An Aquatic Encounter

The combined swagger of Ducky Baker and Beverly Kelley was indeed a fearsome thing to behold. The two boys were back at it again with summer beckoning them into a few months of even less responsibilities than the boys took on. Beverly only had one more year at the magical reform school and he would graduate – the first in his family to graduate… well, graduate anything really. Bev’s dad was a friend turned enemy of Ducky’s father (though lawyers would simplify the term to accomplice) and the two had been fast friends since they were young. And, of course, if a lawyer was asked, they too would be considered legal accomplices.

Beverly had passed his apparition test with flying colors (the only test he had ever been given such high marks for, truly) and he now apparated himself and his friend to Diagon Alley. The two did not have any plans, no money, and no reservations. It was a dangerous combination, but one they were quite familiar with. Ducky would have called up his school friends, but he knew that Bev was a harder pill to swallow than they were used to. He tried to imagine Tris or Finn getting along with the boy – it wasn’t possible. Alisha might find herself a soulmate in Bev. And Nora could do it but… Nora could do anything as far as he was concerned.

No, he would enjoy his rough-and-tough friend on his own today. They hadn’t made a plan of attack but Ducky knew what it was going to be. They would dine and dash, wander through shops where Bev would take more than he should, and they would have to make a hasty retreat once they were discovered. With his determination to rise above the standards of his father and brother, Ducky knew that letting himself get into such trouble was highly irresponsible. And yet, he forgot this when he was with Bev. Everyone had that friend that brought out the worse in them. And Bev and Ducky mutually shared that trait with each other.

Bev’s eyes were hard on Spark’s. “I could do for some baked goods. How about you, Jo-“

Ducky thumped him on the back. “Oi. What’d I tell you?”

Bev threw his arms up in the air, looking highly affronted. “Jesus, Mary, Moses – sooooo-rry. Slipped. I forgot that I’m on your territory now.” He smirked and a leg shot out. Ducky hopped over it with as much grace as he could which, naturally, threw Bev into a rage. He leaped atop Ducky’s back, who responded by spinning around as fast as he could. There was a metallic clang as Bev’s feet collided with a trash can. Bev sprung off of him before pulling him into a headlock. As Ducky worked on stomping on his friend’s feet, he looked up.

He was outside the Apothecary and, through the window, he could see a gorgeous blonde. He stopped, before straightening up with a strength he had not been exhibiting before, yanking Bev’s arm upward. “Hey, what-“ Bev looked forward too, catching sight of what Ducky had seen.

“Holy f*ck.”

With that, Bev was striding forward to yank the door open. Ducky snatched his wrist and twirled him towards him. “Dibs.”

“No!” Bev said, practically shouting. “You always pull that! That’s not how it works!”

“Double dibs!”

Bev gave Ducky a challenging stare, long and hard. Suddenly, he reached out, attempting to swat his friend, but Ducky’s other hand batted him away. Defeat filled Bev’s shoulders and they sagged beneath the way, a scowl twisting across his face. “Fine. Ten minutes, then I’m barging in and picking up the pieces of your failed conquest.” He yanked his arm away with as much dignity as he could, before plunging his hands into his pockets, strolling away with his chin high in the air.

Ducky grinned and retrieved his glasses, which had fallen during the scuffle. He folded them up and tucked them in between two buttons in his shirt. He quickly reached up to flatten his hair, before brushing off the dust he and Bev had stirred up. He entered the shop, and quickly dodged behind a shelf, beginning his perusal.

He casually made his way towards the front, eyes sliding over labels and bottles without really taking anything in. He rounded another row of shelves, and found himself revealed to the eyes of the girl that had tempted him inside. He turned to look at her, realizing he knew her from school. A Ravenclaw. In fact, a girl his age. Malfoy, if he was right. He smiled widely at her, one of his hands reaching up to catch up a large jar full of... something. "I came in here just... in the hopes that something would strike my fancy," he said, smiling throughout it. "I like... this. These..." his eyes flicked to the label, "mute eyes." The words were out and he knew they were wrong. He did a double take, quickly saying, "Newt eyes! Yes, newt eyes."

