Dusk fell on the streets of London, the twilight painting the damp cobblestones of Diagon Alley in hues of golden, rose, and orange. His shop, Rookwood Remedies, was set in a good corner near Gringotts, a perfect location for what could be a thriving business if the owner didn't settle for just keeping the business as it was.

Benjamin Rookwood was a brilliant potion maker but not a good businessman. Luckily for him, his grandfather's brand was well positioned and business was steady as it could be, making enough every trimester to keep bread in his belly.

However, while he failed at running the business without a bit of financial stimulant from his wealthy banker of a father in law, he had hoped that his marriage would have been more successful in every other aspect. But alas, his wife had despised him since the moment she was forced to move from her beloved Vert-Du house in Northern Ireland, a mere three months after their wedding. Friends had instantly mocked his lack of spine, for a man should not allow his wife to run back to her parents' house, but he had allowed it. Knowing that to contradict an already unhappy wife could end in nothing but woe.

They had married young, she had been a few years younger than he in Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, he a few years older than she in Gryffindor. He spent most of his time in the bowels of the castle in the potions room and saw her there often, rarely speaking. After graduating, he instantly took over his grandfather's shop, hoping the rundown establishment would bring his family from the edge of financial abyss.

It didn't.

His marriage had been one of opportunity. Her parents of good stock, but foreign. More to the point, they were wealthy beyond comprehension, so a

deal was struck and their youngest daughter would marry the Rookwood's only son.

He had met the girl eager, her beauty the only thing that had stuck in his memory, but her haughty eyes and airs had put him off at their first meeting and her tenacious nature and hatred of the cold damp of Scotland had spoiled their second meeting. Their third one had been their wedding and despite her being the loveliest bride in all of England, he loathed spending time with her condescending eyes and social climbing parents.

After nearly six months married and barely a few cordial words between his wife and himself in the massive castle, he took up with an old friend to find both the company and warmth that his wife lacked. She was a dark girl with ebony eyes and a bright smile who stroked his hand when they spoke and was kind to his woes and worries. That was an additional arrangement to his occasional dalliances with nameless girls in pubs outside of London, where he sought the intimacy he didn't pursue at home. His once sporadic dates with Martha were now a weekly event, and their friendship was a solace to him. Their meetings were set at the same place and at the same time. 9 PM at a muggle pub located a block up street from the Leaky Cauldron.

He grabbed his cloak and locked up the place. He didn't intend to be back for the night, likely finding a train north enough to appearate back to Taileasgcoille in the Highlands. The sound of his boots on the street was muted by the constant tapping of the increasing rain as he exited the Leaky Cauldron towards Muggle London, the lamp lights already lit for the night as he lit his pipe, adjusted his hat and clung to his coat collar against the rain, crossing the street towards the Sheep and Crown pub.

The place was dimly lit, as if the owners were afraid to spend more in oil for their lamps than what they made in a week. As soon as he stepped through the doors he could smell the heavy buttery cooking, the sour smell of ale, and the pipe weed and tobacco that hung above the patrons like the ghost of lovers past. The lively mood made up for the lack of

elegance of the place, and the cheap and hearty portions of the kitchen made one glide over the truth of people attending this place to forget the sorrows of their daily lives.

His eyes spied Martha in a corner table, knowing to stay away form the bar and the noisy drunkards. She smiled broadly as he shook his hat and coat, hanging both up as he sidled into the seat, his back to the wall, warmed by the nearby fire and her hand picking up his, "My Lord Benjamin, you'll catch a terrible cold."

"Hearty bowl o' soup and an ale will warm ma blood ma'dear, worry not." He rubbed his thumb against her knuckles and smiled back, "Warm my brain and speak to me." He met the innkeeper's eyes and nodded, and before Martha had drawn a second breath telling Ben about her day, they both had overflowing plates in front of them and two pints. He quickly tucked into his plate while she continued, making affirmative grunts at the appropriate times.

Her story concluded just as he was wiping the crust of his bread against the bottom his bowl, draining his drink. "Ye've had quite a week." He wiped his lips on his sleeve as he asked her of the children that were her charges, the job he got for her by asking a friend to hire the woman to be governess of their children. She was very bright and was wonderful with children, a woman he wished he were able to marry.

