It had been a whole week of back in the office and Margo couldn’t even believe she had endured such a thing for any length of time after she’d been injured.  It was boring, it was time consuming, and she was only writing about what she wanted to be doing, or pushing paper, rather than actually doing what she liked to do. 

Eggs and hatchlings weren’t the most exciting  part of being on a reserve either, but at least it was interacting.  She got to be out in the mountains.  There was wind and rain and sunshine… basically all the things that the ministry lacked at any given moment, with the added bonus of dragons, which the ministry was seriously lacking.

But, her healer ordered week of rest was almost up (thank Merlin!) and come Monday, she would be back wearing boots and tromping through baby dragon dung or just relighting a fire under an egg for the millionth time, it would feel so much better. 

For the evening though, she was going to get a beer.  Or five.  She certainly wasn’t going straight from the office though – popping back to her flat to get changed into something far more comfortable than what she’d been instructed (who knew sheer shirts were such a problem after she’d been out of the office for a while?). 

When she finally emerged from her flat, after putting some food into Lizard’s bowl for him, Margo jogged down the stairs – annoyed at the other tenant who yelled at her to keep it down  -as though she was being loud!  She was just walking down the steps for Godric’s sake.  Kindly informing her neighbor to piss off, Margo sighed and walked out of the building.

Bloody neighbors.  If things kept up she’d need to move soon.  It wasn’t as though it wasn’t already awkward to live there, knowing Bagnold was scarcely a floor away.  She shoved her keys in her pocket, trying not to focus on that little aspect of her life, but of course, as soon as she got outside – it was a bloody full moon.  She knew something about the ministry was quieter today.  That explained it. 

Though, it made her a little uneasy, weirdly enough.  It wasn’t as though she was concerned, of course. 

She just wanted to get to the bar – and quick.  It was barely a ten minute walk away, so she walked just a little bit faster, pushing through the green door and realizing she’d rarely been so happy to step into a dimly lit bar with a drink waiting for her.  She marched up to the bar and elbowed her way in, regardless of who was near her and practically whistled for attention from the bartender. 

Normally there was a lot of work to be done on a full moon. Rituals, spells, potions... The full moon was the perfect time to dabble in necromancy. But- for the first time in a very long time- Dervla was fresh out of supplies. Nobody had died recently- at least, nobody had died and come through her funeral home to be cremated so that she could make off with their body... And with the ministry on high alert she wasn't about to go grave robbing (however tempting) or attempt to try and pay someone to do it for her. So she had very little to do with her Friday evening. Disappointed, stressed, and frustrated- Dervla did what any self respecting witch would do on a Friday night...

She went to the bar. She ordered a beer and a shot of whiskey, and perched on a stool where she would be within easy reaching distance of the bartender. Dervla put no special effort into her appearance... Her dark curls hung loosely and messily around her face, her freckles were even more prominent in the dim lighting of the bar, and she wore quite boring robes. The sort she wore around the funeral home when she had nothing better to do.

Her beer was nearly empty, and as she tipped up the glass to finish it off she felt an elbow hard in her side. Amber liquid dribbled down her face and onto the dark fabric of her clothing. She slammed the glass down- hard- against the bar and was surprised to find the offending patron to be a female. A female who was now whistling at the bartender.

"I don't know who you think you are, but the way I see it you owe me another drink. Wasting perfectly good beer..." Dervla motioned at the wet spot on her chest and pushed her glass toward the bartender when he finally came by. "And word of advice- better watch your elbows." Especially on a full moon. Why anything could happen.

Margo wasn't in a bad mood, necessarily, but when someone who she had barely even knocked into was demanding free stuff from her, she wasn't particualrly kind.  Snorting, she didn't really bother to even look at the woman before she rolled her eyes. 

It wasn't as though she was going to dignify something like that with a response - or a free beverage.  It was a truth one should be able to acknowledge: when at a bar, drink spillage was inevitable.  The only time anyone owed anyone anything was when it was a purposeful action.  She hadn't been purposeful, she wasn't going to buy squat.  Ordering her own beer, notably only one, she figured she'd just move to the other side of the bar when it was brought to her.  There was no need to be sitting around someone who was going to be a fun sucker all night.  Or potentailly drunk and disagreeable. 

The woman couldn't keep her mouth shut though and Margo sighed out loud this time, turning her head quickly, ready to shoot out a remark about how she should have just minded her own business, the drink was almost bloody gone anyway - but the thought sort of fizzled in her head. 