Class clown. Gryffindor. Yes, she knew him. She was loathe to be kind to him, too, but if she could sell him the so-called ‘mute eyes’ and get the sickles from his pocket into the till then she would be a happy, well paid lady who could stew over the encounter later and, to make up for having to be pleasant, she could buy her dress and a pair of shoes and go to the party at the weekend feeling somewhat more at home than she did in the oppressive semi-darkness of the apothecary that was rendering her a curly haired, sweaty mess to be brutally frank. A shower was in order, at the very least. She was considering spending an hour scrubbing her skin clear. Thankfully, her grandmother wouldn’t mind much, Isadora knew, for the woman would be just going out to her own soiree by the time her granddaughter got in. For a few hours, at least, the townhouse would be hers to rule over – which loosely translated into pyjamas, a good book and a cup of tea.

Until then, however, she had an errant Gryffindork to contend with and though the smile on her mouth was maintained she couldn’t help but wonder to what end had he even entered the apothecary in the first place when he seemed to have very little knowledge of potions ingredients in the first place. That little purple sticker on the cap? That denoted newt eyes. Why he didn’t know that puzzled Isadora, more so than the eventuality of her connecting his lack of knowledge with the entrance into the shop. She certainly wasn’t going to pour over every single ingredient, explaining in baleful pidgin English exactly what each bottle contained and what the inhabitants did to a potion. No, that was ridiculous – especially given as first year potions class should have instilled him with that information. It wasn’t her place. No, she was to sell him the newt-cum-mute eyes and send him on his way. That was her task. Then she could return to her sandwich and to the potion which was, as ever, taking its sweet merry time.

Let’s not even start with the shirt. Oh no, why not? It was hideous, in Isadora’s opinion, though we must bear in mind that here is a girl brought up not to be ostentatious – a rather impeding trait upon her nature as a Malfoy. Nevertheless, she loathed it, found it distasteful and rude. She couldn’t help but mentally concede that perhaps that was wrong of her – that perhaps the fault lie in her own good self rather than anyone else. Regardless though, she told herself that the pale purple dress in the shop window with no frills and embellishments was the one for her rather than the diamond encrusted gold spectacular which set her teeth on edge rather than sending her flying to her grandfather, asking desperately for the money to purchase it. No, she would rather have preferred a normal, green shirt for the boy before her, blue shorts without the pattern and plain black socks. That would have been better. Yet, at the same time she knew it wouldn’t have suited him at all – just as this black smock loathed her, also.

“You’re in the wrong shop if you’re looking for something that will strike your fancy,” Isadora responded formally, folding her arms over her chest, her fingers absently rolling at one of the ruby rings she wore, betraying a slight tremor of nervousness within her that she could neither place nor account for.

It wasn’t that she was intimidated – no, of course not, that was silly – but she’d never had to balance so awkwardly the derision she would have usually shown the Gryffindor(k) in school with the easy pleasantries that she had to show off so airily to the customers. Her being kind and perhaps too helpful in places was what had gotten her tips, was what had gotten her regular customers. It wasn’t that she wanted to make a regular customer out of this person but at the same time she couldn’t have him going out telling everyone about the awful cashier in the apothecary. That wouldn’t do at all. Malfoys don’t get fired. So, she had to save her words – which were a little brusque despite her desire to retain an even tone.

“It’s just you need,” Isadora’s tongue brushed out over her lower lip, the two slithers of rosy skin smudging together briefly before parting once more to make way for awkward, stunted language, “you need to know what you’re going to be brewing – otherwise you could buy things that aren’t meant to even be next to each other on a shelf because of their volatility so…”

Isadora stifled herself and passed a hand over the skirt of her dress, brushing away any lint – albeit invisible, for she kept herself clean and proper – that might have been clinging there. Her hand then went to her head, curling a little bit more hair behind her ear. Her wand, not in her pocket, was what she reached for next but her hand ended up just falling to her hip which she brushed at again under the pretence of grooming herself a little more. In truth she felt like she was going to collapse. She only just managed to stop herself from scuffing her feet and looking like a lout but nevertheless she could feel the confusion and stress bubbling up with in her. If she did stay on her feet, it would be a miracle.