A commotion across the bar drew his attention as he spied a band of men harassing a woman. One appeared to be grabbing at her skirt, another at her chest. He sighed, his position and morals pressing him to go save the poor lady from the mob less her honour be taken from her. Leaning over he kissed Martha's cheek and they separated ways early for the night, and he walked her to her carriage before returning to aide the poor lady.

"Ok gentlemen, let's not be animals, the poor lass-..." He started, his Scottish burr more pronounced when he spoke louder as he pulled several away, his eyes going wide as he spied his wife's face, "Georgiana?"

"Benjamin!" She darted to him, her dress in tatters as he pulled her from the hungry men.

"Aw Me n'tha mate's jus'wantad a taste good ser-... But f'you bee knowing the lady, we'll le'u taste first."

"That's my wife." He snarled through gritted teeth and pulled her away from the fiends. He could feel his wand in the back of his trousers and knew he could fend the men off, but not in public. "We're leaving." He pulled her by her elbow and stormed out of the pub, grabbing his hat and coat as a final thought against the roaring rain, pulling the heavy coat around his wife. They made it barely halfway to the leaky cauldron when she tugged him into an alley and they apperated to his storefront; he removed the lock charm and opened the door, both of them drenched by the time they made it inside.

"Georgiana, what the BLAZES were you doing there?" He spun on her, ignoring the cold that made his bones ache.

He could hear her teeth chatter as he made his way around, muttering the incantation to light the candles, "Didn't- wanna-... go... for supper... home. Heard y-y-you... t-t-talking about th-p-p-pl-place."

He shook his head and marched up the stairs. Above the shop was a small sleeping quarters, the single man cot, a writing desk, a small washroom and a fire. She got her wand out and had a roaring fire as he started peeling off his clothes, "Yours off too, I think I have something of my mother's here." He looked over at his wife, her hair plastered to her skin, thinking she had never looked lovelier. Georgiana Antoinette Grey Rookwood was standing in nothing but her torn shift, the material soaked against her normally porcelain skin, which at the moment was looking almost grey, "Georgie, move." She nodded; her face had a grey look that worried him, "They didn't- they didn't hurt you..."

She shook her head as she walked past him, stepping into the shower, charming the tub to fill with hot water, "An expensive dress that is now in strips was the only true victim." He rolled his eyes at the seemingly vain comment; had he known his wife better he would have caught the mocking in her voice. She pulled her shift over her head and stepped into the steaming water, groaning as the heat warmed her bones.

He took the opportunity while she was out of the room to strip down and lay the clothing out over the fire to dry, for charms never worked as well as a fire. After looking through some old boxes he found a shift that was indeed his mother's and not of one of the girls he'd had by both before and likely after his wedding. His mind raced while he sat on the cot, the towel and the shift on his lap as he looked around the tiny, Spartan room, thinking

He didn't notice her calling him, nor did he notice her walking across the room. It wasn't until she was grabbing the towel from his lap that he looked up. She was holding the towel in front of her, but it barely covered her utterly naked and dripping form.

"I-I-I... I b-b... Beg your pardon-..." He blushed brightly as he closed his eyes and his hand shot out, holding the shift out for her. Several minutes later, she cleared her throat and he peeked, seeing her sitting on the hard wooden chair, combing her hair with an odd looking comb.

"I couldn't find a comb, so your wine goblet is doing the trick for the time."

He nodded and cleared his throat, glancing at the window, "Neither of us is getting home tonight."

She nodded, knowing she couldn't manage to appearate to the Highlands, usually going by Floo powder home from Mungo's. And the hour was too late to call upon a friend for a bed for the night. Unless they took rooms at

Leaky Cauldron, but she'd never hear the end of it from her mother to be seen there.

"Here for the night then." She groaned and settled into the chair.

His eyes glanced around the small room, only then realising he had never brought his wife past the front of the shop, the small living quarters remained his, a small private property where he could escape when he was looking for warmth, where he could sleep if work demanded his presence in town till late. Not that she noticed his absent nights from the castle, and if she did, she never mentioned it; after all, he had always been respectful of her, even if they had never seen eye to eye.

She finished combing her waist length hair and began braiding it, his eyes watching as her fingers deftly wove through the curls and tamed them into the thick braid that was slightly off centre. They sat in silence for several ticks of the clock when she began shifting in the camisole and he averted his eyes as the material pulled taut against her body.

