This was the worst day of Fred’s life. 

It hadn’t started that way.  In fact, it’d started as a bit of alright.  Mum had given him a few galleons to go to Diagon Alley and pick up some school things before he had to go back to school after the spring holiday.  Originally, he had owled Alistair, but apparently he was busy. 

This is where Fred’s choices got all mixed up.  He had done the foolish thing.  He had called on Hattie Woolfolk.  Somehow, he’d gotten over his inability to string two words together around her and after starting to tutor her they’d actually become… friends?  Was friends the right word?  Fred thought so.  Or at least he wanted to be friends. 

Hattie was funny and she never seemed to mind when he got flustered or didn’t know what to do.  Plus, she could help him pick out a new tie.  He knew he needed one and honestly, she was going to be a much better help than Alistair anyway. 

But, all that had passed rather quickly.  That wasn’t the part that was the worst day of his life.  Even the part when the shopkeeper assumed that Hattie was his older sister… that now paled in comparison to what was happening now. 

Hattie had assured him it would be fine.  They wouldn’t get in trouble.  It wouldn’t even be a big deal.  Unfortunately, Fred was hopeless to say no because she did this thing with her teeth and her lips and he just sort of… even if he could talk around her now, it made him trip over his feet to watch her do that.   So, he followed along.  She’d dragged him down the alley and swore they’d get away with it. 

Now, he was sitting in a holding cell at the Ministry.  Someone had taken his wand and he was tugging at the sleeve of his jumper as he tried not to cry… again.  He was going to be in so much trouble.  His mum was going to kill him.  His great aunt was going to kill him.  If they didn’t kill him… Uncle Archer definitely would.  The thought made him bury his face further into his hands and groan like a wounded animal. 

“I’m getting my badge taken away… I’ll never be an auror…” he muttered to himself, shaking his head as his palms pressed into his eyelids.  “How am I going to explain this to my mum?” he moaned resigned. 

It was the worst day of Adon's life.

Well, not exactly. But the life that had become Adon's life, the string of days--that is, this banal, listless sitting, watching --this existence that had become his life, was the worst. Adon'd been back a week, and maybe he'd been hoping too much in getting back to routine, in having a purpose, but this wasn't exactly what he'd needed, right now. Even if it was exactly what he'd been told he needed. Riordan and Carstairs had insisted on desk work and the dregs of assignments just until he 'got back on his feet.' And nights, too. Adon reported promptly at 9, slipping on his Auror's robes as he walked through the dismal room that held the waiting cells. Just another evening, watching the drunken and disorderly squabble and attempt to--

"Hey, quit biting that!" Adon barked, walking up to a cell with a man attempting to chew on his restraints. Adon drummed on the bars a moment with a baton. What was life, anyhow?

Dribbles came up to him, a slow, commiserating smil; trying not to look too eager to be relieved. Dribbles had been decent through all of this. Even called Adon 'Sarge,' for reasons he couldn't quite understand. Still, he liked it.

"Got a coupla teens just come in, Cell 4. They been drinkin' at Death & Co. Underage."

Adon sighed, unamused, as he dropped heavily into the seat behind the rickety desk. Level 2 really pulled out all the stops to make the place cozy. He jerked his hand out for the preliminary write-up.  Dribbles, half-shamefaced, handed it over. "Amherst said they be sneaking around-like. Had these on them." Thin plastic dropped onto the desk. Adon glanced down from his scintillating reading in impeccable handwriting and gave a light cough. Cheap spectacles in the form of a penis.

"Were from a hen party on the premises," Dribbles continued to comment.

"I gathered." Adon grit his teeth, continuing to read the report. "Hyacinth Woolfolk," he read aloud. There was a surge of emotions--those were happening more often now--as he remembered the pert, prim little blonde on Level 4. Then the vapid little blonde on Level 3. Neither of which were under age.  He looked over a Cell 4, where, sure enough, a vapid even littler thing was sat. He read on. "And Frederick..." Adon returned his gaze to Cell 4's second occupant, beginning to rise. "...Radley."

Best news of the night. Adon's smile was a bit predatory as he stalked slowly to the cell, spectacles in hand. Reaching the bars, he tapped the plastic spectacles against it, rhythmically, foot tapping in time, waiting. "Woolfolk. Radley," he said in a voice of authority. "Statement here says, ah," he flipped the page over. "How you got into Death & Co--don't know. How the glasses got into Miss Woolfolk's bag... don't know. Age restrictions on Death & Co... Don't know." He folded his arms, broadening his stance. "Anything you do know that you care to share?"

