everything comes to she who waits [deirdre]

August was, as usual, far too hot for Dermod's comfort. Even the blustery Southern Irish coast didn't offer much in the way of relief from a season that, in the writer's opinion, dragged on for far too long. He would be glad when Autumn put in an appearance, the nights began to lengthen and there was once again a definite bite to the air. It would be a bittersweet season as always of course, for Rhiannon would be returning to school, but at least the castle was no more the place of silence and sadness that it had been for so long. Quite the opposite; both he and Gabriella had welcomed visitors in recent months and the rose gardens were flourishing beyond anything he had ever known.

The fact remained that it hadn't rained for almost three weeks, and the days lay sultry and oppressive over the castle and estate. Dermod had taken to spending much of his time in his study not to write, but to prevent himself from taking his increasingly short temper out on his family. Once he wouldn't have cared or even noticed the feelings of others, but things were different now. Those of pure blood deserved to be cared for and nurtured, after all. For the past week, the only time he had emerged regularly was for breakfast, the only meal he regularly took with the family in summer, sleep being all but impossible during such stuffy weather. After this he would remain in his study until the sun began to descend, where he would meet Gabriella in the stables. Having not ridden for four decades, he now wondered how the estate had managed without horses for so long.

But another day had dawned to a cloudless sky, and with it Gabriella's crows cheerfully fighting over a slightly-tatty scroll of paper. Dermod had risen early and was dozing in a chair in the library when the birds appeared at the open window. He jerked awake, already irritated by the noise and then feeling his temper rise as he noticed what they were fighting over. “Hey!” he called and then, remembering that nobody else would be awake this early, crossed to extricate the Daily Prophet from their enthusiastic beaks “You're supposed to deliver it, not eat it, fools!” he told the usually well-behaved birds, shutting them outside as he took the paper.

The crows croaked happily and flew off to find another open window - there being no shortage of them when it was this hot - and Dermod shook the paper open and began to read. He skimmed over an overly long article about broomsticks, quirked a brief smile at the Highland Gathering announcement and made a mental note to ask Gabriella if she wished to attend (it was there they had met, several years earlier) and blasted a hole in the page which announced the wedding of a certain someone who had been the cause of so much grief to right-thinking wizards. Then his eyes alit on the weather forecasts. Not something the former Death Eater would normally concern himself with, but it said there was likely to be storms and rain in London that afternoon. Dermod leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a smile, as if he could already smell the dampness in the air.

He must have slept, for he opened his eyes to Sorrel informing him that breakfast would be ready in ten minutes. Feeling decidedly more content than he had earlier, Dermod took the time to shower and dress in a dark green shirt and black trousers before joining the rest of the family where he announced his intention to travel to London today. The women all had plans; only Cliona expressed a vague interest before announcing that someone was stealing her tomatoes and she needed to sit guard to be sure they remained safe. Dermod exchanged a glance with Gabriella and saw his wife's lips twitch, but she said nothing. The writer strongly suspected a cat - one of the dozen or so that now wandered the castle - was the culprit.

So it was that he left the castle an hour or so before lunch with a light cloak, charmed to repel the rain, slung over one arm in the hopes the forecast was correct. He took the familiar path to the edge of the estate, slipped a leather glove into his right hand, transferred his wand to his left, and apparated to London.  His destination was a useful little alleyway just off Knockturn which he preferred to use for this purpose. As he stepped into the alley itself he noted immediately that the weather was cooler here; still oppressive but already hinting at a break in the weather to come. The Irishman felt more comfortable, more relaxed and he gave no thought to his destination, strolling down the street until he reached the door of his favourite bookshop. He decided on whim to bring presents home for everyone.

It was cooler in the shop, the ancient, thick stones keeping out the heat and making it quite pleasant, even with the cloak over his arm. There were a few other people in the shop, but as this was the sort of place one generally minded the privacy of others he paid them no heed and began browsing the shelves. A few moments of idly scanning titles had him in the historical section, where they had clearly obtained new stocks since his last visit some five weeks earlier. Already he had two volumes tucked under one arm and his eyes were drawn to a third, above the head of a young woman who was reading a few feet away. “Excuse me, I wonder if I might reach up there?” he asked quietly of the back of her head, awaiting a response.

