After the elevator had closed and Azize waited for his Tibeten-esque gift to reach Manley, and then fetched his final set of flowers for final route on his Valentine’s Day gift-giving. After the lift had returned and the doors slid open to reveal an empty space, Azize stepped his hulky form into the lift, cradling his flower(s) gently as he pressed the “2” in the elevator with his free hand.

The doors slid shut and the dial began to slide from level five, to four, to three, and then two. The elevator chimed and the metallic slide of the doors revealed level two. Azize strode out of the elevator and away through the floor, admiring his bouquets of gladiolus and carnations he had handed out among the females of the floor earlier, with matching belts that held and discharged three spells, since many Aurors managed to get themselves into a load of trouble lately.

He then found the office of the woman he wished to see—well, the medical examiner anyway, the witch who dissected people, whatever people called her. Azize preferred calling her by her actual name.

“Miss Hannah?” The African man raised his deep voice as gently as he could, with a bright smile, unaware of what exactly the witch was working on.

“I have brought down a bit of the Valentine’s enjoyment for you.” He said, gesturing to his vase of Xeranthemums, poking and blooming their way out of the dead stalk of their previous tennants who were peeling back away and falling into the already petal-littered water, which also indicated their previous tenants were white. But they would change colors every time a flowered died and a new one would burst forth from it, a different color over and over and over again, like a phoenix.

Azize stood away from anything he could contaminate though, even counters, and kept the flowers cradled towards him. He was aware that the residents of level 2 were extremely picky about contaminating scenes, evidence, the works, and Azize refused to be responsible for such a folly, “Where would you like these?” He asked, still with only a soft inflection in his voice.

Three drops of blood fell slowly into the large cauldron. The solid black mixture in the large metal cauldron began to billow smoke, clouding over the glasses of the witch glancing into it. She coughed slightly and stepped back to allow the large clouds of smoke to head in a direction that didn’t fall into contact with her wind pipe. From her spot a pace or so from the cauldron the Magical Examiner could hear the solid turning into a liquid, hissing loudly and beginning to bubble. Just as if should. Werewolf blood always had that furious reaction. It was as if after their death and fury, rage and strength was passed into their blood. It made things more interesting after death, Hannah supposed.

Dr Bombay pulled her scarf back up to cover her mouth from the billowing smoke. Injecting such a concoction was a far from wise idea. Ridding yourself of that much body hair was never appealing. Especially when it liked to grow back at least three times. After righting herself once more, the ME flicked her wand at her glasses, wiping them clean before stepping closer to the cauldron once more.

New vial of bogey green coloured liquid in hand, Hannah reached forwards, ready to drip but a single drop into the cauldron. Her hand was steady, she took a breath in slowly, focus upon the vial and the cauldron, upon the liquid making its way to the opening at the tip of the small glass vial.

“Miss Hannah?”

She slipped.

The entirety of the glass bottle was emptied into the cauldron and the witch stood for a moment, frozen and staring at her mistake. She’d heard about previous inhabitants of this room doing this. Putting more than a drop in. Over eager, a slip of the arm but not the entire bottle...

“Where would you like these?”

She missed most of what the man had said, instead fumbling for her wand in the pocket of her usual white robes. It was too late, the cauldron began to bubble over, gaining more force before the witch yelled at her visitor.

“Duck!” And she was about to. Slightly too late. Instead the steaming liquid burst free from its contained and fired itself at the witch and at least several metres from the container itself.

Hannah winced. She slowly turned on the heel of her expensive, now destroyed shoes and looked at the man over the top of a stained white scarf, her eyes narrowing.

“If you return the buy one get ten free sale bouquets, you may have enough galleons for a new suit.”

Azize was very quick on his feet, but there is only so much you could do with a vase of flowers and a split second of a reaction time. The big African man just managed to turn and bend over to the explosion, however his height did not do much to help his dodge. He stood up, the flowers, and the whole right side of his body clean, but the left upper-most side of him seemed to suffer the stains and dripping black goop of the explosion.

The Tanzanian released the tension in his muscles, and his face, blinking through the goo, “I’m afraid I hand-picked all my bouquets,” he said still wrinkling his features through whatever had gotten on him until he was satisfied he could do nothing about it, “I am afraid I would not get much money back, if any, though. I went and charmed most of them, mixed them up.” He lifted up his left arm and gave a few harsh whiffs of the black stained article.

“As for suits, I have much more, but perhaps some cleaning?”He dropped his arm back to his stained side again, recovering from the smell, “I admit I am currently more worried about what I managed to interrupt and get all over myself than I am about my wardrobe.” He ended his sentence with a question in the form of a cautious raise of an eyebrow, hoping he wasn’t going to be permanently stained black for the rest of the day. It just looked funny to have black on dark skin tone, if he wanted that he could go to Africa and get a tribal tattoo.

The visitor hadn’t been covered to the extent that the Magical Examiner had. She looked him up and down, frowning before pulled the scarf from her face and taking it off. Slightly dazed from the explosion, Hannah watched the large man lift his plasma covered arm to his nose to sniff. It took a moment to realise what he was doing and she reached a now slimy hand on, grabbing his arm. “I wouldn’t do that.” It was too late, the vapour from the slime had been inhaled deeply. He wasn’t going to enjoy the consequences of that action...

He mentioned his suit and Hannah’s lips pursed as she began to untie the belt on her long robes. “That’s not coming off, sir.” Yet he could still have fun trying but she’d not found one spell that would get such stains from clothing. Some potions were just too powerful. The witch had thrown out many items of clothing destroyed in several ways by many different potions. “Take your jacket off, I don’t advise breathing in the potion. Otherwise you’ll need to have perfected a good, long lasting hair removal spell.”

With her destroyed robes now pulled off, Hannah began to fold them neatly while watching Mr Mulogo. “You need not concern yourself with what you interrupted. I can’t tell you anyway.”

Once Miss Bombay instructed him to cease with his shallow sniffing he stopped. Honestly, he had smelled things much worse than that, while hunting nundus, and most of the time had to refrain from smelling anything. So he rarely inhaled anything past his throat.

“That’s not coming off, sir.”

Azize looked around with a confused expression and then realized he didn’t properly explain himself, “No no,” he corrected as the witch began to unbelt her robes, “The room...Wha—”  but before he could finish questioning exactly what she was doing and pose another question about what was going on again she explained.

Hair removal spell? The Tanzanian sighed disgustingly, “Werewolf?” was his only reply, the only one that made sense since they were on level two, and because he was more inclined to think about creatures than any other potion or crime involving hair, although he assumed it was possible, after reflection. He put the flowers down on a nearby counter and removed his suit jacket, “Unless you were experimenting on some weird hair-growth potion,” and he folded it into a neat and tight roll, and discarded any ideas about getting a confirmation from her.

 “Well I am more concerned with the affects of… whatever you were doing,” he gestured toward the cauldron tucking his bundled jacket under his arm, “and how to clean it up without making something erupt again.”
 
“Besides,” he sighed into a content smile, “I came to bring you a Valentine—“ his eyes then lingered, apologetically, on the goop all over the room, “uh, not a mess,” which is why Azize was intent on helping Miss Bombay clean it up again.