Morning - and a fairly decent hour

Uncharacteristically, Lix Mordent was lightly snoring.

The healer-turned-unspeakable researcher had been up the night before, with the full moon. They had been observing some werewolves who were voluntarily part of the test pool for the latest strain of Gamp Wolfsbane. Exciting stuff, for Lix anyway, who had pivoted from straight potions and poisoning healing after training as an apothecary, to specialise in werewolf potions in particular. It was what had brought her back to England earlier that year, so work with the now famous Hyperion Gamp.

The fact that the old place she’d rented with Arc before they’d both followed their hearts and moved away, had become vacant again in time for her arrival was true fate. Lix hadn’t minded taking on the full rent alone at first, the landlady had done her a deal as a reliable previous tenant, and the fact Arc’s kneazle wasn’t living there any more. However, Lix missed living with someone in the two-storey flat above the divination shop. Arc had been a quiet, but tidy housemate, but now he and Ceph were all loved up and at his gorgeous flat above the flower shop. No rent there, either.

So, she’d asked about her old friends at St Mungo’s and one of them had come up trumps with a new Irish healer. Tadhg his name was. Her friend on diseases had written it down phonetically for the Swede so she didn’t balls it up straight away.

No, what she’d ‘ballsed up’ was telling him to come by Saturday morning on the 3rd March, without considering she might be very much asleep when he knocked on the door at street level.

The barely snoring witch stirred, her dreaming self heading down the stairs to open the door. Only there was nobody there. Then the knock came again, and her eyes sprang open to stare at the ceiling of her bedroom two floors above her potential new housemate, and she swore. She had nobody else to blame but herself, she cursed as she threw mismatched clothing on from the ‘floordrobe’ and ‘chairdrobe’ of a busy and tired potioneer. Her black hair was on end.

She charmed open the window, and peered down at the caller at the door.

“Can I help you?” She asked, squinting down from above, a boob trying to escape the top she’d flung on.

He didn’t look like someone she’d brought home in the past…

Tadhg hadn't been actively searching for a new rental, but he had happened to mention the sorry state of his sad little bedsit to a colleague at St. Mungo's during one of his more chattier moments at lunch... But as the fates would have it, that little slip of personal information, that glimpse into the current state of Tadhg's mind, had turned out to be fortuitous. Or, at least, he had thought so.

He stood outside the door of 227b, waiting to be received by a former St. Mungo's employee and prospective new flatmate. For the third time, he glanced at the piece of parchment in his hand and then at the numbers next to the door, ensuring that he had the right place. He knocked again and then stepped back to look up at the old building, wondering if he had the wrong day. That would be unusual for Tadhg, but perhaps in his haste to get out of that comfort zone of his, he'd made a mistake. That'd learn him for doing things, wouldn't it?

Beginning to believe that perhaps this was some manner of strange 'hazing' ritual at the magical hospital, he took another step backward and pondered his next move. He was about to take off in the direction of the pub (because pints went well with ponderings), when the sound of a window scraping open and an accented voice caught his attention.

Tadhg looked up and found sight of an individual, though he didn't notice much more than that, as his eyes caught on a shapely boob, straining against its garment oppressor. He immediately looked away, a hint of colour rising in his cheeks. "Er... Uhm... Jaysis. How's about ye?" He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other and managed to overcome the urge to run. "The name's Tadhg. Tadhg Ó Briain?" It might have sounded like he was asking her if that was his name, though it may just have been a melodic inflection. "I'm here about the room, hi?"

He finally looked back up, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Is this a bad time? I can come back, so I can."

“… The name’s Tadhg. Tadhg Ó Briain?”

Jigsaw pieces suddenly shunted into place in Lix’s mind.

“Oh shit!” She exclaimed, far too loudly and extremely publicly given she was hanging out of a window two storeys above him over Diagon Alley.

“Is this a bad time? I can come back, so I can.”

“No!” Lix ordered, rather directly. Planting her feet back firmly on the bedroom floorboards. “Wait there!”

She vanished but the window remained open, doing nothing to hide further expletives from the Swedish witch. It was perhaps only thirty seconds before the front door opened in front of Tadhg and a petite witch of Mediterranean colouring gestured inside, her messy black curls now falling over an equally dark band t-shirt and what appeared to be a pair of men’s lilac boxer shorts, but might equally have been muggle running shorts.

