Closing in on midnight


Death & Co. was far from the first pub of the night for the mix-and-match crew of Ministry folk who had gathered to drink in honour of Alec Carter this weekend. It was probably the fourth or fifth. Probably, because Balfour had lost count by the time they all stumbled through the doors and called loudly for a round of speciality shots to be served. It's possible he was doing all the yelling but, in the drunken hubbub, it was hard to tell.

"An expecto patronum!" he told the bar witch, very nearly collapsing on to a bar stool and tugging off his gloves. "And for all my many, um," the Scotsman glanced over his shoulder at whoever was joining him at the bar, "my many many friends. AND," his voice thundered pointedly, "pour a shot for our fallen friend. You know."

Whether or not their bartender knew or did not know, she reached for a row of glasses to get their order ready, and Balfour twisted around to lean against the counter to close his eyes a second.

Alec had been out drinking with them before. With four, with others, the kind of man you could depend on to stomach a strong drink. It felt only right to entreat his colleagues - on and off their floor - to do the same in his memory tonight. But it did have the terrible side effect of having to actually consider the department head's death, in those odd moments of insobriety when you weren't drinking or talking. When you were facing your thoughts as they were, unbridled by inhibition.

Balfour pinched the bridge of his nose and forced his eyes open, turning to the closest person. "I think this might be my last stop for the night," he admitted, "or I'll need something stronger than a hangover potion in the morning."

The habitual drink for Iona Ballentyne was white wine. The cheap nasty stuff. From the days of underage drinking with the stuff she smuggled from her parents’ drinks cabinet, to what she’d been able to afford to buy as an extremely underpaid apprentice werewolf hunter, Iona had found herself growing very used to the paint stripping alcoholic beverage. She had no appreciation for fine fire whiskeys or beer, and only drank champagne when celebrating, because who wouldn’t? The bubbles were fun.

This evening, because it would just be rude not to, Iona had participated in the shots purchased by several colleagues. She’d even indulged in her own round for the group on their pub crawl. As such, she was feeling rather giddier than she may have had she kept to the terrible wine.

The feeling of giddiness was unequivocally welcome when it had been such an unpleasant week. The full moon was a bad enough experience as a werewolf, but this had been her first in post. Also, her first when she’d found her boss dead the following morning. The first, too, when she got patronised and demeaned by her wife’s boss’ boss. All in all, a crap week that needed a drink to top it off.

“My two favourite people.” Bruce announced, coming up to the bar to stand behind Zora (who she’d forced to come) and Kurby (who she’d also forced to come). Her stick was leant in front against the bar and her arms went up and around their shoulders. She planted a kiss on Zora’s cheek. Then looked to her left to Kurby. “Ish. Favourite-ish.” She did an over-the-top wink and smiled.

This evening, Iona felt rather like she’d made an effort. She’d traded in the boring work clothes and her favourite cargo trousers for a pair of jeans and a checked shirt with the top buttons undone. Her hair was, as usual, a mess of red curls atop her head. One significant change was the lack of jacket that she’d always worn before her attack. It had been a dark green cargo jacket, full of pockets and a few scratches that had been sewn back together. Tonight, she was sporting a new favourite that would have probably made Waverly roll her eyes if she’d seen. The jacket itself was ok, a leather number open at the front, loose fitting and comfortable like Iona liked it. The possible problem was the many tassels dangling down that Bruce thought looked pretty cool.

"or I'll need something stronger than a hangover potion in the morning." Spectre pointed out beside them at the bar.
 “Psssh!” Iona shook her head. “Past your bed time, Cyw[1]?”

1.	Welsh for small child or chick

It wasn't until the Sword & Chant that Zora had started to relax. Iona had dragged her, at a certain point very literally, but she'd been right - they had to do something to send off Carter. And if not for him, then for them. Or else they'd all explode. From Sword & Chant, Zora had followed the party to the next stop which was the sophisticated and storied Death & Company.[1]

Zora leaned into Iona, letting her hang on and be all the blithe and fire that she was. Zora, even in her relaxation was subdued and sly. People were dropping out of the convoy, but plenty remained huddled near each other for the next round.

