Hermione was enjoying the lovely fall morning next to her potions table. Not that she could ever really feel the seasons in her lab. Everything was perfected isolated, after all a stray oak leaf could cause an explosion in the wrong cauldron.

She had spent the better part of a week perfecting the base of her cure-all potion. She really was sick of the misnomer as it should have really been called cure-most. However, after hours upon hours of diluting and titrating she had gotten it to cover all muggle aliments; however, she still needed one more ingredient to finish the magic aliments half of the potion. She needed a flyer and she was running out of time. Why was she so useless on a broom?

Regardless, it was time for a break. Her tea pot steamed on the burner a table over. She happily called it over and ordered it to pour into her waiting mug of bagged spices. A nice black tea, for this (assumedly brisk) autumn day.

However, as the way tends to be with her work, before she could so much as sip her drink a rather annoying bell rang by her floo. She considered ignoring it for a moment, but the second round was enough to pull her away from her drink.

With a sigh, she glanced at the base of the bell that had fallen silent. The plaque below stated INDIA prompting her to grab a loose hanging scarf from her coat rack. With a mildly irate yank she wrapped the scarf around her, feeling the charms take hold as she slipped into another skin before stepping into the floo before her tea had even stopped steaming.

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Draco was sick of this rotting place. It was always hot. The food all burned. There was dirt everywhere and not nearly enough alcohol to tolerate. But, oh yes, he did try. Which is precisely how he found himself sweating, unhappy, and grilling the portly man named Timbala in front of him for answers

"This is your bottle yes?" He tapped, possibly slammed, the potions container on the counter. The embossed three-eyed cat head matched the ragged wooden sign swinging outside the door.

"Yes, sir it is." The man was a wall. He did not fall to any bribes, threats, or general grandstanding. It threw Draco out of his element.

"Then you made this skele-grow, yes?" He was speaking so slowly one would assume his many-tongues potion was malfunctioning. But no, it was just the seething rage of being stuck in a hot shop with no answers.

"No, I did not make that potion." Draco was ready to swing at the man. He was burly and the way him arms were crossed promised that Draco shouldn't act on that impulse. But oh, he wanted to.

"Then. Who. Did." Don't hit him. Don't hit him.

"Not, I." Replied the man behind the counter. Again. For the fourth time.

"If you didn't then who did!" Deep breaths were all that was keeping him from exploding.

"The owner of the shop." Draco started at this. A new answer possibly? A way out of this looping conversation.

"Fantastic! Who is that?"

"Not I!" Draco was contemplating hitting him anyway when an elder woman breezed in. Her long black hair was braided back and fell down her right shoulder. It was streaked with grey and her wrinkled face wreaked of wisdom.

"She is." Draco sent one more look of pure hatred at the shopkeep before turning his full attention to the new comer. A deep green Sari was embossed with vibrant gold, a small detail but indicated a taste for the lavish. Considering the state of the shop that is something he could work with.

"Hello, I am Ahmi. I hear you had some questions?" Draco was always better with women. He blamed years of his mother's horrid social events. They just ate his charm right up.

"I do. I appreciate your kindness in assisting me." Draco ignored the scoff from the shopkeep and focused his attention on the new target. "Is there a way I could speak with such a lovely creature like yourself in private?"

"There is a parlor in back. Please join me for tea." She spun around and passed through a curtain clearly inviting him to follow. He smirked one more time at the shopkeep who, for the first time since Draco entered the dark shop, had a suspicious smile on his face. Draco desperately hoped he wasn't in charge of the tea.

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At first Herminone had frozen. It had been a long time since she felt the unadulterated fear of the war. It was only her cold and calculating logic that brought her back to reality. She listened to Timbala give him the work around for what must have been at least a third time by the sound of the youngest Malfoy's tone. He might have called her in on her day off but sometimes she did love that man.

She breezed into the room in her sari. The shift in attitude was immediately perceptible. She ignored the false charms and smiles and called him back to the parlor to deal with in private. After all, what could he want with a poor apothecary.

She lead him through the dark wooden building past rows of potions, ingredients, teas and other stock both magical and muggle. When she was sure he was thoroughly lost from the corridors charm she turned into the parlor.

It was the whole reason she selected this building after all. She renovated the rest of it to fit her needs but she left this parlor exactly the same. Spices and ingredients hung from wooden support beams and the fire in the floo provided just enough light to make out the sturdy wooden table, two chairs and a basic kitchen.

Taking the chair furthest from the door she waited for her old classmate to sit. He was clearly over confident in his abilities to woo her.

"Ms?" He started confidently, but she was willing to play the game.

"You may call me Ahmi." She responded as she gestured her wand at the kettle on the stove. It may be significantly warmer but she still wanted her tea. "Why are you here, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Ah, you know of me?" He smiled confidently and Hermione had to resist rolling her eyes.

"Of your family, yes. But the last time I inquired they had no interest in Dehli."

"No, we tend to stay on our side of the pond, or two." He chuckled in a way that she was sure was somewhat endearing but in her experience, Malfoy laughing was never good.

