fabianprewctt:
Her hasty attempts to backtrack on George’s frequent appearances at The Leaky Cauldron drew a furrow to his brow, trying to determine whether or not she was concerned that he’d misinterpreted her or whether she was covering something up. He knew now that George was a conspicuously absent figure around The Burrow, rarely venturing near the place if at all. To know he’d been stopping by The Leaky Cauldron with any regularity bore thinking about.
In spite of himself and the odd numbness on his tongue, he smiled at the sparse details settling into the lists he’d created for each of his family members, piecing in the parts of their lives he’d missed. He added Prefect and DA ? to his mental list that amounted to Ron, the baby with the quaffle-shaped head and the youngest and most beleaguered of Molly’s sons with some satisfaction. “A prefect,” he echoed, as if the thought brought him no small amount of amusement.
Hannah from Ron’s Herbology class was proving to be an endless well of helpful anecdotes.
Except, well, her reaction to his commentary about the Firewhiskey (which had taken on a most unpleasant aftertaste in the back of his throat) went from just unexpected to panic in the space of ten seconds. He watched bemused, as she disappeared behind the counter, babbling to herself about — hang on.
“Mrs Skower’s?” he repeated, blinking down at the goblet still clasped in his hand before gently sliding it away from him.
Well, that was a new one to add to the list at least. He’d never been poisoned before.
She popped up again behind the bar, eyes wide and manic and glass vials clasped between her fingers and he watched, decidedly calmer now that it became clear that she was prepared for such an eventuality. It must happen all the time — he wouldn’t be surprised to hear of accidental poisonings coming out of The Black Shuck’s doors. He waited as she squinted at her potion vials and settled on one.
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he offered mildly as he reached for the vial and uncorked it, wrinkling his nose before decisively necking it with a wrinkle of his nose. He’d learned long ago that potions were rarely worth savouring the taste. “Easy mistake to make, I’m sure.”
It took only a moment of saying the words, of setting the potion vial down before a decidedly more familiar sensation began to creep up his throat, his fingers and lips tingling with the promise of—
“This,” his throat croaked and he took a deep, wheezing breath that whistled on it’s way out uncomfortably, his fingers raising towards his throat subconsciously as the glass vial dropped between his fingers back onto the bar, “There isn’t—”, oh, there definitely was, “Mandrake .. Root?”
Smiling at Fabian in what she hopes is a reassuring manner, but is probably more akin to the smile of someone who had never really learnt to smile, Hannah goes back to her aimless polishing; finding herself filled with the urge to keep busy but wanting to keep talking at the same time. This was, after all, the biggest perk of her job: the kinds of people she was able to meet for such brief periods of time.
“A prefect,” she echoes with a casual shrug. The badge itself had been a piece of honour for Hannah herself, even with the heavy shadow it had brought onto their house. There was no denying that the ghost of Cedric Diggory had lingered for the entirety of that year and beyond. “He and Hermione. Granger, that is. I don’t know if you’ve met her, maybe you have. They’re close. I think people were surprised, that it was him, I think, but he made it work.”
It was odd, Hannah thought, to be discussing these people with such casual knowledge. She knew them, of course, it would be hard not to with the number of Dumbledore’s Army catch-ups they had had over the years, but she had always felt so out of place at these gatherings. It was difficult, after all, when it seemed everyone was moving on with their lives and she was standing still.
Her heart practically in her throat, Hannah can hear the high pitch that her voice lifts to, unable to stop the panic that floods her body and stiffens her limbs. How could she have been so stupid? Hands shaking as she fumbles for the antidote, Hannah forces several deep breaths that are too shallow to help with any form of calm, thanking whatever higher being there was that she was a highly paranoid person who thought a well-stocked potions kit was something that needed to be carried at all times.
Hands clasped tightly enough to see the whites of her knuckles, Hannah watches anxiously as Fabian drinks the potion, her eyes mapping every inch of his face in case he were to suddenly drop dead right in front of her. For the second time in his life. “A stupid mistake to make,” she mumbles, “I’m so so sorry…”
Her frantic apologies are soon interrupted by Fabian’s strangled remark, and Hannah’s eyes widen even more than they already had been, a movement that somewhat aches. “Yes? It’s a standard ingr-oh no,” her voice drops to a weak moan, “Oh no, what have I done.”















