The clearing she’d found in the woods was perfect. A couple of logs had been transfigured into chairs with a third enlarged to create a table in between. Atop of the table was a large cake topped with a pair of black sunglasses made from icing. On the floor was a bucket of ice filled with beer bottles and a bottle of cheap paint stripping wine for Iona. Iona was stood in the centre of the clearing dressed in a pair of boots, baggy beige trousers, a green hooded jumper and a green woollen bobble hat to shield her from the biting chill to the air.

She’d been rather corny this evening. Whether Zora welcomed it or not, Iona had chosen to leave her wife a set of breadcrumbs from their shared home to this specific clearing in the forest. Clues that Zora would no doubt easily figure out. She was, after all, a detective by trade. Iona definitely wasn’t. Yet, easy clues or not, she’d gone to the effort, and now found herself waiting for Zora to show up after her big day. She even had an extra surprise in her trouser pocket.

Interviews were uncomfortable and stuffy and something neither witch had had much experience of. Zora interrogated as part of her job, but wasn’t ever interrogated. Iona hadn’t even been interviewed for her current job. It had been an informal chat, and she’d been offered her previous position as the Head of the WCU because it had just made sense.

When she heard the crack behind her, Iona spun around on her good leg to see Zora having appeared near the trees.
“Well?” She shouted, remaining where she was stood. The witch with 2 good legs could be the one to do the walking. “Am I looking at a senior badass?”

Zora, still in her Auror red with her black sunglasses on in the dark, lifted both hands to show what she was carrying along with a lit wand: a bottle of wine and a 40oz of beer.

"Ya flippin' hell better bet!" she growled as she sauntered forward.  She flipped up her sunglasses with the tip of her wand so she could plant a kiss on her wifey. But before she could, she saw past to the tableau. Zora doubled over in laughter at the nearly duplicated efforts. She recovered and turned to give Iona that kiss.

"You got me a cake?" she mumbled into a smile in Iona's cheek. "I love cake."

Zora loved other things too. She loved her work, she loved her wife, she loved vindication and victory and a little sigil added to her badge that marked her Senior Auror. She even nearly loved Pratt, a feeling she was sure would fade as soon as she saw him again. One moment of clarity did not a good wizard make.

Zora lifted her hands which held more beer and wine, yet another small action to serve to prove that they were meant for one another. Iona couldn’t help but grin, impressed that they’d both thought the same. Her grin grew wider still at the confirmation that finally her wife had received the well-deserved promotion. Level 2 seemed like the big boys club, and Zora had finally broken through after years of proving herself.

It was a short moment, but perfect nonetheless. The kiss, the mutter, Iona’s grin.
“Badass job deserves a badass cake.” She pointed out, before pressing her lips against Zora’s once more. She lingered for a moment, her spare hand brushing through her wife’s hair. There was no need to say well done. If Zora hadn’t gotten this job today, her bosses were morons. When she pulled away, she looked down to Zora’s belt.
“Let’s see, then.” She didn’t wait for a response, unclipping the golden badge from the newly appointed Senior Auror’s belt. It was held up in the wand light. “Senior Auror Zora Roh. Sounds serious.” Slowly, she clipped the badge back onto to the belt before stepping back, smirking.

“So…with all this extra, well-deserved responsibility, are you legally obliged now, to report if you find anything on your spouse’s person?” Her words were spoken slowly, playfully.

Zora walked past Iona to the location-appropriate table, but looked back with a sly eye over her shoulder. She wanted a look at this cake, but Iona had something else?

"Ey up, you're going to incriminate yourself in front of a Senior Auror? Afraid my hands are tied."

It was anybody's guess what Iona was dangling. Not likely  more booze though. Maybe she'd figured out a late Christmas gift that was appropriate retaliation for the custom cane Zora'd commissioned from a wandmaker.[1]

Zora flipped her shades down and came back over, doing her best Auror face. She began to pat at Iona's sleeves and pockets, and then she found something.

She clicked her tongue. "Oh, bad news, ma'am."

