It was night, close to curfew actually, which meant the staff office saw its steady stream of professors popping in for a cuppa before bed. Landis was the latest, though he wouldn't retire for hours yet; he operated on caffeine, sleep deprivation spells, and sheer force of will most of the time, long nights etching permanent deep shadows under his eyes to match the knife-slash hollows of his cheeks. There wasn't enough time in the day to conduct all his business, and his body no longer needed more than a few hours sleep a night. Yet recently he'd been abed longer, if only because it was difficult to leave without waking up Juliette.

He smiled a little, standing at the tea counter with his back turned to the rest of the room so that no one else could see. After patching up their relationship over the summer he and Juliette had wasted little time in becoming reacquainted, and the end result was that these last couple of months had been restful ones for him. She coaxed him into bed early, before 1 or 2 in the morning, and there he stayed past dawn. So much time in bed was making him lazy, but he'd be a fool to complain.

For that matter, he also kept talk of aching muscles to himself. Likewise, they weren't really a complaint.

When the night came, and the world fell quiet through the halls, Gale often haunted the halls like a phantom. The ghosts in painted frames hung on the walls watching in envy as he moved freely through the great halls, and even in the twilight hours of the cool autumn air he felt as though he faced the sun. Staring blankly with one good eye, he recalled the memories from years gone by, and tragedies too painful to ever forget. The only cure, caffeine and a quiet curse under his breath of damning this place and why he hadn’t moved yet.

The classes were on the topic of memories, the past relevant only because of how it shaped the future, and how much their characters depended on such little things like a mother’s laughter. Every year he dreaded the lesson, and every year his therapists prepared for it. The PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) flared to life like a wave of fire on the surface of the sun, and Gale remembered then why he remained still under Hogwart’s vaulted ceilings. He wasn’t any good out there on his own, but here…here he served a purpose. 

The door to the staff room was pressed open without little effort, but upon seeing another being it damn near took every ounce of his will power to continue. Damn his craving for caffeine, and the need torture himself til morning.

Maker… What did he do now?

One would speak correct? Wasn’t that the proper way to conduct an encounter? Upon closer inspection he came to realize it was the Librarian who with one glance could have swept his heart away, and at least they would have something to share common ground on right? Books. Talk about books, Gale.

Quietly, his skin prickled with his defenses, and he poured a cup for himself without evening sharing a glance towards Landis. Speak you fool. Speak. Say hello. Admire his attire, anything along the lines of a conversation would do.

“Perhaps you should lay off the tea so late. You have dark circles under your eyes.” A backward way of saying, You look tired, Landis, are you not resting well?

Landis' lips parted - it's not the tea that's keeping me up - then sealed again as he nearly bit down on his tongue. He gave a light cough, the line of his shoulders hunching briefly under the fine fabric of his suit jacket. Bad Landis, no biscuit. Juliette was a terrible influence.

"I will take your concern into consideration," he said instead, drier than the Sahara, and added a sugar cube to his tea.

Kesali was rather forward for a new hire. Perhaps he was one of those people who believed in healthy living. Landis didn't know; he wasn't sure he'd even spoken to Gale before this night. He mused lightly on it as he took his mug and moved for one of the tables, snagging a newspaper as he went, but he was distracted tonight and his attention wandered away as soon as he'd caught sight of the headlines.

He realized after he sat that more input was required to make conversation. It paid to be polite to at least some of his colleagues (the bearable ones, obviously) so he said, without looking up, "I'm hardly the only one up late." It was just pointed enough to implicate Gale as a fellow nightowl.

“Oh, don’t mistake that for a concern. You are grown man. I’m just merely stating the obvious. You know...striking conversation.” With that he took a seat a few tables from Landis, with his back half on the man, but turned just enough he could take a few glances.

When it came time to reply to the comment about Night Owls he wanted to laugh, but instead he snorted.

“No, I suppose you are not.”

“You are the librarian right?” He asked stirring his tea, and closing pale little fingers around the cup. “I’ve seen you before.” Pretty hard not to, Captain Obvious this man stood out like the sun against storm clouds. Pretty enough to charm the little bits of lace off the ladies he had no doubt, and Gale had to muse at how Landis must know it too.