@Deirdre Coltrane

Adult life was so different from life as a student. Deirdre had believed that the summer after her seventh year might be comparable to the previous summers but it was so different. Her mother had told her that she could still live with her until she'd have a steady income but she did expect her to work and did not offer a whole lot of support to find a job. Deirdre had actually believed that her mother might have some good connections through the brothel visitors and could help her find employment but apparently that was not her plan.

Deirdre was an active member of the Potioneers Guild for already a while and figured that creating potions could be a profession for her but she wasn't quite sure how to tackle this. So far she was creating potions she sold to acquaintances and to people on the street. Most of these potions were party potions that kept the drinker awake and cheerful for hours but she was also filling orders. Some of the potions she sold were not exactly legal but they were not bad enough to earn her a stay in Azkaban at least. Besides, was it her problem if anyone poisoned another person? If she was to blame for that then a wandmaker could also be arrested for selling a wand to a person who killed someone else.

No matter how much she liked brewing potions like that, the girl felt that this was hardly a long term solution. For now she earned enough money to afford what she needed but then again she didn't have to pay the rent. Deirdre didn't want to think about this now. She felt a little lost and that was a rather unpleasant feeling that she had never really had like that before.

She took comfort in reading books a lot now. Trying to figure herself and her position in the world out. She had long finished reading the books that Rhiannon had given her from her father and the girl felt that it was time to get some more books to read. After having sold most of her potion vials in Knockturn Alley, the young witch had made her way into the bookshop.

It was nicely cool inside, much more pleasant than it had been out on the street. Deirdre figured that she could grab a book and read it right at the shop, sparing her the costs of a purchase. She was standing there, leaning against a shelf and skimming through pages of a recent publication of wizarding history when a voice distracted her from her book. She turned to face the man who had asked her to get to the shelf and was surprised to see a familiar face.

“Oh hello, Mr. Morfessa,” she greeted the older wizard. “What a pleasant surprise to see you again. That gives me the opportunity to personally express my thanks to you. Rhiannon gave me the books you sent. They have been most illuminating.” She stepped to the side, allowing him to access the shelf she had been blocking.

Dermod rarely paid attention to those around him unless he felt they might be interesting or useful to him. Especially in the past few years, he was more comfortable quietly fading into the background in most public places, and thus he tended not to bother to look people in the eye or even at their faces. Thus it was that it didn't even occur to him that he might be acquainted with anyone else in this shop.

He stepped back when the girl spoke, unnerved when she addressed him by name and then pleasantly surprised when he realised who she was. It had been close on ten months since their previous meeting but he immediately knew who she was. The girl who had returned his wallet and then shown herself interested in the dark arts, or at least in reading about them. Regardless, he felt momentarily uncomfortable that she had used his name in public and had to restrain himself from glancing over his shoulder to check that nobody was listening. But of course, having spent so many years virtually living as his quill name, anyone who heard the name now would only recognise it in relation to an ancient pureblood line. Or, in this young woman's case, as the father of one of her housemates. It was both a relief and somewhat disappointing, and he didn't deny that it was pleasant to be recognised.

"The pleasure is mine, my dear. I'm glad they arrived safely" he said, only then reaching up to access the volume that had caught his eye as he digested her words. The books had been illuminating - that could mean that she had enjoyed and agreed with the contents, or it could mean quite the opposite, that she had been appalled and they had convinced her to set aside any further studies. He could hardly ask which, especially not in a public place, so decided not to elaborate on his response. 

Instead, He briefly examined the latest book he had selected. A treatise on the development of potions in the Americas, it was interesting enough to him but the sort of thing Gabriella would devour. It was far too early to be buying Christmas gifts, so perhaps he would just leave it in her study for her to find when he got home. Or...perhaps he would have the elves put it there on September 1st so she could find it once they returned from taking Rhiannon back to school. But as he paged through the book another thought occurred.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong but am I right in thinking you're a graduate now, Miss Coltrane?" he asked politely, appearing to simply be making pleasant conversation but actually paying close attention to her reaction. The girl had been very sensible in not revealing her name during their previous meeting, but the writer had asked Rhiannon to let him know the name of the girl who approached her and had received the books. Knowledge was always useful.

