7:45 p.m.

Moira’s day had been almost perfectly routine. It began with less than two hours of sleep. At a reasonable time she fed the animals, sent a letter to Sasha, and shortly after two letters arrived from Bagnold. One letter was addressed to her, the other to Duncan. When he asked why she had received one the teenager, as usual, gave him the shortest answer possible.

The arrival of her friend's response (and pet owl) that morning had been a welcome sight. Jack received a treat once she was done reading the contents, then as much attention as time allowed. Work at the menagerie ranch followed shortly after.

While there, Moira felt like she was walking through a dream. Feeding the animals, checking their health, and making sure all their needs were met had been hazy. Awareness of her movements sometimes faded away. Fortunately, no one except her manger bothered her and she went home after a mundane shift.

The young witch didn't linger too long at the cottage, leaving well before her family came in from whatever they were doing. Feeding Casper came first, then a shower. Fixing herself something to eat never crossed her mind. Dressed in clean clothes Moira placed an unopened bottle of fire whiskey in her bag, along with a few other necessities she would need that night and tomorrow.

When she apparated away to Sasha's mansion Moira finally began to feel like she was awake. Colors became more vibrant and sounds didn't seem quite as dim. While looking around, she made her way to the door of the mansion in no real hurry.

Before she could knock, Giada opened the door to greet her and admit entrance. Moira smiled down at the house elf as soon as she saw her. “Halò[1]. It's good to see you again, Giada.”

1.

Hello.

"Ja, ja, Fraulein, Giada is very pleased to see you."  Giada took a step back, holding the door open for the young witch.  "Giada is to let Fraulein McBoid know that Herr Sasha is finishing in the guest house.  He'll be here presently."  The chubby little house elf started to close the door behind the young woman when a flourish of fur and excited whines wiggled through the open door. 

Baldur, the German Shepard, danced excitedly as he greeted Moira, completely ignoring the house elf's apologetic attempts to distract and shoo the dog away from the visitor.  Finally, after three failed attempts to restrain the much larger dog, Giada threw up her hands and muttered her defeat in German.  "Giada most apologizes.  But - if Fraulein McBoid wishes, Giada can take her things to her room.  Giada has set some dinner and refreshments out in the kitchen." 

Giada reached for the bag, trying to dodge the still-wiggling dog, vanishing with a quiet crack to one of the floors above them. 

Between the muffled sound of Giada's voice and the tapping of dancing toenails, Sasha had guessed Moira had arrived as soon as he walked through the back garden doors.  He climbed the half-flight of stairs to the entrance hall to greet Moira. 

"I keep trying to explain to Giada that Baldur thinks her chasing him is a fun game.  She still thinks he should listen to reason.  It's amusing," he offered with a slight grin.  Though, he couldn't fault Giada too much; she did spend most of her time sharing a mostly-empty house with a senile old German woman and Baldur. 

He grinned broadly.  "Hopefully, this slumber party won't be quite as exciting as the last one.  No Slytherins to try and piss anyone off."

Moira grinned again as Baldur scrambled through the crack in the door after them. As always, the dog didn't miss much and it hadn't taken him long at all to discover their guest. The overly excited shepherd didn't bother her and she waved off Giada's apologies, happily giving him attention.

Letting the house elf  take her bag, after she pulled out the alcohol, she crouched down to Baldur's level much to his excitement and whispered in his ear, “Want to go for a run with me in the morning?” Immediately he began washing her face.

Moira turned her head and nodded to Sasha in greeting with a small smile when she heard him arrive. Some things didn't change, at least.

“That’s true, but who knows what will happen. We don't always need help getting in trouble, remember.” Which, with him being the property owner, would fall to Giada.

“It's a few days late but I brought a gift." Rubbing Baldur's head Moira rose to her feet and moved over to Sasha, offering him the fire whiskey.  "Would have brought it sooner but I've been… preoccupied.”

While she wasn't quite ready to delve into the past few days, Moira knew they would eventually get to it. Her decision regarding the matter, even with Bagnold's warnings, had been made during her sleepless night and finalized when she sent the letter. She trusted him.

“How are you?”

It was clear that Baldur had heard Sasha enter the entrance hall but Moira was clearly far more interesting and exciting.  Though the dog had turned his head in Sasha's direction and had even honored Sasha with a few steps towards him, he almost immediately turned and went dancing back towards the former Hufflepuff. 

