“Here, let me take your cloak.”

The early Friday evening traffic of the Sword and Chant wasn’t as busy as some of the places off Diagon Alley, which made it more conducive for conversation. Prim and Ceph had escaped the office at the close of the week, a peace offering following a stand-off in the Department meeting earlier that afternoon. For however much Primrose Woolfolk had a reputation amongst her Level Four colleagues and beyond, having grown up together through family friendship, Cepheus found her not entirely terrible company. Since their rather agreeable Christmas interactions at the Woolfolk’s party, they’d even ventured on pleasant conversation in the office. A drink was a step beyond, but Cepheus felt strangely compelled to suggest it by memo half an hour before the end of the working day. He couldn’t escape good manners drilled into him, even if his mother would raise an eyebrow at taking a lady for a drink, colleague or not.

“What would you like to drink?” Ceph asked, setting aside Prim’s cloak neatly and carefully without taking a seat. At her response he nodded graciously, “I’ll be back in a moment. Try not to burn holes in the other patrons with that look.” Ceph spoke softly, lips curling into a good humoured smile. If he were her, he’d be hopping mad too. It was part of the reason he was holding out this olive branch - a session of nodding and making sympathetic noises. If he could defuse the anger now it might not brew for the weekend and turn into legalese vitriol.

A few moments later he returned with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of white wine in the other which he placed down before slipping off his suit jacket and taking a seat beside her. Better beside than opposite her - too confrontational, and pretty as Prim’s eyes were, he didn’t fancy their intensity for an evening.

“I felt today called for a bottle,” Ceph explained, pouring Prim a generous glass before helping himself. “For what it’s worth, I thought your presentation was executed to perfection this afternoon. I mean,” he hastened to add, "last week we had some monotone doldrum from Spirit Division explaining the repeal process for ghosts banished from their original haunts. Twenty minutes to explain something he could have in five. Not a moment wasted for you. My congratulations.” He lifted his glass in toast though the height it reached illustrated his trepidation of suggesting a positive from what potentially might have been a disastrous setback for his ambitious colleague.

Prim had spent so much time preparing for her presentation.  She’d been so meticulous in putting together all of her arguments, she’d seamlessly lined up everything she intended to talk about in an easy to understand, flawlessly logical presentation.  She’d been so confident!  How could people disagree with her?  Honestly?  It wasn’t as though she was suggesting putting a trace on anyone! She just wished to solve a problem – a problem that was obviously not going to be fixed with hugs and kisses from both sides of the aisle. 

Unfortunately despite her hard work and flawless presentation skills, she’d been outvoted.  Again.  She’d gone back to her office and poor Gillian[1] had to put up with her sulking – and maybe the throwing of one glass paperweight.  Just one.  And it had happened so quickly that even Prim hadn’t realized she’d done it until the pieces were shattered on the floor. 

It was probably lucky for Gillian that she’d gotten a memo requesting a drink and Primrose hadn’t wasted much time in accepting.  Cepheus had actually become pleasant to be around.  Christmas had seemed to create some sort of understanding between them, and as a result, she didn’t even care that she didn’t really drink.  She just needed to be out of the office and in the presence of someone who wasn’t going to purposely rub in the fact that she was an unmitigated failure at what she had picked to be her crusade. 

After the paper weight incident, she’d almost grabbed her stationary and sent a note over to the Beast division… but she thought better of it – and then Cepheus had messaged and Prim resisted the urge to scrawl a hasty summons in favor of going for an altogether too needed drink.

So, being in the pub, she wasn’t accustomed to drinking in public… but it was worth it.  Humiliation made people do a lot of things they normally wouldn’t – including this.  When Cepheus returned, Prim lifted her eyes and it settled on the bottle: “Prudent,” she muttered, trying not to be short with an added, “Thank you.”  It wasn’t really his fault, even if he had changed his mind to vote with her, it wouldn’t have made a difference. 

