It had been barely two days since Emmylou had interviewed at Puddifoot’s. It had gone well (brilliantly, if you asked her), and she now found herself with two jobs… or one-and-a-half-ish, since the other hadn’t started yet. She would give her notice soon enough; she just needed to save a bit more money. How hard could it be?

She was in an energetic mood as she steeped and poured tea for tired healers, visitors, and other staff. She had it down, had long since learned to master the tea shop alone (which was a good thing, because after the lunch crowd had calmed, her coworkers had gone their own lunch breaks). She was chatty with customers, generally enthusiastic as she made their orders, often earned a few extra coins for the tip jar. But if she got a bit bored from time to time, when there was a lull in the crowd, surely no one could blame her.

Like now, for example. It was quiet, her boss wasn’t due in for another couple of hours, and Lou had already cleaned everything. Mostly. She waved her wand, directing a rag to wipe down the back counter. Another wave, and a couple of bags of coffee beans made their entrance from the stock room. She leaned into the counter, tapping her fingers idly against the wood. The corridor in front of the shop wasn’t very busy, either. It was a view that could be interesting and tedious at turns. Where were sexy bearded healers covered in coffee when you needed them?

Her eyes roamed over the customers who had already been served and were sitting, enjoying their tea and sandwiches. A pair of witches in bright robes, a man in his early thirties with a copy of The Prophet, and another witch who… was sleeping? Lou stood up more properly, stretching a bit, her eyes gazing up over an espresso machine. She had greeted the woman only a while ago, had taken her order (which her co-worker had filled). She had seemed perfectly normal— maybe a little tired. Her eyes flickered to the entrance, once more, just to make sure that her boss hadn’t decided to come in early, or that a new crowd of customers weren’t about to queue up. Then she rounded the counter and walked toward the table where the lady was slumbering.

Lou held her wand idly, wondering whether to poke her. She looked like she was enjoying the sleep, somehow. Her lunch and a prescription were laid out on the table. She was well-dressed, perhaps around Lou’s mum’s age— that age of parents that wasn’t so easy to pinpoint— and generally seemed like someone with an important-ish job, not the kind of person who would fall asleep in a tea shop (though all kinds of people did a lot of waiting in a place like St. Mungo’s, and slept where and when they could).

“Hey.” Lady. “Miss?” She asked, gently, but loud enough to be heard (she hoped). “Are you alright?” She felt a little bad, waking her, but what if she’d missed an appointment? Was supposed to be somewhere? What if Lou’s boss walked in and thought she was being inattentive— or, conversely, too nosy? Well, it wasn’t like she had fallen asleep on the job.

Aisling had only meant to close her eyes for one moment. The day had felt so long already, with work, with a quick check with a Healer and some adjustments that would hopefully stave off the nausea better than what she had first been given. And they'd said that it might be twins again, a prospect that had left her feeling even more exhausted, piling on to the baggage left by the Statute-breaking incident of the previous day.

And so that moment had turned into a few minutes of sleep, her head pillowed by the cuff on her right arm. Not so deep that she would sleep through even that gentle voice.

She lifted her head, blinked, and looked at the young witch who had awakened her. "I am well, thank you. Though I expect the Healers will fuss if I fail to eat this." A bit of steam was still rising from her soup, which she'd fortunately pushed away enough so as to not fall asleep into it.

"I didn't sleep too long, I hope." So much work to deal with back at the Ministry, let alone smoothing everything over. Edwin and his wine and his bloody feelings.

Lou was glad the woman was easy to wake. It seemed to have been a light nap. “You did pay for it,” she pointed out, thinking that was a sound enough to argument to dive into it. Healers’ advice was another good reason. “But a pre-lunch nap doesn’t sound so bad.” When Lou had started working here, she’d daydreamed about napping (really; it was possible).

“Only a few minutes, I think.” She’d been cleaning a bit since the lunch rush had calmed down, but it hadn’t been very long. "And it's only the second weirdest thing I've seen today,” she added, grinning. “The soup looks like it’s still hot.” There were charms on the bowls, but still. "Can I get you some water?” Staying hydrated was always important. She was sure the healers would recommend it (even if she wasn’t sure what the woman was in for.)