"They did," Deirdre confirmed once again, offering a rare smile. "Thank you again." It had been a little odd how she had got acquainted with the man (if she could claim to know him at all). The day in Hogsmeade was something Deirdre had often thought of during her last months at school. Their conversation had been intriguing, his gesture to send her the books had been more than generous. All that had made her think about her own views on blood status and related topics more. While, from personal experience, Deirdre held no grudge against muggleborns or halfbloods, she still believed that purebloods were superior in a way, worthier. However, she assumed that, would she meet a nice and handsome halfblood she'd totally forget about this. Her personal happiness was more important to her than politics. Besides, the number of purebloods was going down as her history books had taught her. Too many pureblood witches and wizards were willing to mingle with those of less pure blood, after all.

For a moment Deirdre thought that this encounter would be a lot shorter and less illuminating than the previous one as Mr. Morfessa now skimmed through a book. The young witch was unsure what to do. Should she walk away? Well, she didn't want to do that. She could stand here with him in silence. If he didn't like that he was free to leave, of course. The girl pretended to continue her lecture, flipping a page of the book she was holding and waiting for whether he'd continue the conversation or not. It was exciting. This man clearly had a lot more experience than she did and she felt that he was a fairly powerful wizard. Standing here with him made her feel all grown up and proud.

And then he addressed her again, even using her name.

Deirdre looked up from her book, trying to hide the astonishment she felt. After all, she knew it should not come as a surprise that he knew her name by now. He had surely spoken to Rhiannon and it made total sense that he'd want to know who the girl was that had received his generous gift of dark literature. She straightened her back and, although her lips twitched briefly, she kept a neutral expression. "You're correct," Deirdre simply stated. "I've graduated this summer." She looked at him, trying to figure out what he was thinking but clearly failing.

She decided to wait for what else he'd say, unwilling to offer any further information herself. She was tempted to politely enquire after the well being of Rhiannon but figured she could still do that in the course of the conversation should it proceed. She was willing to talk more but Deirdre preferred it to leave the initiative to the older wizard.

It would be natural enough now to simply offer some polite hope that the girl would have a pleasant day and walk away. He wouldn't immediately, of course, because there were too many interesting books in this section of the shop to leave unperused. He tucked the historical potions book under one arm and selected another from the shelf below. This one he glanced through and replaced back on the shelf. Too elementary, poorly written, and there was an unacceptable grammatical error on page forty six. He signed and shook his head, wondering how that had ever got past the proofreading stage. Dermod already proofread his own books even before allowing a publisher anywhere near them, so that...

He sighed, barely audibly. Unless he used a new pen name and pretended to be a completely new writer it was unlikely that he would ever publish anything again. That life was gone, to all intents and purposes that part of him truly had died several years earlier. He had no purpose, no ambition, no cause to fight for... Recognising the familiar signs of a downward mental spiral he renewed his attentions to the titles on the shelf, selecting a volume bound in rust-coloured leather and titled in runes. Unusual. It would take him a few moments to decipher the words, not having needed to read the ancient script for some years. He held it carefully in his good hand as he studied the title.

"Congratulations. I remember surprisingly well the sense of freedom I felt, knowing I was now an adult not just in the eyes of the law, but also with the world at my feet and any number of paths open to me." While it was true he remembered the feeling of freedom, it had been rather transient, because of course he was expected to marry and attempt to produce an heir as soon as possible. There had never been any question of what career path he would choose either; though in some ways Dermod supposed that had been an advantage. He couldn't imagine how it might feel to not know what one was good at or where life might be leading. "Do you have plans for the immediate future? Further study perhaps, or something even more ambitious?"

He couldn't explain the curiosity he felt. Perhaps by talking to someone close in age with Rhiannon he might gain a better understanding of how she would feel in a few years time. Dermod had never asked the child whether she had career plans. He decided that he should, and that thought chased away some of the earlier despondency. Also he'd managed to translate the book title now. Scandinavian poisons and their uses: A diagrammatical guide for practioners Well, that was interesting. And the whole book was written in runes, presumably so that the casual observer wouldn't realise what they were holding.

It was hardly a useful or noble purpose, but this was clearly interesting enough to devote a few weeks' study to. He wondered if Miss Coltrane could read runes and would be able to understand what he was planning to read, The thought amused him, and he angled the book to give her a better view of the title.

“Thank you,” Deirdre said as Mr. Morfessa congratulated her on her graduation. The girl offered a slight hint of a smile as she listened to what he said. She did not quite agree with him but waited patiently until he finished before attempting a response.