Prim watched his hands as he poured the wine – she’d taken to noticing hands – and gladly took up the glass when it was finally offered.  “Not a moment wasted in crushing my proposal either,” she lamented with a sarcastic raise of her glass.  She took a healthy sip and placed it back down on the table: even an upset Prim didn’t take to drinking quickly, “I spent weeks putting that together,” she moaned pitifully, “weeks wasted!”  It was so frustrating.  “What am I doing wrong?” she offered the question to the universe before she turned her eyes to Cepheus, “Don’t answer that.” 

It was a wise statement; she surely didn’t really want to know at this moment.  “I feel foolish.” 

1.

Adoptable

The bottle appeared to meet Prim’s approval - good elven wine to forget the week. Worth it for the company, Cepheus had reasoned with himself while consulting the list. Prim would probably have thought far worse of him for the one he occasionally picked that worked well as a house white. Now, to nod and listen if she would talk. Anyone knocked back was bound to be angry, irritated, frustrated, and Primrose Woolfolk all of the above was a risk to colleagues. She had the potential for revenge, for grudges, though her good manners and grace were above it on the surface.

”Weeks wasted!” Cepheus made a sympathetic noise and adopted a sorry expression, trying not to interrupt. “What am I doing wrong?” He almost choked on his wine, thinking she really did want an answer for a split second until she clarified and he managed to swallow the rest of the sip without spluttering.

“I feel foolish.”
“Well, you’re not foolish.” Cepheus replied without much hesitation, looking properly to his colleague with a level gaze.

He gave her a supportive but relaxed smile, fingertips pressed to the stem of his wine glass before him on the table. “Nothing about your presentation suggested to me that Primrose Woolfolk is in any shape or form foolish.” Ceph shook his head briefly to support this statement and then briefly bit his bottom lip between his front teeth, considering what he might say.

“As a proposal it was incredibly well put together, your evidence very much supported your proposal.” There was a but hanging in the air there and Ceph realised it as he drew breath and saw Prim’s expression. “The Trumble case very much up in the air still, unresolved, other departmental priorities…” He offered somewhat more weakly, “Hollow’s plan for Level 4 isn’t so focused on the legislation as you might hope. Budget cuts from Level 1, bad press of late has really torn some holes in the five year proposal put forward.” Ceph’s dark eyebrows lowered. “If the Minister had called for a somewhat knee-jerk reaction to Trumble then perhaps, but short of another direwolf situation, whatever is cheapest to run is considered enough. Besides, always a bit of a touchy subject for our Head[1].” He shrugged, knowing Prim knew that very well.

“Are you going to revise matters and repropose?” Ceph asked, feeling he’d said more than enough. He’d invited Prim out for a drink to let her vent, not to talk at her.

1.	Hollow is a werewolf

Primrose appreciated the affirmation that she was not a fool.  Though she hated to admit it, she thrived off the approval of others.  When it was withheld, Primrose would deflate, like a poorly made soufflé.  So, resting her glass down, Prim let out a deep breath and prepared herself: she was going to listen.

Each compliment to her preparation and the execution of her proposal was met with the feeling of a rock dropping in her stomach.  She couldn’t control what everyone else wanted, and obviously she couldn’t make them see things they way she wanted to, but the plan of their department head just… Prim’s shoulders tensed and she dipped her head with agitation.  The ministry was more than equipped to handle what she proposed.  She’d even covered that!

Exhaling in agitation, Primrose finally lifted her head and let her shoulders drop.  “Hollow’s plan for level 4 is…” she couldn’t even finish the statement.  She needed to grab her wine glass and take a more than generous sip.  Primrose knew very well their head was a werewolf – and that certainly put her at the biggest disadvantage of anyone on the legislature – and then on top of that the budgetary concerns.  Primrose huffed, “If there’s enough money to furnish a revolving door of level two leadership…”

She had to bite her tongue.  They were out in public.  It didn’t look or sound right to be bad mouthing her place of employment, and Primrose could not lose any friends in any of her plans.  But it was true.  There seemed to be a never ending stream of witches and wizards breezing through the auror office: perhaps put those wasted salaries to use for something that would actually help the citizens of the wizarding world. 

