"No."

Figaro's answer dripped with disbelief and scandal.

"Zelda. Zelda gave you shit for free."

He honestly couldn't believe it. Maybe his dad would have his favorite customers and schmooze them with discounts, but Zelda was a beast.  This didn't make sense. His mum wouldn't give discounts to people just because they were his friend. If anything, she'd charge more to Figaro's ragamuffin associates. And why would Moira go and not owl him? He wasn't sore about it, but something wasn't connecting.

"Fine, but you didn't answer my question, you slippery minx," he said and took back the vodka. "I know how good our shop is. It's the best in the city. But that doesn't explain why you didn't owl me. Come on. Tell us. What are you hiding?"

His words on their own might have sounded hostile, but really, even though he was serious about the missing piece, he was having a bit of a laugh. The hidden drive behind Tussauds was quiet.

Moira nodded at his disbelief. "A cauldron stone, a potion, and Hedge's Liquid Almanac, I think. The total cost was too low to cover those and everything else." She still stuck by her decision to not argue with the witch about the price.

Moira hid a hint of a smile at Figaro digging for more information by taking another bite of the snack food. Eating so late was a terrible idea but her stomach had begun to protest her lack of an appetite at lunch.

"Honestly, I didn't even think to owl you. It was on my day off from work at the menagerie ranch and I was already out shopping. Figured I'd stop by on the way."

No lies there either. Moira glanced down at the empty street.

"I hate you," Figaro leaned back and shared in the snacks.


It was after midnight and they'd gotten through half the bottle. So far they'd seen a dog. People walked by the entrance to the drive but noone had approached the back door. Figaro and Moira had talked about all kinds of things. Well, Figaro did most of the talking.

That status of the Falmouth Falcons, how he was pretty sure his little brother was gay, some vulgar limericks his dad had written in prison, how he'd grown to love the tight red trousers he'd gotten in the Ministry lost and found, what Fauna Blake was up to. He asked about Moira and her farm, if she'd transformed into a wolf lately. All the usual stuff.

But just then a shadowy figure seemed to appear in the hidden drive. They were carrying a big bag, moving quickly and looking around as they walked. Figaro hit the deck!

Trying to keep his head low, and blink away the buzz from the vodka, Figaro hissed at Moira to get down.

As the hours dragged on the green bottle in her was increasingly tempting. But if she had even a few drops getting sleep at all would be impossible.

Figaro talked and she struggled to stay alert. The snacks had helped for the first hour, and after that it was her cohort's periodic questions to her. If she had been moving instead of sitting still staying focused on not sleeping wouldn't have been so difficult.

Then, suddenly, there was movement down below. The man was incredibly suspicious and Moira wished she could see what was in the bag.

Blinking at Fig's hissing she obliged, getting lower and more difficult to see while still being able to observe.

Feeling heat in her pocket she pulled out the token she had found. Green writing had appeared on the blank side with a location and a time. So her hunch was right and the token was for communication.

Moira looked to Fig. They were just observing, right?

Nearly 1am

Figaro squinted through the hazy light, diffused by the misty night. He couldn't tell if it was a witch or a wizard, the hood and loose layered robes. They both watched as the figure looked left and right, then began to trace a square of light against the museum wall. Into it, the mysteriuos figure slipped in the bag they were carrying. Then, as quickly as they appeared, the scuttled out of the drive and towards Regent's Park.

"C'mon," he whispered and made his move.

Snatching up their snacks, Figaro got up and, staying low, jogged across the roof to follow. This was it! He only stumbled once. He made it to the other end of the roof just in time to see the figure hope a hedge and cross the street. There wasn't any time to lose. Soon, Figaro and Moira were on the ground, ducking between buildings and over a fence. Figaro's heart beat fast in his chest from excitement and more exercise than he'd had in weeks. They shuttled across the empty street, over more hedges and into the park. He'd lost sight of the figure!

He rested his hands on his knees and waved vaguely.

"We need to split up," he breathed.