Hattie rolled her eyes as Fred continued to babble on, and used the base of her palm to support her jaw— which was now half slack from impatience and boredom, half puffed up with pouty vexation.

The night had started so brilliantly. She didn’t know where it had gone wrong— certainly not at the shots of fire whiskey she’d stolen off the bar and talked Fred into chasing with limes, nor at the manhood-furbished sunnies she’d swiped from one of the tables by the cluster of drunk ladies. It wasn’t like they’d been wearing them. Freddie had looked much more impressive in them what Hattie had snuck up behind him, wrung her arms around his shoulders, and plopped them on his face, then whispered ’Run!’

It had probably been that. The running. It had nearly ruined her shoes, and there had been sketchy men huddled in the doorway of the pub, blocking their path to freedom on the high street.

“I can’t believe they took my glasses,” she said, in response to Fred’s entire diatribe.

But then, finally, the bright red of an auror’s robes appeared, and Hattie dropped her hand. “Just keep calm,” she whispered to Freddie, even as her eyes anchored themselves to the approaching auror. She bumped the boy's shoulder and gently curled her finger into the bars. “As long as they don’t tell my sister, we’re fine."

It might have been the whiskey. It might have been the hour. Maybe it was just the shine of the flattened phallus in the man’s hand.

The auror was hot.

She pursed her lips, trying not to smile too hard. She didn’t want him thinking they were drunker than they’d been— which was not very!

“Merlin. Look at his hair. Look at his jaw. Look at his chest, Freddie.” Hattie had never seen anyone look so good in red. And she couldn’t even see what was under the fabric on his chest. “He looks like he should have been at the party.” Stripping out of the auror costume.

As he came to a stop, using not a wand but Hattie’s glasses for that would-be, aurorish flair of intimidation one always imagined when one imagined being arrested, the youngest Woolfolk looked him up and down.

"Anything you do know that you care to share?”

“I don’t know,” Hattie, said, biting her bottom lip, holding back a giggle. “Maybe that you really seem to like those—” Her eyes fell to the glasses, whose member-obilia was beating out a timely rhythm against the iron bars. Her gaze flew back up to Adon and his lush face. Her lip escaped her teeth, which shone in a full grin now. “Are you a musician?”

The man was clearly an auror. They’d clearly been arrested. She couldn’t help herself. It was sort of fun, being arrested.

Hearing Hattie’s voice sound anywhere near the neighborhood of elated at the moment was mind numbing.  How she could even think that this was the time to worry about the bloody glasses she’d shoved on his face at a time like this was unthinkable.  Fred was too worried about his family disowning him and all of his future career dreams being squashed because you obviously couldn’t be an auror with a criminal record.  They’d said that in his career-counseling meeting. 

So, sitting in this cell and hearing her be so elated about it… Fred’s life was over! 

And apparently it was up to an auror that Hattie thought was fit.  How horrifying.  He lifted his head out of his hands and looked at Hattie gawking (he couldn’t see her face, but he knew she had to be gawking).  Hair? Jaw?  Fred racked his brain for anyone of his uncle’s coworkers that could be.  It definitely wasn’t Uncle Archer, who was mostly notable because of his height… but hair? 

It had to be Eleor.  Uncle Archer always had stories about Auror Eleor.  Of course, a disturbing amount of them ended up with someone on fire or dead… Fred hoped this was not one of those times.  “Oh no,” Fred muttered as Hattie piped in as soon as Auror Eleor finished talking.

Fred knew rule number one was don’t talk.  Hattie clearly didn’t.  This is what happened when you weren’t raised in a family of law enforcement.  The color rose on his cheeks and Fred reached forward with one hand, as though that would stop her from burying both of them.  No such luck.  His forehead fell forward and he tugged at the roots of his hair.  Just no.   

"Are you a musician?"

What a Woolfolk. Obviously didn't know that Rule Number One: don't talk. Or at least Rule Number One Subpart B: If you're going to talk, have it help your chances. Or Rule Number Three: Don't piss off people with no good reason. In that regard, she was very much like her sisters. Adon was now decidedly less enthused to host a Woolfolk this evening.

He glanced over to Dribbles, dearly hoping the hitwizard had at least given the Police Caution before any of this had embarked--and that Witchy Woolfolk was simply choosing to disregard it out of a place of idiocy, not ignorance. He recalled the training they had to undergo annually regarding treatment of minors, and the particular wording chosen by the Court to explain the situation of minors: "The Court recognizes the fact that, because of their relative immaturity and lack of experience, children cannot be viewed or expected to act simply as miniature adults." Which was to say, sentient humans of some sense.

