The bell tinkled above the shop's door as it opened, a distant sound echoed by a charmed bell in his workroom. Gervaise took the time to finish the anchoring he was doing—a delicate step in which the wand's core was affixed—before quickly wiping his hands on his leather apron and emerging from the back in time to hear a Frenchwoman (merde.) ask if anyone was present.

"Indeed I am," came his answer as he moved to stand behind the counter, less comfortable in the role of shopkeep than of craftsman but still filling the space as though he belonged there.