Disclaimer: All rights to the series 'Harry Potter' belong to J.K Rowling

With an unnervingly loud clang, the bell affixed over the apothecary's door signaled her entrance. Eileen Prince did not find this bell ringing pleasant – it was associated with angry and rude customers who had come to disturb her peace. It was the middle of a calm Sunday and the tranquil day made her feel a blend of excitement, worry and calmness.

Eileen, perched on a rickety stool behind the counter, was meticulously wiping down a row of glass phials filled with shimmering, iridescent liquids.

The room smelled amalgamated from multiple different things with known and unknown origins. Dried herbs, broken dragon scales and boiling potions filled the atmosphere with their team and setting smell which when combined felt a bit overwhelming. While illuminated with a sole lamp, the room seemed filled with dancing shadows and was contained with shelves stocked full of strange materials. While the dim light flickeled, the layers of dust on the shelves was exposed alongside the strange but captivating ingredients.

The figure silhouetted in the doorway was unmistakable. Tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating an aura of barely restrained power, Carver filled the entrance. His arms, thick as tree trunks, were canvases of intricate tattoos, swirling patterns of dragons, rune symbols, and serpentine creatures that told a silent story of battles fought and victories claimed.

He would have been considered handsome, perhaps even strikingly so, if not for the jagged scar that slashed diagonally across his left cheek, a permanent reminder of the brutal realities of Knockturn Alley.

"Eileen," he said in a low rumble that reverberated throughout the tiny store. The air seemed to change and get thicker as he entered. "I see you're keeping yourself busy."

A glimmer of a smile played on Eileen's lips as she straightened. "Carver. Always enjoyable. Or, in any case, how much fun it can be to do business with people like you."

He laughed and walked over to the counter. "Careful, Eileen," he said. His eyes, a striking shade of grey, were sparkling with laughter as he rested his weight on the scarred wood. "You'll hurt my sensitive feelings."

Their relationship, as good as it was, thrived on a deep understanding between them.

For years, Eileen had been crafting and supplying Carver with some seriously addictive potions for his more… selective clientele. In exchange, Carver, one of the five notorious leaders of Knockturn Alley's criminal scene, had ensured her shop was under his protection. No petty thief, disgruntled customer, or rival gang member would dare step foot in Eileen's shop, fully aware that the repercussions would be swift and merciless.

"Sensitive?" Eileen chuckled, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You? That's a good one. I'd sooner believe a Dementor could whip up a Patronus."

"Ouch, Eileen, that stings," Carver replied, feigning a dramatic wince. "I'm truly hurt. But I'll push through. I'm here for my usual, you know. The… midnight brew."

"You're talking about the Draught of Living Death," Eileen said, her voice a bit gentler. "It's still brewing. Give it a few more days. The valerian root I got wasn't great. It needed extra work."

Carver gave a nod, his face blank. "I see. Quality matters most for that specific brew. My customers are... picky."

He stopped, his large hand moving across the counter's top and brushed off some dust. "You know, Eileen, you could've been living it up, with gold and jewels all around you. But here you are, working hard in this small dusty shop in the middle of dark place."

"It's like I had a choice," Eileen shot back, a touch of anger in her voice. "And this small dusty shop in the middle of nowhere as you put it. Well, it's mine. I made it. Anyway," she added, her eyes lighting up a bit, "who else would keep you stocked with the things you need?"

"You're right," Carver admitted, his lips curling into a slight grin. "Besides. I'd be clueless without your special kind of magic Eileen."

"Flattery? Really? That won't work on me, Carver," she shot back, but her tone gave away her enjoyment. "Still, I can't deny it feels good to hear someone recognize my skills even if it's coming from a fancy thug."

"Thug? That's just harsh," Carver objected pretending to be hurt. "I'd rather call myself a 'business-minded wizard' if you don't mind."

Their back-and-forth, a well-known routine of teasing jabs and hidden praise, came to a sudden halt. Eileen bent over without warning, a harsh cough bursting from her lungs. It made a loud rattling noise that seemed to shake her thin body.

"Eileen, you okay?" Carver moved closer, his usual self-assured attitude giving way to real worry. He tried to help her stay upright, his big hand wavering near her arm.

"No!" Eileen wheezed shoving him away. She dug in her pocket taking out a tiny corked bottle. The Potion of Soothing Draught was a must-have in her toolkit, a quick remedy for the annoying fumes and unstable chemicals she always worked with. She swallowed it in one go, the sweet liquid scorching its way down her throat.

