mad scientists [poesy]

Through the angled sunlight coming in the front window of his shop, the steam rising from his tea was given form: hazy swirls reaching in the air, a brief dance performance before disappearing. Sitting at the stool behind his shop counter, he re-read the ad he had placed at the beginning of the week in The Daily Prophet:

Wanted, potions expert to partner in new field of magicks.
Inquire at Gallagher Repairs on Diagon Alley

Naturally suspicious, he left the ad vague. Banner's practice of magical repair and restoration was unique, currently the only of its kind in the British Isles. As it should be, he thought, since he basically founded the field himself. Any second shop that came up would be a novel form of the technique, since all of Banner's written material were currently on a shelf in the workshop behind him, behind several layers of magical protection. He had had thoughts of starting an apprenticeship, but quickly buried the idea in a far, lowly drawer in the corner his mind. He was only 30 years old, he'd revisit the thought in a decade or two. Inevitably he would have to, but not now.

Now was the time of experimentation, to push the boundaries of magical theory and application. His latest hypothesis involving potions was one he had been musing on for quite sometime. While he did receive an "E" in his Potions NEWT back in the day, he had never put any of his knowledge into physical form beyond what was required in class 12 or 13 years ago. Hell, he didn't even own a cauldron right now. There was a potions shop down the street, his income was good, it wasn't practical or needed for him to brew his own anymore, even the most basic pain or sleep potion.

Which was why he needed another mind. Since his best friend severed ties with him their fifth year, Banner was a one man operation. Self made, self taught, self interested. Truly the only person anyone can ever trust is themselves. While the prospect of having to work with and rely on another man made Banner queasy, and made him imagine the rage his younger self would currently be feeling to even be doing this, the years had at least softened most of selfish tendencies to have to do everything himself.  Most of them.... hopefully most of them.

A new field of magic.

That was what the advert had said and she'd read (and read it again) to make sure. "Expert" was a relative term but Poesy had her Silver Cauldron so she thought that was about as close to the level of qualification needed. Maybe. Hopefully. As though to enforce her point, her shiny pin was attached to the left side of her shirt, catching the sun cheekily as it twinkled. Poesy knew she'd earned the honour of wearing her pin but it seemed a bit...ostentatious. It had been hanging out in a small box in her wardrobe for years. But today might be the start of a new partnership.

Poesy walked down the cobbled street, her blonde hair swishing merrily behind her in a ponytail as she went, her big bright eyes flicking to the shop windows as she was momentarily distracted. Was it a legitimate advert? She'd always been wary of newspaper segments. She'd been burned before. She'd bought what she thought was a sofa in Paris but it turned out to be a garden deck chair. And it was broken.

Frowning at the memory, she forged ahead. Attaining the elusive Gold Cauldron had always been on the backburner. She told everyone that earning a Silver was a feat (and it was) but she could do better. This could put her in good stead. The petite blonde had wanted to get it before she turned thirty but that was a mad pipedream now.  She took a left, her fingers anxiously curling around her bag for safety. She hadn't heard of this person's name before - Gallagher - and she couldn't figure out what they'd need to repair using a potion.

Poesy didn't have that tell-tale gnawing feeling in her stomach that told her when things were about to end badly but then again, she was a terrible judge of character. She surveyed the shop signage until she checked the newspaper in her hand and found the address. She'd been here six months but she hadn't seen this place before. She placed a hand on the door and gave it a shove.

It was darker in here and she blinked her eyes in an effort to adjust them, closing the door behind her quietly. "Hello?" Poesy called out, her soft Welsh lilt echoing as she turned and gave a smile. "Hi!" She gushed. "I'm Poesy," with that, she extended her hand to the man to shake. "I came about the advert in the paper?" She explained, a hint of caution in her voice as she held up her copy of the Daily Prophet as evidence, her smile growing as her dimples appeared. "Sorry if I'm late," Poesy went on. "Or early," she amended, flushing pink quickly. "I didn't see a time specified."

The telltale squeak of the floorboard announced to Banner he had a customer. He took a quick last sip of his tea before he stood up from his stool. A first judgement of Banner would make one think he was a crass lad, what with his thickly tattooed arm and nearly permanent scowl. But Banner was raised by a respectable man, a father who would not have a son that wouldn't stand to greet his guest. And Banner wouldn't soil his memory.

