Late on Sunday 20th, approaching Monday 21st

Cass hummed to herself as she made her way into the kitchen. The sun had long gone down, and a tawny owl had just delivered from the radio station. It was her fanmail, well, more her owl submissions since her last broadcast. In times of presenting the breakfast show, there was a lot more. Presenting three times a week in the middle of the night didn’t bring half as much, sometimes none at all. But once she’d got past the disappointment, the arrival of an owl put a sharp pointy smile on her face once more.

“Right,” she muttered to herself, approaching the cluttered table, “what have we got here?” Cass was ever in hope of some good material for the night ahead. Still humming, though less coherently with her distraction, she stuck her hand into the enchanted purple bag, small enough for the owl to carry, big enough to accommodate a heavier load. Her fingertips met several lumps and bumps inside, and she smiled, drawing them out in turn.

Advert, letter, letter, advert, ooh parcel, advert, another parcel, letter…

Opting for the flattest looking parcel in green paper, Cass was pleased to discover it contained a sample LP from an aspiring band. Always good for a giggle, if it wasn’t aurally offensive. She set it playing on the record player and a rattle of drums set off a fast-tempo song with a nasal singing voice over the top.
“Ooh, punk,” Cass remarked optimistically, not thinking twice if her flatmate was even awake or in.

As the amateur punk howled out of the record player, she fished into the bag again and pulled out a soft looking parcel. Strange, it seemed to smell a little. Someone had sent her food perhaps? She couldn’t quite put her finger on the smell, several things mixed together. It was taped up pretty well. Old habits died hard, and Cass lifted it to her mouth to try and bite the tape.

“Blargh!” She dropped the parcel in surprise, rubbing her lips. Was that garlic?! Out of the brown paper rolled a clove of garlic, and with a clatter on the kitchen table, a very sharp wooden stake. Despite herself, Cass jumped back. The garlic began to replicate itself, multiplying quickly on the table.

“TRIIIISTAAAAAN!”

Tristan stifled a yawn as he pulled on his dressing robe, half-tempted to return to his large and downy bed. Its silken cream sheets looked as inviting in their disorderly heap as they did when he'd gone to bed at sunrise.

But Motley was busying herself upstairs in a cantankerous whirlwind of sounds, which made it impossible to sustain his Sunday lie-in. What was she playing, good Lord? He smoothed back his dark hair and made his way towards the basement stairs. There was a soft thud somewhere ahead, and then--

       “TRIIIISTAAAAAN!”

"Yes, that's my name..." the older vampire muttered wearily as he emerged on to the ground floor of the mews flat, only to be hit by a smell so recognisable and pungent that he nearly turned right around. Tristan pulled a face and held his robe sleeve up to his nose as he approached the kitchen - a room rarely used for intended purpose.

He saw the stake first, overwhelmed as it was by the quickly multiplying garlic. Merde! Garlic, it was always garlic. He had liked garlic when he was a human. Tristan grabbed his boarder by her wrist to pull her back from the table as bulbs of white began to spill over on to the tiled floor.

"Fans of yours, Cass?" his tone was disparaging. Fortunately it was night, or they wouldn't even have the option of stepping outdoor if needed. "I didn't think your last broadcast was particularly inadequate."

He tugged her along, backing out of the kitchen and gesturing with his hand to slam the door shut. There had to be limits to the spell, surely? Perhaps he should have opened a window in the kitchen. A waterfall of garlic bulbs spilling out on to the mews.

Tristan looked at Cassandra, releasing her hand. "We should start screening your mail."

"I can't believe it!" Cass exclaimed, both hands to her head over her blonde hair. "Garlic! Tristan I'm so sorry. "

The smell was growing and the garlic was falling onto the floor from the kitchen table, pattering across the tiles and bumping against the other side of the kitchen door. The punk record was still blaring, the singer howling away over increasingly out of tune guitars.

"It's like demented popcorn. And you're right! I didn't say anything strange last week to get people to send me garlic. Must be someone's idea of a joke." Cass frowned and put her hands on her hips, inclining her head to he door, only to hear yet more bumps as the garlic knocked into it. The drummer on the record sounded like they'd dropped a bag of knuts on their drumkit.

"It'll stop. It has to," she slumped against the wall, "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. Thank you McGonagall. Nice robe by the way." Cass' hands extended to touch the material, smoothing it across Tristan's chest. "Didn't wake you did I?"

One did not mail a person symbols of their suffering and death as a joke.

Tristan didn't say this out loud, though he did snort softly in disbelief at her conjecture - it would be nice if they could continue as if though this weren't an important matter. Cass didn't have as many years being hated for what she was but it would have to be reported of course, and not just because he felt like he had to as part of his new position with the Ministry.

The person who did this had to know they would not accept bigotry in silence.