“I think I felt the prospect of freedom stronger in my last weeks at school. When I left Hogwarts behind it was different.” she said, feeling quite surprised by herself that she was actually confiding in the old man and sharing her feelings. However, it felt good to talk about it. She could not do so with her mother or her grandparents. They wouldn't understand but he was a stranger. She could talk to him now, he wouldd probably have forgotten about it by the end of the day but at least she'd have it off her chest.

“I somehow imagined a stronger sense of freedom,” she clarified. “I thought I'd be overjoyed to start my life as an adult but it's…” she shrugged, “not as fun as it seems to be when you're stuck at school.” She thought of her mother telling her that she needed to earn money and that she had no clue what she really wanted to do with her life. She had been a good student, had always seemed like she had ambitions but now she felt a little lost.

“I appreciate it that I'm responsible for myself now, that nobody has any right to tell me what to do, but it's a new challenge for sure.” She paused, wondering how she should answer his question about her plans for the immediate future. She had none, not really. She was in the Potion Masters Guild and clearly hoped to become a proper potioneer one day but what she'd do as a potioneer and where she'd work was pretty much still open now.

“I'm a member of the Potion Masters Guild,” Deirdre now offered, thinking that it wouldn't hurt to tell the man as much. She had no reason to mistrust him even if she never liked being open like this. “So I'm aiming to become a potioneer...” she said tilting her head a little as she tried to decipher the runes on the book the older wizard was holding. “Seems like that's also your field of expertise?” she said, now looking at the man again curiously. Maybe he was able to give her tips how to make money as a potioneer.

Dermod shifted the two selected volumes in his good hand into a more comfortable position and briefly considered moving along the shelves to another section. The book written in runes had reawakened his former interest in the subject and he wondered if the challenge of reading a novel entirely in the ancient written language would be worth his time, if indeed such a thing existed. Or perhaps he could translate some of his earlier works into runes...that might interest a few of his remaining readers. But somehow talking with this girl was still more interesting, and so he remained where he was.

And interestingly, what she said made perfect sense. He could well remember the sense of hope during those final weeks at Hogwarts, the knowledge that there was an end in sight and soon he would be able to do absolutely anything. Of course, reality was always somewhat different and the girl articulated that feeling very well indeed. The thought of leaving school and being an adult was far more pleasant than the sudden cold reality of needing to earn a living, though in Dermod's case the drive hadn't been to earn money - he'd grown up with plenty of that - but to break free of his family and make his own way in the world. But were the two things really so different?

He was a little distracted and thus genuinely surprised when she said she was a member of the Potion Masters Guild. Surprised, and a little impressed. Oh, he was sure she would only be a member at one of the lowest levels but nonetheless, she must have attracted the attention of a sponsor. Presumably her powers of obervation had had something to do with it...he smiled as she read the runes on the book cover. "Actually it's other members of my family who have the potions expertise...but I confess an interest" he said modestly. The truth was that Dermod had an interest in many subjects, but writing had always been his passion. He knew he had been fortunate in his early career but what was strange was that he wondered if there was anything he could do to assist Deirdre.

"It's a good career choice" he continued after a moment "several friends of mine have had success in the field, though they are mostly based in Ireland. I could speak with..." he paused. It was unlike the writer to offer assistance in this fashion but there was something about this girl that made him want her to succeed, and if that meant contacting the O'Dwyers (not Declan, he mentally amended, but perhaps Maureen would be willing to offer advice or assistance) then he would do so willingly. That said though, if she was already a member of the Guild, that meant someone had already backed her. A family member, most likely.

"Forgive me. Of course you'll already have your own plans. I imagine you're already producing your own potions under supervision?" he suggested, wondering if the girl already had somewhere she was selling them. Perhaps that was the reason she was in Knockturn Alley today.

Deirdre wondered why she talked to this old man out of all people about things that she would not usually share with anyone. She barely knew him. Well, at least by now she knew his name this time. The previous time they had met, which had also been their first encounter, she hadn’t known who the man was. Admittedly she didn’t have a lot of information now but at least she could call him by his name if she wanted to do so.

“Ah,” Deirdre said, feeling ever so slightly disappointed that he wasn’t a potioneer himself. “I see,” she showed a slight hint of a polite smile. “I’m sure your knowledge is quite impressive,” she offered softly. “Given the books you chose it does seem so anyway.” Truth be told, Deirdre felt that the man was probably too modest and knew a whole lot more about potions than she did. She was, after all, just a recent graduate with a little over average experience in the field regarding her age.