For all of the things that Margo wasn't good at, she was really good at recognizing a face.  Even if she didn't recognize the freckles, the jawline was unmistakable.  There was something about pureblood families - the resemblances were uncanny.  Dervla Bagnold had been even more a disappointment that Margo and Kurby combined: which was saying something. 

"My elbows will go wherever they'd like, Dervla," Margo snorted and turned her attention back to the bartender who brought her drink.  She even gave him an extra few sickles for the speedy - and single drink - service.

Dervla immediately regretted her comment as soon as she realized that she was being stared down by Margo Amherst. She knew about Margo. Last rumors she'd heard tied Margo in romantically with her brother. Kurby was a bad seed all around. People had problems with her because of her research- but nobody seemed to mind the volatile Kurby Bagnold. He hadn't been disowned, despite his many mistakes and hangups.

She pursed her lips at the way Margo said her name. The inflection was none too kind and it was obvious the other woman had zero intentions of replacing the drink that she had lost. But the bartender had refilled her glass anyway- both of them, actually. Dervla did her shot of whiskey and sucked her teeth, not letting her gaze fall away from Margo. Averting your gaze showed submission. Amherst had been working with wild animals so long that she probably behaved like one. Dervla wasn't about to roll over and show the soft, fleshy underside of her belly to a woman ill-bred enough to slash it open. (Apparently some judgmental, pureblood ways were just embedded in some people. That or she'd been hanging around with the wrong crowd so long they were rubbing off on her.)

"I have a very special place your elbows can go if they find their way way into my ribs again, Margie... And it would certainly be a shame if you wound up losing another limb to carelessness. I don't think you could wrangle dragons with a single opposable thumb. It's what separates us from the animals, you know." She sipped her beer. "Which makes me wonder how you ended up with two in the first place."

Margo liked to pretend the influence of those around her did not touch her.  Her mind was impenetrable to the forces of evil that were supposed to grip onto her and teacher what was right and wrong in the world.  It was why she wore leather and ran around with dragons and drank strong alcohol.  It was also why she shirked any of the responsibilities of being a member of her family, like attaching herself to a nice pureblood boy and dealing with all the aspects of that.

She’d certainly skirted over the the good boy thing since she was currently only in the most messed up on-and-off whatever it was with this piece of work’s brother.  Not that Margo would ever admit it, but maybe a little bit of influence had been thrust upon her – which was why she couldn’t even believe Dervla was near her.   

The way she said the nickname she’d called her when they were kids just to be annoying as she could possibly be made Margo’s hair stand up on the back of her neck.  She couldn’t show her frustration though.  “I’m sure I could tell you where to stick it,” she sneered at the other woman and took a drink from her glass. 

She could have probably moved, but now it was a competition.  If you left that meant the other person won, and Margo hated to lose.  She especially hated it when it was some brat who messed with the dead. 

“Lucky me, I guess,” she replied flatly.  “I’m surprised they let you out of the tomb tonight.  The crypt keeper feeling generous?”

"I keep my own crypts, actually. And I quite often feel generous toward myself." But Margo was right. It was very generous to leave the tomb considering the full moon. It pained Dervla just to think about all of the grand research she could have been doing. The effects of the moon on necromancy was a thesis she'd been working on for a while- even when she was working for the ministry. She really needed to get in touch with her contacts for some fresh materials. Earning her keep on the up-and-up with her business was all fine and dandy, but it wasn't the same as learning and gaining knowledge and discovery.

"And you're off the leash, I see. Shouldn't you be out... Oh, I don't know, getting mixed up with werewolves? Sniffing out the crazy, dangerous ones?  I've often wondered how it is that you managed to survive that one. But I guess when you're literally sleeping with the enemy it's quite easy to survive. Guess it seems my brother wasn't damaged enough for you. Tell me, did you lead Kurby straight to the bed of betrayal? Do you also do the deed with dragons? Is that the real reason you lost your leg?" Dervla resisted the urge to reach own and thump on Margo's prosthetic. Even she knew that would be going too far.

"My research might have dabbled in the macabre, but at least everything I did was legal, under ministry sanction, and didn't result in ... how many dead? Kidnapped? Terrorized? My brother should have let you get devoured. What is it they say- it's a dog eat dog world out there? At least it would have prevented you from having the opportunity to procreate. It pains me and my entire family to think that one day you could be bearing Bagnold children." Dervla had no idea how true or untrue that statement was. She hadn't even spoken to her family in... well, in a very long time.