What she pulled out wasn't a jewelry box, it wasn't some kind of candy, or envelope for tickets to theatre. It was a small bag of both loose dried greenery and small rolled hand-rolled joints. Zora's facade dropped and she looked completely surprised.

She held up the bag and laughed.

"Where the hell did you get this!" It was obviously gillyweed. There wasn't a situation where Aurors gave a flying flip about gillyweed, not unless it was some quantity and related to organized crime. But it would be a tiny scandal if the new head of the Werewolf Wing and her gay Senior Auror wife were found to be gilly-heads.

1.	21 Dec 2011 - The Wife is Always Right

The shades in the dark were ridiculous. Iona would have told any other person just how ridiculous. But Zora, in the red robes and with the serious business face on; she pulled it off. Especially when she was doing a pat down. for Iona, she’d pull anything off then.

The gillyweed was clearly unexpected; a fact which pleased the werewolf who wasn’t laughing, but instead smiling with a knowing look. When they were younger, they’d not been averse to a little smoke and then. Then they adopted Waverly and had to be real grown ups, and Zora became a fully-fledged auror whose enforcement the law surely meant that she also needed to follow it. It had probably been almost twenty years.

"Where the hell did you get this!" Zora asked, still holding the small packet up in the air.

“You don’t want to know.” Waverly’s room. She’d been clearing the room of plates and half-finished drinks. Waverly had to work on her hiding places. “But you do want to get rid of the evidence, surely?” The redhead cocked an eyebrow. She certainly wanted to because it had been a lot of fun when they were younger. What better way to celebrate her wife finally getting what she’d worked so hard for?

Zora nipped the baggy up into her palm and walked backwards to a cozy conjured chair. They now had four bottles of trouble and a bit of kelp and just the two of them to get through it all.

It felt like years that Zora could rest. Work had gotten worse, Iona had gotten sick, whatever was going on with Waverly, there wasn't time or space to let down her guard. She had to push on without tiring and she did. Iona's going back to work, the promotion, it was like a knot could finally loosen, and she was remembering what it was like, at least somewhat, suddenly, what it was like to be happy and reckless.

Settling back in the chair, Zora took off her sunglasses and lit some of the gillyweed. She inhaled and coughed immediately.

"Are ye trying to kill me! Fah!" She patted her chest, her coughs mixed with a coarse laugh. "Really, babe, where'd you get this? I remember this being much better..." Or maybe she was just old and square.

Iona was right behind Zora in her approach to the chairs, right hand gripping her cane. She spent a lot more time on her feet nowadays than she had in years, which meant even more reliance on her new cane than before. The strain was noticeable, more so due to the witch’s refusal to take any pain potions unless absolutely necessary. She’d become quite good at concealing the discomfort and working through the pain. The uneven ground beneath their feet certainly didn’t help with her footing.

While Zora lit up some, Iona dropped into the second seat with a sigh. She stretched her leg out, taking a few deep breaths which turned into laughs when Zora started coughing. Neither of them was even a smoker, so they were clearly very out of practice when it came to inhaling anything.

“Psssshhh.” Bruce leaned over, taking the joint from her wife. “I remember you were much younger.” She pointed out and lifted it to her own lips, taking a long drag only to also begin coughing. “Merlin’s-” cough cough cough “I found it.” Iona normally had a pretty good idea of how Zora would react to most things, but to finding gillyweed in Waverly’s room? She wasn’t so sure. Much better to stall the truth until Zora was sufficiently relaxed, surely? Iona took another more successful drag and offered it back to the newly appointed senior auror.

What better to wash down a stanky gilly than beer? Zora cracked the top off the bottle and took a drink before, devil-may-care, asking for the gillyweed again.

"Found it where," she wheezed as green smoke streamed from her nose. "In the bin? Took it off some one WCU dragged in? This is kid stuff."

GIllyweed was barely illegal and hardly ever worth Aurors' time, not until the quantities became severe or there was a connection to organized crime. But she had learned from Magical Law Patrol that younger wix didn't always pay out for anything quality. She let out another little puff, and waved her had. It wasn't taking long to feel a little lighter. She passed it on.