"So how'd it feel, using the door?" she asked Iona deadpan. She looked past her to Spectre who always looked so smart and who'd got a promotion just by waking up this morning. It wouldn't be Cepheus Gamp.

"Don't go, Balfour. Who'll pay the tab?"

1.	Feb 1987 - I Clapped Eyes On You

Andromeda Gamp was playing pool. Magical billiards. She was halfway through a game. She was feeling confident and cocky. She was good at pool. Death and Co.'s pool was unpredictable. Andie liked it. She pocketed the eight ball. She grinned at her opponent. She chalked her cue.

Alec Carter had been a good guy. She had not known him well. But he had not caused them trouble. Nobody deserved a direwolf. Or a wolf. Or whatever they were saying it was. Nobody apart from criminals deserved to die.

"Winner stays on?" She asked the onlookers. "Who can take me?"

“Are they picking on you, my love?” Johann[1] asked placing both hands on his fiancé’s waist as he stood at the bar in Margo’s pub. He winked at Zorah and Bruce and playfully poked his tongue at them. If Balfour were struggling with his drink, his lover was already a bit loose at the knees for less of it.

“Aren’t aurors … aren’t aurors on the same pay grade as Division Heads and then some?” Merlin that was taking more mental effort than usual to say his point. What had been in that last drink he’d had?! He turned away from Balfour, bumping shoulders accidentally as he leaned on the bar and surveyed the crowd.

“Oi Ceph!” Johann shouted, spotting another of these better-paid sorts within yelling distance, “think your sister’s killing the pool table.” He’d just wandered back from deciding he would never play Andromeda Gamp at pool if he wanted to not look like a beginner.

“You’re good at pool, you should play her.” He asserted to Balfour, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

1.	Dressed by Nuri

The werewolf hunter had not seemed particularly pleased to be out socializing since he had caught up with the group earlier that night.  He’d arrived as late as he thought he could get away with without Bruce carrying through on her threat of ordering him to attend Penny Pickler’s next diversity training, dressed in dark street clothes and finally clean-shaven for the first time since the full moon. 

Unfortunately, even though it had been well after 10 PM by the time he’d finally shown up, the pub crawl was far from dying down.  Even worse, his late arrival meant that he was doomed to be perpetually a few drinks behind his well-liquored coworkers, without even the dulling haze of alcohol to blunt the experience.

Bruce had reached the point of the evening that he remembered all too well from the old days, where she dissolved into hugs and declarations of appreciation for everyone around her.  At the draping of an arm around his shoulder and the loud proclamation of her favorite-ish, Kurby directed his gaze up at the ceiling, studying it with fraying patience.  Still, their re-established relationship still felt too new for him to be completely an arsehole, so he settled for sighing and giving her something that might have been intended as a worn smile.

Being in Death & Co. was making him feel distinctively uncomfortable.  There hadn’t been any sign of the establishment’s owner since they’d arrived, but the last thing he wanted to do tonight was cap off his week by running into Margo Amherst.  As Ballentyne shifted to engage with Spectre, Kurby seized on his boss’s distraction to escape her reach.  He ducked away and stepped around to stand on the opposite side of Zora Roh, who wasn’t about to try and hug him, stealing a furtive look at the bar in the process. 

“Yeah, I hear you’re good at just steppin’ into things, Spectre,” he said, as he settled warily on the other side of Roh.  Still no Amherst.  That didn’t stop Kurby from feeling uneasy, so he channeled his discomfort into snarking at the Beast Division Head. “Maybe if you see some decor you like, you can grab that too to add to your office, aye?”

Ambrose Pepper was agape. Auror Andromeda Gamp (or as she had introduced herself earlier Andie) was doing magical things with pool balls. Ambrose was almost convinced she’d somehow transfigured her wand into the pool cue. This might have been Andromeda’s skill, but it might also be the fact Ambrose Pepper was not very experienced at playing pool. He understood the rules were that two people played, and each of you aimed to pot your balls until you were left with just the black ball, or eight ball, which you potted last.