Seemed there was little mistake of making that, now. Except Radley. He had to give it to him: that kid knew when to keep his gob shut. Perhaps because he maybe had an Auror for a relative? Adon could only be so lucky.

Expression unamused, Adon folded his arms across his chest. He let the silence stretch out several long, painful moments.

"I'm Auror Eleor," Adon said, tone that of a bored, disenchanted tour guide. "As this is your first time," his gaze was particularly on Hattie for a moment, "I will explain the process to you." He repeated the same, tired ritual. "You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." In the distance, Dribbles nodded emphatically. Thank God--at least that had already been covered amply once. It bore repeating, though. Again, like his training had said (in so many words) small humans could be particularly stupid and needed this told to them often.

What followed was an automatic recitation, devoid of human expression:

"You have the right

• to get free legal advice.
• to receive medical attention if in need.
• to notify someone--like your parents--where you are."

He glanced once more to Dribbles, who threw him a thumbs up. "Though that," he added,"I hear, has already been done for you." He looked at the teens, a gleam returning to his eyes a moment. Let them think over that. He sincerely hoped that drove home to Wunderkind Woolfolk that this was not a story-in-the-making but a situation with real, live consequence. Even if all they got from this was a tongue-lashing and a grounding. To teens, that was death anyhow.

God, he hated life; Riordan and Carstairs knew exactly what they were doing, putting him here in this special circle of hell singularly designed to torture failed Law Enforcement Officials, hounding them by the emblems of their failure. All of this was counterindicative to his recovery. Somewhere, deep inside, a part of Adon's soul in his soul withered up and died.

Automatically, like a second-class gameshow host, he gestured broadly to two large posters posted side-by-side on the adjacent wall for all cell occupants to see. "You may consult these posters for our codes of practice and your rights."

On to the next one. Once more without feeling, he gestured back to his desk. "I am putting the initial circumstances of your arrest into the system and had wondered if you had any clarifying details before doing so. Once entered into the system and an appropriate adult is found, you will accompany me into the interview room, where," he looked levelly at them both, "doubtless I will have some further questions for you. Do you have any questions about the process and rights, before we proceed further?"

As the auror played hard to get, Hattie’s grin faltered. Her hands slipped on the bars, and she gave the tiniest of side glances to Freddie before and lifting her chin with defiant determination as the man recited her rights.

She knew her rights, she was Hattie Woolfolk!

The youngest sister of four, she was used to these little diatribes. Sure, this one was legal and binding, but it didn’t mean the same methods that got her out of punishment wouldn’t get her out of a jail cell, too. The auror was still human, despite the unamused (perfectly stubbled, wondrously wrought) jawline.

“Auror Eleor,” she began gently, trying a new tactic. “I think you’ve got the wrong end of the wand.” (In fact, he had the whole thing in his hands.) Hattie resisted another grin, but just barely. Her lips pursed before her tongue persisted. “We really don’t need to bother my parents. I can’t speak for Freddie, but perhaps his mum could fetch us?” She shot him a proper glance now, fully expecting her dear, sweet Hufflepuff accomplice to take one for their team.

“But,” she continued, before Fred could have proper anxiety attack. “I always appreciate being told the same thing twice. Your patience if admirable.” Perhaps he too was a Hufflepuff, despite the accent and envious tan that pointed to time spent somewhere sunnier than Diagon Alley.

Hattie completely ignored Dribbles, that background nuisance. Her eyes trailed to the posters, and back to Auror Eleor. “I think we’ve got the gist.”

Honestly, what was he, a nursery school teacher? Hattie hadn’t been made to consult posters since trying to skip out on penmanship lessons at age 9. Her handwriting was already as pretty as her face.

She waved a hand dismissively— of his words, not the good view. “No questions— well, one, actually! Is that really necessary? The system, I mean. All we did was accompany my cousin into the pub. She had to leave abruptly,” Hattie explained, not naming this mystery cousin. “To walk her dog. So she told us to stay near the nice women with the distinct eyewear. The only reason Fred put it on was so that my cousin could find us more easily. But then she didn’t return, so we went to look for her. We kept the glasses for safety. In case she came back to look for us and needed to spot us in the street. It’s busy this time of night, you know.”

At 4AM, Diagon was full of swaggering drunks, singing and looking for the nearest chips or curry stand. Hattie’s eyes fell to the souvenir in the auror’s hands. “Safety in members— numbers.” She looked back up, not able to stop her grin now.