Groaning inwardly Moira pocketed the Runespoor token, while also making sure her bag was securely resting against her hip, and followed Figaro along the roof, keeping the suspicious person in sight. Since she was moving now her body began pumping adrenaline, preparing for a need to fight or flee, and in an instant her exhaustion was forgotten.

When they stopped, having lost sight of the person, she looked to Figaro at his suggestion. Moira shook her head, breathing quickly though not as hard as he. Thank Merlin for her daily runs every morning. "No, splitting up is a bad idea."

Having another idea to see if the person was still around Moira pulled out her wand. Giving it a wave, she imagined the broad area around them, she murmured, "Homenum Revelio."

The spell worked instantly, revealing the figure who had covered a lot of ground very quickly. Clearly he, or she, wanted to get as far away from the questionable place before they were spotted. The spell also found someone, something?, else closer to them than their person of interest.

Moira frowned uncertainty and caution in her tone, "Fig.... I think we should go."

For a boy who'd grown up surrounded in magic, it was almost never Figaro Sellaphix's first impulse in problem solving. Maybe it was because his parents were more into plants or something? Now wasn't the time to dwell on it - he watched as Moira's spell showed how far behind they were.

She didn't want to split up. He stood up straight and shrugged. "Yea, you're probably right."

They didn't need to end up like a Wizarding Wireless horror show where someone goes to 'check out' the noise in the cellar. He knew Moira would be good to have along, keeping him alive while he chased half-drunk after some dark arts wix in the middle of muggle London. He could get on board sticking together, but give up now? After they'd come so far? How long had they sat on that roof?

"We can't stop now," he breathed. "We're so close. We can Apparate, cut 'em off at the mosque. Or something."

He was running out of ideas, and didn't want to run anymore.

Some language.

Unsurprisingly Sellaphix was fixated on the pursuit and 'capture' of their quarry. Anything else he had put outside of his mind. "Cut them off and do what?" Moira shook her head. "We have a more pressing matter right now."

The other person, thing, her spell had revealed was coming closer, seeming to have taken an interest in them. Whatever/whoever the thing, person, was - Moira hoped it wasn't what she thought - she didn't like it.

A full moon shone above them, illicit happenings were clearly taking place, and both of them were somewhat intoxicated and tired. None of these things led to good conclusions.

Fortunately for them both, working with winged horses all of her life had taught Moira to have quick reflexes along with fast thinking skills, when the time called for it. Glancing to the side she grabbed Figaro and yanked him back just as a very large werewolf ran by right where they had been standing. "Fuck!"

Figaro's exclamation echoed Moira's. Something came at them from out of nowhere something that should never have been in a posh central London park that had gardens and ponds and hills for picnics. Moira pulled him out of harm's way and it was enough to get him moving. If he was tired, he forgot it. He was sprinting as fast as he could across the open grass, fumbling for his wand as he did. He didn't dare look back, but wait, Moira! Where was she!?

He faltered only a second to see her running off to his side. And in looking back, he saw what was chasing them. Unmistakable. Werewolf! They had to Apparate but he could crack away and just not know what happened to Moira.

"Moira!" he shouted. They were running out of space. Ahead of them a fence, behind them furry murder. Wand finally out of his pants, he pelted towards his friend trying to keep half an eye on the approaching beast.

Figaro was moving. Good. Turning on her heel she began running with him, listening to the person-beast behind them. They had the head start but it was faster than both of them.

Moira could turn into a wolf, distract it and give him a chance to escape but Figaro wasn't the kind of guy to just leave her there fighting and running from a werewolf and save himself.

They were approaching a fence, a dead end. There was no chance they could climb it before the werewolf would be upon them, leaving apparition as the only way out.

She looked over, hearing Fig call her name and start running at an angle to meet her. He must have reached the same conclusion. Once he was in range she grabbed hold of him and cracked! them away.

Because they had been running the landing when they appeared in the area in front of her family's cottage was a little rough.

Moira looked behind them to make sure the werewolf wasn't still bearing down on them. Letting go of Fig she pushed her hair back out of her face and took a moment to breathe and calm down, closing her eyes. Shit.