"Did Wav tell you she has an interview at Witch Weekly?"

Zora had always been the witch of many questions. There was a strong desire in Iona’s wife to know things, and she clearly hated being left in the dark. It was one of those areas where they differed immensely. Sometimes, Iona appreciated a bit of ignorance. She’d always held a sort of ‘devil may care’ attitude, what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. There wasn’t that insistent inquisitiveness that clearly ruled Zora (and most aurors, Iona imagined). Iona often joked that her wife spoke in questions. Like now as green smoke billowed from the joint and her nose.

Iona’s bottle of wine had already been opened, and she took a swig of her usual cheap wine and tart white wine. Glasses unnecessary tonight.

“Roh-Ballentyne women stepping it up.” She grinned, regardless of her reservations. The gillyweed had probably helped. “That’s great.” There’d been a time when Iona would have recoiled at the prospect of their daughter working somewhere like Witch Weekly. But now, she was just relieved that Waverly was getting herself out there and actually trying. Yet, despite her wish to be supportive, it was also difficult to shake the doubt that Wav would actually get even that job. Her grades were disappointing, and her enthusiasm dwindling. Iona certainly wouldn’t hire her off paper.

She lifted the joint to her lips and took another drag; this time involved less coughing.
“If she gets this,” Iona started, the green smoke billowing from her mouth in a cloud. She could already feel some of her inhibitions loosening, “maybe she can keep us supplied with shit gillyweed.” Blue eyes danced between Zora’s, judging her reaction. “Sock drawer.” Pretty terrible hiding place when your mam did your washing still.

In order to not linger on the reality that she’d taken their daughter’s gillyweed, Iona took another drag and offered it back to Zora.
“Have you been asked to work, Monday night?” She couldn’t help it. Despite the fact they were celebrating Zora’s promotion, her mind couldn’t resist shifting to the full moon coming in only a few nights.

It was Waverly's! Oh come on. Zora's look of surprise quickly gave way to an annoyed sort of grimace. Disapproval now would be a bit hypocritical. Waverly was in for a fun time when she went looking for her kelp and it was missing; Zora imagined she'd slink around for days waiting for the shoe to drop. Maybe their little rabblerouser deserved to stay on her toes once in awhile.

"I can get us way better stuff from lock-up," Zora joked. That room was a treasure trove, and most of it would probably never leave. Wasted.

Iona brought up the full moon and Zora lolled her head over in the deep chair to look at her. A half-smile was still on her lips. She reached for the joint.

"No, I'm off. Off nights for awhile. I can take off Tuesday. If you want."

Iona's transformations were always complicated. Zora just wanted to care for her, help her get back up to snuff; Zora knew she was exhausting and she tried not to be such a meddler.

"I can get us way better stuff from lock-up," Zo pointed out. Iona raised an eyebrow.
“And yet you haven’t?” she smiled, her expression softening with the more gillyweed entering her system. “What’s the point in being married to an auror?” Perhaps not so many explicit reasons to marry an auror, but Iona could happily list off the reasons to be married to Zora Roh.

It was a relief that Zora would be off for the full moon. It wasn’t the easiest night for any of them. Iona rarely thought of the consequences on her wife and daughter because they were a little too much. But she knew Waverly worried. Best to have her Omma with her, even if they were butting heads of living arrangement and work at the moment.

“Nah.” Iona shook her head, relinquishing the joint to her wife. “I’ll have to go in.” There’d be pandemonium that morning; she knew that much. After a swig from the wine bottle, she let her head drop back, closing her eyes and spreading her legs out on the forest floor in front of the makeshift log chair. “Maybe the morning?” It would be so easy now to say how she didn’t need any help, she was used to it all by now, and Zora’s involvement was unnecessary. Iona knew, however, that when Tuesday morning came, she’d be glad for Zora’s pragmatic approach to it all when she was hurling on the bathroom floor and couldn’t face getting herself back up. As much as she begrudged relying on anyone, Zora was that one person that she could count on to haul her back to reality.