Being younger than the others, he’d been tactfully steered off some of the stronger stuff earlier in the night by the older members of the Beast Division. They knew he wasn’t world-wise both from his age and also his general intelligence, but that he had no real mean bone in his body. Ambrose had drunk just enough to untie his tongue to allow him to speak freely.

“I can’t take you,” Ambrose admitted, raising both hands. “But I’ve four galleons left to buy you a drink if you’ll teach me how to do a quarter of what you did to those balls.” In Ambrose’s world it was perfectly normal to ask a hard-as-nails looking auror to teach you how to play pool at someone’s wake. Totally.

It was getting wonderfully crowded at the bar, conversations overlapping and drinks being slid over the counter with frightful efficiency. Balfour grinned at Iona and Zora - they weren't half bad together, drunk. Iona was all exclamations and teasing jokes, Roh less stoic and more subtle in humour. Almost enough to make him wonder what they were like when nobody was looking. Almost.

            "Are they picking on you, my love?"

The Scotsman laughed, hands going to the ones resting on his waist and then sliding past to casually push his fingers underneath the sweater to thumb at Johann's warm skin. "Absolutely, I'm helpless, and you need to rescue me," he replied in a voice that indicated the exact opposite.

Andromeda called for someone to join her at pool table just then, and Balfour sighed pleasantly as Joh turned away to face the pub.

Sometimes it was tricky not to want to constantly make eyes at the dark-haired wizard, especially when they were inebriated and easy. He was about to say that he didn't feel like having his arse handed over to him by Ceph's sister when Bagnold's voice cut through the chatter. “Yeah, I hear you’re good at just... if you see some deco... grab that too to add to your office, aye?”

What snaggletoothed wolf had gone and gnawed a chip into Kurby's shoulder? Balfour knew that he and Iona hadn't been impressed by the liberties taken the morning Alec Carter hadn't turned up, but what the bloody hell had they expected him to do? Stomp around sulking? Yell at Carstairs?

"I think you mean I'm good at stepping up, mate," he replied, and reached for his drink while Pepper was propositioning Andromeda. "It's that thing you do when there's a crisis and you need to just -" Balfour made a gesture, shrugging, "- you know, get the job done. S'not a big deal, aye? We all got the job done."

A part of him wanted to ask what the hell Kurby would have done in his position that morning, having to keep all the balls in the air without a word from the werewolf wing, but this was Carter's wake and Balfour wasn't about the champ at the bait.

"Thanks for noticing though," he toasted his shot glass in Kurby's direction before knocking it back in one quick go.

Nadine let out one of her ridiculous laughs. Rex was recounting one of his newest stories to Cepheus Gamp, Nadine’s former brother in law. They were all more than enough drinks in that Nadine’s distinctive and unusual laugh rang out freely. It was not normally something heard in the office unless she was appealing to someone’s better nature or the joke was at the expense of someone else.

With Aoide safely at school, Nadine and Rex were able to socialise a little more easily, even if it was at sadder occasions such as this. She had not known Alec Carter well, but Rex seemed to believe he had been a fine Department Head and it worth raising a drink to. In reality it had been a long time since they’d both had an opportunity to see people from work in a social sense, and he got on with so many people she improved her own standing with him by her side.

“So, you going to go for the post then?” Rex didn’t beat around the bush when he asked. Promotion was so much easier on Five, where it was all about appraisals and reviews and easy to measure metrics. On occasions Nadine would zone out when her near-good-as-husband talked about it. He headed up the International Office of Law.

“Gosh, no sooner in Carter’s grave.” Nadine teased, poking a finger at her love. “Cepheus doesn’t want all that aggro I’m sure darling.” She looked back to her former brother-in-law, to whom she was still somewhat fond than the rest of the Gamps, “I mean, we know what happened last time a Gamp sat in a Department Head chair…”

“Nadine!” Rex berated her gently, withdrawing his drink from his lips to do so, “You don’t mean that.” 

Owch. Thanks Nadine.

Cepheus looked down at his drink awkwardly, wishing the ground would swallow him in the pub. Nadine was only saying what everyone was thinking wasn’t she? If it wasn’t about Mortimer it was that he wasn’t strong or experienced enough for the job.