“Couldn’t you be our appropriate adult? All of that aside?” She gestured to the not-especially-appropriate glasses, hoping the ‘aside’ would be in her overcoat pocket when they waltzed out of here. Maybe Freddie could come over in the daylight and help her cover them in pink glitter. Her mother surely would object, so long as she didn’t see the starting point of their craft project. They could do it in the stables...

This was going horribly. 

A strangled sort of sound came out of his mouth as Hattie decided to not keep her mouth shut – or only open it to request legal assistance.  She certainly misunderstood the last point the Auror made about contacting someone about their whereabouts.  That was the exact opposite of what they needed right now. 

Hattie did not what she was talking about!  Call his mum instead?  His head snapped up and eyes widened.  “No! No!” he croaked.  Somehow he found the strength to push himself off the bench and rushed forward, unable to stop the momentum of his own body before he smacked into the bars with a metallic clang and sickening thump. 

Rattled, but not deterred, Fred tried his best (i.e. not successfully) to stifle the look of pain on his face before he wrapped his hands around the metal and pushed his face between two of the bars.  “Instead of uh… my mum…” his eyes darted quickly over the auror’s face and tried to decide what he was going to say... or completely forgetting his original intention. 

Mostly because Hattie jumped in and kept talking. 

And oh Godric, did she talk. 

The color drained from his face and knuckles while he listened.  “Hattie,” his voice cracked and he looked at her with dinner plate eyes.  He turned to Auror Eleor and summoned the intestinal fortitude to say something to him, instead of his… Hattie… that didn’t listen.  “Auror Eleor,” Fred mumbled, trying to sound as rational as possible.  He couldn’t imagine it worked because he felt like he couldn’t even hear himself.

“We could uh… well…” he liked side long at Hattie and then quickly returned his gaze to wizard who held their fates in the palm of his probably bone crushing hand.  This was it.  It was time to probably end his life for good.  But at least it wouldn’t be his mum.  “Can you get uh… Auror Archer Radley?  I um…” he cleared his throat and tried to swallow at the same time, resulting in the most uncomfortable face in human history, “He can uh… be our… uh… appropriate adult.”  An uncomfortable, nervous smile flitted across his face.  He wasn’t happy, at all, but he hadn’t been able to get out of that habit yet.  “Um…. Please?” 

Dog walk. Nice ladies with the glasses. Kept the glasses for safety. ... The quality of this girl's lies was so poor, Adon was almost offended. Perhaps it wasn't an insult; perhaps she didn't think him an imbecile. She might intoxicated, something he hadn't considered before, or perhaps she was more vapid than either of her sisters. "...Noted," he said with a slow, disbelieving nod. "Nameless cousin leaves unchaperoned minors  in care of strangers to walk dog... I'll put that down. Your parents will confirm this fact?" he asked, looking at Hattie.

He'd had to bring up the issue of parents again. Predictably, that had both of them squirming, trying to shimmy their way out of the situation. (Though Little Radley. seemed to be taking the novel approach of trying to shrink his way out of the situation. He could see the kid practically collapsing in on himself.) Neither, however, had fully grasped his earlier statement. He didn't fully blame them, though. Adon himself had gone into the dark recesses of his mind while reciting that drivel. "We can send for Auror Radley if you like--he's in office today, but your parents have already been sent for," he reiterated, in case they hadn't grasped that particular. "Dribble...by," he called, "could you fetch Radley?"

He looked at both of them. The Woolfolk was alternatively petulant and pleasant. The Radley--alternatively green and grey, ready to puke. Poor kid. That girl was getting everything she wanted: she got all the words in but it was little Radley's adult bailing them out (though wouldn't it be fantastic if Archer let them sweat it out a little.

Baby Woolfolk might think she could get off scot-free. "As a matter of fact," he said, regarding the girl, "your sister, Amaryllis--the Obliviator--she's sometimes on call, isn't she? Should we see if she's on site? Or your other sister?" He didn't remember her name. Admittedly, it didn't have the same kind of bite as calling in an Auror uncle, but as he'd said: parents were already sent for. Least he could for this poor, whipped boy was to even the playing field a little. Call him a philanthropist. Adon just cared like that.

