3 March 2012
7pm on a Saturday
The Leaky Cauldron
The Finals of the 103^rd Annual Ghastly Memorial Wizards' Poker Tournament[1]

The tournament was coming into its twelfth hour but the Leaky Cauldron was still packed to full with all manner of magical and squibly folk from all over Britain and Ireland. The rooms in the inn upstairs had been multiplied and magically inflated to accommodate travelers (and unsanctioned private games). Those who'd come for the food and spectacle overflowed out into the courtyard and into Diagon Alley. The weather was dank and biting but the most famous pub in England was warm and congenial.

There were two semi-final games nearing their end, surely in their final hands, each down to two competitors. The center of the tables were stacked to brimming with all manner of loot and takings. Pocket watches, old boots, stacks of galleons, and actual live (and content) chicken, hand mirrors, sachets of magic beans, a summer sausage a meter long, scandalously a wand, and a hand-knitted sweater (among many other things).

All around the competitors, bets brazenly changed hands as kibbitzers competed with the peanut gallery to offer completely uninformed advice about what the players should do to win. Alternately there were cheers and boos and someone was chanting some spell before being removed from the room.

Behind the bar were the standings chalked onto a massive blackboard. Dozens of names were linked together in an unintelligible web of lines and branching heats, all but eleven crossed out. The semi-finals would eliminate approximately half that, leaving a table of five for the finals.

Among the finalists was Figaro Sellaphix, a young man never known for either his cleverness, patience, or focus. The boy of nineteen had a secret, you see: he'd been learning Wizards' Poker in many-an-evening under the merciless tutelage of there ancient old crones who found him as adorable as a badger kit tangled in an old sock.

Now, he stood on a chair at the perimeter watching the last hands of a semi-finalist table between Kurby Bagnold (an old family friend and werewolf hunter) and Knox Greyfriar (the Hogwarts headmaster and werewolf).  Suffice it to say, there was no love lost between them.

"He's got a stunner," Figaro said to the nearest person having to raise his voice to be heard even at a short distance. "Gonna wait until the last second and ffft-" Figaro mimed the game going up in smoke.

"Take him out, Kurby!" he added then, cupping his hands around his mouth.

1.	Wizards' Poker is a fictional game with fictional rules. There are rules in-character but out of character, we're improvising them to be as absurd as possible.

"Oi, sorry!" Jonas apologized, as he nearly dumped his tumbler of beer on Moira McBoid as he attempted to dodge his way around three old witches who were huddled together in the middle of the narrow path between tables. 

For a game that was mostly played by wixes on the gray side of ninety, the Annual Gastly Memorial Wizards' Poker Tournament had attracted quite the following.  The Leaky Cauldron was packed tonight, far more boisterous than he was used to seeing the pub since its reopening.  The Auror had arrived in the company of Niobe Thursby and her lot, but the reporter had split off with Foy while he'd been caught up in a round and he'd since lost track of them in the crowd. 

It had been a lively night of Wizards' Poker.  He'd made it far enough to claim a handful of galleons and (he thought, if he hadn't misunderstood the results) a live chicken, but the real prize would go to the ultimate victor of the finals.  The playing field had finally narrowed to just a few competitors remaining.  Once the last two games wrapped up, the last few standing would be on to the final match.

The loud blond-haired boy that Jonas had pegged as Zelda Sellaphix's son had made a surprising run this deep in the tournament.  His unexpected victory in the quarterfinals had set off quite a few sour remarks and caused at least one upturned table after turning the betting books upside down.  Now that he'd made it to the finals, it seemed as if the entire Leaky Cauldron was abuzz about whether or not Figaro could continue his miraculous run.

That in itself was enough for Jonas to decide that he liked the lad.

"Best to cheer for the one you don't want to face, innit?" Jonas remarked cheerfully, as he resumed his position next to the boisterous teenager standing on the chair.  He passed Figaro the drink he'd gone to fetch; at least if he got the kid liquored up, maybe one of the rest of them would stand a chance. 

