Augustine had never possessed the passion for classical ballet that her sister had. The spotlight on the stage beckoned words from her mouth and animated expressions, and an altogether different sort of physicality than the muted discipline of pointe. But barre class suited the actor splendidly; it was bum-sculpting, man-eating, a boost to one’s skills in bed and balance with cues. She imagined kicking a photographer every time her leg flew up. She imagined reaching for a golden statue when she extended a toned arm. It made her look flawless on the red carpet, along with yoga, pilates, kick-boxing, and cardio.

Thus, Augustine Fortescue dipped into Alohomocha, away from the harsh flash of the paparazzi’s hounding lenses, in a swish of gossamer mesh and lace, barely concealed by an oversized, light weather coat whose sash had been undone all morning. Fly-away hairs from a loose, artfully messy bun were evidence to hard work at the barre this morning. But if there was a glisten of perspiration on her warm-toned skin, it looked more like luminizer than the uncomely consequences of exercise. Tine had, after all, splashed her face, applied a new coat of balm, and checked her visage in the mirror before leaving the studio.

But the lick of lip shine was the only makeup she wore, Merlin’s honor, as she sighed her way to an abrupt halt at the end of the pre-lunch queue for caffeine. She flashed a smile and waved a hand at a familiar barista, and then spared a friendly acknowledgement for a stranger before shoving her hands into the pockets of her oversized coat and needlessly lifting her chin toward the menu.

She knew what she wanted.

“A nonfat quad no-foam latte with two pumps of spiced maple,” she said, even before the person in front of her had fully shuffled out of the way. “No, make that hazelnut,” she decided quickly, pulling a hand out of her coat to flick at her hair. Perhaps what she wanted was ever-evolving, just like her art. Her eyes devoured the person behind the counter unblinkingly. “Or... Just make sure it’s a quad. Oh, and can I have one of those things…” She gestured hopelessly, then brought her other hand from her pocket and leaned toward the pastry display. “The little ones with the custard cream. You know the ones. And an ice-water with a slice of lemon and sprig of mint,” she finished, like a firm nod, and pulled out the coins. Her hands came down on the counter tops and pushed the money forward, along with a generous tip. She was never good at keeping track of finances. She’d never felt the need. “Please.”

JJ was thoroughly enjoying his day off; he took the cat for a walk, visited with his parents, and completed his grocery shopping for the following week. He felt like a productive member of society-- or at least, more productive than he would have felt if he had lounged on the couch, listening to the radio and reading comics from his childhood. Instead, he was sitting in a coffee shop with a mug of cocoa in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other. On the table was a half eaten turkey sandwich and a copy of Witch Weekly so that he could catch up on celebrity gossip.

The wizard looked up from the paper at the sound of a familiar voice. Slowly, a warm, wide, welcoming grin spread across his face. He tossed the paper on top of his sandwich and threw his hands in the air.

"Tiny!" His voice boomed, successfully getting her attention (as well as everybody else's). Augustine was one of his good friends from Hogwarts. Once upon a time, he had been completely smitten by her. Now, she was some sort of big time actress and he was a hotshot auror-- a brand spanking new one at that. "Come here. Why haven't I seen you lately?" As if it was completely her fault.

Tine had barely escaped the glances of next line— half wary, half obliterating— when the familiar voice and throwback of a nickname rang out. Only one person called her Tiny with affection. Capital T. (She trusted that he knew she could kick someone’s ass, unlike the dismissive money men of theater, who had to learn the hard way.)

“JJ!” Tine had always had the capacity for loudness, even without the years of acting school. A bossy, social, dramatic creature who knew what she wanted (or thought she did, ever fleetingly, week after week), her unquestionable(ish) commands and carrying greetings were just as much a part of her as the anxious murmuring, mouthed lines, solo conversations, and heated whispers to her support team.

She bypassed the tide of the queue in a way that made swimming up stream look both easy and dubious. “I think you mean why haven’t I seen you?” Even as she leaned in to brush her shoulder and plant a kiss on his cheek, she planted her coffee on his table, taking up the real estate not covered in newspaper or food with an entitled and unceremonious drop of her bag.