Landis was head of House Slytherian, but somehow being the librarian mattered more. Could have been he loved books much more than he loved anything that associated with snakes, but really it was a fearful respect that kept him quiet about the other House. Digging then for anything to keep the conversation going, and feeling rather proud that he made it this far he asked, “Do you spend most of your nights reading? Is that what keeps you up?” It does me.





 

The brisk, dismissive reply drew Landis' attention from the paper. He regarded Gale through hooded eyes, masking the flicker of pleasant surprise. “Really?" he drawled. "What a perfectly asinine fact to state.” Despite his words, he preferred the truth to a colleague's misguided concern.

“You are the librarian right? I’ve seen you before.”

"Correct." Landis arched a single pale brow. "We do in fact inhabit the same castle." Perhaps Gale had seen him at the staff table, or in the corridors, or here in the office before, or oh, any old where. The possibilities were limitless. Holding a book, that would have been a good clue. Perhaps he'd even caught a glimpse of that elusive creative known as Landis Morgan Cursed By a Hag, who for the first week of school had not stepped one horrifyingly dainty foot off the path between library and staff suite. Regardless, Gale should have had the chance by now to glimpse each of the staff members. "My name is Landis Morgan. I am also the Head of Slytherin, and the one with whom to speak if you have any issues concerning students from my House."

“Do you spend most of your nights reading? Is that what keeps you up?”

"Occasionally," he said, after a lengthy pause. Landis used his nights for many things. Reading for pleasure was rarely one of them. "I am often up late for work-related reasons." Juliette was a colleague. And, if he were to remove his mind from the gutter in which it had inexplicably crash-landed tonight, crime wouldn't commit itself. Landis found himself precariously poised to draw three steady paychecks at the moment - one more generous than the others, one laced with outright threat, one his Ministry-mandated school wages - and his fourth interest earned him no money at all but was, personally, so rewarding. These required a steady stream of output on his end, ranging from the relatively mundane - an idle threat here, a parcel of polyjuice there, some digging amongst his contacts, the systemic destruction of a Knockturnite's livlihood upon command - to the fiendishly complicated and high-risk attack on St. Mungo's and the torturously meticulous pain-in-his-arse weekly sessions with Schlagenweit. Speaking of, he had a progress report to write to Malvivicus. Landis restrained a grimace.

"I also brew potions, and after hours is the best time to do so uninterrupted." He gave a one-shouldered rueful shrug, calculated to remind Gale that a librarian was intended to man his post all day and thus had no other time to indulge his hobbies. It wasn't at all a lie. Upon leaving the Department of Mysteries he'd been forced to abandon several experimental potions that had seemed quite promising, and though he no longer had all his former resources he had resurrected a project or two in the library's back rooms. He made a tidy bit of money selling wolfsbane and other sundries on the sly, and naturally the polyjuice potions he so depended on in his outside-the-castle activities had to come from somewhere.

He hesitated to ask what Kesali did with his nights, not least of all because it seemed so silly (Landis had never really had the patience for small talk). With his moon-pale visage and soft low voice, the new Charms professor looked like the sort to prefer poetry. Apparently he'd done his classroom all in black drapery and candles. Subtle.

Poetry? Never. Folklore? Yes. Often. Nightingale wasn’t one for drama despite how he redecorated his new room. His flare for dramatics came with being half blind by the light that filtered in through the tall windows, and how only having one working eye was hard enough to keep up with a room full of students. In the daylight proper it sometimes was overwhelming to be so dedicated with one eye, and he often got headaches.

”We do in fact inhabit the same castle.”

“We do.” That little comment brought upon something very rare to the Romani refugee, but something strange…a small smile pulled on his pale lips as he regarded the young gentleman lightly, and though his heart hurt a little with how brisk the comment seemed pushed aside (it was his best effort to keep the conversation going) he seemed delighted when Landis offered up more bits of information.

”I also brew potions, and after hours is the best time to do so uninterrupted.”

