Just past midnight, March 10.

There were times when Jonas have suspected that the magical coffee pot in the Auror Office was cursed.

It wasn't really that unreasonable a suspicion, or at least it didn't seem so when he laid the argument out in his head.  Even with the constant traffic during the work day, it wouldn't have been that hard to catch a moment alone in the break room.  And there were plenty of potential suspects: most of Level Four, all of Level Three, and certainly plenty of witches and wizards with a political bone to pick besides.  For all he knew, the crime could have dated back to before the last War; Jonas certainly couldn't remember a time when the pot had ever made good coffee, and he was fairly certain that the artifact that had been producing direly burned brew was the exact same one that had been present when he had first entered the Auror office over a decade ago.

He sipped at one of the two steaming cups, wincing at the burned taste, as he re-entered the Watch Room.  Level Two was manned twenty-four hours a day, and the Aurors and Hitwizards took regular overnight shifts to keep an eye out for trouble.  Tonight, his counterpart was Auror Warrington; not a usual pairing for either of them, but with the supposed Dementor attack a day before, Tamis had stepped up the rotation.

"Sorry, it's burned again," he said with an apologetic grimace, passing one of the two cups to the other wizard.  Jonas glanced up at the giant map of the United Kingdom and Ireland that took up most of the wall in the Watch Room.  The woven tapestry had been enchanted years ago to show pockets of intense dark magic, but like the coffee pot, Jonas was half-convinced that it didn't work.  It certainly seemed to only rarely be of use.

"Anything come up?" he asked Warrington cheerfully.  His knee had grown stiff from sitting too long; that was half the reason he'd volunteered to fetch coffee a few minutes before.  Jonas leaned back against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other cradling the steaming mug as he settled to face the Scottish Auror.  "Reckon it's always the nights when they make us pull a double shift that the whole world's quiet as a grave, eh?"

Omari accepted the cup of steaming brown liquid with a thankful nod.

“Nothin’ out of the ordinary, no.”

The graveyard shifts were not Omari’s favourite part of the Auror business, but it was a necessary thing to do. The countless hours of sitting still and the quietness of the office made him tired and restless. He enjoyed the idea of being the first to arrive at a scene of crime if something came up, but it rarely did. He had always had been unfortunate to not work at the nights something extraordinary happened. At least this gave him some time to get through the dreaded pile of paperworks.

The coffee tasted burnt and bitter, as it always did, as he took a sip from the cup while watching the tapestry.

“Knockturn Alley has a small flutter,” he said. “As it always does, though”

He put down the cup, stretched and let out a big jawn. Even though the coffee was one of the worst he had ever tasted, he was still glad that the other Auror had offered to bring some. At least this would make the night a bit more endurable. He turned to Trevelyan and gave a small smile.

“I guess those Dark tossers don’t do magic on Tuesday nights.”

Omari knew very little of Trevelyan - they hadn’t been paired up that much before. He knew that the Auror had vanished during a time, but mostly through hearsay and not from Trevelyan himself which made Omari a bit apprehensive on what was true and what was not. He wasn’t judging though - he understood quite well to what lengths Pureblood-fanatics could go.

“Yer staying all night then?”

A small flutter.  Jonas's eyes flickered to the map, focusing on the scorched mark where Knockturn ought to be.  There had been so much illegal magic cast in the infamous alleyway over the years that that area of the tapestry had been blackened and burnt.  Flutters in Knockturn Alley were matter of course; it would probably take something akin to a Runespoor venom explosion to register enough to trigger a response.

"Yeah, Tuesdays are dead quiet," he agreed, cracking a grin at the observation.  "Not like Fridays.  Or Wednesdays.  Convenient, that.  Just like how You-Know-Who used to always save the worst of the troubles for the end of the school term."

“Yer staying all night then?”

Jonas tipped his head in a shrug, shifting his weight to his left leg.  "I am so long as those are the orders, mate," he announced cheerfully.  Flashing Warrington an easy grin, he shifted his right leg out in front of him, extending his bad knee to stretch it.  "All these so-called Dementor attacks have half the Ministry up in arms, seems like.  Tam was pretty clear -- 'Double shifts tonight,'" he mimicked, in a fair approximation of the Head Auror's crisply posh accent.  He gave a good-natured shrug, raising his mug to take a sip of the burned liquid.  "Reckon it's better than getting called out of bed, though, so at least we have that, eh?"

Omari gave a hearty, loud laugh at Trevelyan’s joke. It was true what he said about the Dark Witches and wizards’ schedules. And where You-Know-Who had always waited until the end of the school term was all too familiar with Omari - he had been there. He took a sip of his coffee and heaved up his bad leg on his counter, making a loud metallic thud echo in the almost empty office.

“Got me stayin’ most o’ the night as well.” He smiled at Trevelyan, scratching his neck. “And as ye said - better than to be dragged out o’ bed!”

There was a certain quality about the Aurors Headquarters during the night. It wasn’t the same stress and constant comings and goings of people, making it harder to concentrate on your own task. It was quiet and more relaxed, and even though Omari preferred the action packed cases, he did enjoy this from time to time - to sit down and actually have time to talk to his colleagues, more than just swap notes.

“How’s the little ones?”

Omari knew Trevelyan had children, but nothing more than that really, and he hoped this question wasn’t too forward. He wasn’t one for prying.

There was only a subtle shift to the red-haired Auror -- a slight crinkling near his eyes, the barest hint of tension leaving his stance -- but the shift was there nonetheless.  Jonas shrugged, flashing his coworker a small, genuine smile. 

"They're well," he answered simply.  Family was a subject that was off-limits to many Aurors.  For all the happy stories like Roh or Harcroft, there were far too many men and women in crimson like Radley, Raynor, and Fox -- or even Ed Pratt, who had lost his parents in the line of duty.  But whenever the chance came to talk about his children, Jonas did so with a quiet pride. "Gwenna's taken to Hogwarts like a duck to water -- Gryffindor," he added, with a crooked smile.  "Artie's got a few years still, but he'd be right there with his sister if we'd let him.  But luckily we've got a few years yet before the house gets that quiet."

Something had flickered over the map.  Jonas let his gaze shift back over, scanning it absently.  Just a flicker, like the one that Worthington had observed near Knockturn Alley earlier -- they happened every now and then, even on the quiet nights.

"So what's the thought 'round the office on that attack?" he asked, arching a brow at Warrington.  "Not very common, are they?  Aside from the bit back in January at the Three Broomsticks -- I don't think I've heard hide or hair of a Dementor since I got back."