Just before 7:30 am
The Sellaphix Family's home in Marylebone

In between everything else going on that month, Zelda Sellaphix was still in St. Mungo's.  With her youngest son back in school, her elder son trying to navigate his new job at the Daily Prophet, and her husband still in Azkaban, Kurby had voluntarily taken on the regular tasks of checking in on her, fetching her things from the house, and making sure she was as comfortable and not-worried as possible while she was incapacitated. 

He'd dropped in to visit Zelda after he'd gotten off work late the night before.  The herbologist's stay at the magical hospital had now extended into its fifth week, and she'd asked Kurby to stop by the family residence to pick up a few things and check on the house.

And so, at just before half past seven in the morning, he'd unlocked the front door, strolled inside with Zelda's bag slung over her shoulder, and started for the stairs.

That was, until he saw the girl asleep on the sofa.

"WHAT THE HELL!?"

If anyone else was still slumbering inside the home, the werewolf hunter's explosion had likely put an end to their peaceful respite.

Upstairs, Figaro was rudely awakened by the din. He shut his eyes hard, attempted to sit up, and then fell back down with a groan.

Pain, nausea, and weakness. His mouth was dry, and he could taste his breath. He rolled over and felt around. He was home. Not his flat, but, home. And it was - oh blood hell, why was it so early? He could barely think, he was so hungover; what had happened last night. Wait, what had woken him up?

He pushed himself up to sitting, which was not a pleasant experience. His ears rang with the headache and his empty stomach threatened to boot. (Again?) He was still dressed, sort of. There were signs he'd tried to get his trousers off at some point, but had forgotten his shoes were still on. Moira.

He'd been out with Moira. It was all still jumbled and fuzzy, and he still had some sense of urgency to find out what he'd heard downstairs.  Figaro got to his feet, fixed his zipper with very dumb fingers, and shuffled onto the landing. He steadied himself on the wall and blinked. Bloody hell, was he still drunk?

Moira was startled awake in a manner that made her feel as though her life were in danger. It probably was. Sitting up quickly and pulling back at the same time - where was her wand? - her bloodshot eyes took in the immediate threat of a man standing a short distance away. He didn't appear to be lunging at her, just stood there bewildered and angry looking. Slowly she took in her surroundings, keeping an eye on him at all times.

The events of the previous evening came back to her as she did so; She had hauled Figaro down Diagon Alley after they left Spellpunk, took him through the floo, and up the stairs to bed. He had been too drunk to get home by himself, and after she had him safely delivered it had been too late and she too tired to go home and find her bed. Her uncle would have been awake and made her explain everything when all she wanted to do was sleep. Borrowing the couch here had seemed like a better option at the time.

Hearing a sound towards the stairs, it sounded different than her pounding head, she looked up and saw Figaro. Moira had no idea how she managed to get him up there, he had been as good as dead weight.

Her gaze snapped back to the strange man once more. Her wand was on the floor between the couch and the stairs, useless to her if he attacked. She didn't think he would.

He hadn't expected to need his wand, and now he was left having to fumble for it, although the chances of a half-awake teenaged kid managing to successfully hex him seemed long at best.  Kurby took a step back, his gaze fixed on the mousy-haired girl.  Was this some sort of bizarre thing that you had to watch out for when you lived in a Muggle neighborhood?  Was it culturally acceptable for the other residents to invite themselves into your house if you were away for long enough?

There was a sound from upstairs.  Kurby's head whipped around; he was half-expecting to see another Muggle intruder, but instead it appeared to be Figaro Sellaphix shuffling onto the landing, looking for all the world like he was mostly dead.

It was -- ... Kurby looked back at the girl.

Oh.

He looked up at Figaro.

Oh.

"You bleedin' well scared me half to death," he growled at Zelda's son.  Since Frank had gone back to school, he'd barely seen hide nor hair of the older kid at the Sellaphix family home.  How the hell was he supposed to know that Figaro liked to drop in overnight for a snog?  And didn't the kid have his own flat for that kind of thing?

"Kurby? Sorry, mate." 

Figaro blinked, working to focus on the bewildered wizard in his living room. Why was Kurby Bagnold was in his house?

"Oh, hey Moira." Moira was on his couch looking as bothered if not more. He waved his hand to reassure her. "It's fine, Kurby. He's ... cool."  Figaro had admired him a great deal when they were both younger, but some of the shine had worn off as he'd become a mostly boring adult. Nothing wrong with that - they'd just sort of grown out of each other.

Figaro padded awkwardly down the stairs and past them both into the kitchen. He ran the tap and started in drinking a massive glass of water. It was nearly too heavy to lift, he was in such a state. The cool water hit his sour, empty stomach like a chunk of rock. He returned with the glass to the living room and sank into his dad's old easy chair.