“I’m so sorry,” the present lodger of the house apologised honestly. “I said come over to take a look and I totally didn’t remember it was the night after full moon…” she ushered him up the narrow stairs which led up from the front door. The right hand wall bore a few framed botanical drawings of plants. The midway point of the stairs opened up on the left to reveal a cozy living room with sofa, two armchairs, fireplace and windows overlooking the street above the front of the divination shop below. It was open plan into the kitchen towards the back of the building which revealed some pots and pans putting themselves away under enchantment.

“I’m not a werewolf,” Lix continued hastily, “I just work on something about them, so it was important to be up last night.” She explained, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt as if it would somehow smarten her dishevelled appearance up. She stuck a hand out. “Elixa Mordent,” she introduced, “most people just call me ‘Lix’.” It rhymed with licks.

“Tadhg, right? You’re at St Mungo’s?” He was definitely younger, and no points for guessing he was also not English. He’d not run away on this, so there was potential. “I was there a few years back, still got lots of friends there. They said you’d be great for the room, so uhh, let me show you around.” She gestured to the living room, and then the kitchen, self-explanatory. “Pretty quiet here overnight, what with the shop being shut then, but even during the day you can just cast a charm if you’re bothered by it.” She pointed down at the floorboards. They were covered occasionally by rugs that were worn but clean.

“Then upstairs, is the bathroom, and the bedrooms. There’s a smaller one or a bigger one, depending on what you fancy…” she led Tadhg up the stairs, which curled round on themselves to double back to the upstairs landing where the bedrooms were. “This is mine,” she pointed at a closed door - hiding the mess of hauling herself into the land of the living for him - and then you could either have this one…” she opened the door to what had been Arcturus Hollingbury’s old room when he’d lived there. It too, overlooked the front and had its own fireplace, above the living room on the same chimney. “Or there’s a smaller one that’s bare bones at the moment,” she thumbed over her shoulder across the hallway to another closed door that had never officially been used as a bedroom last time she’d rented.

Despite the colourful language of this first introduction - or perhaps, because of it - Tadhg's mouth curved into a small smile. Some of the colour in his cheeks faded as he obediently waited exactly where he was. He shoved his hands into his pockets and mentally prepared himself for quite the wait, but no less than a minute later the front door was pulled open to reveal the dark-haired witch from the window. He had so obviously disturbed her morning, and for that, Tadhg felt a pang of guilt.

"Ah, sure, 'tis no bother," he said, hurrying to put her at ease, though her explanation did absolutely capture his interest. His gaze slid to her back as they trudged up the stairs one at a time, curiosity getting the better of him. There were pictures of plants on the wall, and he recognised some for their magical medicinal qualities, but his attention was mostly on the witch who was busy during a full moon... How gripping.

Then she hastily assured him that she wasn't a werewolf and stuck out her hand, pronouncing his name perfectly. "Right you are. Pleasure to make your acquaintance." He took her hand in his and shook it once. He had been told she'd been formerly of St. Mungo's, thus Tadhg assumed her business the night before might have had something to do with that. He was dying to ask. He did not ask.

He looked around the open plan first floor, impressed with the space. It certainly beat his present living situation. He nodded along as she spoke, his weight shifting from one foot to the other without him really realising. He was doing well so far, he thought, with the nattering. He followed her up another floor and once he peered inside one of the rooms on offer he looked at Lix, his expression showing his disbelief. "This is a grand size!" He exclaimed, noting that he could fit three of the bedsit room within. He looked down the landing toward the other bedroom, which was empty. He hadn't a thread of furniture in London to his name, so his choice was clear.

And now it was time for him to sell himself. The notion made him squirm inside, but he decided to push through and just stick to the facts.

"This is very much suitable for my needs, Lix. If ye'll have me. I can promise that I am a quiet tenant - not one for all-night ragers or anything of its like. Most of my time will be spent at St. Mungo's, or if I'm here, I'm most like to be stuck in a book. I can have my previous landlord send a reference from Dublin, so I can."

“This is a grand size!” Her potential housemate exclaimed. His words matching his expression. “This is very much suitable for my needs, Lix.”

“Excellent.”

“… I am a quiet tenant - not one for all-night ragers or anything of its like-” Tadhg was quick to explain, and Lix Mordent’s eyebrows hoisted themselves higher than they anticipated. “… at St Mungo’s or … stuck in a book. I can have my previous…” He was really worried she’d say no, wasn’t he?