He supposed that was only reasonable; the dog did see him on a daily basis. 

"No.  We generally need help getting back out of trouble," Sasha offered with a half grin as he closed the distance to Moira and took the offered bottle of fire whiskey.  A curious smile crept across his face as he turned the bottle over in his hand, tapping his foot lightly against the floor in thought.  "I feel socially obligated to say you didn't need to and shouldn't have but I mostly just appreciated it." 

And it was the honest truth.  Sasha wasn't sure if he believed in curses (though he still hadn't gotten rid of the card he'd ended up with at the end of a peculiar poker game) but he was starting to wonder if he was better off taking up the habit of hibernating from mid-November to mid January.

"Are you wedded to the idea of drinking this straight up?" he asked, the half-grin gradually broadening to a full, genuine one.  "If you aren't, I have an idea." 

Turning to lead the way back down the stairs to the ground floor and kitchen, Sasha initially met Moira's question with a dismissive shrug.  That wasn't a question he could answer honestly among 95% of his small social circle but Moira was in the 5%.  "Most of the time, I don't really know," he admitted with a slight shrug.  I've got a new job, so that helps keep me distracted.  But, with classes on break, it's not enough."

He no longer trusted December.  With each day that passed, the knot of anxiety in his stomach got tighter, certain that something was fated to happen.  Even with classes finished for the term, Sasha still spent more nights up at his Cambridge flat than here near London.  Giada was constantly fussing at him to eat and sleep.   "I don't really know.  How about you?" 

“I was considering straight drinking but I’m open to suggestions.” The only solid plan Moira had regarding the whiskey was opening the bottle and drinking all the contents between the two of them.

Moira followed Sasha down the stairs, listening as he explained how his new job wasn't distracting enough. It made sense considering how full his schedule had been back at Hogwarts. He had rarely given himself any breathing room. Then this time of year was certainly difficult for him.

Then Sasha turned the question back on her. “I'm…” Moira caught herself before her habitual response fully escaped. Continuing a moment later she finished her proper thought,  “not sure.” However she was, the witch knew it wasn't fine.

“It’s been a long few days and I can’t even remember if I ate today.” Making breakfast had been impossible to recall and the hours at work had been a complete haze. Had she even taken a break? It was no wonder why the ranch manager had stopped to talk with her.

At the mention of food Moira’s stomach growled, helping to confirm that she hadn't eaten. Giada had mentioned dinner, which fortunately happened to be at their destination. Drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea, especially how her week had been.

Curiously, and happy to change the subject until after they had opened the alcohol, Moira looked over at him. “So, what's the new job?” Sasha hadn’t been working when she last saw him.

"Luckily, there's almost always food around," Sasha offered when Moira admitted to not having eaten much, leading the way into the kitchen and setting the bottle of firewhiskey on the counter.  "And, she was especially excited about the opportunity for company and being able to cook extra, so there's probably more than the usual."

He handed Moira a plate and gestured towards the trio of serving dishes at the end of the kitchen island.  "Help yourself.  Looks like ratatouille, bread, cheeses and fruit and ... looks like left over curry," he explained as he quickly scanned the offerings.  "She'll be grateful to have someone around with a respectable appetite," he tagged on.  "And, there will be plenty of leftover whiskey if you decide you want to drink it straight."

Sasha had guessed from the tone of the owl, that Moira had had a long couple of days but her admission seemed to confirm it.  What still wasn't clear was whether she'd asked to come over for an opportunity to talk about it or completely escape and hide from it.  He debated asking as he pulled a large, glass bowl and a wire base and from from the glass-fronted china cabinet and set it on the counter. 

He was happy to follow her lead and he smiled, slightly, as he retrieved a couple of bottles of hard apple cider from the wine cooler and poured them into the glass bowl, along with some cloves, a cinnamon stick and prepared orange slices that had been waiting in the refrigerator. 

"I ... well, I started on Level 9 as an Unspeakable trainee.  Apparently, they have a special project I was uniquely qualified.  Was as much a surprise to me and it has been interesting."  He grinned as he lit the gas burner under the bowl with long match.  "It's top secret, of course, something involving unicorn farts and making crystals.  That's all I can tell you, though." 

The food, as expected, smelled amazing. Taking the plate with a half, not quite there, grin, she moved to the dishes and filled her plate with a bit of everything. As her jobs both at home and at the menagerie were physically demanding, even with the help of magic, Moira had always had a healthy appetite. It was a rare occasion for her to miss a meal. Sometimes she ate early or late, but not eating at all was new.