“I hope so,” Deirdre responded, closing the book she had been holding and putting it back on the shelf. “I’ve still got a lot to learn, of course,” she admitted, thinking that selling potions on the black market was hardly the kind of job she wanted to keep for long.

“Yes,” she said slowly, nodding. “I’m producing my own potions,” she narrowed eyes a little as she said this, unwilling to say a lot more on the topic. “I’m still pretty new to all of this, though.” She looked around, hopeful to find something else to talk about. “You came here all the way to London to buy some books?” she asked, genuinely interested in what brought the Irishman to the English capital.

"Perhaps...if a little rusty at present" he offered, glancing again at the books he had selected "Actually it's my wife who has the interest. She doesn't visit London often." Strange. Dermod almost never revealed anything personal about himself. Perhaps it was the knowledge that this girl was only a few years older than Rhiannon, and he would be deeply concerned if she was having conversations with strang middle-aged men in bookshops. That was an understatement. The writer knew quite well he would hunt down and dismember anyone who so much as looked at Rhiannon with unsavoury intentions. If Deirdre had a similarly-inclined father, he could at least be assured his daughter had spoken with someone who indulged in wholesome activities such as buying books for his wife. The thought almost made him laugh. There were few duellists who would be a match for him, even taking into account his diminishd hand. Still, it wasn't the day for making anyone feel uncomfortable.

"That is true. But of course, one never stops learning. There is always something new to discover" he intended to refer to the subject in hand, but there was more truth in the words than he had first realised. The new thing Dermod was discovering was that he would feel uncomfortable talking to this girl without offering some vague reassurance that he wasn't trying to get her into bed. It was such a bizarre realisation that he almost walked out of the shop then and there, disapparated to one of the larger Scottish lochs and dunked his head in the frigid water until he regained some sense.

He did no such thing, of course. The former Death Eater remained where he was, considering every nuance about the situation. He couldn't help but be a little impressed that someone so young was already brewing her own potions. Not least because she was frequenting Knockturn alley, and that suggested she didn't simply brew vials that made one's hair grow straighter or cured pimples. He wanted to ask what she was creating, but that seemed overly familiar. Impolite.

"That was part of my reason for coming here today" he said agreeably, though really Dermod had had no actual plans beyond browsing the shop because it was cooler than the heatwave outside. He hesitated for a moment "I confess though, I had a far more important purpose. You see, the weather forecast in the Prophet said there would be thunderstorms in London this afternoon, and I have never been comfortable in the heat." He quirked a small smile in her direction, intended to be somewhat self-deprecating. "And yourself? Was a trip to this bookstore your only plan for today?"

Her expression remained neutral when the older wizard spoke of his wife and that she was interested in potions. Every word he said registered but she didn’t want to appear too interested. While it would likely have been polite to react to his statement with an acknowledging remark and a little smile, Deirdre felt no need to react at all.

When he spoke about that there’d always be something new to learn, however, the girl nodded. She felt grateful that he said so for some reason. It was nice to know that an experienced wizard would still admit that there were things he didn’t know yet - for that was implied in his statement.

“Yes,” Deirdre agreed, “I think you’re right. We won’t ever know everything no matter how long we live and study. Somehow that’s both scary and comforting at the same time, don’t you agree?” The girl didn’t like the idea that there was far less that she knew than that she didn’t know and yet it was nice to know that she would never reach the stage of boredom when there was nothing new to discover anymore.

“You came here for the thunderstorm?” Deirdre asked, her tone neutral although she found it rather weird that he’d come to London for the weather. Couldn’t he perform some magic to his home so that the climate was pleasant there?

“I’ve come to find some new inspiration here,” she gestured at the book shelf with the potion books. “Besides I had some potion orders to deliver,” she added, making it sound like the most normal thing in the world that a young witch would come to Knockturn Alley to meet people on the street who bought potions from her.

The former Death Eater actually smiled. That had been the underlying theme of one of his previous trilogies, though a lot of readers had failed to pick up on the finer nuances. Those books had actually followed the personal journey of his central character, discovering that she indeed didn't know everything, but that precise knowledge was what had turned out to be a source of comfort. That was probably why they hadn't sold as well as some of his other more graphic tales, he thought with further amusement.