"So then, what are you doing in my shop." The kettle screamed and she called over two tea cups and two of the bags she stored in the pantry. As an afterthought she called over some milk and sugar. No reason to be impolite.

"Well you see that's a rather interesting story." She raised an eye brow as she poured his tea first before her own. Leaning back she gestured to go on.

"Well I happened to injure myself while visiting some of the local temples." Hermione was sure that if Malfoy was wandering the streets of Delhi he was not visiting temples. "And as it would happen, I slipped down some steps and broke my arm."

"You should be more careful. Blood spilt in the temples can be considered a promise to the gods." He confidently waved her off.

"Well, unfortunately we were out quite late and none of the major magical medical centers happen to be open. By pure chance we happen upon a local emergency clinic." Hermione was mildly irate. She had set up those clinics for locals in need of care, not drunken vagrants too pissed to stand straight.

"After a sizeable donation they agreed to give me some skele-gro for my arm. Of course, I was reluctant to take it and would have much rather seen a healer. However, you really can't risk time with these things, can you?"

"I suppose you cannot, Mr. Malfoy." He was including her in all the right places. Just enough input to feel active in the conversation but not enough to actually contribute. As if even a second wasted on anything she were to say would be a tragedy.

"Well, as my friends and I prepared for a night of foul tasting suffering."

"Most likely by the addition of more alcohol." Herminone thought to herself.

"When, low and behold, while the bitter flavor of skele-gro was still toe curling, there was no pain! You could imagine the shock as, across the pond, ours comes with a night of screaming."

"That is the second time he has used "Across the pond"? What a pretentious- Does this even ever work on anyone?" She was quite enjoying her tea after all. She had gotten quite the surprise show with it.

"And so, I went back to this small clinic in disbelief as my arm had completely healed!" He clearly meant it as a compliment but it came off more as an insult to the very clinic she trained.

"That tends to be the point of skele-grow, is it not?" Somewhat stalled he half chuckled and nodded along.

"Indeed. Well after some pestering they gave me the bottle, which led me straight to this shop." Hermione could not help the look of skeptism that crossed her face. 'This shop' is almost impossible to find unless you know what you are looking for or truly in need. He probably bribed or threatened his way here.

"And I just must know how you have done it!" Hermione reacted genuinely to that one. It is a well-known practice within the industry not to ask other potioneers how potions are made without genuine interest. She sipped her tea as he clearly waited in anticipation.

"Well, for emergency breaks there is no need to regrow the whole bone." To her surprise he zeroed in, fully focused on her response. "Thus we are able to dilute the tonic to allow slower recalcification of the bone."

"Yes? Do go on." Somewhat skeptical she continued her explanation as he followed every word closely.

"Since the calcium is not being pulled from the surrounding cells in such large amounts, as is needed to grow bones, it is much less painful. It is a process that takes about the same time as a full regrowth treatment but significantly less pain."

"Pardon, I am not quite aware what a cell is." He asked with curiosity in his eyes. For a moment Hermione thought of him as a human.

"Basic building blocks of all human and animal tissue."

"Pardon?" The hint of impatience in his voice reminded her of who she was talking to. Pulled from the moment she quite remembered that she has no obligation to help the man in front of her.

"It is quite more than I am up to explaining today. I appreciate your interest but I have some things to work on."

"That is perfectly fine, I can come back. I will be here all week!" He replied in a cheery voice but there was an underlying hint of ice.

"I will be out of the country for the next few weeks unfortunately."

"I can floo in. Cost is hardly a concern."

"I am a very busy woman." She responded firmly.

"Then I will pay for your time." He responded flatly. The cordial conversation was over and it was time to get to the meat of things.

"I am aware of who you are Mr. Malfoy. Not just of your name, but who you are, what you did and what you do. What exactly does a corporate giant like yourself want with my little old potions shop." Clearly sensing the shift in mood Malfoy dropped his act too.

"You think I want this rickety old place? Hardly."

"Then why are you here? You want my recipe for skele-gro? I find that hard to believe as it's hardly profitable." As a rule, the standard formula was regulated by the ministry and would never be allowed to be sold above a certain price as it is a 'vital-to-life potion'.

"I want to know how you did it. Consider it a side project of mine." He replied simply sipping his tea. "Excellent tea by the way."

"Why?"

"Because," he paused for a second as if to formulate a thought. "You make it better than me. And that drives me insane."

"Pardon?" It was Hermione's turn to baulk. A Malfoy, admitting an unknown was better than him? Call the Prophet the mogul has lost his mind.

"I want to know. I want to get better. I want to learn."

"Well then you will be left wanting then. Now if you'll excuse me." She pushed her chair back in an act that felt oddly similar to running away when his hand caught hers.

"You seem to hate me quite a bit for someone who doesn't know me."

"I know you. I know what you have done. Your attitude shows what a selfish spoiled child you are. Well, for once, you won't be getting what you want." She ripped her hand away and headed towards the door.

"You may know of me. But, while we are tossing around accusations. you are not who you say you are either Ms. Ahmi."