The coughing slowed, leaving her breathless and faint. She leaned against a nearby the counter, her chest heaving in air. Sweat had formed on her brow.

"What was that?" Carver asked, his brow furrowed with worry. "Are you ill?"

Eileen forced a weak smile. "Just a touch of the Knockturn Flu," she lied. "Nothing you need to worry about."

Her dark eyes peered down at the hand she had coughed into. It was speckled with tiny droplets of crimson. Blood against the pale skin. Her heart dropped. She quickly pushed the feeling aside and swiftly wiped her hand with a handkerchief, crumpling the fabric in her fist tightly. She hoped Carver hadn't noticed, but she knew better. His eyes saw everything.

He stepped closer, his gaze steady and unyielding. "Don't lie to me, Eileen. Please. "

Dark eyes met grey and she saw the look of worry flicker. Realizing there was no way to keep it from him, not after he saw one of her bad coughing fits. Carver had always had a knack for noticing things, always so perceptive but even a blind man could tell there was something wrong.

"It's… nothing you need to worry about," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… a cough. I've had it for a while now."

"A cough that brings up blood?" Carver pressed, his grey eyes narrowing in concern. "That doesn't sound like just a cough, Eileen."

She let out a sigh, feeling the fight leave her. "It's… a bit more complicated than that."

"Complicated how?"

Eileen sighed again, her shoulders drooping. "It's… it's been going on for a while. I've seen a healer, but…" she trailed off, unable to voice the grim reality.

Carver stayed quiet, allowing her the space to find the right words. He knew she wouldn't share more than she was ready to.

"He said it's… some sort of lung issue. Not curable, but manageable," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible. She didn't mention that the healer had used terms like "unstable magic" and "deteriorating condition." She kept to herself the fear that the rare magical ingredients she used in her potions might be slowly poisoning her.

He reached toward her again, this time ignoring her initial resistance. He gently took her hand in his, his large fingers enveloping hers. His touch, surprisingly gentle, was grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling within her.

"Does Severus know?" he asked, his voice soft.

She recoiled and buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Oh, gods," she whispered, her voice muffled. "I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to tell him? He's… he has so much on his plate already. He has OWLs to think about...I...I can't...I just can't."

Carver watched her, his face etched with concern. He knew how much Severus meant to her, how fiercely protective she was of her only child. The thought of him losing his mother, especially at such a young age and without a father. It was unbearable.

He stepped closer, placing a comforting hand on her back. "You'll tell him when you're ready," he said, his voice low and soothing. ""He'll understand."

Eileen scoffed, a brittle, humorless sound. "Understand? Children his age barely understand advanced potion-making, let alone the complexities of life and death. And what kind of life is he going to have if... when I'm gone?"

Carver was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on her. "He'll be alright, Eileen. He's got your strength in him. And… and he's got me. I will continue to look out for him, you have my word,"

"I hope you haven't corrupted my boy too much already," she retorted, a faint smile gracing her lips.

Carver chuckled. "Corrupted? I've merely instilled in him a few… survival skills."

"Survival skills? Like knowing how to throw a punch?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, you never know when that might come in handy, especially around here," Carver defended himself. "Besides, he's a bright lad, quick on his feet. He'll do just fine."

A silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Carver moved closer, until their shoulders almost touched. Eileen could feel the heat radiating from his body, a strange comfort in the chill of the shop. Her heart beat faster in her ears, a frantic rhythm against the quiet hum of the magical artifacts surrounding them.

"Thank you, Carver," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "For… for everything."

He simply nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering.

Eileen forced herself to break the spell. She straightened up, taking a deep breath. "Right," she said, her voice regaining some of its former strength. "Business. The Draught of Living Death. It will be ready on time, as always."

She quickly wrapped up the arrangements with Carver, finalizing the details of the transaction with a forced professionalism that barely concealed the turmoil within her.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her. "Eileen," he said, his voice low and serious. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," she replied, offering him a weak smile.

She watched him disappear into the shadows of Knockturn Alley, his imposing figure swallowed by the darkness.

As the bell above the door jingled again, signaling his departure, Eileen let out a shaky sigh. Then, she turned back to her work.

A/N: I can't imagine living in Knockturn Alley would do any wonders for someone's health. Thus the Knockturn Flu is an addition to express how common poor health is in that environment.

Carver was initially supposed to appear earlier but I think he's better of here. The five heads of crime in Knockturn Alley is plucked out of the five families that ran the mafia.

Anyway. I hope you liked the chapter. I wanted to mention that I cross post and you can find the story on AO3.

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