louder than sirens, louder than bells {OPEN}

[fishpetals]

Who: Lily and you.
What: Apothecary nonsense.
Where: Auturgy.
When: Throughout September.
Warnings: None so far.

From the outside, Auturgy looks like any other apothecary. Anyone who's anyone knows that the brilliant witch inside is one of the best in the business though, and certainly the best in Diagon. The most brilliant witch of her generation, Albus Dumbledore had called her when she was still in Hogwarts, and that shines through now. In any case, the shop's hours are tailor-made for the curfew of a muggle-born witch or wizard but even some of the snobbiest purebloods shop there, having to admit that if they want quality, they have to come here. The inside of the shop is homey, smelling of spice instead of fumes, and the pet bed by the door has in turns a large black dog, a squish-faced orange cat, or both.

There are potions along one wall, ingredients along another, a squat shelf of potions books, and two displays with potion-making tools for sale just in case. Lily brews behind the counter, chirping glass birds sound when you open the door, and while until now she's always worked alone, there are a few new employees that may be tinkering around assisting her and in turn assisting any customers. There are special order forms that can be filled out and the proprietress will get back to you with prices and a time frame as soon as possible.

Comments

[malificence]

It's the cost of working in a high position in the Ministry. He still has his views, he still considers himself superior to nearly every other witch or wizard, but he has to play along. Which isn't to say that he doesn't look like he smells a bad smell.

"You're new," he says. It's like conversation.

[westhamwizard]

Dean's hand hesitates for half a second, midst-reach for a vial on a high shelf. He can feel Lucius' eyes on him through the back of his head, and it's unsettling, to say the least. He recovers quickly, however, plucking the vial off the shelf and moving to collect the next thing on the list.

"I am. Just displaced." He turns his head to offer Lucius the most benign smile he can muster. "Registered last week."

[malificence]

He doesn't know why his gaze should be unsettling; while he has no liking for, well, anyone who doesn't fit a particular subset of characteristics, really, he puts on a good show. He likes to think he puts on a good show.

"Ah, from the future," he says. There's a slight half-smile; it's probably even more distressing. "The past has a certain identifiable style. Most of you seem to come from the future, anyway." Except Dumbledore.

And half of the Founders.

[westhamwizard]

The problem is that Dean knows what he's capable of. He proved that much when he let the Death Eaters use his house as a private dungeon and torture chamber.

"That's me." Man from the future. A future without Death Eaters. A future he longed to get back to.

Dean's so distracted by trying not to give Lucius any reason to suspect him of any wrongdoing, he forgets which honeywater he'd said he wanted, and grabs the wrong bottle.

[malificence]

He could guess as much; as much from the reaction he garners as from what Scorpius has reluctantly told him. Still, it's not any skin off Lucius' nose, and he shrugs a bit.

At least until Dean sets the potions and ingredients in front of him and he picks up the honeywater. "This is wrong," he says, and it's one of those deceptively mild tones that tends to send a shiver down most people's tones. "Fireweed honeywater. This is..." He wrinkles his nose. "Orange blossom. It won't work."

[westhamwizard]

Dean flinches. "Yes, of course. You've said. Sorry, sir." He plucks the orange blossom honeywater bottle back, and rushes to collect the right bottle instead.

"Here you are, fireweed. Sorry about that, sir. I'll just... package that all up for you."

[malificence]

"Most appreciated." There's a faintly annoyed note in his voice, overlaid with the politeness who has been raised to use manners as a weapon. At the same time, his gray eyes glint with something like sadistic amusement. The ones from the future seem to eye him - probably Bella as well - with a trepidation he's not entirely accustomed to. Don't mistake him, there are ministry officials in Riddle's inner circle who engender the same thing from natives of his time. He's just not one of them.

He pulls out a small pouch of galleons from the depths of his robes and taps it lightly on the counter as Dean wraps his items.