"Hello," Banner answered back simply, his eyes flickering briefly to her outstretched hand before he received it in his own. He didn't particularly like touching other people but handshakes were unfortunately good for business etiquette. If he could he'd stay in the back all day and just work on his clients' projects; have someone else be the face of the shop. Being paid by the job, though, made it difficult to afford a payroll for a regular employee. And besides, he worked alone....at least he'd prefer to. He was really dreading working with another man. Banner was, as is the folly of all Ravenclaws no matter the years past Hogwarts, a prideful perfectionist, and it was, especially with his work, his way or no way. If a client attempted to tell him how to do something, he'd instantly decline the job. Do they not think he's aware of how old the wood of their grandmother's jewelry box is? He would have been careful without your instruction, thank you, but now his intelligence and skill has been insulted and the deal is off. There's the door, ma'am, toodles.

He raised a singular eyebrow. "Sorry, the what?" The advert, did she say? "That's... eh, that's not for you." He glanced down at the paper on the counter. He did write 'expert', did he not? Not intern, or the like? He wasn't about to adopt in some fresh Hogwarts graduate looking for a stepping stone career, or worse, a daddy's-little-girl needing spending money for new robes. He looked back down at the blonde. She was a tiny thing, wasn't she? Couldn't be older than 21, 22.

"Store's open for the day still if you have something that needs repairing. If it's a small thing I could get it done before supper."

The man's hand enveloped her much smaller one as she shook it with a sunny smile. "How are you?" She asked politely, unperturbed by his apparent unwillingness to engage with her. Poesy looked around the room quickly, a slow and soft tick-tock of a clock seemed to sync up with her breathing. He looked oddly familiar, she thought, like they'd met briefly in the past.

"The advert?" Poesy ventured again softly, her eyebrows raised as though he'd forgotten he'd even placed it in the paper. He'd also not given his name but by the way he was acting, Poesy wasn't sure she wanted to know. He made her feel small and the urge to shrink was almost overwhelming. She swallowed nervously. It was the same sort of experience she had when she'd been called into the Headmaster's office (just the once, she wasn't a maniac).

"I beg your pardon?"

It was out before she could stop it. She blinked three times in rapid succession. She didn't like his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?" Quickly, Poesy frowned as she stood in the middle of the room, distinctly uncomfortable by the way his eyes raked over her. She shifted her weight and pulled out a sheaf of papers that detailed her work experience and qualifications, tucking the newspaper under her arm. "If you were expecting someone else, you should have put their name in it." Her tone was light but there was an edge to it.

Things were going from bad to worse. The potions game was male-dominated. Poesy had seen enough of this to know what was going on - he didn't want to work with a woman. Righteous anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach as a sense of history repeating itself loomed. She folded her plump lips together in an effort to keep her tongue in check. It was difficult. This man was now the manifestation of all the people who had ever told her no. Clearing her throat, she held her papers out for him to look through.

He was trying to dismiss her and Poesy was all too happy to storm out and flounce down the street. Her fingers twitched as the air around her felt warmer.  Instead, she bit down hard on the side of her cheek and offered him a thinly veiled smile. "You must be mistaken," she began but she didn't move any closer. "I'm here about the job you advertised. I don't need anything repairing," she told him, her eyes flicking to his face and then around the shop again. "If I did, I'd do it myself."

With a sigh, she placed her papers back into her bag, sensing defeat. "Am I the only one who has responded?" Poesy asked, tilting her head up to look at him. "Are you sure we've not met before?"

"It means I'm looking for an expert, not an intern," Banner replied bluntly. "You seem a bit young for that."

In truth it wasn't her age. Being a Ravenclaw, he knew prodigies were a dime a dozen in the wizarding world. He had his own theory that being a witch or wizard meant more than casting spells from a wand. Something innate, biological. Sure, the muggles invented the computer, something no wizard could really comprehend. And perhaps that was their own form of magic. But the smart muggles were far and few between, at least in his experience. Magical folk were just... well, as cliché as it were, the wise, old, white bearded wizards smoking a pipe talking about the universe were found at every corner.

