Duncan watched him the whole time he talked. He noted the frown and discomfort until something dawned on Figaro, then the lad smiled. Maybe he got the point. At least, Duncan hoped so for both him and Moira.

At Figaro's response he couldn't help but grin, "Ratting out? That's a bit strong don't you think? Not that Moira tells anyone anything as it is." He didn't ask again, able to tell he wouldn't get any information out him that way.

Mixed feelings swirled inside him regarding the situation. On one hand, Moira was doing things besides working and keeping herself from the road of an overworked meltdown. On the other, late night excursions during a full moon was worrisome.

Sellaphix finished eating and gathered up the dishes. Sitting back, Duncan propped his feet up on the now vacant chair and checked the time. No rush to be anywhere, maybe there was for their guest though.

His next question was decidedly benign. "Out of curiosity, where do you work?"

Figaro leaned on the counter, casually keeping his wand pointed at the now self-washing dishes.

"Daily Prophet," he said. He was proud to say so even though not a few people had mixed feelings about the press, to say the least. Fig was also relieved for the change of topic; it was no easy feat for him to withstand telling a dramatically interesting tale even if it would end him up in hot water.

"Started right after Hogwarts. This summer. I'm an assistant," he continued. "I do just about everything. Every day is a riot, must say."

Not that he'd actually got to do anything close to what the reporters and photographers got to do. The most interesting things he'd done had got him either screamed at by the Editor-in-Chief or nearly killed by a werewolf. Not fun, the consequences, but as days passed he realized he wanted more.

"Plus I get to hear a lot of news before anything else." He got to read article drafts between the reporters and the editors, read the morning edition hot from the press before they were delivered. Eavesdrop on the reporters while he got their coffee.

The lad opened up and chatted happily enough about his job. Working at the Prophet wasn't the worst career for a wix to have, especially for one who liked to talk.

Duncan's own opinion varied about the paper, as it did concerning many different things. In general, news tended to be beneficial. It could warn people of potential danger and things to look for even.

The danger lied in reports that weren't proven and were based solely on opinion or theories. Those kinds of columns were best suited for gossip magazines, not a newspaper. The pressure on getting a story finished and printed by a deadline added to the temptation of turning the piece into just that, a story. Of course, he could appreciate embellishment.

Figaro's last statement caused him to grin again. "Learning how to eavesdrop then? Not a bad hobby." He would know.

One thing Duncan knew for sure, many reporters tended to guard their stories with a certain viciousness. If Sellaphix heard news before it was printed that would be the best way.

"Me mum always said I should listen more and talk less," Figaro replied with well enough cheek.

The dishes had scoured themselves and hovered dripping over the sink. Figaro took them out of the air one by one and dried them with a towel. He usually hated washing up, but there was something about cleaning other people's stuff that made it slightly not terrible. It was the absolute bottom-of-the-barrel least he could do for Moira.

"Merlin save you if you step out of line, though," he said. "You try getting into things that aren't at your level?" Figaro dragged his finger across his neck.

"Not pretty. Moving up there? It's all about who you know and what you can get away with."

Sellaphix's cheeky response was all the confirmation Duncan needed. Eavesdropping on conversations was an art in a way, particularly in the tricky area of not getting caught while doing so.

The lad went on about who a person knew and what they could get away with to move up was true enough and not just for the Prophet. Hard work and a dogged determination played a large role in going places too. It had certainly worked for him when he worked on Level Four at the Ministry. That and learning how to control his temper - which had toned down some over the years - anyway.

"That so? Doesn't sound like you can get away with much yet, right? Seems, too, that you have someone looking out for you." Made sense if his throat cutting motion was anything to go off of.

Figaro gave Duncan a look, and then a fake smile. Just so lovely to be getting it coming and going. His mum, Fauna, Moira, Thursby, his dad and now some random strangely-attractive old man.

Last of the dishes done, Figaro wiped his damp hands on the front of his shirt. "Oh, sure, mate. Good thing I have Moira to rescue me. I mean, it's not an equal friendship or anything because that would be crazy."

Figaro was well-fed now. No reason he should be so testy other than feeling a little ambushed. Maybe Duncan had just hit that lurking insecurity that he was too immature to have real friends, or something. That he could have a laugh, but that he was ultimately a joke. He pushed the uncomfortable thought away and chalked it up to Uncle Duncan being overprotective of his grown-arse niece.

He moved over to his shoes and things and started to put on his coat.

"Thanks for breakfast and all, but I've got stuff to do. Say hi to Mo if you see her."

Duncan blinked, alarmed as Sellaphix began talking about something regarding Moira and unequal friendships, nothing at all related to work. What had he said to prompt this sudden shift?

"Woah, wait a minute. What are you going on about, lad? I was talking about someone higher up on the ladder at the Prophet helping you out, not about Moira." Exactly what did Figaro mean about her rescuing him?

Duncan moved to rise and follow, he didn't want the lad leaving on potentially bad terms, but thought better of it and fully settled back down in his chair. In the past, someone had mentioned to him that just his standing nearby could be intimidating. He preferred not to scare off one of the few friends Moira had.

"Before you go, I wanted to say thank you. For being Moira's friend I mean. I know she can be... difficult."

Figaro half-smiled in reluctant apology, but he didn't really want to get into it. Probably ought've given Duncan the benefit of the doubt on this conversation, what with the breakfast and all, but maybe last night's adventure had gotten to him more than he thought. He'd never almost died before.

He sighed and tied his shoes.

"Sure, mate. No problem. Mo's alright." Duncan knew that. And he knew Duncan knew that he knew. At least they had that in common, that agreement to leave this off with.

All set to head out, nodded in farewell and made his way home.

fin