“Of course I’m going to repropose,” she answered emphatically, as if it were never an option.  “I suppose my next area of focus will be on the budgetary concerns,” she reflected with only a hint of bitterness in her voice.  “Perhaps next time I should just bore you all to death in hopes you’ll forget what I’m saying and just vote to appease me.”  Of course, for Primrose that would never be good enough: she wanted people to vote because she was right, not because she was boring and they wanted to shut her up.  (Fun for them: they’d never get that to happen.) 

She sniffed and took another, smaller (and more Prim-like) sip, “I appears I’ve got all the time in the world anyhow,” she frowned, “When do you suspect there will be an opening for a follow up presentation?”  Prim knew things were constantly being brought forth, but scheduling was complicated, to say the least, and she’d need some time…

And no distractions. However difficult that might be to actually manage. 

“If there’s enough money to furnish a revolving door of level two leadership…” Ceph’s mouth curled at the corners in agreement, but like Prim, he said nothing further as they were in public. Everyone thought it, but it was frowned upon to criticise another Department unless they really had mucked up. Level 2 had been going through a tough time of late and it was peacetime. Andromeda, Ceph’s younger sister, was an auror, as was his former sister in law, Nadine, and both had vocalised similar reservations to the disruption of those in command, though had explained that Ed Pratt had been rather glad at the prospect of relinquishing his Head Auror mantle. Ceph had decided he wouldn’t want to be in his shoes.

“Perhaps next time I should just bore you all to death in hopes you’ll forget what I’m saying and just vote to appease me,” Primrose suggested, making good progress through the wine, not that Ceph was consciously checking. He gave a genuine laugh, amused, imagining the nonplussed expressions of the Department team leads while Prim navigated a beautifully constructed presentation in a monotone voice.

“You can turn your hand to anything, Prim, but you could never bore me to death with your legislative proposals.” He assured his colleague with a bright smile. Hopefully she wouldn’t actually take that up as a challenge…! “Far too interesting to attempt to understand your reasoning behind your proposals. And we didn’t vote in the Spirit chap’s proposal either, for the record.” He tipped his glass a little towards her before he took another sip and listened to her thoughts on timescale.

“When do you suspect there will be an opening for a follow up presentation?”

“Hmm.” Ceph placed down his glass and reached for his jacket, fingers slipping into his inside pocket to return with a modest black leather diary. He leafed through the pages, revealing a methodical and neatly kept diary of appointments. “Next fortnight I know we’ve got people in, so maybe by March? I’ll enquire politely to Hollow’s secretary on Monday.” He glanced up to Prim with a modestly apologetic expression, turning his diary back to the correct day and drawing down the diary's claret ribbon bookmark between the crease of the pages.

“Oh! I quite forgot about the Prewetts tomorrow.” He flattened the diary momentarily on the table between them, neat fingertip pressing to Saturday above a note to get his hair cut (for that very reason). "Ignatius’ birthday. Will you be attending?”

It was only a moderate amount of satisfaction that her more boring colleague had also been outvoted.  What still stung was if her logic was sound and the arguments made sense, she was still being denied.  There was something wrong with that: terribly wrong and it made her reach for her drink more frequently and sip in a less than delicate manner each time.  Her father would have balked at her, drinking a perfectly reasonable wine with the vigor one might down some cheap whiskey for the thrill of it.  Prim didn't make a habit of drinking recklessly, but given the situation she didn't even think about it.

