Even though he’d crashed out relatively early the night before once Gen had left, it was harder to drag himself out of bed in the morning than he had anticipated.  By the time he got to the little magical café that his youngest sister had suggested for brunch, Kurby was already fifteen minutes late.

Icy cold rain was beating down outside on the streets of Diagon Alley, but one would have never noticed after stepping into the small café.  On the inside, it looked exactly like the sort of place that he would have expected his sister to choose for breakfast.  The interior had been decorated like an outdoor French garden, with sunlight seeming to stream down from above and puffy white clouds drifting through blue skies overhead.  Magical windows opened up onto different summery outdoor scenes, showing a pleasant summer meadow with fauns frolicking through the flowers one moment, and an elegant marble fountain with sparkling streams of cascading water the next.  The tables and chairs were made out of wrought iron, like one might find on an elegantly-furnished patio.  They were complemented by colorful pastel tablecloths, color-coordinated place settings, and small glass vases with simple floral displays as a centerpiece.

Rosheen had already claimed a table.  As Kurby approached, she eyed him darkly, arms folded against her chest.  Somehow, even though his baby sister was a good five inches shorter than he was, she had still mastered the art of looking down her nose at him when she was annoyed by something he'd done.

“What?” Kurby asked, as he dropped into the seat opposite her.

Rosheen arched an eyebrow.

“Just wanted to have breakfast and catch up, aye, big brother?” she asked pointedly.

Kurby opened his mouth, and then shut it again.  Rosheen’s glare was persistent.  He shifted awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, Rosh,” he said uncomfortably.  “It's been a long couple of weeks, and I overslept.  It’s not like I’m goin’ to send you a patronus just because I’m runnin’ behind for brunch plans—”

He was interrupted by a copy of the Daily Prophet, which was mercilessly thumped down on the table in front of him, landing hard enough that it left the flowers in the little vase swaying.  A strange, hard knot started to form in Kurby’s stomach as he looked down and read the headline.[1]

When he risked a look up at his sister, she was still glaring at him.

The werewolf hunter sighed as he took his head in his hands and began to read through the article.  He barely noticed as a waiter arrived to take their order; Rosheen picked out dishes for both of them.  When he finally finished and looked up, his sister was waiting, examining him with a frosty regard.

“Kur-by,” she said, forming each syllable slowly as if she were talking to a very young child.  “You know that you can just owl me if you want to talk about something, aye?  You don’t have to go on and on about wantin’ to see me because it’s been a bit, and then after I get here, spring somethin’ like this on me.”

His face was already turning red.  “I didn’t spring—” he started to protest.

Rosheen jabbed a finger at him across the table.  With her jaw set and her dark eyes flashing, she looked far too much like their older brother, Shay.

“Don’t start on at me, Kurby Bagnold!” she accused him.  “You knew this would come out today when you asked me to brunch two weeks ago!”  She pointed vigorously at the first paragraph of the article, which had the date of the trial printed for everyone to see.

They glared at each other across the table for a long moment.  Kurby gave in and looked away first, rubbing his hands tiredly over his face.

Rosheen sighed and glanced away too, a beat later.

“I’m proud of you, y’know,” she said quietly.

He immediately shot her a dirty look, his jaw set.  “Don’t get on that,” he muttered, dropping his gaze again.  “I’m not about to start handin’ out dog treats or offerin’ to take ‘em on a walk or anything.”

That earned him a sharp kick under the table.  Kurby let out a low growl, giving her a hurt look as he made a show of bending over to rub his shin.

Sighing, he slumped back in his chair, eyeing the newspaper spread on the table in front of him.  Gen’s promise from the night before to keep his name out of print had been kind, probably more so than he deserved.  However, it was apparent that the Witch Weekly wasn’t the publication that he had needed to worry about after all.

“Well, at least this’ll be a new one for Christmas,” Rosheen put in after a beat, interrupting the uncomfortable silence.  “They’re all so used to gettin’ on you about your job, they won’t know what to think about this one.”

Kurby chanced a glance up at her.  “Shay won’t like it,” he hedged.

“He’ll hate it,” said Rosheen instantly.

The werewolf hunter smirked.  “Despise it,” he countered.  “Ma too.”

Rosheen laughed.  “She’ll probably break down in tears, you draggin’ the family name back into the paper with all this.  'Why must it always be werewolves?'” she mimicked in a wavering imitation of their mother’s lilt, and then flashed him a quick grin.  “You might even be off the hook for Christmas dinner, then.”

He regarded his sister silently for a moment, and then gave her a small smile.

“The kid’s into your stupid Wendy the Werewolf thing,” he told Rosheen quietly.  “You got anything you could send to her, I reckon she’d appreciate it.”

Quick as a flash, Rosheen snatched the newspaper off the table, rolled it up tightly, and then flung it at his face.  Grinning, Kurby caught it in midair, flashing her a fierce smile in return.

The waiter had come back to deliver their coffee.  Once he was gone, Rosheen reached for the cream, taking care to tip the right amount into her oversized mug, which matched the pastel colors of their place settings.

“Next time you decide you need moral support on somethin’,” she started, giving him a dry look over the top of the large mug, “just tell me, Kurby.  You know you’re the only one with all of these stupid rules about not askin’ anyone directly when you want to talk.”

He wasn’t particularly interested in responding to that, so Kurby took his time pouring cream into his own coffee.

He’d deal with the ramifications one way or another.  The thought of getting heat from a Daily Prophet article didn’t phase him; he doubted that he was going to lose his job over it.  It might be personally uncomfortable, but he’d already lived through plenty of that in the past three weeks.  The familial repercussions might be a different matter, but even so, the worst thing that could happen was being un-invited from an event that he dreaded attending every year anyway.

Apparently Rosheen had decided that she'd gotten her point across.  She took a sip of her coffee and sighed, evidently taking pity on him by changing the subject.

"So Rafe's back home now?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.  "Have you been to see him since he got out, then?"

Kurby shook his head.  "Naw, it's been too busy.  I was plannin' to stop by and see them on Monday -- I'm takin' the day off," he said, flashing her a tight smile as he picked up his own mug.  "If you can get away from your taskmasters at the WWN for a bit, you're welcome to tag along."

Rosheen gave him a mock horrified look, which quickly dissolved into a smile.  As they slipped into familiar banter waiting for their foodk. , it was nice for once to let go of all of the bigger worries that had plagued the past few weeks -- werewolves and ossuaries, pentrals and patrols, Death Eaters, direwolves, Aurors, Azkaban inmates, old ledgers, and everything else that had befallen -- and simply spend time catching up with his sister.

1.	17 December 2011 - Grants Sentenced in Werewolf Attacks