She wondered what the woman was in for, whether she was just on a lunch break from work or had taken the day off to be here. Lou’s work uniform was casual by comparison (maybe because it was only an apron over her regular clothes).

"I would appreciate some water, thank you." Aisling tugged her bowl of soup close enough to eat, apparently still a bit groggy from her short nap, as the bowl wobbled to an almost-worrisome level.

Once it was properly moved she tapped her fingers against it, then nodded. "Still very hot, yes. I'm almost tempted to let it cool a bit further, but then I fear I would fall asleep again and I've far too much work waiting for me for that." She had deliberately not looked at the Prophet yet for that very reason. It was the Muggles she had to deal with, no point in worrying about the wizard press as well.

Far too much to worry about besides that. Especially given how much the exhaustion had snuck up on her, just how tempting another nap sounded. She pushed some vials of potion off to the side to make further space for food, one of which tipped over with a soft thunk.

Fortunately, it didn't spill, and so Aisling merely sighed at it before propping it back up. "It's good you woke me. Three is shorthanded enough as it is."

Lou nodded, and looked over her shoulder to direct her wand at a stack of clean glasses. Water poured itself and zoomed over to the little table, idling in the air beside the woman’s shoulder.

She smiled knowingly. She was pretty sure the woman wasn’t in her line of work, but Emmylou knew what a busy day was like. “You have to sleep where you can.” (Even if Lou had been a bit caught off guard at the sight of the woman sleeping right there in the teashop at the lunch hour). “Especially if the healers are on your case. We have an Eyes Wide Open tea if you need it, but it can occasionally give people heart palpitations,” she said, with an apologetic shrug. Too much caffeine tended to do that. "I guess it’s a good thing we’re in the middle of a hospital.” Her eyes flickered over the prescriptions again, and the hot, almost untouched soup.

“What sort of work do you do?” She didn’t ask about the potions. Asking that might be a little too nosy, even for a Carter, who came with an inherited abundance of good luck and pretty smiles.

Eyes Wide Open certainly sounded appealing, but Aisling shook her head and sighed at the offer. "I believe that sort of drink is on the long list of items the healers have ordered  me to avoid over the next several months, or else I would have to order some of it."

She held her spoon in the air for a second, letting the steam swirl away as the soup cooled. "I can't say that I remember them being this particular the last time, but I was a bit younger then." Though she wasn't about to say just how much younger, she felt old enough already.

Still tired, she lifted her eyes to look at the young woman. "I'm with Accidents and Catastrophes." She finished her spoonful of soup, then set the spoon down and offered her hand. "Aisling Knight, Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee." Technically she was the head of it, now, but that particular fact wasn't something she'd yet become used to.

“Understandable.” It wasn’t a drink most healers would recommend. “Are you avoiding all caffeine?” That would explain why the woman was so tired. Emmylou tried to imagine it— especially now that she worked with it. There were days when she never wanted to look at a bag of coffee beans again, when butterbeer sounded like the sweetest thing in the world because it wasn’t what she sold for a living, but the next morning usually brought a strong desire for coffee or tea. Or firewhiskey.

But with the woman’s next words, she was putting things together. She raised her brows, looked her over again. “You’re—“ Pregnant sounded a bit, well, blunt. Again, Lou was reminded that the woman was probably around her mother’s age. (Though she would have finished blurting out the question if she thought her mother was pregnant). “Expecting?” She finished with another bright smile.

While Lou had her issues with the Ministry, that was primarily the aurors. She had family members who worked there, and it seemed as if many of her schoolmates had found their niches there as well. She took the woman’s extended hand, shook it. "Nice to meet you. I’m Emmylou Carter. Or just Lou. Particularly talented barista.” She grinned with slightly cheekiness. That was one way to describe her job. "For the moment, anyway. So you get to come up with stories to tell the muggle media?”