She pulled away with a grin and sunk into the chair across from his, only briefly eyeing the sandwich before reaching for her coffee. Oh, how bread loved to tease her. “I’ve been doing a new show 8 times a week,” she admitted. “And boot camp when I wake up early.” Her nose wrinkled just barely as she uttered the sigh-worthy words. Really, though, she loved it as much as she hated it. “What about you?” She gestured with dusky, lowered lashes at the rumor rag. “It looks like you’re turning into Gossip Witch when you aren’t making arrests. Or maybe because you’re making arrests…” She grinned with a smidgen of something evil that was most often seen by the likes of Theodosia.

Finally, giving his sandwich its due diligence, she asked longingly, “Does that come with chips?”

JJ absolutely beamed when Tiney made her way to the table, nearly squirming like an over-excited pup.

"Work has been busy." He admitted. Between the Leaky Cauldron explosions and the poisonings, the entierty of level four had been disastrous... Even when he was still a trainee. Work was pushed onto him that normally would not have been pushed onto someone who was still in training. Because he was close to becoming a fully-fledged auror, they probably rationalized that it was okay. Judah had handled it well, and finally rose in the ranks.

"I already ate the chips." JJ replied forlornly. "I could get you some more? Unless gossip witches like me aren't allowed chips." He gave Witch Weekly a serious, pensive look. "It's a tough decision. I'm gossip rag trash."

“Excuse me. Excu- sir. Heyyy. Could you–? …oh for– move, dammit.”

A fiery-haired witch stumbled into the shop, just catching herself before she fell.

With a huff, Aisling righted herself, shooting the craning necks and flashing lights a scowl as she dusted off her front. Paparazzi. Aisling tugged at the back of her kilt-turned-skirt, still frowning. Buzzards, the lot of ‘em…

Of course, that begged the question why they were even around—and when she turned, she had her answer.

“Tine!” Lunch temporarily forgotten, Aisling made her way over, a delighted grin lighting up her face. Of course it was Tine they were here for; Alohomocha might see its fair share of celebrities, but few had ensnared the swarm’s interest so thoroughly as she had. “I should’ve known.” Quickly Aisling leaned in to buss the actor’s cheek before the other witch could even think of rising; and then she turned on the auror with a smaller, but no less warmer, grin. “And JJ.”

She gave his head a light shove, grin broad with mischief and framed by carefully teased strands of flame-bright hair. “‘Sup, fool. Caught any perps lately?”

Tine had missed that smile.

“As long as you’re stopping thieves and saving little old hags,” she encouraged sympathetically... and none too believably, for all her acting prowess. Tine offered a delinquent grin— not unlike the one she was giving his food. “Or stopping the little old hags…”  Old women could be vicious. Thieves beware.

She held up a hand of protest, despite Mirror of Erised level of desire for chips. “I can’t really have the carbs— I’ve already ordered my own, anyway.” And there it was, en route, thanks to the young man who had drawn the short straw.

Tine turned back to JJ even as he approached. “Gossip rag trash of the highest order. As long as it’s not anything bad about me…” She leaned into see what he was reading, her fingers inching around her coffee cup, absorbing its warmth. “Do you fancy being in one of those? I might need to shadow someone in your department for a week. You could pull the strings…” It wasn’t exactly a question, but it came out like one in that skilled actor way. Now would have been the moment Tine reached for a chip, if there were any left. “Come on, I’d look great with a badge. And I know an ex Ice Quidditch player or two if you need to get your arrests up.” Brows popped up sagely. She didn’t mention the ex in that ex. “They’re big on brawls.”

Just as the boy successfully placed Tine’s order in the bit of table real estate that hadn’t been taken up by involved arms, sandwich, or magazine—

“Tine!”

Augustine loved a serendipitous catch up. Lifting a bit from her seat as if she’d been levitated— and nearly but not quite knocking into the tea, which horrified the boy— Tine waved over the spirited redhead. Swollen lips puckered a whisper from the girl’s hair as Aisling leaned in to greet her. “You look amazing,” she buzzed. All gold and maroon. “Pull up a chair.” Tine gestured to the cafe employee as if he were one. It wasn’t that she meant to ignore him, it was that sometimes her pre-performance ritual of self-absorption and talking to the Important People bubbled over into everyday life.