“I know it sounds too good to be true, but honest, sir,” Hattie said, intoning Gingy. “Who would make  up something like this? No one wants to spend their school holiday waiting around for the dogwalker.” Neely would kill her for the description. Hattie felt it was earned, if not apt. They’d had a safe, boring, chaperoned night thanks to Neely. Never mind the shots, the fun sunglasses, or the exciting escape from the army of angry bachelorettes. Or the fact that Hattie hadn’t seen her cousin since the train. “It doesn’t really require parents. They’ll only be grouchy you woke them.”

Hattie simply allowed herself to dismiss the sounds coming from Fred beside her as cute over-excitement. Boys sometimes breathed heavily, or not at all. Mentions of their mothers made it worse. Such was life.

She was sure Miss-or-Mrs.-Fred’s-Mum wouldn’t frown quite so scarily as Primrose would. Not to mention her own mother, whose former Ministry colleagues were even more frightening. (There was something strangely angular and spooky about old people in that line of work; if it had only been young Hattie’s perception when she’d skipped through their office as a child and played with one too many desk accessories, well.) Besides, other people’s mums couldn’t ground her until NEWTs were passed.

She could not as easily dismiss his plea, which he choked out in sudden proof that he could still, indeed, speak. Hattie’s cheek turned to Adon as her eyes fastened themselves to Fred’s curly mop and nervous visage. She seemed to falter, minutely, waiting half-surprised and half-expectant.

Fred’s first intervention ended in an ellipses nearly before it even began. With a look that might have been a small cruelty if it had only included an eye-roll, Hattie peeled her gaze from him and looked back to the auror, resuming her charade as if she hadn’t stopped it in the first place. She was in deep enough now that her desires to become the an award-winning mystery novelist, a barrister, the Minister for Magic, a WADA professor, Primrose Jr., a renowned quidditch commentator, the witch who smoothed over everything with muggles after an Obliviation, or… no, and/or the conductor of the Wizengamot spurred on her tall tale. She easily ignored Fred’s appeal, for he hadn’t helped at all.

But then, then he jumped in again, just when Hattie had concluded her dog-walking story. She looked back at him, willing herself not to adopt an expression that would give Adon Eleor any ideas about her credibility.

He was going to give her away. He was going to. Fred Radley, the prefect. The tutor. That face. that earnest, boyish, peach-sweet face. It was going to break.

And then Fred startled her. With his… smoothness. In his own Fred Radley way. Hattie’s subtle annoyance became a grin. Her eyes shined at the Hufflepuff. She looked back to Adon, full of hope. She didn’t know who Auror Radley was, but she knew he was an auror. And a Radley. She could work with both.

The grin became a wary o when Amaryllis was brought up. And that look melted into a flinch at the thought of Primrose. Of the two, in this situation, Hattie would pick Maree 150% of the time. She was sure her morning would end in a Disappointed But Loving scoop of ice-cream with a side of Pep Talk if Fortescue’s was open. She might not get her sunnies back, but at least she’d have ice-cream, and probably some fun boy gossip. A pointed finger from Maree was usually accompanied by a hug, which Hattie decided she could use now that Adon Eleor, Law Enforcement Centerfold, had spurned her charms.

Hattie breathed out loudly through her nose. “I… If… Maree’s here, I suppose… I guess you could bother her, if you really wanted. Her job is much more exciting than this. She’s probably not at her desk.” Hattie wasn’t able to help herself. She suddenly wanted to speak poorly of this Auror Eleor with her sweetest sister. “She can confirm that Cornelia is our cousin,” she said, eying Fred from the side. “If she’s here.” For even more than her sister’s friendly face, she wanted to evade punishment. There was plenty of time to speak about the swishy-haired male model in auror's robes later. Much later. It was best if none of them came. “Amaryllis,” she clarified quickly, leaving no room for Adon to bring up Primrose again. "If you really think we need two adults, plus you to deal with this."

As the Auror referred to as Dribbleby left to retrieve his uncle, Fred turned his eyes upward and muttered a quick prayer.  It was in this moment that be began t wonder what his funeral would be like.  Would his casket be black with a yellow satin liner?  Would there be a badger emblem on the top?  His family would probably leave his last name off the tombstone because he was an embarrassment to the Radleys. 

Whatever they did, he supposed everyone else would find out soon enough because as soon as Uncle Archer got here he was convinced he would be dead.  Whether it was because he would get killed or drop dead would also remain to be seen.  Maybe he’d become a ghost and he could go to his own funeral. 

His mum would probably appreciate that… His Mum.  Auror Eleor informed them, once again, that their parents had already been contacted and he could only imagine what was going to happen.  His mum probably wasn’t far off.  She worked at Death & Co in Diagon Alley on weekends and nights… she would be here so quickly. 

