Orion's Pointer

Snape didn't know what it was that annoyed him most: that Lupin was late, that it was still raining, that he had less than half an hour before the apothecary closed, or that Parr didn't seem to be affected by any of the preceding facts. She still stood to his right, precisely one pace behind as she had since they left the train. He'd been worried that her attire would attract unwanted Muggle attention, but the bad weather seemed an adequate excuse for it, and people who had been out in the rain weren't about to stop and gawk at someone whilst a torrent was pelting down on them.

Parr had taken her anonymity to a rather extreme level. Her hair was tucked back and under her raised cowl, and her face was even shielded by a piece of cloth pitted with small holes that Snape guessed allowed her to see where she was going--she certainly didn't have any problems in following him. There was nothing to indicate who she was. Even her gender was ambiguous, except for the swell of her chest that the cut of the overcoat couldn't quite hide. Miss Incognito indeed, and for once, blessedly silent. She'd not drawn a second glance from anyone except himself.

The spot in the laneway off Diagon Alley in which they were standing allowed no protection from the weather, although with the rain starting to come in at such a sharp angle, there would've been few places that would other than actually inside a building. Snape made a snap decision--Lupin could just wait the way he'd made them wait.

He set off down the alley with Parr still stuck to his side. He'd half-expected her to make some kind of protestation, but she remained quiet, head slightly bowed, hands in front and tucked up opposing sleeves. Knockturn Alley wasn't far away. He wanted to complete what he'd set out to London for and get back to the school as soon as possible, and he wasn't about to let Lupin's questionable sense of time endanger that.

Snape frowned at the rain hitting his face and running off his oily hair like water off an otter's pelt and straight down the neck of his shirt. He distinctly felt the sodden cuffs of his trousers transfer their moisture to his socks. At least he'd be able to Apparate back to the school gates without Parr as unwanted baggage and exchange wet clothes for dry.

He turned a corner into Knockturn Alley and headed towards the apothecary, tightening his arm around the wooden crate he was carrying. Parr trotted after him like a dark shadow.

Snape elbowed the apothecary door open and slipped inside. He tried to shake a lock of wet hair out of his eyes but failed miserably. He merely succeeded in shaking a sizeable quantity of water into his left ear. Blowing a drop of rain off the end of his nose, he moved towards the unattended counter and put the crate down. Shit, he had water running up both sleeves as well!

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a rectangle of white cloth being held out to him between two black-gloved fingers. Snape stared at Parr suspiciously, but her head remained bowed as she stood one pace back and to the right.

"Thank you," he relented, slipped the handkerchief out from her fingers and shook the material out from its folds. Parr said nothing and hid her hands back up her wide sleeves again. Whilst he was still miserably soaked, the chance to wipe his face dry helped considerably in keeping his temper somewhat in check.

Fortunately, no one was waiting in the shop's front area to see Snape try futilely to make himself look less like a drowned rat. His hair was still channelling water down the back of his neck, so he ran the handkerchief over his it to try and blot some of the rain out of it. He noticed that the material smelled like Parr--an unusual mix of cloves, sandalwood and citrus with a hint of purple coneflower. He snatched the handkerchief away from his hair, feeling uncomfortable at this rather peculiar olfactory intimacy.

He was just stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket and wondering if he should use magic to dry himself off when the curtained doorway behind the counter was filled with the bulk of a richly corpulent man in a bottle-green set of robes. The figure paused a brief moment, taking in the scene before him before moving with unusual grace up to the counter.

"Good afternoon," came the mismatched high voice from a florid and overly plump face. "How may I serve you?"

Snape had better luck shaking that errant lock of hair out of his eyes now that it wasn't so damp. He stared at the fat wizard before him.

"Where is Todianus?"

The man behind the counter smoothed the front of his robes with a pudgy, be-ringed hand. "I am Todianus."

Snape's brows drew down. "I don't think so," he scoffed. "Timeus Todianus could stand in your shadow three times over and still have elbow room."

"Ah," sighed the fat wizard, running his hand over his bald, gleaming head. "That would be my brother. I am Isseacus Todianus." The man's beady eyes flicked a glance at Parr before returning Snape's gaze impassively.

"Where is Timeus? I wish to speak with him."

Isseacus pursed his thin lips together, considering, before answering. "My brother has taken ill, and in his absence I am... filling in for him, you might say." He gave an obsequious smile that dripped oil. Rancid oil.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "When will he return?"

Isseacus spread his chubby digits and gave an elegant shrug. "It's hard to say, I'm afraid." His eyes slid across to Parr and back again. "Perhaps I can help you?" He touched his rounded chest with the tips of his fingers for emphasis.

