Before The World Was Made DRARRY

Chapter One

The air inside the apothecary was heavy with humidity. The scents of dried herbs, pickled animal parts, and heated pewter assaulted his senses, and the usual fog of conflicting potion steam clouded his head. With a weak sneeze and the tinkle of a bell, Draco let the door close behind him. Rain pattered against the windowpanes, but it was impossible to tell by looking through the foggy glass.

The umbrella charm Draco cast cancelled itself upon entering, but he half-wondered if it might have been useful. Perhaps that kind of magic could be turned to keep the smells and mists of the apothecary at bay.

"Hullo, Draco," the old shopkeeper, a wizened witch named Gretel, greeted him, as always. "What have you need for this time?"

The wrinkles of her face made her look like a walnut with hair, thinning her eyes to slits and her mouth to a thatched line. The hair on her head fanned out about her like fine, white bolts of lightning meant to escape her skull, and the robes she wore were always threadbare, brown and black with no aesthetic. They were robes meant for practicality.

Once, Draco might have sneered at her, if not in person then in his head, but she was kind to him. She welcomed him without judgment, and Draco loved her for it, though he could not put that feeling into words.

"Good morning, Gretel," he answered with a gentle nod. "I need some more dragon's blood. Three bottles should do. And some lavender as well."

"That's a lot of dragon's blood you've been needing," she said, walking out from behind the counter to collect the bottles. There was no suspicion in her voice, only curiosity.

Draco studied a jar of frog tongues on sale.

"The project I'm working on is practically hemorrhaging—quite literally," he said, picking up the bottle to weigh it in his hands. "Client insisted on true dragonstones, which of course are impossible. It's not like Dragon Keepers are forging them anymore. The only ones in existence belong to the Royal Wizarding Family of Macedonia, and I don't imagine they're interested in selling. Only option is to manufacture one, and I need dragon's blood for that. Problem is infusing diamonds with dragon's blood is tricky business, and if the measurements are off by even an iota, the spells won't take and the stones start to bleed. It's a sodding nightmare."

With a knowing hum, Gretel placed three bottles of dragon's blood on the counter and tied a small packet of lavender with a string. "Will you be taking the frog tongues too, then, dear?"

Draco shook his head and replaced them in the display. "No, I haven't used them in ages. Just reminiscing."

"Ten galleons, four sickles, then," she said, packaging his purchased. Trying to ignore the pang in his gut, Draco pulled out the coins and placed them in her hand.

"It would be cheaper to slay my own dragons," he said, and Gretel laughed. He took the package from her carefully, balancing it in one hand as he slipped the pouch of coins away into his robes. "Slow season for sales, though, autumn. "

"Say, looks like you might have some customers to change that."

Draco turned but saw only the fogged glass of the windows. Adjusting the package to hold it in the crook of his elbow, he went to the window and wiped away a circle of condensation. Sure enough, there were several people standing just outside his shop.

"Cheers, Gretel!" he said, wondering how she could see through those windows. He cast the umbrella charm a half-second too late and felt the cool September rain splatter his face. Cursing the little dark circles now peppering his sky-grey robes, Draco hurried to find three people in front of his doorway, all dressed in brown cloaks with purple insignia.