"It's new," he murmured distractedly about the robe and took the extended hand into his. "Your infernal music woke me. Was there a note, by the way? Anything other than the stake?" Tristan frowned, annoyed by the sound of garlic bulbs thumping against the door.

It showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. "We must send an owl off to notify the authorities."

"Sorry. Oh! A note! Now there's a thought." Cass looked to the kitchen door, "Maaaaybe - I couldn't open it, so I used my teeth without thinking, and then it just came apart..." She slumped her shoulders a moment in amateur dramatic fashion, "I didn't look, maybe? Under all that... garrrliiic." Her eyes shot back to Tristan, a sorry expression on her face. It would have been a very sensible idea indeed to have looked for a note, but she'd been too preoccupied with a great wooden stake and the garlic to check.

"We must send an owl off to notify the authorities." Tristan instructed.

"What, that someone's sent me some garlic?" Cass asked, puzzled. She gripped his hand in her surprise. "It'll just be some tool who does't like my show. Can't win 'em all." She added the last in an upbeat tone and grinned. "Hmm, you look all serious, not a huge difference to normal I know, but serious serious. You sure this new job of yours is..." Cass didn't finish her sentence. The sound of garlic battering against the door was increasing.

"That door opens inwards, doesn't it...?" She asked sheepishly.

Tristan stopped himself from sighing, not out of any sense of politeness, but because Cass's melodramatic ruefulness was probably genuine in spite of its tone. He continued to tell himself that she was new to this. His own early years had not been without mistakes - and not to mention the blatant disregard for human life.

"We'll look for one when the garlic has been cleared," a particularly loud series of knocks pattered against the door and he stepped back cautiously whilst looking to Cass. "Think of it as our equivalent of being threatened with avada kedavra. And with what happened at Malkin's, we need to start keeping a rec--"

He glanced sharply at the kitchen door again, prompted by the question and the disruptive volume. Their neighbours, if home, would begin to wonder at it.... if not the smell. Lord, the smell was going to have him breaking out in hives! Tristan stepped back again - and then again and again, gesturing impatiently for Cass to follow.

The noise suddenly stopped. No. Not altogether, it was duller now, muffled. He pictured a wall of garlic bulbs growing outwards as it started to run out of room in the kitchen.

"Living room, come on." Tristan urged - but too late, it began to creak open. Gradually at first: a creak of heavy weight against it, and then suddenly a loud SLAM as the door flung open against the corridor wall to let through a billow of pungent whiteness.

“Think of it as our equivalent of being threatened with avada kedavra. And with what happened at Malkin’s-"
“What! No, really?” Cass had always thought it was just bad for them, an allergy, that you should avoid it, not that it would kill them.

In vampire terms, Cass was just a newbie still, despite it being years since her turning. She still suffered from moments of looking for her wand, of dreaming of sunbathing and going out in the day, remembering in the nick of time. Having closed herself off for the first couple of years of it, she had missed out on integrating with the wider vampire community until more recently, and was still learning the ins and outs. Living with Tristan was an education, and occasionally an entertainment.

With the new garlic revelation, fleeing into the living room was a definite as the kitchen door burst open like a jack-in-a-box.
“Gaaaaarlic!” Cass yelped, “Oh what I would give to have a wand right now, zap it all back where it came from.” She slammed shut the living room door behind them, lips agape and rubbed at them furiously. “I tried to bite into that parcel to break the tape, oh gosh I’m not going to die am I? Tristan I’m so young!” She dashed to the window in a hope of seeing her reflection and then to him, “Is my lip swelling?” It wasn’t, but now she was worried.

"I know!” She exclaimed, just missing a lightbulb popping above her head, "Let’s ask the neighbours, they’ll be able to do it. Hang on - what did you say about Malkins?"

M for brief mention of mature language.


Cass jumped to conclusions faster than she did out of the way of their garlic infestation.

It was easier to go through what she was saying once they were behind a closed door and Tristan could try to ignore the overwhelming scent that was beginning to cause his eyes to water. He lowered himself on to a couch while his flatmate flitted to the window absently.

       "Tristan I’m so young!"

There was no doubting that statement. Tristan smirked, shaking his head in silence as he watched her fondly. It was nostalgic. The problem with reflections was that you felt more like a shadow once you became used to the fact that you had none; maybe Cass would never get used to it.

"Your lip is fine. I meant the stake, not the garlic, though you'll be laid up in bed a couple of days if it gets in here." Which wasn't ideal considering either of their professions - and even if he weren't a vampire, he wouldn't want to drown in a common ingredient for spaghetti bolognese.

Tristan gestured at the windows when his companion finally caught up with his mention of the seamstress. "You didn't hear? Not precisely front page news but..." he trailed off and crossed one leg over the other, sighing. "Brick through the window and something nasty spray painted on the sign. Blood bitch.[1]"

The sound of thumping garlic drew closer to their living room door, and Tristan tried not to picture his lovely corridor with its 19th century tapestries being filled to the brim with the odious bulbs. "We should leave by the window and find a neighbour if it doesn't stop soon."