“I-if you’re shopping for school,” Isadora managed to get out, “then if you’d like to follow me we’ve got the ingredients set out over here…”

Turning on her heel, Isadora motored off, trying to stop herself from running, screaming, to whatever nearby hills there were. She knew better than that, though. Even her grandfather, a man tolerant to her peculiarities, would have leave to fix her with a rather strange look if he ever saw her run. Screaming he’d dealt with for he’d had to nurse her out of that more than his fair share of times when she was a babe in arms but running was not something she did, not as a Malfoy and not as Isadora Malfoy. It simply wasn’t something she did. Unless of course it was in pursuit of exercise but even then it was a rarity to see Isadora with her feet in anything other than prim shoes. Let’s not even talk about trousers or sweat pants or whatever they were called. It just didn’t happen.

Isadora came to a stop in front of the slightly messy stand exhibiting all of the ingredients for Hogwarts brewing – from first to seventh year it was all there. She knew that the boy/man/duck/whatever was in her year and thus her eyes fell to the sixth year part of the stand where her hand immediately shot out to make level the sign that had sagged, advertising rather aptly the draught of living death – the sign itself looked as though it had gone the same way.

“S-so,” Isadora bobbed a little on the balls of her feet, anxiety betraying her again as she began to drum her fingers idly on the top of the sign, succeeding only in sending it further off course than before. “Wormwood, asphodel root, sloth brain, sopophorous bean… um, fluxweed, knotgrass, lacewing flies, leeches, horn of bicorn, boomslang – uh, with the hair of whoever you want to turn into that will make polyjuice … the first set was the draught of living death. Here are the Amortentia ingredients Oh, and shrievelfig, porcupine quills, peppermint and some more beans and wormwood … that’ll be good for the euphoria elixir. Then a simple shrinking solution… everything bar rat spleens at the moment. If you want them you’ll have to get it the old fashioned way, I’m afraid.”

And this was where her helpfulness ran out. Isadora had nothing else to say. She let her hand drop, her fingers reaching to pull idly at the hem of her dress, and she looked at the boy before her, wondering what in Merlin’s name he was doing buying ingredients this early. She discounted herself from the dismay as she was always timely and would no doubt use and replace the ingredients before she returned to school – but she was always punctual in that respect. No one who failed to notice that they were holding newt eyes could be that eager to stock up as early as the second week of summer break. Was that all? It had only been two weeks. Isadora was loathe to consider the idea that she had another month of feeling sticky and smelling like tar with a faint hint of her lavender soap. She did, as a matter of fact, want to go to the beach, sit with her friends and go to parties. This was not her idea of heaven. Why her grandfather had thought this would be character building in the first place was beyond her. This was terrible.

His flawless strut seemed to have been broken momentarily, thrown off by being in a place where he was definitely set at a disadvantage. But Ducky was always quick on the rebound. Sure, he was at a marked disadvantage. But he had plenty of assets to help him. He had confidence, that quality that women always claimed was key. He had a pretty face, a truth many a girl had assured him of. His forearms – big assets. He had his undeniable skills of friendly conversation and charm that had been given to him in birth. His shirt was, well, magnificent. And, well, he was Ducky Baker. That was enough of an advantage as any to ensure he did not completely strike out.

Besides… If he did, he had to face Bev. And his determination to ensure he did not face that could move mountains.

He obviously had not made a very good impression, according to her statement. He ticked his head, smiling nevertheless, but unafraid of letting her know that the slight had registered. He knew he could be a bit foolish, but that did not make him a fool. It made him a good, yes, but not an idiot. Not when it came to the stuff that mattered, anyway. Friendship, romance, acquaintances, general interactions and conversation. Ducky was used to being looked upon as the moron by the professors, and he was not fond of the sentiment being sincerely taken as truth by his peers. So with weight in each word, kind but edged with the bitterness that this reputation brought, he smiled and said, “Well, I don’t know about that.”

He came back from it quickly , it was the Duckian thing to do after all, and followed her where she led. She was looking highly uncomfortable so he took advantage of her turned back to look into the reflective surface of a nearby flask. There was no evidence of a spell put on by Bev to unsettle the Malfoy girl, and that meant… she really wasn’t at all charmed by him. Or, the more likely reason, she was unsettled for other reasons. He clung to the latter, for it would be disastrous to the poor boy’s sanity to find that he could be so easily disliked based on impressions alone.