Moira tucked into the food (delicious), watching curiously as he pulled out the bowl and began to fill it in the same way she watched someone try out a new recipe. It was very recently that she began learning other ways to drink certain beverages.

When Sasha mentioned what his new job was Moira had mixed feelings. On one hand, she didn’t have a reason to distrust the Ministry. Except for Bagnold they had stayed out of her life and hadn’t really caused any problems. Then there was her uncle and his skepticism that he wasn’t afraid to voice at home. It was natural that she had picked up some of his suspicions over the years. Then there was the matter with the cousin she never knew. Did he know about it?

Nonetheless, she offered him a small smile and nod, assuming the part about unicorns was some sort of inside joke. “I’m glad you found a job that can probably put your muggle knowledge to good use.” Moira had always found his acceptance at not being accepted, because he was used to it, incredibly sad.

Continuing with the joke she didn’t understand, “They won’t be using your unicorns, surely?” Moira took another bite of food.

With the aid of frequent glances at a cheat sheet in the drawer, Sasha managed to get the hard cider and other ingredients into the punch bowl and heated with his wand.  Well ... he wasn't actually following the recipe.  The original called for wine and rum but firewhiskey seemed a much better match for cider than wine.  Hopefully, it wasn't going to be a complete disaster. 

Slowly, Sasha nodded as he lay a metal, perforated tray across the top of the bowl and set a cone of compacted sugar on the tray.  "That is the hope," he admitted, opening the bottle of firewhiskey as he spoke.  "I'll still be going to Cambridge - it's actually encouraged."  Really, it was probably about the best he could hope for, given his particular educational background, assuming his initial concerns were as unfounded as he'd convinced himself they were. 

But, of course, office talk was far less interesting than the entirely made up story about what he did on Level 9.  "Oh, of course not," Sasha reassured Moira, glancing briefly across to her before carefully pouring some of the firewhiskey over the cone of sugar until it was completely soaked.  "No. I asked the unicorns here if they wanted to participate but they politely declined.  I've learned you can't force unicorns to sign consent forms, even with bribery." 

Sasha had taken a step back to watch the small firewhiskey flame flickering across the soaked sugar.  It looked right, minus the obvious adaptations, but he couldn't understand why the sugar wasn't melting and browning into the feuerzangenbowle like it was supposed to.  Maybe the flames weren't actually hot enough?  Which made sense - given it didn't burn you when you drank it.  At least, not beyond the alcohol burn. 

"Ah, scheiß," he muttered.  "One sec - this isn't ..."  He turned his attention back to the chatting as he considered the various solutions.  Maybe, it just needed real fire flames in addition to the magic ones?

"I admit, I keep half expecting to get called into Morgenthau's office to ask how I knew about some actual, secret unicorn crystal experiment and why I was spreading it with the world," he offered with a grin as he lit a fireplace match and touched it to the sugar.  It became apparent immediately that had been a mistake.  With a loud wush, tall tongues of flame started dancing around the cone of sugar. 

The idea that anyone in their magical community, on a professional level anyway, encouraging the continuation of his muggle studies was surprising. Having heard him talk over the years, and from her own observations, even considering such a thing was frowned upon. Still, if everything worked out the way he hoped Moira was glad for him. Sasha certainly deserved a dose of good luck along with the reunion of Abby.

Thinking about her optimistic friend momentarily distracted her. She wondered if Abby had confided in Sasha who her pentral was and everything else involving her. As close as they had been and seemed to be now Moira felt she had. The subject wasn’t light conversation, though, and it wasn't something she wanted to think about right now on top of everything else.

The word ‘unicorn’ helped pull her fully back to the conversation. “Aye, unicorns tend to be immune to bribery.” Moira said between bites of food, well focused on devouring it now that she’d started. “Along with pink, yappy dogs.” Sasha could decide if she was joking or not.

Morgenthau wasn't a familiar name to her. She could have asked who they were but given the context decided to assume he was the department head. Sasha made it sound like being summoned to the Head of House back at Hogwarts, and she supposed it kind of was.

Her manager rarely used an office. He stayed close to the main buildings but he had no problem finding the employee he wanted to speak with. After all, he had been a lowly ranch hand once who had worked their way up to that spot. Surveying the work and remembering where he came from was probably a good practice for him to have.

