29 September 2011
8:30am

Nathan Briggs, reformed/drowsy, fiddled with the spigot of an ancient brass coffee percolator.  It looked like it belonged on the front of a steam engine, such was its character with shining knobs, dials, and vestigial faucets. The coffee finally came, and even though it was what Nate wanted and what he deserved, he might re-think his life after tasting it.

But it was too bloody early in the morning. He found it hard to believe that this was the only appointment his supervisor had free. He often worked late in the Calaveras kitchens so having to be respectable and on premises by 8am, it was a bit of a thing. So he was chancing the free coffee.

The twenty-seven year old wizard - husband of a phantom, pawn of psychopaths, lacking in humility, abundant in savvy -  inspected the hot murky contents of the styrofoam cup. He'd actually had worse.

"Mmm, sadist," he mumbled as a particular Hitwizards walked by.  But coming along the other way was a wizard too clever to be an Auror, an bloke who'd proven himself to Nate as the sort who could be trusted - to a point. He lifted his chin in silent greeting.

At this time in the morning, coffee on Level Two became something of a high-priced commodity.  The coffee pot in the Auror office had already run dry by the time Jonas had headed over to get his second cup, and the hapless look of the Auror Trainee struggling to brew a replacement batch had not made it seem like a timely replenishment was anything close to a sure thing.

And so, despairing but resolute, Jonas had set off into the broader reaches of Level Two in search of a caffeinated refill.  The coffee in the Department waiting area was usually even worse than that in the Auror office, but on a morning like this, it still counted.

Impressively, he wasn't the first one to resort to drinking plebeian coffee this morning.  Jonas lifted in his chin in the same gesture of greeting, arching an eyebrow as he gave the younger man a sideways look.  It had been over a year since Nate Briggs had been released from Azkaban; longer than that since he had indiscreetly provided assistance on a pair of cases.  They hadn't substantively crossed paths since then, so it was still pleasant to see him without a Vidris Curtain in between.

Jonas stepped up next to Briggs, scanning the counter.  Making a face at the styrofoam cups -- with all of the magic at their disposal, couldn't the Ministry find some sort of portable beverage container that didn't take over a million years to break down? -- he bypassed them in favor of searching through the cupboards.

"Fine start to the day, innit?" he asked cheerfully.  Opening the nearest cupboard, he began to rummage through it for a mug.  "Trust the Ministry to make sure we only have the finest refreshments available.  Reckon you'd be hard-pressed to match the quality of this stuff anywhere else in London."

"They're trying to pick us off. If they're going to die, they'd better do it and decrease the surplus population," Nate said into his cup with a posh accent. The hollow gave his voice a radio-play nasal quality. A Dickensian burn, a level of comedy Nathan was keen to provide his learned ally.

"Ngh." He couldn't keep his composure after a second sip though. The dirty taste and grit on his tongue compelled him to furrow his brow and wrinkle his nose into a sneer. Nevertheless, he took another drink. He'd have his coffee if it killed him.

"You coming on or getting off," he asked. "On any particularly cavalier cases these days?"

Jonas was a good man, for an Auror. He'd kept his word on the occasion he'd given it, and didn't, to Nate's accounting enjoy flinging hexes on unarmed suspects. In fact, Trevelyan had been a lad and helped secure Nate a deal. He'd never properly thanked him.

Briggs was frequently full of surprises.  As much as he hobnobbed with the Knockturn Alley crowd, here he was dropping references to classic English literature like Ebenezer Scrooge shed gold coins on Christmas Day.  Jonas paused long enough in his search for a mug to flash the younger man an appreciative smile.

"Coming on," he replied.  There, in the corner, he spotted one -- it had a picture of a black cat with a wizard's hat, and said Feline Fine.  Jonas had to stand on his toes to liberate it from the cupboard.

"I try not to work nights if I can help it," he added, as he turned back to face Briggs.  "Reckon that makes me a bit better'n Scrooge and Old Marley, if I can make time to see the family for supper.  You should drop by sometime," he offered, as he stepped forward to examine the brass percolator and assess the likelihood that anything dispensed from it would be drinkable.  "You're living in London still, aren't you?"

It was Nate's turn to be surprised: he was being invited round for dinner by an Auror. He glanced away down the hall. First, Nate Briggs couldn't remember the last time, if ever, that he'd been asked to dinner. (That didn't make him sad or anything, but his people weren't typically the type to sit and have dinner.) Second, the power hierarchy between himself and Trevelyan was vividly clear. When one of you is sat on the wrong side of a Vidris Curtain, there was no mistaking it; and when one of you was authorized to use disabling curses and the other had been the object of those curses, the imbalance was unmistakable. 

He didn't have time to be amused that Jonas had taken off with their Christmas Carol bit. (Good old, Jonas, a wizard to be counted on.)

"Alright. Yea. Still Knockturn."

Nate was a permanent guest at a crumbling old hotel that had once been a fine establishment, and which was no mostly haunted - by ghosts and folk less reputable than Nathan. That was all public record now, which was just so comforting.