And they’d be right, of course. He was an imposter in the Being Head post, let alone heading up a whole Department. He was only just 34. He was far too young to Head up a Department. Carstairs and Som were fifty odd, as had Carter been. Murray - no, Pepper - was getting on for that, nobody quite knew Flash Lockhart’s age, and Morgenthau seemed old as the hills or at least old enough not to give a shit judging by his fashion. Nobody became a Department Head until they were in their forties. You had to have been around the block a few times.

“I think my time will come later,” Cepheus admitted quietly, “but thank you for the vote of confidence, Rex.” He quite liked Nadine’s partner. He was a good contrast from Orion. He kept Nadine grounded and called her out when she said stuff like that, whereas Orion would probably have said worse if they weren’t brothers (maybe even despite or because, depending on how much they’d had to drink.)

“No, I imagine there’ll be a few internal applicants,” he glanced in the direction of Balfour and Johann at the bar, to Bruce and Zora stood with Kurby exchanging barbs. The thirty-something middle management of Level Four. “But if it’s anything like last time they’ll fill it with an external from another Ministry. Someone who reckons they can come in and shake it all up. Carter tried, a bit.” His first day had been unusually eventful, and Ceph and Balfour had been at the receiving end of some later bollocking. No, Ceph would keep his little Beings Division family safe.

“Still, nothing compared to your revolving door before Carstairs,” he nodded to Nadine. “And Five awaits Gabrielle’s return,” well, once she’d decided one baby was enough with her new husband, Francis Pepper. “Anyone who fights our corner with the Minister and isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel is fine with me.”

"So how'd it feel, using the door?" Zora asked, her expression not revealing any hint of amusement. To her other side, Bagnold freed himself of her grip. Allowing him to move away, Iona cocked an eyebrow at her wife, trying to mimic the same deadpan expression and failing. “Underwhelming. No hot barmaid waiting for me to seduce.” She shrugged. It wasn’t like she’d even seduced Zora at the time. Zora had kissed her. Best window she’d ever climbed through in the middle of the night!

Zora, in true form, indirectly alluded to the promotion that Spectre had clearly been angling for even before he’d heard about Carter’s murder. Johann then appeared. This was Balfour’s partner whom she’d recently been introduced to. A lanky German with mop like curly hair and skin as pale as Iona’s. He wasn’t what she anticipated Spectre falling for, but then, he was completely the opposite gender to all those witches he’d hooked up with before 2008.

“Division heads, maybe.” Iona muttered with a look at her wife. They all knew what Spectre would be angling for, instead. Bagnold, clearly on the same page but much further down, snarked in such a way that Bruce had to bury her face in her wife’s shoulder to hide the smirk and snigger. She was rarely a person to bite in such a manner, but she loved watching it.

“Psssh, Bagnold’s just jealous. He’s been eyeing up that wooden crocodile paperweight on Carter’s desk.” Bruce waved a hand as if dismissing it. They didn’t need a sniping fest here. She did, however, look at Zora and muttered “snap snap.”

Four galleons? Andromeda looked Ambrose up and down. Was it worth it? She wanted to crucify an opponent. Nobody stepped forward. She drank. Her brother was talking to Nadine and Rex. Nadine's laugh was stupid. Andie knew it anywhere.

"Okay then." Said Andie. She shrugged. The balls racked. "Get a cue. You know how to hold it? Not like that. Like this." Andie moved Ambrose's fingers around on the felt. "Try and hit it here." She poked the cue ball. "Hard." He had muscles right? This kid worked for Spectre?

To Ambrose’s surprise and subdued delight, Auror Gamp accepted the request. Ambrose suspected his last galleons of the night would definitely all be gone, but this investment might well be worth it. Truth be told, Auror Gamp’s persona and what he knew of her, scared the pants off him, but it was best to make peace with those people, right? He’d not been able to do that with some former professors, but he didn’t go drinking with them.

Obediently, young Pepper fetched a pool cue and chalked it inexpertly, as closely as he had observed his pool mentor not long before.
“You know how to hold it?” 

“I think…”
“Not like that. Like this.”

