Who: Draco Malfoy and Caz Rosier (Narrative). When: July 23rd, 1998. Evening. Where: Caz’s potion shop, which I really need to name. Knockturn Alley. What: Draco seeks a potion and some anonymity. Rating: Low.
The nightmares were becoming problematic and Draco had had enough. Most nights it was the same – The Dark Lord, his Aunt Bellatrix, a montage of other faces. Curses, blood, and generally his mother’s death, or his own - or both. They were nightmares that might not have been so bad had he not lived them out for the past year and a half. In waking time he knew it was the past, but at night, while asleep, he was reliving it over and over.
And it had to stop.
He needed sleep, before he grew wan with dark circles under his eyes once more, and he needed to know something would work before he returned to school and the dorms and people sleeping close by. Which was why he set off that evening, when darkness had fallen, in order to find a solution. He could have gone to St. Mungo’s, he knew that, but that would have required answering questions, and giving his name – not that his face wouldn’t have been recognized either. And who knew what might end up ‘slipping out’ to the media. No, he couldn’t have that.
Wearing a hood, he slipped down the street of Knockturn Alley, and fit right in there. Most people were trying to be subtle and unnoticed, and so he blended in. He knew there was a Potions Shop there, a very good one, from what he had heard, and that was what he wanted. In Knockturn Alley, they were likely to have what he wanted – and without an abundance of questions to go with.
When the shop was located, Draco slipped through the doors. There was a young man there, behind the counter, one Draco vaguely recognized from having been a couple years ahead of him at school, and one he also vaguely recognized from photographs of Death Eaters from times gone by. Not that he was one, but he looked just like his father.
“Hello,” Caz spoke in a voice that was calm and even. “Can I help you?” He studied Draco with dark eyes, taking in what he could of the hooded form. He was accustomed to such people coming into his shop, trying to hide their identities. Sometimes he let it go – it all depended on what, precisely, they were buying. Caz did want to know who was buying the potentially dangerous or deadly potions and supplies.
Draco walked up to the counter, his shoes thudding softly on the hard wood floor. “I’m looking for a Dreamless Sleep Potion. A good one,” he said in his aristocratic voice, a voice that spoke of being accustomed to getting precisely what he wanted.
Caz considered, this, briefly, before stepping around the counter. He walked down one of the aisles, beckoning Draco to follow. Pausing only when he came to a shelf that held a row of vials. The vials were made of a dark purple glass, with a poppy etched into each – poppies being the symbol of Hypnos, the Greek God of Sleep.
“This potion guarantees sleep without a single dream,” he said, taking one such vial down from the shelf and holding it out to Draco. “The effects last for at least eight hours. The potion ensures the health benefits that come from the dream stages of sleep are not removed.” The glass vial remained in his palm until Draco snatched it up with a long-fingered hand.
“Good,” he said, and then he reached for the shelf and took a great number of the vials, which only caused Caz to lift dark brows slightly. “Do you do standing orders?”
“I do,” Caz replied, turning back to return to the counter. “That requires a name, or at least, an address, unless you wish to pick it up on a regular basis.” He slipped behind the counter and waited for Draco to come up, setting down the vials so he could tally them up. He did so, and quoted a price.
“I can send someone to pick up the orders,” Draco replied as he pulled his wallet from his clock and counted the money out. His House Elf could be discreet enough, and was hardly recognizable. To the general wizarding eye, most House Elves looked the same, after all. “A weekly order.” He pulled out some more money and set it down on the counter top, sliding it across with long, pale fingers. “A sign of good faith,” he said of the money.
Caz was silent for a long moment before he reached below the counter and pulled out a thick leather-bound book. He flipped it open and picked up a quill to make notes. “I’ll put you down as Endymion,” he said as he wrote in his measured script. “Your first order will be ready next Monday.” Closing the book, he set about packaging up the vials, wrapping them carefully in paper charmed to make sure they did not clank together and break before putting it all in a non-descript bag. The bag was passed across the counter, and the money was put into the antique looking cash register.
“Good,” Draco said with a quick nod of his head beneath the hood, taking the back. “I’ll send my House Elf then.” And with that he turned and swept out of the shop, dark eyes following as he went.