Unfortunately for her, she'd have plenty of time to think of her next proposal however.  Cepheus, ever organized, pulled out his agenda book and looked through some of the pages. Prim couldn't help but sit just a hair taller to try and see across the table at just what Ceph was actually up to these days.  It was a pity she'd never developed a skill for reading upside down and the quick scratching on the page, while most likely readable to her companion was unrecognizable as script to her: might as well have been runes (one of her poorest subjects at school).  “Hmm?” she queried when he spoke again, eyes turning upward as though she hadn't been trying to peer into his personal life. 

Oh! That?! Ugh.  Prim felt her fingers tighten around the stem of her glassware and she gritted her teeth for a moment.  She remembered her mother mentioning it, all the sound of it coming back in one fell swoop of a memory: Prim had not agreed to go, but that hardly mattered to Imogen Woolfolk.  “I haven't had time to even think on it,” Prim decided the diplomatic answer was the way to go, even though her brain screamed: over my dead body.

“But I'm sure I'll be there, of my own will or not.”  Her smile was joking, but there was truth to that.  Obligations went a long way in their circles and the Prewetts were upstanding and important.  They weren't the sorts the family would snub.  Prim understood that but it didn't mean she liked it. “Have you decided on whether you'll let Ignatius keep the spotlight at this gathering or are you going to come in, arm and arm, with some handsome wizard?”  it was much more fun to talk about his life than hers. 

“Or is that little treat to be reserved for next Christmas?” she asked with a bright smile for the first time all evening.  For someone who considered herself to be above reproach (laughable, really, all things considered), Prim did love a good rumor every now and again.  As long as it didn't involve her.  Her shoulders dropped though, at the thought of actually attending, "It will be quite boring won't it?"

“But I'm sure I'll be there, of my own will or not.” No greater truth of being a member of a pureblood family, Ceph thought and mirrored her smile. The social obligation, while lovely and flattering, could become quite a chore for appearances sake. Christmas only seemed a week ago, though it really wasn’t, but it had been such a timetable of formalities (and so terrible to the waistline) Ceph felt he needed a quarter to recover.
“Hah, quite.” He agreed out loud, fingers still pressed to the pages of his open diary beneath Saturday’s entry. In freshest blue ink was Pub - w/ Prim added that afternoon, and entries throughout the week in his neat handwriting revealed engagements with different Division teams and the Daily Prophet.

Prim’s comment about the spotlight earned a surprised expression from her colleague until the sentence continued and Cepheus began to laugh. It was a good-natured, genuinely amused laugh.
“I wish!” He shrugged his shoulders, upturning his left hand to emphasise it. “No handsome wizard has thus far crossed my path suitable for a debut, but the night is young…” His right hand fingers curled on the pages of his diary at his distraction. “I have my work cut out.” Cepheus shook his head, looking past Prim a moment in thought rather that visual distraction.

"It will be quite boring won't it?”
“Potentially, yes.”

The pair of them shared a moment of glum expectation of the following evening. Cepheus reached for the bottle of wine and topped up Prim’s glass and then his own.
“But the wine’s usually pretty good.” Cepheus reflected, eyes running over the label of the bottle in his hand before he put it down. “The Prewetts are lovely, I’m sure we both agree, but the circles do lend themselves to business. They are proper, well-to-do occasions, and that’s why the likes of our parents adore them. Everything by the book.” He slid his diary shut. “Still, there could be a year yet where someone scantily clad jumps out of the birthday cake.” Cepheus shrugged. "Do you suppose when you and I are heads of our families, Prim, we might throw equally respectable occasions according to eons old social etiquette?” He frowned, “There’s still time for you to find an equally discussion-worthy date of course, to liven up the evening. We could finish this bottle and go looking together."

Laughter was surprisingly easy when started by another.  There was a hint of brightness in this dark moment.  The idea of a silver lining suddenly came to mind, though its glow dulled considerably when he noted there would be no such event: at least not at present.   Prim frowned softly, more in thought than anger and sighed: she knew little of their colleagues personal lives outside of those that ended up in the Prophet or Witch Weekly for it, so she was of little help in drumming up names of eligible wizards. 