“That won’t be necessary.” Lix assured him hastily, raising a hand, palm up to stop him. “My old colleagues gave you a fine reference before I extended a time to come round and take a look.” She grinned. “And if you’re not as quiet as Arc used to be, we’ll be fine. I was the one apologising to him for the all night ragers.” She grinned and winked. “And if you fancy one of those, you just have to invite me.” The grin widened. She didn’t know if her reputation had been told to the new healer when the place had been recommended to him.

“So, it’ll just be you, no pets? Arc had a kneazle and the landlady’s not too bothered given I’ve been her tenant before and everything was in one piece when I moved out.” She paused. “You know Arc, right? Arcturus Hollingbury? Heads up the third floor. Black and white hair…” The last part was probably unnecessary, but tended to seal whether people knew ‘of’ Arc if they didn’t know him properly.

She gestured for Tadhg to follow her back down the stairs, intending to offer him a hot drink given the hour, given it seemed like they were housemates now. “And any allergies, religions, possessions and the sort that I should know about before I poison, blaspheme or meet your inner demon before your first coffee?” She glanced up at him as they rounded the fold in the stairs, where they doubled back before arriving back in the living room.

"Oh."

His colleagues had spoken so highly of him that he would not require references? "Well, that was mighty kind of them, hi." Tadhg shuffled a bit, that hand already up at the back of his neck, rubbing at his hairline. He fell silent again, listening as she spoke of ragers. He had not learned too much about the potioneer during his very brief investigation, other than reports regarding her skill, of course. However, he had the impression that he would be learning a lot more than he might bargain for during the course of that very morning. Not to mention they would be sharing an apartment.

"No pets." He paused himself for a moment, wondering if that was strictly true. He decided to be safe and cover all bases. "'Less ye count the flobberworms that keep showing up in all me salads." It was a mystery, so it was.

He began to follow Lix back downstairs. As she spoke about Hollingbury he shook his head first, and then nodded. "Haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet, but for certain, I know of him. His reputation precedes him, to be sure."

Her next question drew a short, brief laugh from him, which rumbled outwardly and might shock anyone used to the usually quiet and softly-spoken man. "All the inner demons are strictly of the metaphorical ilk, I can promise ye that. No allergies, and I recall keenly one o' my exes remarking that my work was my religion. I can admit to having a desperate addiction, though..."

Tadhg reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a handful of tea bags. "Barry's Tea. Ireland's best export." Plenty would argue that point, but Tadhg was a purist when it came to his cupán tae.

"And yerself? Allergies? Strange quirks? Tendencies to sleep-garden?" His current landlady liked to prune at midnight. Naked.

“… the flobberworms that keep showing up in all me salads…”

Elixa’s top lip curled at the thought of it. Better a whole flobberworm than half of one…

“… one o’ my exes remarking that my work was my religion.”

“Hm, comes with the territory as a healer.” Lix agreed, as they entered the open plan kitchen and living area. She produced her wand out of seemingly nowhere and flicked it at the kettle, which began to fill itself from the sink and then heat itself on the stove.

“… desperate addiction, though…” She glanced round just in time to see the tea bags. “Barry’s Tea. Ireland’s best export.”

“Ah…” the healer turned unspeakable replied, dark eyebrows lifting a fraction as she took this in. For a moment it might have seemed she was about to voice an opinion that this was a problem, but her face broke out into a crooked smile, eyes full of mischief. “I’m ready to be inducted into this addiction, as your new housemate.”

“… yerself? Allergies? Strange quirks? Tendencies to sleep-garden?”

“Sleep-garden?” The teapot clanked as it tried to assemble itself beside the kettle, ready to be warmed by fresh water before those addictive teabags made it in with the rest of the freshly boiled water. Lix was no animal, she knew how to make a proper cuppa the British… or in Tadhg’s opinion… Irish way.

“Nothing that bemusing,” she admitted, “though you'll have to explain that story later... I’m single… currently. I don’t always have someone regular, but I ensure my bed guests have manners and don’t stray into the flat without permission.” The kettle began to whistle softly and the teapot clanked again as the enchanted kitchenware worked together to warm the teapot and then empty. She chucked three teabags in, one each and one for the pot to be safe, and gestured to the kettle to fill the teapot properly this time.

“Don’t be put off if I eat cheese at breakfast, sing along without realising and receive outrageous postcards from my brothers.” She gestured to some ridiculous ones from around the world stuck up beside a copy of a calendar. Not the famous St Mungo’s fundraising one (now years out of date) but a quidditch one where quaffles, brooms and goggles were all placed strategically over players who’d forgotten their quidditch kit. All for charity, naturally.

The teapot clanked onto the table with two mugs.

End