This fucking profession was going to be the death of him. A load of cargo having been dropped off last night, Agrimony had stayed up all night disassembling muggle weapons, the air thick with soot and Merlin only knew what kinds of particulates. A simple wave of his wand had cleared the air enough, but his hands were still thoroughly black with dust as he deposited the load of casings in one corner while he went to the cauldron to see how the concoction was coming along. Before he could reach the table, he was overcome with a fit of coughs and nearly doubled over as he caught his breath. Sweat dripped from his brow, and Agrimony reached into his pocket to dab at his already dirty skin before he tucked the kerchief back into its slot.
The air was hot, and he barely remembered the last time he’d eaten. He was only about to go close up shop when he heard the bell ring. Fucking hell. Who the hell could that have been? He slipped out, in absolutely no mood to be cordial or hospitable. “We’re closed.” He announced bluntly, glaring at the person’s back as he leaned against the cupboard. But then he saw who it was. He only softened his glare a little. “What are you doing here, Foxwood?”
The air was hot, and he barely remembered the last time he’d eaten. He was only about to go close up shop when he heard the bell ring. Fucking hell. Who the hell could that have been? He slipped out, in absolutely no mood to be cordial or hospitable. “We’re closed.” He announced bluntly, glaring at the person’s back as he leaned against the cupboard. But then he saw who it was. He only softened his glare a little. “What are you doing here, Foxwood?”
![[Image: AgrimonySig.png]](https://file.garden/aNtr-m887DiA_8M6/Sets/AgrimonySig.png)