Some language in this post – M

---

She should have known she’d embrace a comment about her morbid nature.  Honestly, Margo didn’t understand why she was crazy about the dead stuff.  It was disgusting, and illegal.  Dead was dead.  That was the way it should be.  Not that Margo had always followed the rules, but small things were much different than messing with nature. 

But, of course, Dervla (she couldn’t call her by her last name – even though she really wanted to) had to go for something just a bit below the belt.  What the fuck did she know about what happened.  Lifting her chin, Margo cricked her neck and took a deep breath before a long sip of her beer.  “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” she said tersely. 

That was Merlin’s honest truth.  She clearly had no idea what she was getting into.  Of course, after a very long, very tense jawed sip of her drink (she looked at it and realized she must have drained it).   She didn’t even need to address the legality comment.  Clearly the bitch was even more delusional than she was last time she saw her, what a decade ago? “That’s really rich,” she sneered, “since you haven’t talked to your family in…” a faux pause, to indicate actual thought on the matter – not that Margo even cared, “I can’t even remember the last time you were around.”   

“Plus,” she looked at her, her nostrils flared, “It’s a real riot you even pretend to give two fucks about your brother.  Tell me,” she looked over, “Did you even bother to tell your sister happy birthday?” Of course Margo knew about that little exchange.  Kurby had fumed about it – and she’d been at the birthday party in all of its awkward (depressing) glory. 

"The tone of your voice would indicate otherwise," Dervla smirked triumphantly. She found the right button to push. The whole situation with the crazy werewolf had been highly publicized and gossip in the wizarding world spread like wildfire. "And really, Margie, obscenities? Not very ladylike. I thought you were raised better than that?" She quirked an eyebrow and took another drink from her glass of beer. "Hardly the appropriate behavior for an Amherst, is it?"

But Margo returned the favor. She brought up Rosheen and Dervla felt the pain in her heart. She hadn't gone to the party- because Dervla knew how her mother would react, how her whole family would react, really, if she had made an appearance. Dervla had sent an owl telling her happy birthday, sent her a present, and an invite to come by sometime. But Dervla knew it wasn't the same as actually being there.

"It is a shame when families fall apart. But being disowned is just part of the life of purebloods. Bagnolds may think themselves above such ridiculous behavior, think themselves better than the likes of the Blacks and Malfoys, but really they're all the same. One person tarnishes a reputation- even on false charges- and they get kicked to the curb. Nevermind the fact that I've been back in London for years and years, and nevermind the fact that the ministry has never formally charged me with anything. And naturally they conveniently forget the regular inspections of my business have turned up zero violations of wizarding law. You would think all of the effort I have put into repairing my reputation and building a business from the ground up might warrant some redemption..." Dervla shrugged a little. "But it is the way of the pureblood families to ignore whatever contradicts their whimsy."

"And I do care about my brother. He is my brother. And frankly, you aren't good enough for him. And you never will be. Kurby deserves someone with actual personality who has something to offer society- something other than being dragon fodder. But the two of you apparently want to die by the beast. So who am I to get in the way of that?"

It wasn’t like Margo cared about manners or anything.  She’d always scandalized her family with her mouth, and sometimes it was necessary to use some strong words.  Certainly, Dervla needed to hear them, since she really had no fucking clue what she was talking about, even if she did know just enough to stick a knife in Margo’s back.

At least Margo was able to come back with something that she figured was at least a little scathing.  It wasn’t the same, of course, but it mattered and even if Dervla had a better poker face than Margo, she hoped it was a nice little dig. 

It certainly didn’t shut her up though.  When she rambled about whatever it was (Margo honestly stopped listening), she couldn’t believe she had the idea that Margo wanted to listen to her try and absolve herself from whatever it was she had done.  Yawning, very purposefully, Margo took the last sip from her glass and it was replaced swiftly.  Obviously the bartender was hoping that some alcohol would relieve the tension at the bar. 

At least it gave Margo something to hold onto because she was really sure she might slug her across the face.  Talking about Kurby (or any of the people in that family that Margo actually felt a connection to) was something else.  There was a loyalty there, and maybe other things, but repressed as she was, loyalty seemed to be the most fitting.  Margo tilted her neck, cracking the vertebrae.  “You’re probably right,” she gritted through her teeth, “but the fact of the matter is: you don’t either.” 