Without hesitation, she rearranged his fingers on the table top. Ambrose felt her nails scratch against his fingers as she did it efficiently, rather than gently. He focused on his hand, looking at the shape, nodding. She pointed at the white cue ball, pointing to somewhere specifically. Ambrose was altogether glad this game did not require him to wave his wand, which gave him half a chance of being semi-capable of the basics without too much work.

“Hard.” The tip of Ambrose’s pink tongue stuck out as he leaned over the table and aimed the cue, staring at the ball he was aiming for with intense concentration. Clack! Tip met ball and the triangle of balls scattered. Some flew straight in the air, hovered a moment and fell, defying muggle physics.

“Like that?” Ambrose asked, surprising himself. “Then it’s all about what potted, right? Or if I didn’t, you get to go and pick? Is that right?” He sought his spontaneous pool instructor’s gaze to confirm his understanding.

Did Bagnold just say something? Johann was too lubricated and distracted by the rest of the room to care. Cepheus had somewhat ignored his shout about Andromeda, busy being boring talking to Auror Pinn and Rex from Johann’s floor. It was all so very adult and boring. Not even Pinn’s laugh was that interesting - more irritating.

Now, Ambrose Pepper - he wasn’t an adult. He was just trying to be, and he was approaching the pool table.
“Ooh, won’t last a moment.” Johann thought aloud.

“It’s that thing you do when there’s a crisis and you need to just… you know, get the job done. S’not a big deal, aye? We all got the job done. Thanks for noticing though.”

“Huhm?” Johann looked back, catching sight of Balfour toasting Bagnold and knocking back a shot.

“Psssh, Bagnold’s just jealous. He’s been eyeing up that wooden crocodile paperweight on Carter’s desk.” Bruce Ballentyne interjected. Johann knew of her more than they knew each other at present. She’d been spoken about more than he’d ever seen her, and he knew very well she’d not long come back to work.

“Well, I’m sure Balfour will let him have it when he sorts the office out. You know, as a consolation prize.” Johann had cottoned on to what the jibes were about. It had been preying on his mind. The news of Carter’s demise had made him so very glad Balfour hadn’t gone out in the field that night to help as he had suggested he felt obliged to do. Now there was a vacancy and Slytherin ambition was most definitely on the table. Much as Johann would never want to hold his love back, it didn’t half scare him.

“Does it hold a passing resemblance to Bagnold or something?” 

Kurby couldn't have rolled his eyes any harder at Spectre's self-righteous response.  Stepping up, as if the only thing keeping them a step away from catastrophe had been the Scottish wizard's eagerness to leap into their deceased boss's shoes.  Spectre had practically been dumping handfuls of dirt on Carter's grave before his body was even cold, and now he was preaching on about 'getting the job done' and 'when there's a crisis' like he'd had a goddamned thing to do with either.

He could deal with mouthing off at an overly-smug colleague whose years in Slytherin were showing, but the next attack was launched from an unexpected quarter.  Kurby whipped his head around, shooting Iona Ballentyne an exceptionally hurt look.  What the hell was that supposed to mean?  He wasn't the one who waltzed into people's offices and started picking out furniture before he even knew for sure that they were dead.  When she'd been forcibly retired, he'd waited three damned years before he'd even touched her old desk.

Johann Storm seized on Ballentyne's comment to take a swipe at him too, as if their boss dying resulted in consolation prizes, and Kurby was done.  He'd come because Ballentyne had made him, but no amount of professional pressure was going to make him stay in this goddamned bar, hoping that Amherst wasn't working and putting up with this bullshit.  Let her dock his damn pay.  If everyone else wanted to stand around and applaud their inevitable next Department Head while he patted himself on the back for signing off on a few memos under pressure, they could do it without him.

"Yeah, thank Merlin you were there to save us from the Great Paperwork Crisis of 2012," he shot at Spectre.  Rolling his eyes at Storm, he impolitely told the German wizard what he could go do with himself.

Jaw tight, the werewolf hunter shoved his hands deep into his pockets and turned back towards the pub's exit, looking as if he were going to physically bite the head off anyone who got between him and the door.