“I could imagine.” A nervous habit had his fingers find the ends of his hair, to brush through the long strands as if finding solace in the way it felt like gossamer webbing. “I spend most of my time sneaking down to a little place that plays old muggle movies on silver sheets. I grew up in a caravan that didn’t stay in one place long enough to be in a proper theatre. It’s become a hobby of mine.” Pathetic right?

“Tonight they are playing Casablanca“ He continued sheepishly, “It’s one of my favorite.” He turned over his watch, the little gold exposed gears clock told him he had a little while before the midnight showing, and sighed.

Gale let a silence settle over them, letting the young man return to his reading, and his tea. But this was good. That was at least a conversation of sorts. He would have to write this one down for his therapist.

The same castle. Kept repeating inside his mind, they did inhabit the same castle, but did Landis feel the walls closing in as well? So many beautiful rooms, and places to be. Yet, all Gale could think about was tromping out in the woods and making his way somewhere else for a little while. Hell, just being in this same room now with someone he has had more than five words with (that wasn’t a student, or the artist) made him tug on his tie a little.

“I need some air. You are clearly bored in here. Let’s go outside.” He didn’t give Landis time to answer before he stood to take the hall. 

To Landis, everyone was a dithering idiot until proven otherwise. Though burdened with an initial impression of kindness, Kesali showed a surprising hint of promise. He seemed to choose his words carefully, a trait shockingly uncommon at Hogwarts. His first brisk rebuttal, the faint smile, his calm acceptance of this stranger's deadpan snark - they were not much, but they were enough for Landis to not immediately dismiss him as a possibly bearable member of the staff.

Of course, then he revealed that his hobbies apparently included watching muggle things on sheets. Landis put on his society-tempered listening expression and let Gale get on with it, though he hadn't the slightest idea what the man was talking about. He was a pureblood and the muggle world was of little interest to him. He wasn't, as some traditionalists tended to be, so bull-headed as to be ignorant about it, claiming that from muggles there was nothing to be learned. Ignorance was dangerous, and Landis traded in caution. But as his active role in the Wizardingly Blood Alliance implied, he found muggles extremely distasteful. He did not shut himself away, restricting travel to only wizarding locations; he'd roamed London many times before. But he walked amongst muggles like a wolf amongst sheep, full of disdain for them and their dirty teaming ways, their terror-fueled hive-mind potential. He was always aware that they were capable of incredible destruction. Yet at the same time, on an individual basis, it was so easy just to reach out and... snuff. It negated their mystery, but did not lessen his disdain. When he was younger, still looking for a purpose, he'd gone into muggle London a lot. Now he did not have time for purely pleasurable pursuits, and did not go looking for muggles unless they were required for his work. Regardless, he had never stepped foot in a movie theatre, nor did he keep the sort of company to watch them.

"I'm afraid I do not know what that is," he said politely, when clearly input was desired.

“I need some air. You are clearly bored in here. Let’s go outside.”

A walk. What a pointless waste of time. Landis was accustomed to the orders of his superiors, which he followed through efficiently, excellently, and with pleasure. Kesali was not a superior. Nonetheless, the careless arrogance of the other man amused him, the way he stood and left without waiting for Landis to follow. Charming fellow, wasn't he - fortunately for Gale, Landis had always distrusted charm. He took a slow sip of tea, checked his watch. Early yet. He had no reason not to, other than his lack of desire to spend time with an as-of-yet-unknown coworker who talked about incomprehensible muggle movies - who possibly had been raised by muggles, even. Landis was generally quite comfortable spending his time in the castle, like a spider hidden deep in the center of its web; though he walked with the same confidence through Knockturn as he always had, Hogsmeade and its outlying regions were tainted for him now with the memory of Kronos' kidnapping. But such concerns were childish, beneath him, and all it took was his recognition of the lingering discomfort to propel him out of his seat with a self-directed sneer and make to follow. Kesali was slight, with shorter legs than he, and Landis drew even with him quickly. At the very least this would prove an excellent opportunity to take his measure of the man, as each staff member was submitted to the judgement of Landis' icy stare and working mind thoroughly before he decided his opinion of them.