He cleared his throat and fought for topic, facing the difficult task to actually converse with his wife. "Did-... did you eat?" He glanced out the window at the heavy rain, damning its presence for the first time, wishing they were back in the ample castle.

She shook her head, "I was-... accosted before I could." He nodded and offered her his dressing coat and his hand as he led her back down the stairs and to the corner tea stand he kept. He had some provisions, but his mind raced to his likely starving wife, knowing she didn't eat during her day at Mungo's.

He pulled her a chair up at his lab bench, clearing many of the bubbling cauldrons away with his wand as he hummed, "I'll going to pop over to the Cauldron to grab you something." She nodded demurely and let him kiss her cheek. "Don't let anyone in. And make tea." Was all he said before appearating away.

Georgie was left alone in the dingy place, looking for a pot to make tea amidst the mess that was the small kitchen, while Ben walked into the Leaky Cauldron and leaned against the counter, running a hand through his hair as he called the innkeeper.

"Tom m'boy," Ben smirked, affecting the air of someone with a few firewhiskeys on top, knowing Tom would give him more food that way, "Do ye have a sandwich or two for a poor sod?"

The bald man chuckled and gave the Rookwood kid a side-glance as he cleaned the counter, "You want bread? We've got bread... Bowl 'o stew."

Ben scratched his beard and narrowed his eyes, "anything grilled?"

Tom snorted and grabbed a carton, placing a bread bowl on it, "ya, the meat innit, t'was grilled three days ago," He poured a hearty dose of stew and handed it over, "five sickles and six knuts."

Ben nodded and fished out six sickles out of the inner pocket of his cloak, nodding at Tom as he grabbed the food, and dissapearated back to his shop with a soft pop in the air.

She had managed to find a kettle, which she boiled once, and scrubbed it clean before boiling it once more with water, summoning a tin of tea, stirring the leaves before scooping them into the strainer. The overpowering smell of slightly stale tea had her mind twisting and turning through the passing of time, to when tea had changed her life.

She had been barely out of school for a month before her mother had started shopping for a suitable husband. It was two years later, after traveling with her father and specialising in the knowledge of herbs, that she would be turning 19 and her mother couldn't have a daughter unmarried by 20. With all her wealth and connections, she knew her daughters could do better. The Grey's wealth came from Georgiana's grandfather who started a business and her father who grew that business

until his trading and banking amassed in the millions. So with her new circle, she started making social calls at Vert-Du, the Grey seat in Ireland.

She had taken tea with the rather unfortunate Dowager Rookwood, widowed for many years, but still draped in heavy black. The woman tried to keep appearances, visiting all the stately homes for tea, her name and title getting her into all the parties, along with her two children. Rosalie was several years her brother's junior and just finishing her second year at Hogwarts, Benjamin lived in London tending to the family's claim to fame, though it was no secret that "Rookwood Remedies" was nothing but a dilapidated shop in Diagon Alley, a shade of the glory it had seen with the direction of it's founder.

All the best families knew of the Rookwoods misfortune and ruin, even before the death of Benjamin Senior, who had gambled their wealth away and brought shame to the name. No invites to the stately Taileasgcoille Tower ever came anymore; the house reported to be abandoned, the Widow Rookwood residing with relatives in the West Country away from her Highland seat. Despite their financial downfalls, she remained the Dowager Countess of Dornloch, a title Mrs Grey couldn't buy.

An arrangement between the ladies was made. The Grey's youngest daughter; a handsome young girl of great potential and already a stunning career ahead of her at Mungo's as a Healer, would be wed to the Rookwood's eldest son, Benjamin, a potion maker and down on his luck fellow two years her senior.

They had taken tea at Vert-Du, surrounded by his sister and mother and her parents, sister, brother in law, younger cousins who were visiting and several neighbours to watch the courtship blood.

Both parties resented it.

Their second encounter was at his family seat of Taileasgcoille, but they did not venture too far inside the walls of the castle, as it was perpetually

under "Renovations". Her keen eyes catching the sight of missing Silver and drapes, all the signs of a withering house lacking funds to keep it going. He proposed, as instructed, by the pond under the watchful gaze of both their families; and she accepted, as instructed, under the eye of all their loved ones.