“Can’t go missing whole days for me now you’re a senior badass.” She lifted her head back up and smirked across as Zora. It was a hazy, clearly gillyweeded up kind of smirk. “People will think you’ve gone soft in the dizzy heights of promotion.”

"Just let one of them call me soft... " Zora said and flipped down her sunglasses and made a wild grin. Of course, she couldn't see anything in the dark now so when she reached for a bottle she nearly tipped it over.

"I'll show them the soft part of ... their ... arse... Right, I'll work on it.  Mmm."  Zora drank deep. Sunglasses still on she waved a hand.

"I'm beginning to think this whole promotion thing is a scam. Pratt's still my boss, still can't speak my mind about Nine, and the trainees were already afraid of me. Suppose the only good new thing is now I'm 'senior' badass around the flat..."

Zora laughed a bit. "I am a badass..." she chuckled.

Clearly, the process of getting high addled her wife’s cognitive abilities. First, in a very out of character manner, she stumbled over her words, struggling to come up with a strongly enough worded threat for her colleagues. Secondly, she dared call herself the senior badass at home.

Iona may have pointed out the better caseload and more money if her wife hadn’t dared spark her own sense of competition. Instead, Iona took a long swig of wine, and snatched the joint back. It was starting to shrink now, almost finished, and these witches were doubtlessly feeling it’s affects. Granted, not as strong as some they had in their youth, but it was doing the job tonight.

“If senior in that sense means old, sure.” Words and green smoke came from her mouth at the same time. She scanned her glance across to her wife, still sat there in those dark sunglasses in the dark forest. Zora was wonderfully ridiculous, and Iona adored her for it.

“You are badass. And I can tell you that, Zo, because, as we are both completely aware, I will always win that prize. I’ve spent a career wrestling werewolves, for Merlin’s sake. You? You wear pretty red robes, wave your wand and ask questions.”

Game on, Zora.

"Sorry, how's that desk again? Those memos and meetings must be beastly," Zora teased, unable to keep from grinning in the dark. "Head of Sitting on Your Bum and bossing around knuckle-draggers for one night's work."

She took out her wand and gave it a deft twirl. Zora was being meaner than she'd usually be, but she and Iona had always been competitive. Especially in the early days, when Iona was already a veteran in her field, and Zora was starting out as an Auror ten years behind.

"Wasn't aware werewolves fired back," she smirked. "Shit and bother."

She'd dropped her wand in the clover and slumped over to root around for it. Mixing kelp and wine wasn't a good look on stoic and tight-laced Zora Roh. She ought to be more easy-going in daily life so she was in practice for when she and Iona could finally kick back.

Zora could be a right arse sometimes. The pair had always been delightfully competitive. It had never been in a particularly mean way, never to demean the other. But when two witches came from such intense jobs, they were bound to indulge in the spirit of competition. There were jibes about who could shoot off the best spells (Zora), who could move faster (once used to be Iona), who could kill with a stare (definitely Zora), who knew the most physical combat without magic (Iona), who had the worst boss (without a doubt Zora). It was all fun, but in reality, they couldn’t compare themselves to each other. And now, as Zora so blithely pointed out, Iona was stuck riding a desk until she died of boredom.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t kill to be bossed around by me and my bum.” The truth was that both women would hate that, but Iona still clearly remembered when they’d first met. Zora’s comment about her squeezing her arse through the window.

Zora leaned forward for the wand she’d just dropped, still wearing her sunglasses. Iona, too, reached down and felt the wood between her fingertips. She smirked, lifting it up and grasping it tightly.

Her eyes widened and she grinned playfully. “Some auror. First rule of auror school. Don’t drop your @*#&ing wand.” She smirked and fumbled slightly to set her wine bottle down on the table stump between them. Then, she grasped her cane and stood up.

“Here-ye, here ye! So-called badass auror loses wand!” As she shouted in the tone of a town crier, she started to back up, tucking the wand into the back pocket of her trousers. Due to the wine and the gillyweed, her steps were even more uneven and unstable. “Outsmarted by ginger desk jockey!” She pulled her own wand from the pocket of her hoody, still stepping back carefully. “Almost suffers a death from embarrassment!”