He leafed through the papers he received from her. Poesy Darling. Hufflepuff, meh. Outstanding in Potions NEWT, alright, but not unique. Silver Cauldron recipient... Banner flickered his eyes towards the pin on her shirt. "Is that an award there or something?" he nodded towards her shirt.

In reality, he didn't want to work with a girl. The cliché of the wise old wizard was just that-- a wizard. Not a witch. He had thought the pin was just a way of her trying to be cute: come to potions job advert wearing a cauldron brouche. Cute. Clever. But not on Banner. At least, he told himself that.

His brow furrowed at her comment. "Doubt you could," he answered, handing her back the papers. Do it herself? That was a laugh. Banner was the best at this, and the only one around who could do what he did. The theories and procedures were all written down in his books under several layers of magical protection, and no one had ever read them but him.

He returned her gaze, and he frowned. Yes, she was the only one. But he wasn't going to tell her that. His eyes lingered upon hers for a second longer than comfortable. Had they met? He was very good at faces, he'd need a moment to remember...

He snatched his gaze away to look out the shop window. The street before him was following its usual schedule. The witch with the emerald robes walking by with her basket of herbs. The wizard with the tall hat taking his son for an ice cream. The two young witches in their brighter garments gossiping across the cobblestone as they drank their tea. No matter how high and lofty the magical community held themselves, they were probably worse creatures of habits than muggles.

He looked back down to the girl. He had set out to explore a new field of magic, that was what his advert had said. And perhaps the way to achieve that meant he had to explore out of his comfort zone.

"Can I... er... can I see those papers again?" he asked sheepishly, concurrently now wanting to vomit and run his backroom, immerse himself in his books and gadgets, and forget about having this idea in the first place.

Poesy blinked in mild confusion. "I'm nearly thirty?" She asked, cautiously, confused as to why he seemed reluctant to take her seriously. In actual fact, she still had a couple of years until she hit that milestone but it seemed like he wouldn't care either way.

It was like she'd stepped into some sort of alternative universe and without realising it, her bright blue eyes boggled at him. She inhaled sharply and held it, unable to stop it as she held her breath as though Banner had mortally offended her and he pretty much had. An award, he'd said dismissively, like she'd won the egg and spoon race at the school sports day. He might have well patted her on the head, he couldn't be any more condescending.

"It's a globally recognised qualification," Poesy clarified in a weak voice, sounding croaked. "It took me ten years to get it," she went on, her eyes wide as she looked at Banner. He might have well just busted all of her balloons and blew the candles out on her birthday cake because that hurt. In a self-comforting motion, she reached up and touched the shiny pin on her shirt and wished she hadn't tarnished the sparkle by even coming here. "So yes," she went on after she cleared her throat. "It's quite an award."

The atmosphere was tense as he looked over her credentials and all she could hear was a slow ticking clock. Swiftly, she let out an indignant noise that got caught in her throat. "You don't know that," she countered, two spots of colour appearing high on her cheeks like it always did when she was under pressure. "I don't have trinkets," she went on to explain. No keepsakes, no magic mirrors, no cursed objects, just a thin silver ring that she wore on her right hand.

He continued to stare and Poesy swallowed, a sense of uneasiness washing over her. He had very clear eyes but something was off. Like being on a ferry and the sea was making everything off-kilter. She caught herself mid-squirm. As she was about to cross her arms and shrink, she corrected herself and instead, cocked her hip. Fake it 'til you make it.  Maybe she'd been mistaken but he looked very familiar. For all she knew, she could simply have passed him in the street but something was telling her otherwise. Again, he refused to answer her question and she sighed heavily in response.

Banner seemed to change his tune and instantly, Poesy was on her guard. "You sure about that?" She asked him with an arch of her eyebrow, not bothering to temper her tone as she thrust the papers back at him. She knew she was being rude but she was considerably less rude that he was - and he wanted to hire someone! The cheek! "The job description was vague," she spoke up as she rocked back and forth on her heels like a bored child, hands clasped neatly in front of her as she glanced around. "Just what exactly do you have in mind for the candidate?" She tilted her head curiously. "Just so I know whether I need to take out life insurance or not."

Banner arched his eyebrow. "Ten years?" he repeated, dumbfounded, and a sinking feeling hit his gut.