He leaned into the bars of the cell again and hung his head, taking deep breaths. 

Maybe they would forget he was here.  Hattie was doing all of the talking for them… except for a few of his strangled out words, but if he could just be as silent and still as possible maybe they’d forget. 

Or maybe not.  Dribbleby walked back into the holding area with an apple in hand.  Taking a loud bite, the crunch reverberating off of the grey walls so it almost bounced in Fred’s ears, he looked to Auror Eleor.  “Radley is dealing with a nasty situation right now,” he said through a mouthful of partially chewed granny Smith.  ”Said he’ll be by when he’s done,” a glance was spared toward them – and eye contact made with Fred for several very uncomfortable seconds before he looked back at Eleor, ”Didn’t sound happy.” 

Fred tried to swallow, but found his mouth was too dry for anything.  The audible swallow was just air and that made his stomach lurch.  Which then… Oh no.  Oh Merlin no.  He couldn’t stop it. 

Before he knew it, his stomach heaved and… well.  A meal never tasted as good the second time around.  Nor did it look particularly appetizing on one’s trainers and splattered on the floor.  He felt something drip off his chin and he tucked his chin down, breathing heavily as the top of his head clanked against the bars.  He hoped none got on anyone else…

"Mmm," Adon responded in a series of knowing, contemplative mumbles as the girl dithered on, digging herself into lies he didn't even need to poke at. He'd leave that for the parents. Somehow, he didn't think it was him the Woolfolk parents would be annoyed with.

Her job is much more exciting than this. Adon groaned inwardly. She had to remind him. Everyone's job was more interesting than this! He was up in all hours of the night talking to imbecile teens about stolen phallic sunnies! Hakhayim hem lo osher--hakhayim zeh raq zeh! Ugh. He understood being taken off active duty, considering the circumstances, but ani lo mukhanah lissebol 'od ett hekhara hazeh.

...Interesting. His Hebrew wasn't a bit rusty. And he hadn't had this much cause to bemoan fate in Hebrew for some time...

The girl was preening and side-stepping about with cat-like paws, treading lightly here, and there, looking for any kind of escape.

Adon flashed a big smile and a wink. "Let's just see who shows up, shall we? Now that the notice has gone out?" Merlin knew he had time. They all did. And they deserved to sweat a little bit.

Except that sickly-looking boy. He might not hold up well. Luckily, the good news rolled in: "Radley is dealing with a nasty situation right now. Said he’ll be by when he’s done. Didn’t sound happy.”

Yes! Was Adon going to get to play good cop?? These days, with JJ, that role never fell to him anymore! And it was the best one.

Adon's victory, however, was short-lived. The boy's hands gripped round the iron bar, breathing heavy, clammier... Adon had just enough instinct kick in to jump back a step, sweeping his crimson cloak well free of the mess. "Dribbleby..." he called.  "Could you get that mop and bucket please?" he asked. Dribbles  sent him such a miserable glance over to Adon that his heart softened.

Moloch. Being the good cop was the worst. "Quick, so I can clean it up, brother," he added. That seemed to speed Dribbles along. Adon's expression was only half-appreciative as Dribbles shoved the handle in his hand. "Thanks," he said flatly.

Dribbles at least had the sense to clear the hell out. Adon wished he could do the same.

He turned his attention to poor, Pukey Rad-lite. "Hey," he said, dipping the mop into the bucket before unceremoniously dragging it across the floor, gathering it. If he wasn't so crappy with his magic right now, he'd just go straight for the scourgify. Oh, who was he kidding. The kid was standing in his own puke in front of a girl he probably liked. (Girls would do that to you--unless you were just an imbecile to begin with.) Pulling his wand out of his pocket, he held it a moment, deliberating.

His magic had not been on point since the Dementor attack. Alberic said it was because magic was soul-magic, and his soul was still recalibrating or something. All Adon knew was that spells weren't as strong and reliable as he would want. If this went wrong--if he screwed up in front of a bunch of delinquent teens...

Fuck it.

Adon pointed the wand at the sopped trainers. "Scourgify," he muttered, deep in concentration. The effect was not his best--but passably clean. He gave a hard look to Rad-lite. Let him think it a half-hearted effort. "Move your feet," he commanded, swabbing the floor with the mop roughly. "And you," he said, looking over to the pretty little Woolfolk who seemed so eager and willing to let the lad take the brunt of the punishment. He wouldn't be taking all the shame, "help him grab a seat. He's done too much for you tonight, anyhow."