"Yes, absolutely" he agreed, and then, for no particular reason other than because it amused him to mention it, and he knew that nobody would be able to find the castle unless he told them the precise location, added "I live on the southern coast of Ireland. Normally we have ample rain, but I find current heatwave unbearable in my castle, even with the windows all open..." he spoke casually, paused and then added "Besides, I've already read all the books there." That wasn't entirely true, he imagined - there were a few dusty volumes on herbology that he was fairly certain hadn't been opened since the 1930s, and Cliona had liberated most of the books on divination for her own use some years earlier. Dermod had no intention of mentioning his questionably-sane sister, though.

As he spoke, another book had caught his eye, and he reached up and lifted it off the shelf. After a glance through the first couple of pages and reading the back cover, he added it to his small collection, thinking as he did that this was probably enough today. He hadn't come in with the express intention of even making a purchase, but rather had felt it was polite to spend a few galleons while taking advantage of the cooler temperatures in here. "And have you found what you're seeking?" he asked, though what kind of a question was that when one was speaking of inspiration. A bookshop, in Dermod's opinion, was not always the place to find inspiration. It could strike anywhere, often when entirely unexpected and even unwanted. The writer had woken in the middle of the night many times and found himself reaching for a quill and parchment before wakefulness chased away the remnants of a fascinating dream.

"Do you have plans for your own premises?" he asked, thinking that it would be much easier for the young woman to build up clientele if they were able to come to her, rather than the other way around.

Looking at the man with a mostly indifferent expression, Deirdre was actually quite curious about the castle in Southern Ireland. She knew Rhiannon a little and had overheard the girl sharing some information about her home but she had never lived in a castle herself. Her grandparents were well off but they only had a nice town house. The fact that he owned a castle meant that Mr Morfessa was far richer than her family.

He said that he had read all the books at home and the girl wondered how big his library was. She assumed that it was huge and was, therefore, impressed with his statement. He was really a well read wizard and someone with firm beliefs. Clearly he was someone to look up to.

Mr Morfessa looked at a book again and Deirdre thought that this was probably his way of ending the conversation. She was quite surprised and actually grateful when he addressed her again. Had she found what she had been seeking? It was hard to say. She hadn’t been looking for anything in particular. Truth be told, Deirdre enjoyed browsing through potions books just to find some random inspiration. She didn’t even expect to buy anything. Since her apprenticeship hadn’t started yet, the girl didn’t have a lot of money at her disposal anyway.

“I’ve seen some interesting books,” she said evasively. “No must-haves, though.” She shrugged and was even surprised when he showed some more interest in her future plans.

“I’m going to start an apprenticeship at Viscaria Apothecary,” Deirdre said. She hadn’t yet signed the contract but it had all been discussed and she was sure she’d get the job if she really wanted it. Being an apprentice didn’t seem as exciting as running her own business but in order to be successful later it made sense to learn from someone who was really qualified.

Dermod looked at the small pile of reading material he had collected for purchase and chuckled. While he supposed that the girl probably didn't have quite the same disposable income as he did, her comment amused him all the same. "I confess, you have uncovered my deepest secret. I have no willpower when it comes to books." That wasn't quite true - he had no interest whatsoever in great swathes of popular fiction, including most of that which had made the bestseller lists in the past decade, but he was speaking of classic literature, scholarly works, and anything which could be used to educate.

He had shared a great deal about himself by his usual standards. Normally Dermod didn't talk about himself at all, but simply managed to draw information out of whomever he was speaking with. There was little to be gained from trying this with a recently-graduated teenager, though. She wouldn't have any interesting secrets and besides, he already knew this girl to have views similar to his own. Besides, while such games were amusing, they seemed rather...pointless these days. With a liberal, spineless Ministry and his former friends and comrades scattered to the four winds, dead or imprisoned, there was little to gain. So much had been lost, and while he had rebuilt a life for the most part, the former Death Eater still keenly felt the disappointment of what might have been.

Those were thoughts for the cold early hours though, not a stormy afternoon in a London bookstore. He shelved the melancholy that was threatening to surface and instead nodded thoughtfully. "Visceria Apothecary. They have a fine reputation" he offered. As he understood it, they were also willing to provide various potions ingredients without asking questions as to what use they would be put, which doubtless would mean they paid well and expected a high level of trustworthiness from any employees. The young woman had chosen well.

