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La Stella Nera is a small shop on a side street in Hogsmeade, Scotland, owned by two rather unlikely witches.
Andromeda Black is the face of the shop. She’s warm, kind, and open. Everyone in Hogsmeade loves Andromeda Black, despite her dark physical similarity to the sister who has haunted so many dreams. Narcissa Black is often called a recluse. She’s closed off, and cold. Andromeda knows, however, that her angelic-looking sister is so much different than what people think of her. Despite Andromeda’s pleas, however, Narcissa cultivates this icy persona.
Their neighbours call the sisters polar opposites. They greet Andromeda with smiles and bubbly chatter. They look away from Narcissa when she walks down the street.
So Narcissa stays in her workshop in the back of the shop, brewing potions, bottling them, preparing ingredients, and labelling every little glass jar and phial with her perfectly flourished handwriting. Andromeda spends her days bustling around the shop, restocking shelves, greeting customers, and packaging owl-orders.
It’s a calmer life for both of them. Andromeda’s grandson attends Hogwarts, just up the hill, and Narcissa’s son is settled in his ancestral family home with his wife and son. Both Andromeda and Narcissa’s husbands are long dead — the former’s murdered in the Second Wizarding War, and the latter’s dying shortly after the war, imprisoned for his crimes in service to the Dark Lord.
It’s winter, and the apothecary is quiet when the door creaks and the bell above it tinkles.
Andromeda looks up and sees a familiar face. It’s one she’s seen fairly often since she and Narcissa had opened La Stella Nera a few years ago. A pretty face, lined with wrinkles layered over bold cheekbones and a sharp jawline. Minerva McGonagall’s green eyes are as bright as they were decades ago when Andromeda was her student.
A warm smile curves Andromeda’s lips as she watches Minerva make her way over to the counter. The headmistress is a regular visitor to La Stella Nera and, for the life of her, Andromeda still can’t quite figure out why she buys what she does. It’s always just one thing, and always completely random. Andromeda is also convinced that Hogwarts already has most of the items in the potions store cupboards or in the hospital wing cabinets, even if her and Narcissa’s products are of a higher quality than what the school buys for its students.
“Good morning, Minerva, how are you?” Andromeda leans forward, resting her elbows on the countertop.
Minerva smiles. It’s a little smile, and gentle, not often seen on the stern headmistress’s face, especially not by her students. “I’m well. Thank you, Andromeda.” She clears her throat.
“Lovely. I hope everything is going well up at the school?”
“Ah, yes. The students are all very excited to return home for Christmas, and they’re very much looking forward to the Christmas dance,” Minerva answers, her Scottish brogue rolling and lilting beautifully.
Andromeda tucks a curl behind her ear as she nodded. “Oh, yes, Teddy was absolutely raving about the dance in his last letter, he can barely contain himself for excitement! Now, what can I do for you today?
Minerva’s green eyes flick around. “I’ll just have ten grams of, uh… monkshood, please, Andromeda.”
Slipping off her stool, Andromeda makes a beeline for the shelf with Minerva’s choice on it and picks up a small jar. She slides it over the counter towards the older witch. “That’ll just be one galleon please, love.”
Minerva opens a small purse and pulls out one large, golden coin and presses it firmly into Andromeda’s palm, her fingers brushing Andromeda’s skin, still calloused from the younger witch’s years as a healer.
Wrapping her fingers around it, Andromeda smiles, brown eyes crinkling. A moment later, Minerva breaks their eye contact, and leaves with a kind but quick goodbye.
Andromeda marks down the sale in her ledger with a leisurely pace, then she tucks the golden coin away in the cashbox she stores under the counter. She walks back to the shelf and is bringing forward the monkshood jars to fill the gap left behind, when a bell rings from the backroom.
Pushing through the curtain separating the public and private section of their business, Andromeda finds Narcissa seated at her desk, writing out labels. “Do you have something for me, Cissy?”
Narcissa looks up, her blonde hair hanging straight and perfect like a waterfall around her face. “Sit down, Drommie.”
Rolling her eyes, Andromeda does as she’s told. Her younger sister will come out with whatever her point is soon enough, so she’ll let her go through with this dramatic charade.
“Many sales today?” Narcissa tilts her head to the side like a curious cat.
Andromeda furrows her brow. It makes Narcissa flinch — she doesn't want Andromeda to get wrinkled, but Andromeda thinks wrinkles show a life lived full of emotion. They often agree to disagree on this.
“Yes, quite a good day. Plenty of owl orders, and no less walk-ins than usual. The lead-up to Christmas is always very good.” Andromeda leans back in her chair.
Narcissa nods with satisfaction. “And what are you going to do about Minerva McGonagall?”
“What?” Andromeda frowns properly this time, and Narcissa lets out an airy sigh. “Do about her? Why would I need to do anything about her? She’s a good customer!”
“Oh, Drommie,” Narcissa sighs again. “Have you really not noticed?”
“Noticed what? Are you going to tell me she’s shoplifting or some other bullshit? Because she barely leaves the front counter!”