"Most of it, at the least. I'm not sure if it's possible for me to remember everything that I should not be eating, using, or touching." The soup was probably safe, at the least. And she did need to keep eating.

She nodded slightly to the young woman's question, a bit of exhaustion still slipping into the gesture, though there was the briefest flash of a smile as well. "Yes, about two months now. Long enough to hear far too much about my age, I fear." The soup spoon seemed far too small, and she twisted it in her grip before taking a few more spoonfuls. Everything seemed worse when she was this tired. But she slept so poorly without the occasional potion.

"They're saying it might be twins again. Merlin." She shook her head. "And yes, that's the gist of it, though at times it's more of explaining incidents to them in their terms. Though it's never boring."

Pregnancy was one of those things that Emmylou wasn’t keen to experience firsthand, not for a few years (or several years), at least. She would take this woman’s word for it— or George’s girlfriend’s word for it. Or technically George’s word. Merlin knew she’d got an earful about what life with a pregnant woman was like. Life as a pregnant woman sounded epic(ally responsible). “You might as well be training for the quidditch world cup.” Square meals, plenty of sleep, quiet nights. Then again, the professional quidditch players in Lou’s life weren’t shy about trips to the pub.  “Minus all of that broom work, maybe."

“Two months down, seven to go. Not bad,” she said enthusiastically, grinning. “You’re nearly there.” Only two more seasons. It definitely wasn’t common for a woman that age to be pregnant— again, Emmylou assumed the woman was in mother’s age range, 40s, 50s, maybe. But it was obviously possible for her to be pregnant. “You shouldn’t let people give you rubbish about your age. You’re the one expecting, not them.” Lou was of the firm belief that women should make their own decisions. "You’re probably an infant next to someone like McGonagall, and she’s still making first years nervous.” Plenty of witches and wizards worked well into triple digits, so surely this witch could have a baby. Or two.

“Again?” Two sets of twins. That sounded like something George would dream up. But a wilder path was always more fun (again, not that Lou was in any rush to travel down this particular path— parenthood). “The first two will be able to look after the second set.” Built-in babysitters. She had no idea how old the other set of twins was, or whether they were the babysitting type, but why not?

Mrs. Knight’s job sounded interesting. Good storytellers were admirable people. While Lou had been raised by a witch and wizard, there were distant muggle relatives in the mix, and she had known a few muggle children in the neighborhood growing up. She knew enough about muggle culture to guess some of the scenarios the other witch might find herself in. “Do any of them know the truth?”

"McGonagall's making my daughters nervous, now. It's their first year, so I don't think they'll be doing much babysitting for a while. Well, except over the summer." Aisling smiled, perhaps her young companion's enthusiasm was infectious, or close enough.  "And I don't need anyone reminding me of my age, it seems to do a sufficient job of reminding me of it on its own."

Particularly now, though that wasn't the sort of detail she wanted to expand on too much. At least the soup seemed to be non-offensive, though the spoonful she took wasn't steaming as heavily as her earlier ones.

“Do any of them know the truth?”

"The Muggles? Parts of it, wouldn't be convincing otherwise, but not about magic, no. We'll tell them that there was an outbreak of allergies caused by an errant plant, but not that it was a magical one. Unless you count my family, but that's not related to my work." She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“McGonagall wouldn’t be McGonagall if she didn’t make people nervous.” Lou’s smile widened at the thought. Even a brave Gryffindor could get their nerves a little worked up over the Headmistress. The lion alum still remembered her first good look at the woman’s stern face and epically practical hair bun on the night of her own sorting, over seven years ago. “What houses are they in? I hope you have at least one Gryffindor.” Not biased at all.

Babysitting could wait. They had plenty of time. Emmylou was lucky she was the baby of her family in that regard. She only had to deal with one self-righteous sister, and vaguely worrying one. No babysitting. (Yet. George’s kid was bound to say hello any week now.)

Lou could agree with the sentiment about age. Her mum loved to tell her how old she was, as if eighteen meant she should have all of her things together.