"Did we go to Spellpunk?" he asked Moira. "How'd we get home?"

Moira relaxed only a little when it became clear that the two knew each other. That fact meant the likelyhood of being hexed or cursed was lowered and she felt safe enough to draw her bag towards her while Fig fetched some water from the kitchen.

Casting another unsure glance at Kurby she opened her bag. Fig's jacket was the first thing inside. Tossing it aside she started with the first order of business; getting rid of her headache and nausea. Her friend returned from the kitchen just as she was pulling out the bottle of hangover cure.

Before answering his question she took a couple swallows then stoppered the bottled. "Aye, and you got kicked out. Before you passed out on the bench I got the address from you then I carried you here through the floo." Moira rotated her shoulder when she thought about carrying him. It was a bit sore. "I didn't want to deal with my uncle at two in the morning which is why I borrowed the couch."

That potion was amazing. Already her headache had faded and her stomach was settled while her eyes were less bloodshot than before. Her current situation seemed better now, too.

Moira rose from her spot on the couch and fetched her wand from the floor. Her feet were cramped from wearing her shoes for 24 hours and her hair was a tangled mess she didn't want to deal with at the moment. While she was up she also found her clip by the couch then proceeded to pull the mass back so it was held in place on her head.

Looking to Kurby she considered him for a moment. "Sorry for the intrusion."

Watching these bizarre teenager interactions was a bit like observing some strange, foreign mating ritual.  Kurby opened his mouth, and then closed it again, as Figaro ambled into the kitchen and then returned with a large glass of water.  Part of him wanted to appreciate the fact that Zelda's son, whom he still thought of as a sort of awkward pre-teen, had managed to get a date with a girl.  The other part wanted to sit both of them down and growl a lecture at them about alcohol tolerance.

The girl's question snapped him out of his internal debate.  Teenagers.  Kurby gave a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

"I just swung by to grab a few things," he said, starting for the stairwell.  Over the past few weeks since Zelda had been hospitalized, he'd become inordinately familiar with the Sellaphix home as he'd run various errands for her.

"You talked to your mum the past couple of days?" he called down to Figaro, as he ascended to the second floor.

Figaro had no such hangover cure and wasn't awake enough to notice Moira did. As she related to him the tale of how she'd rescued his poor drunk arse, he let out a slow puff of breath and closed his eyes.  He'd got kicked out of Spellpunk? Okay. That was. Interesting. And she'd carried him? Like, with her body? Damn.

He opened one eye. Moira was kind of scary. "Well, thanks," he mumbled.

And what was wrong with Kurby? He was acting weird. What was he so flustered about? Fig might've been worried any of this would get back to Zelda, but Kurby had never been a snitch.  Figaro's one-eyed gaze followed Kurby up the stairs.

""You talked to your mum the past couple of days?" Kurby'd called down.

Figaro looked at Moira before answering. It wasn't widespread knowledge that Fig and Frank's mum had been in St. Mungo's for more than a month now. Readers of the Daily Prophet might have seen news about their family's shop, which was still closed, but it had been in some small column in the back.[1] He really didn't want to talk about it, not with Kurby and not with Moira. But he didn't want to test Kurby and Moira had proved to be more of a friend than she'd probably admit.

"Uh, last Thursday," so, like, five days. At the start he'd stopped in between every shift. He'd dropped Frank off at the train, and he'd bumped into Kurby a few times here at the house. But as the weeks wore on, Figaro had skipped more and more days. Theirs was not an affectionate family and they weren't effusively chatty about feelings or worries. He didn't know what to do with himself when he was there.

"You heading over now?"

1.	Aug 18 - Sellaphix Apothecary Shuts Down

It only took him a few moments to grab the things that Zelda had wanted and shove them into the overnight bag. Kurby took one last, quick look around the room, and then headed out and back down the stairs to rejoin the two teens.

"Yeah, before I head in to the Ministry."

He paused for a moment, eyeing Figaro.  He didn't want to put the kid on the spot, not in front of his girlfriend, but five days was a long time.  With Rafe still serving his sentence in Azkaban, the two Sellaphix boys were the only family support that their mother had. 

And no matter what the healers did, Zelda didn't seem to be improving.  The spirit possessing her seemed to be getting stronger, not diminishing.  He'd been stopping by as much as he could, offering whatever help he was able, even if it was just company, but her eldest son should have been doing the same as well.

But that wasn't information that he felt comfortable conveying in front of a stranger.  He glanced at Moira for a moment, self-conscious of the girl's presence.  "Let me know next time you're off in the evening, and we can visit," he told Figaro, hefting the bag higher on his shoulder as he turned towards the door.  "Stuff on Level Four'll still be quiet for another week."