Narcissa narrows her bright blue eyes. “Don’t be crass, Andromeda,” she scolds. Andromeda rolls her eyes. “That’s my point exactly. She buys one miniscule item. She goes straight to you when she comes in.”
“Honestly, Cissy. So what if she comes in for a wee chat? I certainly don’t mind, I enjoy chatting with the customers, that’s why we split the work the way we did remember?” Andromeda cocks an eyebrow. Narcissa is starting to irritate her now, and she had orders to package. She doesn't have time for these games.
“Haven’t you seen the way she looks at you? She comes in just to speak with you, she only makes purchases so as to not be rude-”
“How did you even know she was here Cissy? Are you spying? Don’t you have enough work to be getting on with?” Andromeda interrupts, but Narcissa ignores her outburst and keeps talking calmly.
“I have my ways, darling sister,” Narcissa says with a smirk, “and that woman is head over heels in love with you, Drommie.”
Andromeda scoffs and stands up. “Whatever you say, Cissy. I’ve got Christmas orders to wrap.”
The afternoon passes by steadily, but Andromeda can’t quite get Narcissa’s words out of her head. Her sister knows just how to get under her skin, and her points were rather valid, she does have to admit. Minerva has never once sent in an owl order, though some of the other professors do so regularly, but she doesn’t buy much when she comes in. It’s little and often, and it’s almost like… it’s almost like she is coming into La Stella Nera as much as possible.
Andromeda shakes off her thoughts when she locks up for the evening, and retires to their flat above the shop. Narcissa has cooked dinner, and Andromeda pours them each a hearty glass of wine.
The next morning, Andromeda wakes up with Minerva McGonagall on her mind again. She goes through the motions of her day, serving customers with a warm smile and kind words, wrapping each order with care.
It’s nearly time to close up the shop again when the bell tinkles once more, and the creaky door that she really does need to fix is pushed open.
And in walks Minerva McGonagall. Twice in two days. She’s beautiful, Andromeda realises. Of course, she’d been aware that the headmistress was an attractive woman, but she hadn’t really ever noticed how stunning she was, with her dark hair streaked with silver, her dusky pink lips, and those startling green eyes.
As usual, Minerva walks up to the counter. There’s a slight flush in her cheeks that indicates she’s spent this Saturday afternoon in the Three Broomsticks, though she is by no means drunk.
“Good evening, Andromeda,” Minerva greets her, and her voice has gone slightly huskier than it was yesterday.
“Hello, Minerva,” Andromeda says with a wide smile on her face. She lifts her hand to twist a curl of hair around her fingers, but she’s so acutely aware of her every movement, and of Minerva’s, and playing with her hair makes her feel like a schoolgirl, back when she’d first fallen in love with Ted, and his attentions had made her blush and feel self-conscious.
Andromeda puts her hand down on the counter. “Back again so soon? What can I get you today?”
“Erm,” Minerva blinks. “Ah, just a small amount of…. Aconite, please, Andromeda.”
Andromeda nods with a smile, and starts to make her way to the shelf when it occurs to her that she’s reaching for the same ingredient as yesterday.
“Oh! Was yesterday’s jar alright? Or have you used it all?” She asks, turning around from the shelf empty-handed.
Minerva’s eyes are on her, and they widen as a dark flush creeps up her neck and along the Scotswoman’s face. “Yesterday? Ah, yesterday. Yes, um…”
Andromeda tilts her head curiously. “ You asked for monkshood yesterday. Monkshood and aconite are the same ingredient, also called wolfsbane. I know you know this, Minerva, you taught a werewolf for seven years.” Andromeda takes a step towards Minerva.
“Yes, I do know that.”
“So what’s the headmistress of Hogwarts doing, buying up my aconite stock ten grams at a time?” Andromeda smirks. She can just about see the cogs in Minerva’s brain spinning.
“What if I told you that was sensitive information?” Minerva countered, finally having found her tongue.
A chuckle escapes Andromeda’s chest. “Well, then, of course. Sensitive information is only for sensitive ears. Lucky for you, I happen to possess sensitive ears.”
“Andromeda, I… It’s for-” Minerva sighs as she struggles to come up with an explanation. She isn’t brewing Wolfsbane, nor is she brewing the antidote for the Draught of Living Death, and with Andromeda’s close proximity, these are the only two uses for aconite that she can think of.
Andromeda closes the gap between them. “Shh,” she whispers, cutting off Minerva’s halting speech. “Did you come here… do you shop here, just to see me?” Andromeda asks softly, heart pounding in her chest. She feels like a lion right now, not a snake, asking such a bold question of the older woman.
Minerva looks like a deer in the headlights, green eyes wide, mouth twitching as if she wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say. The little gasp that huffs from Minerva’s chest when Andromeda takes that last step, and slips her hands into Minerva’s is enough of an answer for Andromeda.
Ever so slowly, she leans in, tilting her face up. Minerva’s eyes light up, and she meets Andromeda in a gentle kiss. It’s sweet, and slow, and perfect. When Andromeda pulls back she knows that the lovestruck expression on Minerva’s face is mirrored on hers.