Moira’s gaze refocused and she watched the flames shoot up and swallowed her food. “Are those flames supposed to be that big?”

"Ja uh ... nein," Sasha offered, trying to sound as casual on the topic as possible.  Both the topic of unicorn bribery and flame height.  Flames that were considerably higher than he remembered them being.  This was very problematic.  Sasha was able to pass off the house fire as an accident last year; he doubted he could do it a second time.  Especially at the same time of year. 

Well.  Fudge.  And pickles. 

"This isn't really ... this isn't according to plan.  But ... give me a moment and ..." 

Suddenly, a sparkling and mildly translucent dome appeared over the bowl, flames and sugar cone.  Sasha hadn't actually seen Baldur leave the kitchen but he must have.  For, now, he was trotting back through the doorway with a bewildered house elf in tow.  Giada began a mumbled stream of admonishments in German as she physically shooed Sasha out of the kitchen, just as the flames under the dome slowly burnt themselves out. 

"It's usually done with rum.  And, wine," he offered as he took a seat next to Moira in front of the food.  "But ... it only used a little of the firewhiskey so most of the bottle will be ..."  It would be fine.  Giada would, without question, figure it out. 

Well.  Fudge.  So. 

"Pink, yappy dogs?"  Sasha finally repeated, glancing towards Moira while trying not to laugh.  "Who has pink, yappy dogs?"

The thought to lend her host a hand did cross Moira’s mind. Adding water to the bowl seemed like it would be unhelpful, though, as well as attempting flame dousing spells to what was clearly a different kind of magical fire. The chance of the spell backfiring and causing an even bigger problem was too great of a risk. This wasn’t her house, after all.

Fortunately for them both Giada, led by Baldur, came to the rescue. Good dog. And while she couldn’t understand the foreign chastising, her eyes held an amused gleam after witnessing the whole scene.

As he joined her, Sasha attempted to reassure her about the whiskey and Moira shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I can always drink yours,” she teased.

When Sasha asked about the pink, yappy dogs she couldn’t help but give a short laugh. “No one, really. I had imagined someone of a stern and serious nature owning one. Nipped at his heels, barked at the door, and peed on his pillow.” She offered him a small grin. “He might have been annoying me at the time.”

Moira went to take another bite of food but glanced down when she found her plate empty. After a moment’s consideration she added more to her plate just not as much as the first round.

“Before I forget, new last name? When did that happen?”

"Oh - I - ja, there's plenty left in the bottle," he admitted as he nodded towards the mostly full bottle of firewhiskey he'd forgotten on the counter in his haste to get out of the elf's way.  "As soon as it's ... safe ... I'll go retrieve it."  He nodded pointedly in Giada's direction to indicate he wasn't worried as much about the flames. 

Turning his attention back to Moira, he offered a curious grin.  "Someone stern and serious was annoying you?  It can't be Storm; we're well beyond his reach now.  You, at least, are.  But, I know for a fact he doesn't have a catty, yappy, pink dog."  Not unless one were using the phrase metaphorically to describe his wife. 

Sasha reached out and picked up a slice of toasted baguette from the serving dish and fished out a few chunks of aubergine from the ratatouille to spoon onto the bread.  "Is it someone at work?" he asked, curious if this person had any connection with the urgent request for an escape to suburban muggle London.  Not that Sasha minded the visit, of course, but he had healthy enough dose of cynicism to know the visit was probably not prompted by the best of circumstances.   

“Before I forget, new last name? When did that happen?”

Sasha grinned and nodded.  "It has been brewing for little over a year," Sasha admitted.  "I think I decided I was going to change it when I turned 18 shortly after the fire last Christmas."  Those events had been related.  "I don't think I'd anticipated how hard it would be to decide what to change it to.  There were far more factors to consider than I would have thoughts - did I want to use other family names and, if so, how would they feel about it.  Would a name sound too pretentious or would there be hidden meanings."  Which, there was.

Staying out of Giada’s way would have been Moira’s priority too. Sasha might have owned the property, but the elf kept everything organized and running.

At the thought of Storm owning the pink terror Moira grinned in delight but shook her head, negating the idea. “No, Not Storm. No one from work either. I’m not sure if you know him. Kurby Bagnold. He’s, um, the head of the WCU.”