“Keep up whatever you’re doing,” she lowered her voice, trying not to sound as aggravated as she was (and probably failing pretty miserably), “but know  that you’re no better than me, Dervla.  Don't throw stones from glass houses, or whatever the fuck the saying is."  She took a sip of her new beer, happy to throw in the expletive just to emphasize her point. 

Dervla was enjoying the time she got to pick at Margo. It was nice to annoy her. She knew that Margo would complain to Kurby. She knew it would piss him off by proxy. It was so much fun to do that. She resented Kurby's anger toward her, and with the reminder of her sister's party, felt the need to take her anger out on him all over again.

She scoffed. "Better than you?" she asked. "Of course I'm better than you. I'm more of a witch than you can ever, Margo. Intellectually and physically. I might have been disowned, but I'm not some dejected, homeless witch struggling to make ends meet from week to week. I have some very nice, powerful friends in the right places. It's just the matter of knowing what strings to pull." Or not to pull. "But I can see how you would think that we are on the same level..."

"Intellect was never your strong suit. All brawn, no brains. Brutish. It's why you wrestle dragons for a living instead of doing something more civilized." As if being a funeral home director was civilized. At least she got to rub elbows with people and make useful connections. She liked her job well enough, though. In fact, she wished she was doing it right now instead of sitting at a bar with Amherst.

She took another swig of her beer and fluffed out her curls. "But if you are so dreadfully offended and bothered by my very presence, you're free to find another seat," Dervla told her. "Nobody is forcing you to stay here. There's a free seat down the other end of the bar. That guy looks seedy enough to be your type. Bet he'd pick up your tab if you played nice. So you could save your knuts to keep yourself being as destitute as you look."

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Margo raised her eyebrows.  She wasn’t afraid of whoever Dervla thought she had in her back pocket.  That was the thing about criminals: they only hung around long enough that you were useful.  If you didn’t prove useful anymore, they certainly weren’t friends.  She couldn’t imagine Dervla was intensely useful, unless, of course someone wanted to be bored to death. 

It really didn’t make Margo feel bad that Dervla thought she was smarter than her – that was probably true.  Margo wasn’t the most skilled witch, but she knew her field and clearly Dervla didn’t understand that at all.  It was fine, she wouldn’t want some spook witch hanging about with dragons.  For all Margo knew she was the reason all of the dragons were dying off.  She wouldn’t put it past her. 

It was a laugh though if she thought hanging about corpses was civilized.  “Corpses are probably less temperamental than dragons,” she commented dryly.  She was a physical person, but you couldn’t be a complete idiot to do what she did.  If you did, you would die.  Margo had come close, but one accident wasn’t going to take her out. 

Of course, the challenge to leave was something Margo wasn’t going to stand for.  She shrugged.  “You were the one who complained, Dervla.  I’m just here enjoying a beer.  Maybe if you pulled the dead stick out of your arse you could too.”  She took another long draw from her glass just to punctuate the point and smacked her lips at the end, just to edge in a little more, grate those nerves just a fraction of a hair more. 

"Depends on the corpse." She'd met more than a few who were temperamental. Especially after she was done with them. Usually, though, it was the ghosts you had to worry about. They didn't take kindly to their bodies being used for research without their consent. At least she had wards for that, and the ministry to intervene and relocate if needed.

Margo was right. She wasn't enjoying her beer. Not anymore. She hated to be reminded of her family- especially by someone so intimately involved with Kurby. She hated remembering what an outcast she had become. Dervla wasn't an inherently mean or evil person. She was nice, loyal, a good friend, enjoyed having fun and being young- she was just too smart for her own good. The hand she had been dealt in life led her to pursue the macabre. It wasn't like she was raising inferi for nefarious purposes. She was only trying to do it simply to learn how.

She would have been enjoying her drink had Margo not elbowed her way into that spot by the bar, sloshing it all over her. And there she was, gloating about her position, smacking her lips, and trying to act so indifferent. Indifference infuriated Dervla more than anything else.

But it was exhausting finding things to annoy Margo about. Pushing buttons was a job best left to the upper crust. It might have come with the territory of purity, but Dervla didn't exactly enjoy the perks of a pure life. The only time the high society folks bothered her was if they needed something. Or when they died.

"Fine then. Enjoy your beer. And I'll enjoy mine. Hopefully in silence."