality?”

“Aye, she was distant and factual but I wouldn’t go so far as to say frosty. Her demeanor didn’t bother me any.”

From what she’d seen and the little she’d heard, running the shop was a matter of pride as much as it was a source of income. Outside help might be accepted but she couldn’t imagine they’d allow a non-family member to be even semi-in-charge of the shop.

That certainly was a funny way to describe one’s wife, though. At a glance Mr. and Mrs. Sellaphix appeared to be complete opposites; she, cool and stern while he was warm and friendly. In some was he reminded her of their oldest son and her former classmate. Except she wasn’t upset with the dad, just the son.

“Dried and quality, please.” Moira wouldn’t settle for any ingredient that was sub-par. She could dry out the fresh ingredients herself too, now that she had more space with that new cabin of hers, but what she had received previously had been amazing. Naturally.