Snape gave him a flat, distrusting look, first impressions giving a distinctly negative flavour to the situation. He sighed heavily. "The supplies I'm being sent are substandard. I'm here to find out the reason why."

Isseacus' small mouth twitched as if it had a hook caught in it. "And you are...?"

"Severus Snape," came the hissed reply. Isseacus' face registered no recognition. He shook his head slightly, making his jowls wobble over his collar, and waved his hand a little for more information. Snape clenched his fists in irritation. "I teach at Hogwarts and have been a customer for many years." He emphasised the last two words heavily.

Isseacus clasped his hands together into a pile of pink sausages and bobbed in a spry little gesture. "Ah, of course, forgive me, Professor! I have so many customers that sometimes it's hard to keep track." Again, the oily smile.

"Yes, I can see that you're run off your feet today," Snape retorted stonily, observing the empty shop.

Isseacus' flabby features hardened slightly. "Well, it is nearly closing time, and my customers have the welcome habit of carrying out their purchases well in advance of said closing time."

"Then I'll make this quick, shall I?" Snape verbally stepped over him. "I am not accustomed to being supplied with poor quality product, especially considering the price I pay."

"It was my understanding that your purchases are taken care of by the school, Professor," Isseacus shot back primly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "A majority of them are, yes, but I have paid for a not insignificant number myself for my own use, if memory serves me correctly."

"Yes, I recall a number of... interesting and, if I may say so, hard to procure items being requested by you," Isseacus noted, all trace of his oily smile now gone and replaced by a rather shrewd cast to his face. "Some of which might be considered questionable by the Ministry, I hasten to add."

Snape shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to ignore the squelch inside his boots. "If this apothecary is unable to supply certain items, then I am sure I can secure them elsewhere," he threatened silkily.

Isseacus gave an amused titter and touched his earlobe lightly. "I doubt other suppliers would be so..." He twisted his mouth. "... interpretive of current Ministry regulations as we are here, Professor. But of course, it is always possible you might find someone to risk heavy punishment and the closure of their business in obtaining some of your more... specialised requests." The apoth licked the corner of his mouth archly.

Snape was drawing breath to tell this disgusting toad of a man where to stick his merchandise and his inferences when Parr touched his arm lightly with one extended finger. Isseacus' eyes fastened on the shrouded figure with a small frown as Parr turned away and drifted over to the far side of the shop. Snape stared after her with a puzzled expression, and then followed her.

~*~

Isseacus watched them from behind the counter suspiciously. His eyes travelled over the small anonymous figure, trying to riddle out just who or what this hook-nosed bat of a professor's companion was. A woman, he guessed from the shape of her chest.

The apoth couldn't hear what they were saying to each other, but, judging from Snape's expression, it wasn't anything that made the man's temper any less waspish. He was shaking his head resolutely, his long blue-black hair swaying with the movement. The cloaked woman inched closer to him, making him stoop over her as she spoke to him with a raised finger. They seemed to stare at each other for some time, as if at an impasse. Then, reluctantly, the tall wizard nodded and returned with his diminutive companion in tow. He stopped a couple of feet before the counter as his companion slipped in front of him and just to his right. Isseacus frowned at them, trying to figure out what was going on here.

"These ingredients are below the standard I expect from this establishment," Snape continued, as if the whispered interlude had not taken place. "I am here to have them replaced with more acceptable ones, or, if that proves too hard to obtain, a complete refund," he sneered and pushed the crate towards Isseacus with a long finger.

The fat apoth stared blandly at him. "Are you certain that these were obtained from this establishment?" he asked tersely, using his thumb to twist a particularly heavy and gaudy signet ring on one of his fingers. He thought he saw the shrouded woman move incrementally further forward, but when he looked directly at her, she was as motionless as before, head still bowed and hands hidden away up her sleeves. Even her face was covered, he noticed now. Isseacus' frown deepened across his forehead.

"Unless I have lost over thirty years' experience in the skill of reading, the labels on these containers have your family's name on them," Snape snapped, his black eyes boring into Isseacus' fleshy face.

"The containers may have come from here-" the apoth began in a snippy tone.

"Are you suggesting that I put substances from other suppliers in your business's containers in an effort to get free merchandise?" Snape hissed incredulously.

Isseacus gave a tight smile. "I would never dream of accusing you of that, Professor." He stopped as he caught a faint sound coming from the man's companion. He looked back at Snape. "Have you brought a Sniffer into my shop?"