1.	Malice May Attack It - March 19th

“What, no!” Cass exclaimed at the damage to Malkin’s. They were lovey people, why on earth would someone do that do them. “Why would someone - Madam Malkin’s not a vampire?” It was the thought process being spoken aloud though, over the sound of rumbling garlic, so didn’t need a response. The house was beginning to reek and Cass wanted to sneeze.

“We should leave by the window and find a neighbour if it doesn’t stop soon.” Tristan advised, Cass nodded, hearing but not hearing him, her mind trying to figure out why someone would do that to the lovely Malkins. She’d been there for school robes, she’d been there since for the odd thing (though not so much lately, and that made her feel oddly guilty).

“Gosh! Not because Malkins work with Violet is it? They don’t think they were something to do with those Muggles?” She turned back to the door, “Or me!” She squeaked, both hands clasping her throat suddenly. “Oh Tristan, now I get why you want me to report it!” Cass slapped her palm to her forehead. There was a distant bang as something went over in the hallway. “I swear I’ll pay you more rent to cover whatever that was. Please stop, for goodness sake.” The living room door creaked.

“The window’s looking pretty good, now you mention it.” Cass agreed in a quieter tone. “Much as it’s humiliating to call in a wand.”

Tristan sat back on the couch, hands on his stomach as he waited for the many coins to drop in Cassandra's head and for some indication that the garlic would soon cease in its multiplication. One came before the other. He wasn't certain which he preferred to be honest.

       “Oh Tristan, now I get why you want me to report it!”

"They think we're worst than animals, remember? Of course everyone's a suspect," he made a clawing gesture with one hand - deadpan - before getting to his feet with a start. The door had creaked. Once. Then twice. Why wait for another? Tristan had done much lower things than seek help from a wand; it was certainly the better choice over pride right now.

He gently took her by the elbow, urging Cass in the opposite direction. "You don't need to pay a higher rent, just have your mail checked over. Come, we'd better leave right away." A quick motion at the latch sent the windows flinging open and a gust of cool night air helped the smell of garlic dissipate.

They were on the ground floor: he wouldn't have to turn into a bat to jump out, and didn't know if his boarder had learned yet. "You first-" Tristan called to her as the door hinges strained and one of the screws jolted out of place. "- I'm right behind you."

Tristan’s hand closed around her elbow, but she didn’t flinch, quite comfortable with his presence despite his ability to creep witches and wizards out by his mere presence.

“… Come, we'd better leave right away.” The windows flew open.
“How do you do that, I’d end up flinging that quill over there…” Cass asked, despite the fact Tristan was hurrying her towards the window as the door creaked.

Thank goodness she’d chosen to wear some jeans that night, climbing out of one’s ground floor window was decidedly unladylike and near impossible in a short skirt. Cass’ feet made it to the cobbles outside, cursing the fact she’d not grabbed a pair of shoes before leaving, and she turned around to help Tristan out (not that he seemed to need it). The door in the living room was groaning so loud they could hear it outside, and just as Tristan cleared the windowsill -

KA-KRASH!
                     bump-bump-bu-bu-b-b-b-bump-bump-bump

“Merlin!” Cass exclaimed, grasping Tristan as if she were pulling him through the window he’d just cleared. “I’ve never seen so much garlic. This stinks worse than the Ascendio bins!” Cass didn’t elaborate on why she knew how badly Slandermouth’s best restaurant’s bins smelled. “I’m going to have to get to work without any shoes, I wonder if anyone’s my size…” Once again, missing the gravity of the situation. “Oh right, death threats. We got out alive, Tristan!” She smiled broadly, as if this was some daring escape.

He was too preoccupied by the garlic, straining his ears to get a sense of how far the door was from bursting open, as Cass continued to rattle on while they were jumping out of the window. But there was no great need for a panic: the hem of Tristan's robe trailed and fell from the windowsill as their living room began to fill with garlic bulbs.

They would need someone to cast a good scourgify to get rid of that damned smell.

       "Oh right, death threats. We got out alive, Tristan!" Motley was exclaiming, still grasping him - he thought about how he would prefer to be barefoot than caught out of doors in sateen pyjamas.

The mews were fairly quiet this late in the night, most of their neighbours no doubt trying to catch enough sleep for their dreaded Monday morning. Tristan smiled back at Cass and patted her shoulder once, his idea of a celebratory gesture, before looking down the cobbled path towards other windows.

"Alive for now," he reminded his friend (he supposed they were friends now, because facing clouds of garlic is a bonding experience if you're a vampire) and let his gaze fall upon a window in which a light was still on. "Come. Let's entreat our neighbours to rescue us. Remember not to smile with your teeth."