So he followed, clasping brightly onto this final thread of hope, following where the thread led deep into the store. She spoke, but it was uncertain, lacking confidence. He did not think she had properly looked him in the face once since he had entered the shop. Now, he was not as cocky as he let on. He knew there were prettier faces out there, but he doubted he was so horrendous as to not deserve even a glance his way.

He had to steer the conversation from Potions – he had no chance if that’s what they would be discussing. So he segued with all the ease and gentility hehad within him.

“I know you from Hogwarts,” he stated. He paused, and then let out a little laugh. “Sorry – I just… I had to say it. I actually came in to ask about that. The newt eyes… distracted me… momentarily, of course.” He smiled, offering out a friendly hand and an even friendlier smile. “Ducky Baker, in case we haven’t met before. I think I would have remembered.”

Wide, saucer eyes peeked up beneath pale lashes at the taller boy before the young apothecary witch. Swallowing back any reluctance she felt towards social interaction with someone she truly didn’t know any better than some of the other strangers that she passed in the hallways, Isadora stood up a little taller, bringing her feet together. She smoothed her lips against each other and blinked briefly before spreading her mouth into a bright smile that was tugged up over the sparkling white teeth she hid behind the soft scarlet skin.

Glancing down at the offered hand, Isadora took out her own from behind her back, slipping her long fingers carefully into the warm palm of … Ducky. Oh, no, now she knew who this was. Nevertheless she maintained her smile and shook his hand briefly before dropping it out of his palm, retracting it back to her side once more. She looked away after a moment, her eyes spying the disorder on one of the shelves bearing pots of ashwinder eggs. Then, of course, it occurred to her that she needed to respond to the pleasantry and she looked up again.

“Uh, sorry. Isadora Malfoy,” she introduced herself briskly, adding, “it’s nice to meet you.”

She meant it too. The socialite in her always enjoyed meeting new people but there was an innate sensibility within her, one which accused that he was not quite the type of person she’d usually be seen with. In fact, the very opposite of the type of person she preferred to be with and around. Yet, in that she found it somewhat refreshing, imagining in the back of her mind what her mother would say if she saw her daughter through the grimy windows talking to a half-blood, and a half-blood nobody in particular. She was loathe to admit in her instilled ability to pick them out but Isadora knew the names of everyone who attended the society balls. Ducky Baker hadn’t been on any of the rosters – ergo he was no one, which was the way it worked. But of course he was someone. It wasn’t as cut and dry as that.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” She asked.

Ducky wasn't sure what was so difficult about speaking to this girl. He wasn't sure he was used to this sort of reception - polite. Sure, he had people who liked him, but he would never describe the way he was treated as polite. People always seemed to be comfortable around him, free to be whoever the hell they felt like being. Even the people who considered him an enemy or an annoyance felt comfortable around him. People rarely restrained themselves around him, or spoke as though they had to consider each word. He naturally brought out comfort and honesty.

Then why was Isadora Malfoy acting as though she had to present a very particular, well-orchestrated image of herself to him?

He didn't like it - he knew that much. Finally, an objective was discovered. Get the girl to show a bit of sincerity. There was a very real chance that doing so would blow any potential of him ending up in a favorable position with her, but he could not change his own mind if he wanted to. He was terribly stubborn once he had decided something. And he wanted to see this frazzled, restrained, blonde almost-woman let loose a little - even if it meant slapping him.

As long as it was a genuine slap, he would take it.

"Isadora," he repeated, his own promise to remember the name. "And I feel the very same." It took her a moment, but she managed to speak again and he grinned, leaning against the nearest shelf, first testing to make sure it would hold his weight. "I was just thinking..." Oh... he knew what was about to come out of his mouth, and he knew it was going to blow everything up. "You wouldn't happen to be willing to go a day with my friend, would you? He doesn't get to hang out with many witches his own age, see, and it'd be great for him. He's a great guy - a bit crass, but he's a - okay, he's not much of a looker. But he's..." Ducky stopped searching for something that would appeal to her and then smiled. "He's an adventure, no doubt."

He lolled his head towards the front of the store, and he could see Bev through the window - he knew the guy would not be able stay away long. Bev was violently mouthing the words 'get it' but stopped when he realized he was being watched. He immediately turned away, feigning a casual air. Perfect performance... if only he knew he were performinng.

Ducky turned back to Isadora for her reaction. "See what I mean?"