Disclaimer: I own my plot and my (thus far) single original character. I am sure that there are other fics with the same character with the same name, but I haven't read them, and I have a different plot, I'm sure.
Prologue
"Three Galleons and four Sickles." Her voice was raspy, as if from disuse or years of smoking.
The customer handed over two Galleons, and paid the rest in Sickles. "So I apply it topically once every half hour for six hours—"
"And store it next to a sunny window. It loses its efficaciousness if it isn't kept in sunlight."
"Very well. My thanks to the brewer."
A short nod. "I'll let her know."
She waited until after the bell had chimed, signifying that the customer had left the apothecary/brewery. Grabbing a large box labeled in strange hieroglyphics, she made her way to a small, old door behind the registry.
"Efhach nie zubnust qin." The words were guttural, ominous sounding. The door swung open, and box in hand, the petite girl made her way into the shadowy hall leading up to a dark and ominous looking wooden staircase. The steps creaked as she ascended, not bothering to light her wand.
She winced as her head snapped. Gently setting the box down, she turned to the source of the delay. A small vine had pushed through the old wood of the walls and wrapped around her near waist length black plait. She muttered a curse under her breath as she freed her braid, silently swearing yet again that she would eventually reinforce the walls in her small indoor garden.
She picked the box back up and continued, pushing open the door at the top of the rickety staircase. She entered a dark room, lit only by candles and the glow of fires underneath dozens of cauldrons of different sizes and colors. The firelight cast an eerie glow on her face, throwing the pale of her skin and the darkness of hair into a sharp contrast and glinting off her glasses.
She started to unload the box, pulling out jars and vials of many liquids. Some of them were easily identifiable: human blood, unicorn blood, Opaleye saliva (a highly restricted trade item). Other's were not identifiable at all. She sorted them by the markings etched into the jars, or scribbled across the Spell-o-tape wrapped around the vials. Her movements were brisk and practiced, her countenance undisturbed by the odious and execrable contents of the box.
One group of vials went into a small closet after she renewed the chilling spells on the container. Another went onto a shelf above a low-burning fire. She ambled around the brewery, placing ingredients in their proper spaces. Over a few groups of identical substances, she tilted her head as if considering, before dividing the group into two smaller groups, placing different spells on each group or storing them in different areas of the shop.
When finished, she closed the box, wrote a new marking underneath the already-present symbols, and shrunk the box until it could fit in the palm of her hand. She crossed into an adjoining room and whistled, attaching the box to the claw of the owl that flew in at the sound. The owl gazed at her dolorously, but nipped her finger affectionately before flying off again. She rolled her head from side to side, cracking her neck loudly, before walking back into a third room, a room lit by a floating crystal and the glints of light reflect off of the various glass containers that covered the walls. She removed a vial from a wall sconce and, in one swig, downed the glistening violet liquid contained within. She held her breath for a minute before exhaling mightily and walking back out. She threw the vial into a large box, which emitted a loud noise like a thunderclap and a thick cloud of yellow mist. She didn't seem to notice.
She walked over to a pewter cauldron, sniffing the silver liquid shimmering within. Her eyes glazed briefly. She checked her watch, which had no numbers, but rather several incomprehensible pictures and the phases of the moon. Satisfied, she withdrew a long glass rod from her robe and stirred the concoction once clockwise, once counterclockwise. It bubbled and turned a translucent grey.
"You do know that half of these potions are illegal in Scotland?"
She jumped, placing a hand over her chest to slow her heart's quick and thunderous beating. She whirled around angrily. "Had I spilt one drop of that…" she threatened.
He rolled his eyes as he gracefully swept up into a standing position. His black eyes flashed menacingly in the flickering light.
"Unregistered doesn't mean illegal, per se. They just haven't had the chance to become legal. And there's a reason why I do very little of my marketing in the United Kingdom, anyway. The laws here are so...confining. Not at all conducive to creative thinking." Her lips curved into a smile.
"Interesting technicality," he said contemptuously. "You truly are your father's daughter." It wasn't a compliment.
"What are you even doing here? The slavedriving powertripper let you off your leash for a day?"
He grinned, teeth flashing in the darkness.
She shuddered. "Don't smile. It makes me wonder who you've killed."
His lip curled over his teeth in a derisive sneer. "Well, this certainly isn't a social call."
"Yes, I gathered as much. I'd ordinarily ask how you snuck past my wards, but I suppose I already know."
"I know your magical signature, and I was well aware of the properties of most of the wards you used. Treachery has left you not, my dear. How was it, exactly, that you were a Hufflepuff?"
She looked at him evenly. "You know why."
All traces of a smile left his face. "Why, yes. I suppose I do."
He sank back onto his seat and watched her work in silence for a while, his critical eye always observing. He made no offer to help, nor did he offer any ideas or suggestions. He simply settled back into the darkness and watched, unobtrusive and unnoticed. Immersed in her potions, the girl seemingly forgot about his presence altogether. She bustled from cauldron to cauldron, adding ingredients, stirring, measuring, and stoppering.
After an hour, she retired to her rooms. Wordlessly, he rose to his feet and followed. He leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she breathed deeply over a cup of what his practiced eye identified as a young screechsnap offshoot.
"It's time."
She spared him a brief glance in the mirror. "For?"
"For you to come back."
She sighed deeply, rolling her head around on her shoulders. "I have business to finish here. Two weeks, and then however long it takes me to transport my open cauldrons to the Knockturn and Diagon sites."
"Very well. Just remember, you have obligations to fulfill." He silently swept out of her rooms.
She raised her head slowly and looked in the mirror. Hazel eyes with more green than brown in them stared back at her. Her unruly black waves were escaping from the tight braid of early in the morning, surrounding her small, but strong jawed face.. A slow smile crept onto her face.
"Well, England. So returns the long lost Violet Potter." Ready or not, here I come.