They were married three weeks later with an ornate ceremony at Vert-Du, with such pomp and décor that she was sure her mother had amassed long prior the engagement was announced.

She jumped as the kettle screamed almost at the same time the snap announced her husband returning with her supper. He placed the bowl before her as tea was poured.

"Thank you," she said demurely as she started to eat slowly.

"Youre' welcome m'dear." He said, shaking out his cloak, "And don't stand on occasion here, there's no servants to whisper to my mother, or Arthur's rock, yours." She tucked in in earnest and quickly inhaled her meal, not realising how starved she had been, only then noting it had almost been a full day she'd gone without food.

Wiping her lips on the arm of his dressing coat, she sipped her tea to wash down the salty, but good, food. "I-... I never thanked you... for saving me from those-... those... brutes."

He took the mug he presumed was his and took a healthy swig, "It's my job. I'm your husband." He shrugged as he grabbed the unlabelled bottle that was hiding in the back behind other decanters, and topping his tea with the strong whiskey. "Despite what you may think," he muttered.

She cocked her head and held her hand out for the bottle, "And what do I think?" She asked, as she used a summoning charm to take the liqueur from his hand to top her own drink.

He arched a brow and leaned back on his chair, looking at his wife, "you think I'm as brute as the men in the pub, that I care nothing for you or your well being," he took a sip of the tea and shrugged, "it's clear you don't like me Georgiana, I simply spare you of my presence as much as possible," his voice was as dispassionate as he could make it, he had decided long ago that her scorn wouldn't hurt him.

She sat down in a chair opposite him, taking a sip of her own drink, relishing the heat of the whiskey as if filled her, "Are you sure you're doing it for me? What is it about my presence you find so unattractive that you seek out your dark skinned companion and cheap girls with cheaper perfumes?" Her voice was equally chilly, he had proven to be nothing but uninterested, something that worked well enough for them.

He quirked a single bushy brow and looked at her, "why do you care, are you offering to replace them, it's not like you haven't had other men"

"I-... I would never!" She cried out indignantly and blushed brightly, but he couldn't help but smile. "I'll have you know, your wife is still an honourable woman." She turned and looked at the fire, "I- I always had this- this notion that my husband would be my one true love, it was him I wanted." He eyes cut to him, "or at least the idea of him. Why would you think I would... have... other men?"

"Because Georgiana," he fumbled with his teacup, then he looked up at her, "you're a very beautiful woman." He said with a soft certainty, his eyes tracing the sharp contours of her face, the way her cheeks hollowed and her jaw set tight when she was frustrated.

"I always presumed you thought me a hag." She shrugged and sipped her spiked tea.

"I don't find you unattractive Georgiana, quite the opposite-" the words 'most beautiful in existence' crossed his mind, but his brain omitted the words that he dare not utter, the words she wouldn't believe coming from

his lips "I never took you for wanting me in your bed." He thought himself a coward, but she needn't know that. Not that she would care.

He watched her face, the emotions passing across the fine features more quickly than he could label them. Finally she spoke. "This has been clearly bothering you since we married." He shrugged nonchalantly and her eyes narrowed, she dared not let him see how much it hurt... "So you'd have me raise your bastards instead of siring legitimate children?"

"I-... I do beg your pardon?" He snapped, glaring at her, "That is uncalled for."

"Well? Then how do you ensure your gillies don't bear your heirs?" She looked at him directly, her crystalline eyes tearing through him.

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the door, his mind pondering how far away he could get after explaining himself. Never did he think his liaisons would come to light with his wife, but here they were, talking about it. "I make sure they drink a potion to prevent that, I'm not as careless as you think me... I do want kids, but I always figured I'd have them with my wife."

The silence yawned between them and he cleared his throat, draining what was left of his tea. He looked at the empty mug and abandoned the pretence of wanting more of his stale tea, simply refilling the mug with firewhiskey, "We've been together almost a year and we know so little about each other..." He sighed, this had been bothering him since they arrived at the flat and he needed to let it out, "I feel terrible for what happened today, if you hadn't heard of the place from me..."

"It's not your fault," She said softly, but her words were firm, "no one compelled me to go but myself."

"Call it an equal share of the blame." He stood and refilled her own empty mug, leaning down to kiss her hair tenderly, the most affectionate gesture they had shared. "I am sorry for this Georgiana."