Snape's face remained still but a slight crease showed between his eyebrows. "A what?"

"A Sniffer," Isseacus repeated. "A Striker, a Barghest, a Tracker, Orion's Pointer... whatever you want to call her."

The woman's head came up a fraction.

"Never you mind her," Snape barked. "I'm the one addressing you at this moment, and I would appreciate your full attention!"

The apoth's piggy eyes took him in, and the sour look on his face dismissed the demand with barely concealed contempt. "If you feel that our products are ill-suited to your needs, then the wonder of free enterprise allows you to seek your supplies elsewhere," Isseacus trilled snidely. "I hear that Masterton's is quite cheap. Perhaps that's more appropriate."

A rather horrible pain bloomed in the side of Isseacus' face, and for a fraction of a second he thought that the Professor had hit him.

There was a loud thunk, and a flash of metal in front of his face. Isseacus' thin lips tingled as the pain spread down from his temple like dye in a glass of water, and something trickled out of his left nostril.

"Do you always accommodate dissatisfied customers in this manner?" asked a low female voice close to his ear. The apoth tried to blink some focus back into his eyes, with no success.

"What the-" he slurred before the words were choked off by his collar tightening dramatically like a garrotte.

"Let me make it clear to you, Mr Todianus, where you made an error in judgement," said the woman calmly into his ear. Isseacus' sinuses stared to throb as his vision cleared to reveal the flat side of the blade of a very heavy knife stuck point down in the countertop barely an inch from his nose. How did I get down here? he wondered fuzzily. He started to pull away from the knife only to find that he was pinned to the counter by the woman's arm pressed across his upper back, cheek pushed into the wood, and his robes wrenched up painfully behind his ear.

"The first rule of business is that the customer is always right," the woman pointed out, so close to him that he could feel her breath on his skin. "The Professor patronises your family's business in the belief that you are better than your competitors. If that belief is ill-founded, then he is entitled to return unsatisfactory merchandise in the expectation that you will amend the situation."

The apoth made another break for it and was once again held immobile like an insect skewered to an entomologist's display card.

"With that in mind, I have a proposition for you that might just solve this awkward little problem."

Isseacus began to gasp for air as the material around his neck tightened slowly and inexorably.

"You will replace every item that the Professor has returned with something much more appropriate. And, if I may clarify this statement, Mr Todianus, I mean something of a truly mind-blowing quality. Do you follow me?"

Isseacus' eyes bulged towards the knife in front of his face. "Yes! Yes, I follow you!" he shrilled, tasting in his mouth the blood that had trickled out of his nose.

"And let me assure you, Mr Todianus, that if the replacement ingredients fall short in any shape or form, I will know of it."

The apoth squawked like a chicken and thrashed about futilely.

"The Professor expects the very best, and that is exactly what you will provide from this day forth," his captor breathed into his ear. "If I hear that he is unsatisfied in any way, I'll be back here to widen that slimy smirk of yours from ear to ear with my blade."

"That won't be necessary!" the apoth shrieked in a squeaky voice.

"I sincerely hope not," she replied in a flinty tone.

"Dis... dis... discount!" the apoth gasped desperately, one hand scrabbling at his collar in an effort to stop the fabric from crushing his windpipe. "I'll discount the price of future purchases for the inconvenience!"

"No, no discount," the woman refused. "The Professor pays good money for a good product, and I wouldn't want you to make the regrettable mistake of matching quality to a reduced price."

"Whatever you want. Whatever you want!" Isseacus shrieked, bucking and kicking his feet in the air to try and free himself from the prostrate position he was in.

"And remember, Mr Todianus, if I hear one negative thing about you, your merchandise or your service, if the Professor tells me you have even thought of giving him less than your very, very best, I will be down here again, and next time I will not be so reasonable."

The knife twisted on its point slowly with a splintering of wood so that the edge of the blade rested against the skin of the fat man's nose.

"I'll remember! I'll remember! I swear it! Please?!" The apoth started to sob pathetically, still trying to get the tip of his finger under his collar to relieve the strangling pressure.

"You will have the replacement items sent this evening," the woman stated, her face no longer next to his. "Enough of the Professor's time has been wasted here already."

The knife was wrenched out from the countertop, snicking the apoth's nose with a thin cut that beaded instantly with scarlet drops. The material around his neck became slack, and the apoth heaved in a blessedly sweet lungful of air with a ragged inhalation.

The fat man sagged against the counter, not daring to look up as his final customers of the day left without another word.

Isseacus realised that at some point during the incident he had wet himself in terror.