This was entirely the person he said he didn't want to be anymore. A person his age responding to his quest to be mad scientists in his lab should have had him jumping to his feet to get started. But here he was, being his usual broody, jerk self.

"I...er.. sorry, miss," he apologized sheepishly. He could see his father's scowl already in his mind. Like Banner, his father had been pessimistic of people and mostly frowning all the time, but was a stickler when it came to showing respect for those who deserved it. Banner did not inherit that sense of duty. He thought the worst in people always, and hated authority. But he did end up learning how to respect: his father's belt made sure of that.

He leafed through her papers, and frowned. She was the perfect candidate. An expert and novelist in her field, and he had judged her for being a petite woman. Heat started to flush Banner's cheeks. Embarrassment was not an emotion he was good at managing, and was the root for his most heinous behavior seeking revenge on those other students. But Banner was thirty, not fifteen. The frontal lobe had stabilized five years ago, he didn't have an excuse to not think before acting.

"I'm Banner, by the way, think I forgot that," he mentioned, avoiding making eye contact and desperately hoping his cheeks would return to their normal color soon. "Purposefully vague. Caught your curiosity, right?" He had designed the advert just so. While he wasn't entirely sure how potions would be incorporated to his field of work, he did have some ideas like vapors and buffering solutions, to start. He specifically wanted a curious soul to work with, ready to challenge and defy reality, not a scruffy professor who was already set in their ways.

The corner of his mouth curled into a small smile at the mention of life insurance, and he felt his body relax a little. Multiple times in this career he'd almost lost an eye or set the place on fire, but that was half the excitement of the job. Where was the sense of discovery without a little explosion here and there?

"Besides, don't want copycats getting wind of our ideas," he flicked his eyes on hers, begging in his mind for her to pick up on the hint. Banner had been a one man show since he opened up this place years ago. He was hoping he could retain one shred of his old dignity by not actually having to say out loud he needed help.

Realisation dawned and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't feeling smug but, being the polite young lady she was, she opted not to gloat. She nodded. "And that was quick," Poesy added absently. Being treated like this wasn't anything new but she'd hoped the world had come on leaps and bounds with equality in the workplace.

Miss, he'd called her and she couldn't help but giggle - partly out of nerves but mostly because it was just plain funny. "That's okay," Poesy assured him graciously as she clasped her hands in front of her as she swayed back and forth gently. "I've been called worse by better," she joked with a smile but this was good. He knew she wasn't a bimbo and gosh, how she hated that word.

She'd be able to see his blush from space. Poesy allowed herself a couple of seconds to revel with her I told you so expression when it suddenly turned to empathy. He was in the wrong, of course, but she'd also behaved poorly. He didn't know what it was like, though. Having to work twice as hard to get something a man was getting already. 

He said his name was Banner and Poesy hesitated, frowning thoughtfully before she nodded. "Nice to meet you," she offered, despite not really believing it but she smiled anyway. "That's usually how things work in my field," she joked. It was like most things - good and bad. There were dark potioneers and there were light potioneers. There was a lot more money to be made in the illegal side of things and she'd been approached once before but declined. A small part of her regretted that.

"I'm honestly here to boost my chances of attaining the Gold cauldron," she told Banner with candid honesty. She hoped she wasn't rude but the quickest way to get to the top was by forging a new path. She'd made the decision at seventeen to get as far ahead as she could. Her life was planned out and the requirements were pinned to her fridge, right next to some take out menus.

But she caught his look and she blinked quickly. "Our?" Poesy echoed, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. He'd flip-flopped from treating her with disdain to now treating her with reverence? Unable to stop herself, she flashed him a grin. Shifting her weight, she cocked her hip and folded her arms across her chest. "Does this mean I'm hired?"

Poesy listened and then arched an eyebrow, her bravado slowly trickling away. It was all very cloak and dagger. She liked adventure as much as the next girl and she could feel herself starting to panic. She'd never done anything "bad". The closest brush with the law had been when she was a child and she'd stolen a bag of sweets from the post office. Mrs. Evans had seen her, marched her back to her parents house and made her confess. Poesy had cried so hard, she'd thrown up. "Is this --" trailing off as she wondered how best to approach this without offending him. "-- illegal?" Too late.