“I was just telling him he should let me help him catch a few. I think I’d be good at it.” She thought that about everything. Her eyes shot back at JJ, pooling brightly with not tears, but the glitter of misbehavior.

And then, finally acknowledging the young man even as he was departing their table (having scrounged up a chair), “Can we have an extra fork, please?” Her eyes swung to Aisling, pinning her with the auror look she was already adopting. “Halfsies?”

Aisling was here! That's it. JJ needed more chips. He was morally obligated to get more food and share them with two of the loveliest people he knew.  "I'm catching all the perps. And doing more than just bringing them in, too!" When he had been a hitwizard, his only job was to capture them. But now he got to do real detective work, and with that came the glory. "And yes, I do stop the little old hags." He appreciated Tine's astute and completely accurate observation.

He waved the barista over, stomach rumbling again. Emeline looked particularly displeased about having to weave through the crowd.

"What is it?" She said with a smile, though her tone was a bit exasperated. She wasn't a servant, and there was already someone at the table to get orders for the celebrity.

"More chips, please?" JJ put on his most charming, sultry expression. It didn't work. Em just stared back at him with those scary, soulless eyes. He handed her a coin.

"I'm not bringing you change. Service charge." 

JJ could never tell if she was serious or not.

He looked from Aisling to Tiny. "So.... How much do you want to bet that I'm not getting chips?" He  pulled out the contents of his pockets. "I have some knuts, a broken watch.... A jar of hot sauce. Some vinegar." While he was rummaging through his things, a couple of condoms fluttered out of his pocket and onto the floor. Classy. This was a family friendly establishment, Judah.

For a moment, Aisling’s smile was just for JJ; even before he had decided to channel his creativity through the red robes of law enforcement, he had always been the driven, determined sort, despite the lack of direction. Now, she was happy to see their friend enjoy the fruits of his ambition. He made a great auror.


     “I was just telling him he should let me help him catch a few. I think I’d be good at it.”


Aisling’s reply was a grin, quick and bright. “They wouldn’t know what hit them.” Though she didn’t much look like it, Augustine Fortescue packed a punch in that trim, tiny figure. While it was the taking orders part that she might have trouble with, she would take down the bad guys just fine. Of that, Aisling had no doubt.

Chair supplied and taken, she shot the server a grateful – if apologetic – smile in thanks before turning it on Tine, brightening at the prospect. “Ooh, yes, thank you.” The other witch’s pastry looked delicious.

As it turned out, it was.

The bite brought forth a burst of flavor: creamy, custardy sweetness and light, delicate flakiness. With a soft, appreciative moan, Aisling let her eyes drift shut, savoring it. “Ugh, so good.”

As JJ tried – and failed – to work his charm on Emeline, Aisling grinned around the prongs of her fork. And then nearly stabbed her tongue with it, because what the hell. She punched his arm. Hard. “JJ!”

Tine’s own grin was full of affection (and pride) as she looked back at Aisling. Somehow the witch’s endorsement meant more than her barre instructor’s. But Tine opened the flood gates with the first mention of hags. As she envisioned poor J.J. having to tackle and restrain a few on the daily— and, more vividly, pictured herself shadowing him for the sake of her craft— she suppressed a shudder. Tine spent a good portion of her energy preventing that future (hagdom, not aurorhood) for herself.

Contemplating her crowded shelf of moisturizers and serums, and whether she might need to rope Aisling into a restocking spree later, she watched various bits of J.J. tumble and dance and ricochet across the table. The Man Purse Charm on those trousers was strong. And brilliantly distracting from pastries and hags.

On the heels of Aisling’s chastisement, Tine chimed in helpfully: “It’s a good thing you’re using protection.” The actress nodded with easy eyebrows toward J.J.'s disused rubber friend. “I hope it’s a snug fit.” Her eyes swept the prophylactic for hints of style or size. And then sailed toward the pretty witch who had rebuffed his charms.

Grinning a little more sinfully, she looked back to J.J., pointing her fork like a wand. “You don’t want to bet against me.” By which she meant he really, really did.

