Closest To Heaven That I'll Ever Be

8. Unexpected Visitor

The introduction of owl orders had been a fantastic idea.

Financially, at least.

For my sanity? Debatable.

When I'd first opened the apothecary, I'd assumed most of my customers would be people passing through Diagon Alley. Hogwarts students stocking up before September. Parents searching for something to settle a child's nerves before their first day. Witches and wizards needing remedies, ingredients or some obscure potion they couldn't find anywhere else.

And for the first year, that was mostly how it worked.

Then people started writing.

At first it was only the occasional letter.

Dear Miss Dumbledore, my sister purchased one of your migraine tonics and said it was wonderful. Would it be possible to order three bottles by owl?

Of course it was.

Then someone wanted six jars of my Dreamless Sleep Balm sent to Manchester.

Someone else wanted a year's supply of my hair-strengthening tonic delivered to Edinburgh.

A witch in Cornwall apparently told every woman she'd ever met about one of my moisturising creams, and for three weeks I did nothing but make the bloody stuff.

Word spread.

And suddenly the little shelf I'd kept beside the counter for owl orders became a table.

Then two tables.

Then an entire section of the back room.

I now had parchment orders arriving almost every morning, and twice a week a very disgruntled-looking barn owl from somewhere in Yorkshire appeared with a collection of orders tied to both legs and the general expression of someone who believed himself vastly underpaid.

I probably needed help.

Actually, there was no probably about it.

I absolutely needed help.

I'd even put a little notice in the window once.

ASSISTANT WANTED — POTIONS KNOWLEDGE PREFERRED. MUST NOT BE AFRAID OF OWLS.

It lasted approximately forty minutes before I took it down.

I told myself it was because I didn't have time to interview anyone.

That was partly true.

The bigger truth was that I liked the rush.

I liked arriving in the morning with twelve things already needing my attention.

I liked having three cauldrons bubbling at once while I served customers, answered letters and argued with suppliers over the price of powdered moonstone.

I liked finishing one order only to discover another six waiting.

I liked looking at the clock, realising it was eight in the evening and wondering where the entire day had gone.

Because when I was busy, I didn't think.

And when I didn't think, I couldn't be lonely.

It was remarkably effective.

Probably not healthy.

But effective.

It was a Wednesday evening in the middle of August when things changed.

August was always chaos.

Hogwarts letters had arrived weeks earlier and now parents had apparently realised that September was rapidly approaching and their children required an entire year's worth of supplies.