The McBoid Cottage, Scotland
1:15am

There wasn't time to prepare. Moira yanked them both through the nether and they both appeared at a tumble. Figaro staggered a few steps, doubled-over and hurled. He almost never got Apparition sick, but circumstances as they were...? Well. Hands on his knees, he vomited another little one.

"Ughffff," he moaned closing his eyes. Half a bottle of vodka, bright orange cheesy chips, and other chunks and bits lay in a little stinky pile in the grass. Figaro stood up straight and tried to get his bearings. He looked dead sober now, as he turned in place. It took him a second. He sighed in relief. It was Moira's farm. The fence, the barn, the cottage. The cold wet wind blowing the tall grass. The only sound was the sky moving grey clouds above them to pass over the full moon, the distant trees shaking their leaves. There was no werewolf, no shadowy figure, no London city lights.

He laced his fingers behind his head and his gaze landed on Moira. Momentarily, the verbose Figaro was lacking a word.

"Well done, Mo," he finally said with a nervous smile.

Moira shook slightly, body full of adrenaline that no longer had an outlet. That happened sometimes when she had to stop a couple horses from fighting or faced own one that was in the middle of a panic. Normally, after such cases though her eyes didn't sting with the threat of tears.

Just before they apparated away Moira had seen the beast bearing down on them. She had felt the it's hot breath ready to bite and looked into its golden eyes filled with madness. It was all too easy to imagine those fangs sinking into her outstretched arm, or worse Figaro's shoulder, while the claws tore them to ribbons, their blood staining its jaws. Werewolf food. The stupid idiot.

Willing her eyes to stay dry she opened them and looked over to check on her friend. No blood or ripped clothes. He was okay.

Dimly she became aware of the breeze and the cold air chilling her heated skin.

With a small nod she replied, certain her voice would stay steady, "Thanks. I'm glad you're not dead."

Figaro's heart began to sink into his stomach. Moira was always so in control, untouched by the chaos around her that even though she was trying to hide it, Fig could tell she was wrecked to bits (just like he was). She looked on the very edge of tears and he swallowed the lump in his throat. Seeing just that bit of genuine emotion threatened to shake something loose inside himself.

He slowly closed the gap between them, and not really thinking wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on hers. It was, he'd suppose, as much of a comfort for himself as for his friend.

"Yeah, you too."

She was warm and he could feel she was shaky.

"I'm sorry. It was my fault."

They'd almost died. It had been a matter of inches, he was sure. He'd gotten caught up in the drama of it all, they were about to blow the whole Runespoor thing wide open, make a difference. Any good judgement had been shoved to the back in favor of the excitement.

Moira stiffened slightly when Figaro came over and hugged her. She didn't push him away. In this instance a little human contact wasn't a bad thing. It helped them both reaffirm they were indeed still alive. Her eyes stung more insistently though her stubbornness aided her in not giving in.

Slowly the tension eased out of her as she stared out at nothing. The cottage was dark and quiet, meaning both her dad and uncle were asleep, the horses were grazing content in the paddocks. The peace of it all seeped in to replace the dissipating stress.

At his apology she shook her head a couple of times. "Live and learn, right? I'm glad I went, anyway. I don't think I could stand to have another death on my conscience."

A few beats later Moira froze. Did she really just say that out loud?

When Moira didn't immediately tear into him for his recklessness and risking their lives and all that, Figaro let himself relax a little more. They were okay and maybe that's all that mattered, maybe Moira really didn't blame him. It was a comforting thought. This wasn't the first time he'd dragged Moira out into the city on some ill-conceived errand. If he was honest, tonight's endeavor wouldn't mark the last either.

But what? Figaro furrowed his brow and pulled away. Close now, the full moon lighting everything up, Figaro could see every line on Moira's face. What was she talking about 'another'?

"What are you talking about? What do you mean 'another death'?"

They should go inside. Or Figaro should go home. But Moira looked like she'd seen a ghost. Figaro pulled his jacket closer around him and waited for a response.