No one would have been surprised really, since as far as the rest of the world was concerned she hadn't drummed up a list for herself, let alone anyone else.  "If you were willing to drop the handsome bit, I'm sure you'd find yourself with plenty of possibilities,"she noted with a smirk.  One did not need to have a dazzling partner to cause a stir, nor did it have to be entirely serious for that to occur either.  She wasn't suggesting he pledge his lifelong affection or start a family, after all, just attend a party that had all the makers of a boring affair written into it.   

Sometimes, all that was required was a good distraction.   Prim knew plenty about that.  Her fingers twitched as Ceph refilled their glasses.  There'd be no such thing (at least for her), the following evening.  But how she could use another hour or so of being just Prim.  Nothing but heat and hands and... She felt herself starting to flush and hoped it was from the wine (doubtful) before she looked up and realized, rather late, that Cepheus was talking.

Blinking, she tried to connect the dots quickly - business, well-to-do, jumping out of cakes... Ah! The party, yes.  Clearing her throat, Prim drummed her nails lightly on the table and sighed.  She couldn't comment on his assessment of the Prewetts, but she could easily answer his question. "I hope not," she relied honestly, "or at the very least, when we are forced to assume the role, I hope it is not so stifling." It seemed unlikely, but as the eldest who had long endured such formal occasions, Prim did it have the highest of hopes.  "I suggest we throw one another's birthday celebrations, just to ensure something good pops out of a cake: scantily clad or not."  She could prove she hadn't totally been lost in a daydream.   

Lifting her glass up, Prim sputtered into the wine at the mention of her own date.  Hastily recovering, she shook her head.  "I'm all set with that," she pointed out crisply, tilting her chin up.  Though, a guilty mind made her blood suddenly run cold: he could take that anyway he wished to.  Oh no! She tried to stem her nervous reaction, wide eyes, tight jaw, but relaxing was not quick work.  Prim felt feverish. 

"Attending alone is much preferred," she settled on.  "Saves me - and you - the trouble of looking," doesn't it?"  Prim did her best to smile convincingly, as though she were free of secrets.  "The we can spend all night along the wall except for an obligatory dance.  Practice for our next 50 years of these things." 

"Ah, but I like dancing with you." Cepheus protested, resting his chin on his upturned hand, and his elbow on the edge of the table. "And the more we continue to turn up alone, the less chance we have that they'll give up trying to pair us off. But, if you feel I'm the least threatening partner you'll ever be paired off with ..." He shrugged, "There are worse fates than a wizard who likes to dance with you and other wizards..."

Ceph's thoughts darted back to Christmas and Prim recounting her family's attempts to pair her off with anyone remotely eligible. There were some right arses who fell into the sphere of possible suitors, and none of them deserved Primrose, not even on the ugliest days where she could strip paint off the walls with her retorts.

"Alright, deal - until one or the other of us does find someone we want to go with. In which case we should give each other a heads up of impending doom. So one can fake a headache or bribe a stand-in." He lifted his glass of wine and finished it thirstily. "Odd on you will find someone first of course. You're looking exceptional these days, Prim, really you are. Here, more wine."

Cepheus once again filled up their glasses, not caring a jot how quickly they were emptying the bottle. He set the bottle back down a little more heavy-handed than he meant and a content smile on his face.

"We should go out after this." Ceph insisted, "I've only ever seen you at stuffy social events or work. I want to see the real Prim."

Prim considered his point with a laugh.  “There are worse fates for the witch you enjoy dancing with as well,” she smirked, thinking of the pathetic options in their age group (and beyond) who would have qualified in her parents’ eyes.  Everyone knew Phoebus Prewett was a less than ideal dining companion[1] and the Bagnold son, he worked on her floor -- he was miserable. 