Honestly, now that Jonas had suggested it, Nate was involuntarily curious about Jonas off-duty. Did he have, Merlins balls, did he have children? My gods, he must live in a house. He banished the thoughts for now. Trevelyan had a right to domestic balance, didn't he?

"I'll bring wine." From Calaveras' cellars.

He went back from another sip of the horrible coffee, stubborn. "You on that Musgrave business?"

A referenced to the disgraced Auror, an accomplish of Death Eaters, and now apparently a pet of the Ministry. Nate had seen him in Azkaban once, but other than that Nate's only relationship to that whole thing was the mixed feelings of condemnation of the man's crimes, the vindication that comes from a fallen Auror, and a resentment that a prisoner could be tossed around like Musgrave had.

The red-haired Auror flashed him a crooked smile.  "Sounds grand.  We're over in Hammersmith," he said cheerfully.  "I'll send you an owl."

He returned his attention to the percolator once more, and turned the knob to begin dispensing the coffee.  He eyed it suspiciously as the liquid started to come out, looking like a dark sludge.  Bloody hell.  Serving that to anyone had to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"Naw," he said, in response to Briggs' question.  "I haven't been involved in that one."  To be fair, he hadn't much wanted to.  He'd known Lawrence Musgrave back in the day, and the thought that his former colleague had turned on Muggleborns still didn't sit right.  He also still felt unhappy with how the Ministry treated those who had been released from Azkaban; one would think the amount of recidivism ought to encourage a different approach.

He sniffed at the coffee in his mug, still suspicious, and then chanced a sip.  It was awful.  Jonas immediately made a face.  Clearly, he should have just waited for the next batch to finish in the Auror break room.

"Mostly been helping with clean-up on the mess up in Keswick," he added, eyeing his mug.  "Hell.  I don't know how they expect anyone to bloody well drink this.  I've had mud that tasted better."

Hmm, Keswick.

"More Dementors? I'm not a doctor but, you all might really want to consider working on that. Just seems a bit extra these days?" he said. He held up a hand. "Just a suggestion."

Nate knew Dementors weren't really an Auror problem, and that there were, like, a bunch of dead bodies out at that house as well. Very nasty business.

"Here." Seeing that Jonas was also displeased with the breakfast fare, Nate set his paper cup down and found a latch on the top of the janky old rig. He opened the lid and poured his coffee back in.  He looked at Jonas hoping to engage him as an accomplice.

The Auror's eyebrows shot up.  He'd known that Briggs was bold, but he hadn't realized that the other wizard was audacious.

Jonas glanced one way down the corridor, and then the other, as if to make sure that there was no one to witness their dastardly scheme.  Then, quickly, he stepped up next to Briggs, pouring the contents of his mug back into the percolator.  Let whatever desperate soul tried to imbibe this monstrosity next deal with the consequences.

"Damn near heroic," he told Briggs cheerfully.  "Now I owe you one, mate.  And I'll pass the advice on -- don't know why we never thought of just working on those Dementors.  You've saved us a load of trouble, really."

He eyed his mug.  Environmentally friendly or not, with the remains of the sludge in it, it probably wasn't worth salvaging.  Feeling only a little guilty, Jonas stuck it back into the cupboard.

"New batch of coffee's probably close to done in the Auror office," he said, arching a brow at Briggs.  "You want to take a second pass?  It's not cafe quality, but it's usually not this undrinkable."

"That's it," Nate said low, mood bolstered when Jonas abetted his food safety vengeance. Nate had to figure the only blights that could be transmitted via used coffee would be dragged and beaten by the sludge and poison in the fresh stuff. A favor, really. A gift to humanity and wizard kind alike.

Like Jonas, Nate was beginning to plan an alternate caffeine strategy. But unlike Jonas, Nathan Briggs was not about to go chum it up with the sharks in Auror HQ. Nate winkled his nose, and shook his head.

"Yeah, no. My self-destruction isn't that severe, mate. I'll just try Calaveras." The restaurant Nate cooked in wasn't open, but some of the kitchen whelps would be starting prep.

Nate crumpled the paper cup into a ball and tossed it deftly into the little trashcan.

"But catch me for that meal at Chez Trevelyan, right?"

With Dazmond in the wind and steering clear of former known associates, life was beginning to slide into a very dangerous doldrums. Like a hound left home alone, if there was nothing to do, he'd find a way to occupy himself.

And that was going to be bad news for everyone. Nate smiled and began to take a few steps to be on his way.

He couldn't blame his companion for taking a pass on a visit to the Auror office.  It was a hard reminder that there was always an imbalance between them:  first, when Jonas had taken the job of spying on Dazmond and Nate had played the role of her protector, and later, when Briggs had been sentenced to Azkaban and Jonas had been his visitor on the other side of the shimmering Vidris Curtain.

In another life, one marked by different life circumstances and different decisions and less involvement with the Ministry, perhaps they could have been mates.  As it was, Jonas would settle for the friendly semblance.

He flashed the younger man a crooked smile, to make it clear that there were no hurt feelings caused by the decline.  "Look forward to it," he said, inclining his head.  "Thanks for the professional consultation."

And with that, he headed in the opposite direction to try and track down a better dose of caffeine.

Fin.