While Emmylou had become rather convinced after her father’s death that the Ministry was full of it, she knew there was a… sensitive nature to dealing with muggles and the muggle world. It was understandable why the wizarding government might want to keep secrets from the muggle one, tell little stories. “But I’ve heard their prime Minister knows about us."

"Or at least most of them, I'd be terribly worried if the girls weren't in at least a little in awe of her." Aisling smiled as well. Minerva's presence at the school was one fact about Hogwarts she could find comforting. "And yes, Rowena is in Gryffindor; while Sophia's a Ravenclaw."

And she missed them far too much every time that she thought of, or spoke of them. Perhaps that was a mother's role.

It was simpler to think of the Ministry, of work. "I've heard the Prime Minister knows, but I couldn't say for sure It's never been something I have had to work with." And she hoped that she never had to deal with such a severe situation. There'd been enough of that, enough that she was glad to have over. "We do have some contacts in their government that I've worked with previously. Often the family members of witches and wizards." Those who already knew, in other words.

A Gryffindor— the world was right. “One has plenty of time to teach the other the ways of the lion,” she philosophized, raising her brows with all of the mystique of a Gryffindor alum barista who had too much espresso in her life. Lou was still hoping George would rub off on Waker and stop her from being so un-fun. Maybe the baby would help. She would bet galleons it took after George if she had the galleons to bet. “My cousin’s girlfriend is having a baby, too. Very soon. If her first word is Gryffindor, I think I win.” Win what? Everything.

Lou had heard the same thing about the Prime Minister. She imagined it made sense, more now than ten or twenty years ago, even, with the changes that had come with Harry Potter and his friends growing up and filling important positions. Lou had grown up with magic, and she couldn’t imagine being the only muggle in the world (minus close relatives of witches and wizards) who knew magic existed… on top of having to take care of a government. But she wasn’t exactly all warm and squishy with government types, either. They had gotten themselves into those positions, hadn’t they? “If I didn’t have a wand, I’d be begging someone to get me places with Apparation.” Lou remembered having to wait seventeen years to Apparate on her own. The least they could offer was side-along for the ones who had to watch from heavily congested traffic. She had noticed it made muggles very moody, waiting in traffic. Not that cars weren’t interesting.    While Lou thought the muggles’ jobs sounded chaotic, she could see the same was true for the witch, whatever her own general thoughts about the monolithic ministry. She still looked exhausted. “Can I get you anything else-- to go with the soup?"

"Win? That's a rather long word for their first. With my girls it was comments like 'elf' and 'mum'.  Or so Tarron tells me, I fear that I didn't get to see much of it." It was a testament to Aisling's composure that her expression didn't break at that. She'd missed so much....

She simply nodded as the younger woman went on about apparation. It wasn't that she was disinterested, just exhausted by her condition, and a bit more so by memories.

The mention of soup made her lift her head. "Some bread, perhaps, if it's not too much trouble. The Healers say that I shouldn't be eating too much more yet, but my appetite seems to disagree."

“The—“ She looked at Aisling and smiled for clarification. “Other expectant mum is a Ravenclaw.” And man was she ever a Ravenclaw. Lou would not have guessed in a thousand years that George would end up with someone so Ravenclaw-y. (Her own dating history notwithstanding.) “If something shorter is more realistic, maybe ‘lion.’” Lou’s smile softened a bit as the woman explained that she hadn’t been there to hear it. But she was of the belief that a person could catch up on things, in time, and clearly this woman had. “It sounds like you’ve been there for a lot, though,” She offered, encouragingly, not knowing the woman’s situation and realizing she was already getting overly nosy with a customer. Her manager would be back soon.

“It’s no problem.” Bread was the simplest of requests when it came to customer needs. The way some people ordered their coffee… But now was not the time to dwell on that. “Bread can’t be too bad for you.” It wasn’t one of those foods that made people nauseous, and the woman certainly looked like she could use something else to perk up her energy a bit. “I’ll be right back.”

As if on cue, one of her coworkers returned. Lou smiled innocently at him and headed toward the kitchen for some bread.