The list of poor choices was endless.  It wasn’t that her parents were the craziest of purebloods (as evidenced by Liadan and some others in the extended branches of the Pureblood tree), but they did want to see their children settled and coupled off to ensure they didn’t die alone… or something like that.  So, it wasn’t entirely a surprise that Prim never told them anything about her dating life.  The current state of it wasn’t exactly what they’d expect from her.  It was better to keep things separate, avoid having to explain anything to anyone.  Pushing that off, she refocused and continued to smile as she lifted the glass again, “Maybe we should just concede, attend a few events together and then have a horrendously public break up.” 

Of course, his suggestion would work too, “Or that.”  She took  a sip and frowned: when had her glass almost emptied?  She pulled her eyes back up and placed the glass down.  Her cheeks felt warmer and smiling was coming more easily.  Prim was not a drinker.  Chuckling lightly, she shook her head, “I wouldn’t hold you to a fool’s bet,” she replied with an easiness (thoughtlessness) that was absolutely uncharacteristic.  She was not drunk. 

Frowning a little, Prim leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips.  “Go out?” that seemed so foreign to her: the most socialization Prim had up until recently were work and stuffy social events.  “I’ve got to tend to the horses,” she suddenly responded, eyes growing – a little sting that she’d forgotten in her anger.  Feeding wasn’t for hours yet, but still – it was almost always at the forefront of her mind after a day at work. 

“You must have heard,” she grasped the edge of the table before readjusting her weight forward, forearms resting rather unladylike on the wood, “our granian just delivered a filly,” she informed him, “scarcely three days ago – I’m sure Papa wrote your father about it – and oh, um…” Prim was not an actress, but she did her best to appear as casual as possible, “Grigory –“ oh! hasty addition necessary, “Gonchar – he was there, oversaw the birth.” 

She was thankful for the full glass all of a sudden and grasped the stem to take a sip and collect her thoughts, “The point I was getting at,” not really, “Rather than going out and experiencing the same stuffy event Prim, we should take a weekend ride at some point.  I’ve got an old gelding who’d be a perfect steed for you.”  She raised her glass to him with a lopsided smile.   

1.	Incident experienced by Amaryllis referenced here.

“I’ve got to tend to the horses,” Prim reasoned against his suggestion.
“Really?” Cepheus replied, sounding genuinely disappointed she had obligations and responsibilities, backed up by a downturn to his features. He was drinking the wine on a relatively empty stomach, he’d not had all that long to grab something for lunch earlier and he’d be home fixing up dinner about now to compensate.

At the way she leaned forward, Cepheus found him doing the same, closing the gap between their faces to the point he could smell Prim’s perfume more clearly as she explained the newest arrival at their stable. “Grigory – Gonchar – he was there, oversaw the birth.”
“Big G!” Cepheus exclaimed, expression changing entirely at the recognition to a grin, “Terrific, he’s a most excellent beast handler,” and rib crusher, Ceph thought to himself, recalling one of their Departmental nights out that had led to being unexpectedly manhandled (without any complaint from him, and perhaps a little encouragement actually).

“Riding?” Ceph’s voice betrayed him a moment, wavering, and he cleared his throat, “I mean, great - I just haven’t ridden in quite a few years, I can ride - it’s just been a while and I…” He swallowed, blushing slightly, a hand going to ruffle the back of his hair, “… I might have dismounted before I intended last time.” He laughed a little at himself. “But if you say he’s suitable for someone out of practice, and what the heck, sure. You’re right, if I want to see the real Prim, then where better.” Cepheus shrugged and toasted Prim’s glass with his own in agreement.

“And be lovely to see your new arrival. I’m sure she’s lovely.” He propped his chin back on his hand and gazed at Prim, continuing absolutely innocently from his perspective, more meaning to refer to G’s personality than anything more personal, “and how did you find Grigory? He’s quite the guy, isn’t he?”