She looked up at him, her eyes soft as he sat back down, the silence once more sitting between them as they drank. "Tell me-"

"What of-" they both said at once, causing her to giggle, the whiskey warming her bones better than the bath, "You first Husband."

"Tell me about your childhood, about Ireland?" He asked, causing her to blush slightly and nodded.

"Well, we bought Vert-Du when I was very young, my sister was just walking and I was still a swaddled babe. We had a similar house south of Bordeaux that I don't recall living thereat all. We do visit it, but it is simply a vacation home now, far too small for mother's retinue. But Ireland... Oh Ireland." He could see the light glow behind her eyes as she told him of the emerald hills, the rosy sky over the ocean as the sunset faded, the terrifying cold of the lake.

He smiled when he noticed the Irish accent becoming more and more pronounced as she spoke. Her words held such an emphatic urgency that he realised she clearly missed her home.

He refilled both their cups twice before her words started to dwindle, she was near to emptying her second serving before she glanced at the clock, "Good Heavens, you let me talk for nearly an hour!"

He chuckled and drained his drink, realising the bottle was empty as he set his cup aside. "I've never heard you speak of anything you enjoy, let alone something with such... affection." His words were gentle but she still blushed brightly, which made him smile. "My dear, I think I best get you up the stairs, before I am otherwise unable to help."

He placed the empty bottle on the counter, next to other empty ones. Her eyes followed his movements but she remained silent, nursing the last of her beverage and thinking about this man just as he held out his hand to her. Her eyes met his, a hint of hesitation in hers as she held his hand.

"I'm afraid the bed is not as comfortable as the ones in Taileasgcoille Tower, but it'll have to do," his grasp was gentle and his voice soft, even if his accent thickened with the spirits and the tiredness that was evident in his frame and eyes.

Their marriage had been an inconvenient but prosperous affair for both of them and their families, and Georgiana had never warmed up towards the bushy and rough scot she was destined to share a life with. Despite her distaste for his dalliances, his proclivity for drinking, and his sullen behaviour towards her, she was thankful for not suffering the same luck as some of her friends who had married into better positions and suffered at the hands of abusive husbands.

"Georgie?" he asked, as she had been staring at him absentminded.

A soft flush tainted her porcelain cheeks and she nodded, standing and walking with him, wondering if he meant to share the small cot upstairs, "I... I'm sure it will do for us..."

His chuckle was warm and good-natured, his hand resting on the back of her shoulder, as if he was afraid she might topple after the cups of whiskey. "You seem displeased about the prospect," he pulled a couple of extra blankets, old and battered things. He tossed one at the chaise, "but worry not, my wife, you get the cot, I can sleep on the chaise," he nodded towards the small sofa.

She nodded and crawled in bed, "thank you," she mumbled as the alcohol added to the excitement of the evening, making her sleepy at once. He covered her with the other extra blanket, then he slumped across the room on the hard chaise, rubbing his beard as she got as comfortable as possible in the cot, her hair around her face coming loose as the fire softened her features, and he could tell by the way her breathing evened out when she had finally fallen asleep. He was glad when she did, he had feared the fright might keep her awake.

He was drawn to her face. The softness brought by the fire painted an image he hadn't seen since their wedding day. She had been barely 19, and so-... beautiful. Her features framed by an elegant do, the starkness of her porcelain skin against her midnight hair, her cheeks rouged and her lips rosy, her voice had been soft as they vowed themselves to each other. He could tell that their heated argument before his public proposal still lingered in her mind. The wedding finished and he took her hand, leading her from the tent to the garden where the party was to be held, but they somehow managed to sneak away alone for a few precious moments.

He watched her sigh and pluck at the mess of white covering her hair, the veil obviously causing her discomfort. "Problem?" He had asked his new bride and she shook her head, continuing to grab at the veil, "Georgiana, what is it?"

She sighed and groaned, "There's a pin stabbing my head," she pointed. "Here."

He used his considerable height and looked down, digging the pin out, frowning at the visible blood, "It's bleeding."

She shrugged and rubbed at the spot, "It'll heal. I'll put salve on it tonight."

He shook his head and glanced around, pleased that they were still alone. "Come." He pulled her with him and they walked into the grand house together, letting her lead him to her room.