Moira made no comment when Figaro's mom came up. She didn't know the situation and the information wasn't offered. It wasn't any of her business and she wasn't going to press it, especially with how uncomfortable Fig appeared to be.

Returning to the couch as it was better than standing around awkwardly, the witch listened to them talk and began working on the best explanation for her dad and uncle. The truth was always a good starting point, the phrasing was always the sticky point. Communication wasn't always her friend.

Returning Kurby's glance before he turned to leave Moira continued to remain silent. Level four? Maybe Ambrose knew something about him. Figaro was okay with him but considering some of the discussions they had the night before she wasn't entirely certain about his judgement. Then again, the chances of them meeting again were slim and the older wizard was spending time checking up on his friend at the hospital, which spoke of part of his character.

"Yea, good idea. I'm off tomorrow night."

Figaro had found it was usually the best policy to heed Kurby, and in this case, Fig knew he was right. Best get off his arse (in both the immediate and larger sense) and gather his shit.

(Level Four. It was always a little uncomfortable whenever Kurby mentioned his work. Fig had been close friends with Olivia Foley and Zelig Trumble, and had helped Sophie and Fauna with the S.A.W.S werewolf rights stuff. Kurby's job ... it was complicated.)

"Yeah," he said again. Then he took a big breath in and pushed himself out of the chair. "Either of you want food? I can make eggs. Bet there's coffee."

He was actually not terrible at eggs, thank you very much. He'd learned magic-free and somehow that made them come out better. Besides, it felt like the least he could do for Moira, who'd dragged him home, and for Kurby who was pulling far more than he ought to.

He inclined his head in response to Figaro's comment about his schedule being free the following night.  That was enough of an appeasement that he wouldn't press further.  The kid was barely out of Hogwarts, and his mother's situation wasn't exactly easy to deal with.  It might be worth talking with him privately, either before or after they went to visit Zelda.

Either way, he hadn't meant to spend very long in the Sellaphix house before heading to St. Mungo's and then on to the Ministry.

"Naw, I've got to be headin' on."  He gave Figaro a sort of gruff nod, and then glanced one last time at the girl, not really sure what the interaction called for in terms of a conclusion.  Nice to meet you?  Don't break the kid's heart while his mum's in the hospital?  He settled for just leaving it.

"I'll owl you later about tomorrow," he told Figaro, as he headed back out the door.  "Next time, leave a sock on the door or somethin'."

Exeunt Kurby.

                              "Next time, leave a sock on the door or somethin'."

Moira narrowed her eyes slightly at Kurby's retreating back and held it even as the door shut. What an assumption to make! They hadn't even been sleeping on the same level, much less the same room. She let out a small snort.

Giving up on staring at the door she looked over to Fig and nodded, taking him up on his offer. "Eggs sound good. Coffee sounds better. Thanks."

No questions were asked about his mom or anything that had passed between him and Kurby. Moira was a close-mouthed person about her own life though she wasn't against others asking her questions. There was no sense in her prying into his personal life after one night of getting drunk.

Moira eyed Figaro as they headed for the kitchen, "So... do you get drunk very often?"

 A sock on the doorknob! Him!? With Moira! He didn't have time to educate Kurby on the matter, and so looked back at Moira who looked similarly affronted. The silence hung there (like a sock on a doorknob) and Figaro was grateful when Moira deftly redirected the moment back to the safety of food.

He wordlessly led the way to the narrow kitchen which had space for a small round table and a couple wooden chairs. She asked him if he got drunk much. What kind of question was that? Seemed a bit loaded. What did she mean? Had he come off as a problem drinker, or inexperienced? Had he done something...? He got down a pan and got out a few eggs.

"We didn't... " he began casually, "last night, you and me? Nothing happened? I wouldn't, you know. You're you, and I don't feel. Alright no, that's not what I mean; you're very... shit. Um, I can do scrambled or over hard."

Figaro scratched the back of his neck. There was no recovering from that verbal shamble. Probably coffee should have been first...

To lessen the feeling of being crowded Moira took a seat at the table. What he had been trying to say was unclear but she thought she understood the gist. It was a mutual feeling.

Moira let the silence stretch for a few heartbeats before offering some relief, "No, nothing happened. I was going to suggest you invest in some hangover cure. It helps. Scrambled is fine."

The state of being drunk wasn't a normal one for her. Parties and socialization weren't in her normal routine although it did seem as if she were socializing more now that she was out of school. As displaced as she now was the idea was rather bizarre. Her home and work were a far reach from Hogwarts' social structure.