Still the summer persisted. Hot and stuffy, even on the Irish sea coast, and Dermod Morfessa did not approve one iota. Thus did none of his household approve either, because naturally his moods cast a pall over the whole estate and thus rather than encouraging him to remain at home he found that even the mildest of comments about visiting an acquaintance or perhaps another town was greeted with wholehearted enthusiasm.
The former Death Eater had taken to frequenting Knockturn Alley, in particular three or four shops he knew remained cool no matter the outside temperature. His favourite bookstore relied on carefully-applied charms to keep the ambient temperature rather lower than outside (as well as discouraging the casual visitor from remaining too long to read the goods rather than make a purchase) and the liquor store of necessity was always chilly due to the storage conditions of the barrels of firewhisky and other delicacies. Today though, aware that he had been less than pleasant to be around he thought he might visit the apothecary and select a few back-to-school surprises for Rhiannon. Granted, she already had everything on her list, but one never knew when a few well-chosen extras might come in useful. Certainly he recalled fondly a few incidents from his own schooldays precisely because he had been able to thoroughly discourage others from causing him annoyance.
The elderly witch who ran his preferred shop had worked here for as long as Dermod could remember. He had never been able to ascertain whether she ran the shop or if she was merely an employee; indeed, from her stature and mannerisms he had long suspected she was part-goblin and thus asking questions of her background was neither advisable nor encouraged. He simply greeted her as he entered the shop,knowing from her grunt of recognition that he would be able to browse the shelves for as long as was necessary. There were a couple of other people in there as well, but he paid them no heed. Despite the late summer heat he was dressed in a dark grey suit of muggle appearance at first glance, though the cut and styling was unmistakeably of wizard design. The lighter grey shirt he wore beneath was loose-fitting though this was disguised by the suit, and he wore, as always, black leather gloves which by now had become such a part of his attire that he almost forgot he was wearing them.
He had mentally picked out several interesting items when he became aware of a commotion elsewhere in the shop. It wasn't a large store by any means, but the layout was such that one could stroll into several nooks or cubby-holes and thus be completely concealed and unaware of who else was there. Muttering a quiet and by his standards mild word, he considered the wisdom of simply staying put when he heard the shop owner shrieking. His sense of honour now dictated he would assist and only a moment later an acrid smell assailed his nostrils. Shatching his wand, which he now almost exclusively used left-handed, he stepped out into the main area of the shop.
The shopkeeper had climbed onto her counter and was shrieking at a pair of youngish witches who likewise were shrieking. Another figure emerged from elsewhere but the writer barely spared them a glance. How the jars whose contents were now mingling on the floor had become smashed Dermod had no idea, but clearly their contents should never be mixed. Crushed Ashwinder eggs lay steaming in a purplish pool of some unknown liquid which was steaming gently. The unmistakeable aroma of fluxweed was rising from the mess. Which innocuous on its own, when mixed with certain other ingredients the effects were unpredictable. While Dermod's knowledge of potion-making was somewhat rusty, he knew something would need to be done right away. Preferably before the floor dissolved.
@Regan Reddington