He dabbed at the spot with his pocket-handkerchief, as she handed him the salve and he dotted it on, clipping the veil over the spot and hiding it with a few loose curls, "Better?"

She nodded smiling softly, "Much, I can feel it numbing now."

He extended his hand, "Lets get this horrible thing over. I want to get home before its too dark at Taileasgcoille."

She frowned and rolled her eyes as they walked the labyrinthine house. "Its always dark and cold there."

And that's where the tender moment ended. They had bickered about Scotland and Ireland for the entire duration of the walk to the party and separated soon after, ignoring each other for the rest of the night.

She had fallen asleep as his mind continued to trace back memories, her words form earlier resonating within. He had never presumed to bed her simply because he could, despite how much his friends insisted he should exercise his right and duty as husband. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, but her brash and deprecating attitude towards him, towards his home, his family, his business; it all diminished the desire he could feel towards her looks.

She had asked why he needed Martha and other girls, but he couldn't tell her the truth outright, how could he tell her that his desire increased when he was met with a willing an enthusiastic partner, when he met the same desire in the girl's eyes as he felt in his gut.

He sighed and tried to get comfortable in the chaise, rubbing his face as he stared at the fire. Martha was the girl he would have married had his father not died when he was but 15. A sweet Hufflepuff girl who had always been a good friend to him, and who had accepted the impossibility of their union once his father had died. He had wanted her, but she had been firm, she wouldn't be the warm pot where he dipped his need, but she would be his friend; the tender kisses and light touches they shared were far more than he got at home.

The moon and clouds moved on the sky and his eyes closed at times, bringing him visions of azure eyes until the sun peeked through the windows. His owl pecking the glass as it came back from the ministry with the positive response for his request to connect his chimney to the Floo Network for the day.

The clear light of day seemed pale after the rainy day, and the clouds promised another day like the previous one. Ben fed his owl and sighed, his thoughts still busy with the idea that had occurred to him soon before sunrise.

Georgie stirred and yawned, her long lashes brushing against her cheek as she stirred. "Hmm... Ow..." She grabbed at her head and groaned, "My head."

He chuckled as he climbed up off the chaise, wandering over to the small table of potions and making a concoction, before passing it to her, "This should help." She eyed the thick purple liquid and sighed before drinking it quickly. She gagged slightly and coughed as her husband laughed at her, "That's my girl!"

She blushed and glared, but her headache was indeed better. "Thanks."

He shrugged and handed over a cup of tea, sipping from his own, "Y're welcome," he looked at her and nodded, "I'll go to the cauldron to grab you some food if you want. But you should probably head home, food there is better... I'll be there after sundown."

She hummed and stood up, taking a sip of the barely acceptable tea, "I could use a good meal from Mrs McGuinneas." She looked over at him, "you're staying here?"

He nodded, "I need to open shop soon..." he fidgeted his hands and looked at her, "Georgiana... I have a request... If you would let me ask."

She cocked her head, arching a thin brow, "oh?" her mind raced, concern sweeping through for an instant, "please do, husband mine."

He blushed slightly and ran a hand along his unruly hair, "we've been together for a year now... It's come to my attention that we really aren't even remotely acquainted with each other... And it might have occurred

to you, as well as I have thought of the matter, that we are irrevocably tied together for yet many years."

She nodded and sipped her tea as she listened, not sure where he was going.

"It seems clear to me that we should try to get along better... Merlin knows we don't like each other, but maybe we can make an effort to at least know one another better..." his ears reddened, "I would like to formally ask you, if you would be so kind as to allow me to take you out for dinner this week end. A date, if it suits you."

She looked at him and seemed to weight his words carefully, after a few moments she finally spoke, "you want to go out on a date... With me?"

He nodded.

She played with a strand of her hair. "And how, pray tell, do you think that will work with your... Current companions. Wouldn't going on a date with your wife spoil your amorous entanglements?"

His brow furrowed, "there's no need to mock me, Georgie. I am honestly asking you to dinner, feel free to refuse, but please don't insult me."

She signed and reached out for his hand, holding it warmly, "I don't mean to mock or offend Benjamin." Her eyes found his, "I'm not a woman who likes to share. I simply don't do that."

He held her hand and leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on her knuckles and making her blush, "and I'm a 'one woman' kind of man... If you accept, I will only be seeing you Georgiana. No one else," he let go of her hand, afraid he was making her uncomfortable, "and its just dinner, I don't... I won't demand anything..."