Pausing to take a bite of food, Moira bought herself a few seconds. She had already imagined a negative reaction from Sasha at the mention of anything werewolf related. He wasn’t wrong. The hunter’s job, however, had nothing to do with their original meeting or the pub. How they met wasn’t something she wanted to go into though, particularly because Sellaphix had been a huge factor.

“We had met previously but ran into each other at a pub. After an initial surprise we proceeded to play ‘answer the question or drink’.” Moira gave a nonchalant shrug. “It was somewhere in all those questions that I imagined the dog.” She wasn’t entirely certain which of them had learned more about the other that evening. By drinking the least amount she had won the game, but she had been drinking whiskey and he had beer.

As for his name, the fact Sasha had wanted to change his name came as no surprise to the witch. From the tidbits he had shared over the years and everything else she had put together she as more surprised he didn’t already have a name picked out.

“Okay, so what’s the hidden meaning for your last name? I know it’s not just because you like the color white.”

Initially, Sasha shook his head to indicate he hadn't heard the name before but halfway through the gesture he stopped and, regretfully, nodded his head.  "I crossed paths with him when I spent a full moon at the WCU for observation,[1] but I did my best to keep my distance." 

"You were playing drinking games with him?" Sasha asked, making no effort to hide his surprise.  He couldn't think of anyone he'd be less inclined to share drinks with, let alone play a game that involved divulging secrets under the influence of alcohol.  "The impression I got from him was that he was Oscar the Grouch rebirthed into a lower plane of liberation.  And, that seems like a particularly dangerous game; was this by choice?"

“Okay, so what’s the hidden meaning for your last name? I know it’s not just because you like the color white.”

"That's a good one, but no.  It would have been very boring, if that were the case."  Sasha chuckled and shook his head, nibbling on a corner of the toast, one eye following Giada as the elf finished her cleaning and shuffled back out of the room with a parting word of admonishment.  Sasha waited half a minute just to make sure the elf wasn't coming back before hopping up to retrieve the whiskey bottle and a couple of glasses. 

"It's a reference to a muggle series - you've probably heard of it without knowing you had.  Dragon Queen?  Mother of Dragons?"  Sasha was willing to bet those phrases would be familiar to Moira.  "In the series, bastard children of noble families can't really take their father's name.  Instead, if they're acknowledged by their father, they have the right to take on a specific names designated to bastards, depending on where their family is from.  Bastards of noble families in the north are all named Snow."

Sasha hesitated a moment to pour firewhiskey into both of their glasses.  He hadn't told Moira about his newly discovered familial connections, though not because he didn't want her to know or didn't trust her with the information.  It had been mostly a gesture of respect for Ignan's wishes; had Abby been a fellow Hogwarts student, Sasha wasn't sure he'd have even told her.  But, they were out of school now and Ignan had begrudgingly conceded Sasha was free to tell whomever he wished. 

With a slight shrug, he grinned awkwardly at Moira.  "I'd been advised it would be better to not take the name Storm.  But, since they come from Northern Germany, it's ... I'm a Snow.  It was a way to take their, without taking their name, especially since only the coolest kids with magic will understand the reference." 

1.	I'm Safe Inside Me

The reaction Moira anticipated never came, much to her relief. It hadn’t come yet, anyway. There was still a chance when she got into her actual werewolf story later. Hopefully she could have a few drinks before she started on that.

“I agreed to the game[1], aye. Mostly out of curiosity and it was fine. I think I only had to drink and not answer a couple different times, so I won in that regard. I learned quite a bit too, like he and my uncle are old war buddies, but Bagnold wasn’t much older than us at the time.” Another bite of food.

“He’s not so bad. Takes his job super seriously, likes to bark and try to intimidate people, but he’s a good guy deep down.” Bagnold had even asked for leniency during the Greer case.

The dragon titles he mentioned went almost completely over her head. Moira had heard a coworker mention something about a dragon mother but had assumed they were talking about an actual dragon a cousin or something was taking care of. They might have been referring to the series, but they also might not have. She hadn’t listened in long enough to know.

By the time he got around to talking about Storm Moira had finished off her second plate of food and it took a moment for his meaning to sink it. Storm, as in Professor Ignan Storm. Tilting her head slightly she regarded his features more carefully. Now that he mentioned it she could kind of see a resemblance. “Interesting. Something tells me though it was for your benefit as much as his.” Storms didn’t always have the best of reputations.

“It’s perfect. A new, fresh start.” She grinned at him and accepted the glass of whiskey once he was done pouring.

1.

Time Out