Being rosy cheeked was not exactly odd, considering the current state of the wine bottle, but Prim felt extra red when Cepheus announced ‘Big G.’  Well if that wasn’t an understatement, she thought, and then thought about how she shouldn’t be thinking that – and that she probably shouldn’t even know that… and then how did Cepheus know that?  Or was she thinking too much on this?  Feeling her mouth get a little dry, Prim nodded and took another sip before humming in agreement. 

It was easier than speaking and she felt a huge relief when the subject changed to something she could actually laugh bout.  It completely passed over her head that anything inappropriate could be made out of what he was saying at the moment, but for those that would realize it, the moment would have given them infinite joy.  Prim just smiled instead.  “We could always do a lesson beforehand,” Prim finally noted with a teasing grin. 

She could just picture it now, leading him along on the lead line like she’d done for Hattie when they were younger and her instructors had done for her.  “You know, get you used to being back in the saddle.  I doubt Morris,” the name even sounded old, “will do little but walk along.  No surprise dismounts, I can guarantee,” she wrinkled her nose with a wide smile and toasted his glass back.  “I think it will be quite fun,” she added, laughing, "even with your rusty skills - I'll be sure to take all safety precautions for your comfort.”  Sometimes, mostly on days like today, she regretted that she didn’t do that professionally instead.  In the middle of a sip, Prim realized that Cepheus was leaning on his hand, looking at her with an expression that was probably half motivated by thoughts of a filly and alcohol (both elicited something akin to warm and fuzzy feelings). 

“and how did you find Grigory? He’s quite the guy, isn’t he?”

It was now possible for Primrose Woolfolk to without a doubt know the feeling of wine going up one’s nose in surprise.  It was not a pleasant experience by any means and she coughed loudly, eyes watering at the sting.  “Oh! Um,” she tried to find words between coughs and covered her mouth, waiting for the spell to pass, complete with sniffles to try and ease the burn.  “I mean, what is there to say?” she finally squeaked out. “Like you said, he’s very capable.” 

At so many things.  Oh gosh.  Was she still flushed?  Did she have hives?  She glanced back at Cepheus, searching his face for any sign that he knew something.  He must have known.  Otherwise, why would he ask?  “Why?” she finally asked, eyes narrowing, again to see his reaction, “Did he… mention anything?” 

“Like you said, he’s very capable.” Prim agreed, and Cepheus wondered why he’d never noticed how pretty her eyes were. Perhaps because he’d never stared at her for so long so close other than when they danced, and then he was more preoccupied with trying not to peer up her nose accidentally due to the height difference.

“Very,” Cepheus agreed, for it was the absolute truth about Gonchar, “turn his hand to anything can Big G, not seen him phased yet, and well, we get up to all sorts of things on the floor…” Cepheus trailed off before finishing his sentence with ‘don’t we?’ to indicate that he meant Level Four both as multiple persons and in location.

“Why? Did he… mention anything?” Primrose enquired. Cepheus didn’t notice how flushed her face was, his was just as warm and he was now suitably merry on an empty stomach.
“Grigory mentions much, he gets ever so excited but whether I have the foggiest what he’s on about once he gets going... That accent,” Ceph shrugged, now leaning more towards Prim than he actively realised, "takes a bit of tuning into.” Ceph gestured with his free hand as if tuning a wireless set beside his temple. "Bit hard to speak when he’s squeezing you tight though…”

He was of course referring to the rib-crushing hugs Grigory could deliver with those tree-trunks he called his arms. Wonderful, strong, lovely arms… his mind had wandered as had his gaze as he thought about his colleague’s gigantesque physique.

Cepheus rubbed his cheek self-consciously with that same free hand and reached for the bottle of wine only to find it empty.
“Drat,” he made a face and looked to Prim, lifting his head, "another?”

If she was sober, Prim would not feel as… she didn’t even know what she was feeling right now, but she knew she wouldn’t be feeling it if she weren’t two very large glasses of wine into this conversation.  She knew she had meant one thing, but wanted him to believe she meant another so when he agreed there was a sort of disconnect there.  Was he doing the same thing? 