Her cheeks turned red and she nodded, "yes Ben, I would gladly go for dinner with you."

He smiled, feeling an unfamiliar rush of excitement, "Th-thank you, my wife." He turned to the fireplace and tapped a small pot, "Floo is already connected; you should go home my dear."

She stood up and rested a hand on his upper arm, pulling back quickly, as if not trusting herself, "Ben, you should go home, get some sleep..."

He shook his head, "I slept enough, and I really should get started for the day," he glanced outside, "it promises to be a long one."

She stared at the fireplace, contemplating her choices. She knew he was watching and so she had to move quickly, grabbing a handful of floo powder she stepped into the fireplace, muttering softly to herself as she disappeared. He nodded as she vanished, turning around and heading down the stairs to open the shop for the day, the ancient building feeling quite empty all of a sudden.

He opened the windows, shutters and door, swept the floor and flipped the sign with his wand. He didn't notice the cat at the door as he muttered and mumbled about his day, and it was noon before he realised he was being watched.

The creature was pure white, not a speck on its body from paw to nose. Its eyes were owl like and a blue as a stormy sky. "Well aren't you a pretty thing." He muttered as it jumped up on his counter, tail flicking as it watched him. "Someone will be looking for you." It meowed softly and cuddled into his palm as he petted the cat's dewy soft fur.

The bell rang and Ben looked over, recognizing the boy, a bag under his arm, "Excuse me sir, but would you be Lord Rookwood?"

"Depends, who's asking?" Ben said, wiping his hands on the nearby cloth.

"Mister Melby sir. He's looking for his due." Ben sighed and wandered to his moneybox, swearing slightly as he realised he was short. Digging out

what he could spare, he sent the boy on his way and made a note to check over his receipts, see if he could scrounge up a few more Knuts.

The cat cooed at him and he glanced over, "You're still here? Plan on staying?" It hopped from one counter to another and chirped at him, "Very well, I'll see what I can find for you. But you stay out of my way when I'm mixing potions. Don't want your pretty coat to end up green." He chuckled as he locked up the moneybox, setting it down.

He set a saucer of milk out for the cat, a female he soon discovered, and it lapped at the liquid as he set out his wares for the day, setting about mixing several potions at once. The calendar telling him which potions brewed best under the current rising moon. He kept a dialogue with the feline as he went about his day, sharing what little he could spare from his meagre lunch, half wondering if his wife had something better from their kitchen, or if she'd even stayed. She worked a schedule that was completely her own, dictating when she went to Mungo's based on her mood with her husband.

Once he thought she despised him. Now he wasn't so sure. He glanced over at the cat as she sprawled in the sun by the window and he wandered over, sitting with her, his fingers gently digging into her silken fur as he petted her, continuing his monologue, "-I mean, then she tells me that it's me who hated her and-... I don't know. I thought I knew women. She seemed to accept my date idea pretty easily, but is she doing that because she's my wife? Or because she wants to? Who knows..."

The cat shifted to look at him, blinking slowly as if to say 'Take a breath already'. He chuckled as he petted the cat. "You know, it's been awhile since I've had a cat. It would be nice to keep one around. I'll make a deal. You keep the mice away and I'll keep a bowl out for you."

She bent to his offered hand and nudged it slightly; as if in encouragement for him to continue petting, "Square deal then." The day pressed on and the cat didn't leave, moving from sun spot to sun spot as he mixed his

potions, the rare customer that did come in bought little to nothing, or made their orders and left, allowing Ben to continue on mixing, his chats with the cat never ending.

The sun fell as he started closing up the shop, frowning down at the cat that was looking at him, sitting upright with her tail curled around her, "I should name you, if you're going to stick around." He glanced around his shop, humming for inspiration, spying some Silver King plants limp on his counter, "Silver?" She hissed and jumped up on the counter, grooming her paw. His eyes looked around as his mind raced through every possible name, till he spied his owl, Apollo returning from his hunt successfully clutching a shrew in his talons, "Hm, Apollo's sister is Artemis." He looked down and smirked, "Do you object to Artemis?" She cooed and purred, cleaning her face.

"Artemis it is." He nodded as he closed the windows and locked up.