"You must have impressed them" he continued "I believe they only accept the best into their apprentice program." Had he said too much? Was she going to wonder how he knew a business that was based in Scotland, no matter how good their reputation was said to be?  Or would she overlook the possibility that he had purchased under-the-counter items from them in the past, and simply take his words at face value?

For reasons he couldn't explain, Dermod found himself hoping that it would be the former.

An almost unrecognisable smile curved Deirdre’s lips when the older wizard said that she had uncovered his deepest secret. She was sure that wasn’t really true. People his age had lived long enough to have deeper and more exciting secrets but she still liked the sound of it. Deirdre just loved knowing things about others that not everybody was privy to.

While Deirdre hadn’t exactly shared a lot about herself, she still had confided in Mr Morfessa more than she usually did. It was weird how telling him about her plans didn’t really feel uncomfortable. She felt there was some sort of connection between them. Probably it was just that they had similar views as they had discovered when they had first met in Hogsmeade.

“Yes, they do,” Deirdre said. The reputation had intrigued her, of course, but also the fact that they were located in Edinburgh. Although the girl did not necessarily want to stay close to her family she still saw Edinburgh as her hometown and loved it.

Her eyebrows moved upwards a little as the older wizard said that she must have impressed her future employer. She hadn’t really seen it like that. It had been quite natural to her that they had offered her a job. However, he seemed to think that it was something to be proud of.

“Thank you, I’m quite glad they offered me the apprenticeship” she responded politely and looked at the man, her expression rather indifferent but she couldn’t help but wonder why an Irishman knew so much about a Scottish apothecary. Admittedly he might have been there when he had visited Edinburgh for some reason or the business was actually more famous than Deirdre was aware of.

Suddenly she felt the urge to leave the bookshop. Quickly she replaced the book she had been holding on the shelf and then offered the older wizard an apologetic little smile. “I have to leave now,” she said in a rushed voice, “or I’ll be late for an appointment. It was pleasant to talk to you again. I hope you have a good day.” Having said that, Deirdre left the shop. She had indeed some sort of appointment out on the street where she was going to hand over a potion order to one of her customers who she could already spot waiting in front of a deserted shop.

[out]

The girl smiled, and although Dermod was sure she didn't really believe him he let the subject lie. Far more interesting were her potioneer ambitions, particularly given that she had already obtained the apprenticeship. That was impressive for one so young. He wanted to ask whether she already had a specialism planned, hoping it would be something dark, but of course she was hardly going to confide that in a virtual stranger. There were ways he could find out of course, but not in public and besides, he found the idea of extracting the truth from this girl to be exceedingly distasteful. There had been times of course when he had done such things and worse simply for the amusement of it, but those times were gone... or perhaps he just felt that there were so few right-minded thinkers left that it would be positively criminal to tinker with those minds.

Or perhaps it was something else, something he couldn't explain? Was he getting old? The thought chilled him, and he was almost relieved that the girl apologised and took her leave. "Of course. Please don't let me keep you from your engagements" he said, almost amused at how quickly she had seemed to take the decision to leave. Did she really have an appointment? "I trust we shall meet again" he offered as she left, replacing the book she had been glancing through on the shelf and heading out of the door.

Dermod turned most of his attention to one of the volumes tucked under his arm, but with half an eye he watched the girl's progress. Gratifyingly, she approached someone a little way down the street and seemed to produce something from within a concealed pocket which she handed over. Presumably some sort of potion, and he guessed not the kind that would be purchased in the main apothecary in Diagon Alley. Smiling darkly, he closed the book and glanced down at his choices, noticing as he did something on the floor. The former death eater bent to pick it up and realised it was a slim book, well worn and - as he opened the front cover- clearly something that Deirdre had dropped. He looked outside again but already she had vanished, presumably heading onto another appointment.

Shrugging, he pocketed the small volume and approached the counter, waited while his purchases were wrapped and handing over the requisite number of sickles and galleons. Tucking the small parcel under his arm, he stepped outside and looked both up and down the street, but there was no sign of the girl. The sky was overcast and there was a pleasant breeze blowing though, so he decided to stay in London for a while longer. Perhaps his favourite pub would be a pleasant way to while away an hour or two.

[out]