The possibility, frankly, made her uneasy and a bit agitated.  Even though she was dying to know the answer, Prim held her tongue and resisted the urge to ask what sorts of things they got up to on that side of the floor.  Primrose thought she had been aware… but now it sounded like maybe she wasn’t – or was she just imagining it?  If she said anything else, Prim was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hide the edge in her voice.  She was also thankful she had long hair, or she was sure anyone would be able to see the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.  “Quite right,” Prim responded tightly, still trying to keep her composure. 

It was even worse when he continued.  If she wasn’t already flushed, she’d be bright red.  Did he look wistful?  What did that mean?  Prim guessed she didn’t know much about Grigory’s past – and Cepheus was right, his accent… especially when he was in an excited state was a little difficult to comprehend.  And those sorts of things didn’t really come up when they saw each other… “It sounds like you’re quite close with him,” she ventured in the most even tone she could muster. Prim sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit down. 

She didn’t even know why she felt so… was it jealous?  Oh Merlin. It hit her like a blasting charm – she was jealous.  This was terrible.  She had no reason for that – it’d barely been a week!  Reaching for her glass, she was distressed.  It was completely empty.  How had that happened? 

When Ceph looked to her to ask about another, she nodded vigorously.  “Yes, that’s a fantastic idea.”  Some of the s’s were definitely lost in that, but it didn’t matter.  Prim needed another drink.  And fast.   “I don’t usually drink like this,” she informed Cepheus, trying to settle her wavering gaze on his face.  This was getting considerably more difficult as time passed.  “Isn’t this what your side of the department does too?” she asked. “Drink," she qualified, "regularly, I mean.” 

“Yes, that’s a fantastic idea.” Primrose agreed, which pleased Cepheus no end. It was a long time since he’d drunk a whole bottle of wine straight after work on a Friday with a friend. He and Prim would have to do this again!

“Excellllent.” Cepheus replied, pressing both hands to the table-top, considering getting up to organise that. The same wine? Something different? Something cheaper - it might taste alright now. Oh Gods, he should probably have something for dinner when he got back, he was becoming hungry.

“I don’t usually drink like this,” Prim informed him, and Cepheus frowned in concentration, listening intently, "isn’t this what your side of the department does too? Drink, regularly, I mean.”
“My side?” Cepheus queried, “Beast Division, definitely, but Beings - nah too many old farts in the Goblin office.” He made a face at the thought of some of his older colleagues that he now managed. They were all with families and not the sort to go out drinking with their colleagues unless it was someone’s leaving lunch or the Christmas dinner. “But you should,” Cepheus grinned, noticing her rosy red cheeks, "suits you.” Such an English rose! Pretty Prim. He got to his feet, albeit slightly unsteadily, and giggled at the fact.

The newly uncorked bottle went straight into their glasses, splashing a little as Ceph wasn’t so accurate at pouring this time round.
“I know Grigory, but I don’t know Grigory. You know what I mean?” He told Primrose, as if the whole sentence was genuinely beautiful English and he was entirely coherent as a result. “He threatened to carry me home once.” The Being Division Head giggled again at the thought. It served Ceph right for letting himself be convinced into a drinking game with some Beasts. He was far too small in frame and weight to have a chance.

“I said there was no way I would ride him in the street - people would have things to say. But I wouldn’t say no to him,” Cepheus half closed his eyes with a content smile, admitting his interest in Gonchar was not just as a friend and colleague, until he had a moment of self-realisation. “Shh, why am I telling you this! He’s not my way. You mustn’t tell him Primrose, promise.” Ceph planted a finger to his own lips to quiet himself.

“More wine, more wine. I will definitely ride yo- er - ride with you, and we should definitely, definitely do this again.” Cepheus nodded and raised his glass to his drinking partner’s.