Pulling up her own purse, which more of a huge gym tote, she reached for the small coin pouch nestled between a bottle of cucumber water and a pair of sunglasses.  Her hand resurfaced instead with an open envelope of VIP passes to a new club. “Here are my stakes. Maybe you’ll get lucky, JJ.” She invited Aisling in on the pool with another lift of her brows. “The bouncer’s are sweet, anyway. One of them lives and dies for redheads, so you might not even need these.”

Blessedly, her absurdly huge designer tote doubled as a privacy fence. (She would remember to gloat to Dosia about how practical it was after all.) The last thing an auror, a business owner, and an actress needed was a newspaper article about their gambling ring.

Sitting back, Tine tucked into another bite, fork dawdling. “My trainer is going to assassinate me,” she despaired, dragging the s in each syllable like a parseltongue, because she’d just spent an hour and a half putting the ass in assassinate. It was all to waste (or waist), that floor-to-ceiling mirrored brutality and the pinching guidance of the ballet mistress. She was glad that Aisling was sharing in her crime and that J.J. had ordered seconds. “He'll look at me like the barista just looked at you.”

JJ recoiled at Aislings punch, "Heeey!" he protested, considering for a brief moment to punch her back. But then he remembered they were in public. With paparazzi. He didn't want the next Witch Weekly headline to be, "Augustine Fortescue's Hot-Tempered Beau." On second thought, maybe he did want to feature in Witch Weekly. But not for violent reasons! Witch Weekly had once reported on the hottest staff at Hogwarts. If anybody cared about that, then surely they cared about his hard-earned muscles.

"What? Protection?" By the time she said 'snug fit,' he realized what had happened. Well, at least now the world can know that when JJ has sex, he has sex responsibly. "Oh. Uh." What the hell do you even say to that? "It fits properly."  There.

Then, the bet continued. He looked from Aisling, to Tiny, and then to the tickets. VIP passes, to a place he didn't recognize. "I offer," Judah said in all seriousness, "The best BLT you have ever had in your life." If there was one thing he could do right in this world, it was making damn good sandwiches. "Even if you get.... Assassinated for it."

At Tine’s answer, Aisling dropped her head into a head, letting out a low groan. Her friends, ladies and gentlemen. But a smile tugged at her lips, genuinely amused as it was infinitely resigned.

Not that she was a nun, or anything. Not before meeting Sylvain, and not while she saw him; despite the beast handler’s diffident demeanor, he had proven himself very amenable to a good public snog. So amenable, in fact, that it was all Aisling could do to remember not to turn around in his lap and straddle him properly—right in plain sight of the entire bar.

But.

A blue eye peeked through its meager shield; catching sight of the club’s name emblazoned on the frontmost pass through the V of the envelope, Aisling let her hand fall away, revealing a wide-eyed look of awe. Though a fledgling establishment, it had garnered quite a reputation as a new hot spot for London’s teeming nightlife. Suddenly the fiery-haired witch remembered that she hadn’t gone clubbing in ages.

What were they betting on, again?

Aisling snorted at JJ’s dramatic pause and outright cackled at Tine’s lament, but quickly rummaged through her pockets. Not that… not that… not that– oh! “I’ve got a box of strawberry pocky,” she said, holding it up so that they could see. They might be not as filling as a sandwich or as exclusive as the VIP passes, but they were tasty, convenient, and low on calories. “But I bet that if you do get chips, she’ll pop it over your head.” She gave JJ a big, sunny grin.

She had no doubt that Tine would give them a pass each anyway, regardless of who won or lost, but there was nothing that kept a marriage friendship alive like a bit of friendly betting.

"It fits properly.”

Augustine almost snorted out a sip of her rigorously specific coffee.

She was lucky: she was an actor, and therefore be highly capable of controlling her reactions. Unless someone ruined her smoothie, or paid a murky compliment, or interrupted her in the middle of rehearsing.

“JJ,” she said, like a nursery teacher about to lovingly correct a child's poor effort, “When someone gives you the chance to exaggerate? Take it.” She lifted her cup, pointing it at him, eyebrows fleeing up her perfectly unwrinkled forehead to emphasize the lesson. Not that she needed to exaggerate the struggle of her sister hunting down suitably sized prophylactics for certain ex lovers. “From what you’ve described, it’s still perfect for a wand-swinging contest,” she added kindly.

If their wagers were not as flashy as the pair of tickets, they were just as enviable. BLTs could be an exclusive offer when they came with the added bonus of best in your life. (And weren’t part of a trainer-approved diet.) And sweets warmed by Aisling’s pockets? Completely worth the potentially tragic candids.

“Life’s short, he can AK me if he wants.” Tine leaned in to the pile of goods they’d accumulated like poker chips. She was still undecided, whether the winnings were worth a basket of real chips. Why couldn’t she have a BLT with chips, and pocky for dessert? Why had Dosia listened to her when she’d had a brief screamy-PMS-y cry and insisted on throwing out all of the sugar and salt last week?

“He could win this thing if he stole his boss’ badge.” Her eyes darted menacingly toward Aisling. “Youngest Head Auror in history… You’d be a witch magnet, JJ.” She looked back to him, encouraging higher stakes in the bet. This was far more entertaining than putting up with the new producer at the production she was rehearsing. “You’d definitely... not be ignored when you offer to pay a cafe employee for food, anyway."

Dosia had been waiting for Augustine for… she didn’t know how long!  Her sister had wanted to go to one of her classes, and lacking the same motivation this particular morning, Theodosia waved her off and instructed her to be home after.  They had to go over some plans for Augustine’s newest project and she had a few offers for opening evening apparel that they’d need to sort out. 

Plus, Mulligan had sent three owls already about getting back to him with an updated schedule… Oh and there was the photo thing, and an interview with two wireless stations… and that magazine.  Dosia was already going to lose her hair. 

She needed a tea!  And judging on how Augsutine was over a half of an hour late… well… she could take a detour and say she was doing something for Augustine.  Packing up her little bag, Dosia tucked her hair into a messy bun before she walked out of the door, locking it with the flick of her wand behind her. 

The street was quiet-  thankfully the photographers had moved on from hanging about their stoop, not that they ever bothered with her anyway, but still.  It was weird, having them hanging about and waiting.  Predatory.  It made her shiver.  Thankfully, any and all shivering would be stopped up by the tea she was able to get! 

Pushing the door open, well.  Of course, the universe would do this.  “Augustine!” she called out and pushed past a few people (so elbows were thrown and things were jostled but she made her way through), “you’re late,” she greeted her sister – then, turning her head, realized there was a group of people – only a few she really recognized and nodded knowingly to them, “Hullo,” she greeted flatly, “Sorry to interrupt.” 

Aisling sat back as Augustine imparted her worldly wisdom, that brilliant grin turning downright dirty. O Tine; where would they all be without her?

…actually, that was a good question. Aisling’s grin faded. Where would they be, if Tine no longer had time for them, mere lesser mortals? Certainly the poorer for it, that was for sure; Augustine Fortescue was the kind of character that brightened any room she entered, simply by being. Some saw her innate sense of drama as a flaw – particularly if they were taking the brunt of it – but it was drama borne of sincerity and honed by hard work. It took skill to be as good as she was.

Luckily, before she could sink any further into a maudlin spiral, a new face appeared—bringing with it Aisling’s grin, full force.

“Dosia!” Aisling beamed. Despite the age gap, both she and JJ were very familiar with the petite witch, who had made her mark on them as the more practical, responsible sister and cemented the impression forever when she became Tine’s long-suffering assistant full-time. “Sorry, were we keeping her?”

Earnest smile still in place, the redhead slid Tine’s custard pastry towards her, regardless of ownership. “We were just catching up. JJ here–” Lightly she knocked a foot against his. “Thinks he isn’t getting chips from Emeline–” Aisling jerked her head at the counter. “But we think he’s being too hard on himself.”

She gifted the auror with an exaggerated, tragic look. “Love life not going so well? Maybe it’s time to ring up some of the old floo numbers. I hear Maya’s working at Level Two, now, like you.”

The look went wide-eyed. Innocent.