"Greyfriar's living up to his name a bit around the edges, isn't he?" he added nicely, speaking just loudly enough that the pair at the table could likely hear.  With a lopsided grin, he raised his own beer to take a sip.  "He'll be first one out if he makes it to the end."

Nate Briggs shuffled through the crowd with ease, one of a few who'd endeavored to make a little book on the bustling event. The dizzying array of angles and odds inherit to Wizards Poker make the game a gambler's field day and Nate needed no excuse for diversion. He had a cigarette hanging from his lip and a glove on one hand, concealing a bizarre amputation remedy, and was in a pleasant mood.[1] He was full of cheery hello's and thank you's and pay up's and walk away's, as the last of the semi-final games were wrapping up.

His least favorite person was among those in the final rounds, one Kurby Bagnold known around Nate's Knockturn hotel as the Ministry's finest off-leash arsehole. It had been easy enough to avoid him in the crowd and Nate was, perhaps naively, convinced he wouldn't try anything in public.

1.	A skeletal bone finger! 20 Jul 2012 - Guts on Fire

Figaro grinned at the tall red-haired wizard offering him a full beer and recognized him vaguely as an Auror. Figaro's parents had taught him better than to accept drinks from strangers. They'd also emphasized the importance of not talking to Aurors. Figaro opted to go another way - after all, it had been his keen intellect that had got him through this tournament and even if he lost, he was basking in the unbeatable euphoria of being the center of attention.

Figaro accepted the glass and immediately took a drink.

"I'd take that old man out," Figaro said of Greyfriar with the blood-thirst of a sandwich. Then he added, "can't root against Kurby, mate. We're as good as family."

Maybe Figaro and Kurby hadn't had a conversation that didn't include death since January, but some connections were stronger than that.

"Did you play?" he asked and then nearly interrupted himself to shout at the game again. "Stunner! Stunner!"

"You son of a bastard!" Knox Greyfriar bellowed at his opponent then all but threw his entire hand of cards into a small cauldron sitting to the side for just this purpose. The cards burst instantly into flames. The dealer doled out another seven cards to the old bear who glared at them as if they'd personally wronged him. Knox had been the picture of decorum and experience all day, deftly and jovially teaching other competitors the meaning of Wizards Poker, showing what years and patience met in this game. But being put at a table with Kurby Bagnold, who was not a great friend, had begun to harsh his mellow.

Knox laid a single card face down then two more face up - a two of diamonds and a two of cats. He fully expected Bagnold to counter with whatever rubbish he was hiding, but the face down card (a half-moon) would reveal itself to be trouble.

Gris had done well today! She had managed to win some games, lost quite a few but overall came with a net positive and that was enough for her, she wasn't sure if this was legal, but it was a tournament and people like Kurby were there, so she guessed it was allowed and all, otherwise they wouldn't be. Plus it was widely advertised so it had to be have been allowed.

She managed to get a fair bit in, but she thinks she's done, she is ahead and wants a drink so best not to continue. So far she'd won a match by doing the old Cat O Sixes, a classic move she is happy to have pulled off, she was honestly surprised she had six, six of cats cards. She'd lost to a Hydra's Split, a move she never expected any good respectable person to pull on her. It had been a rollercoaster.

She shifted to get a better look at the match, carrying her goody bag of loot, namely money, someone had bet a rather nice set of underwear, another person bet catnip, someone almost tried to gamble gillyweed but the look from her froze them as they started to mention it, with them ending up betting a pack of coffee beans that had been digest by a dragon. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to try it but it was expensive so...

She saw the table and perked up, Kurby was going up against Greyfriar! This was better then that weird muscular Irishman getting his ass handed to him by a Veela who pulled the Charmed Princeling rule from nowhere, how she had three Jokers in the deck she'd never know.

"KICK HIS ASS HEADMASTER!" Gris cried out excitedly.

The Annual Ghastly Memorial Wizard’s Poker Tournament was not Moira’s first choice of places to spend when she wasn’t working. However, it turned out that both her uncle and Kurby played. The two of them together decided she needed to learn how to play, even if only through observation at first.

She hadn’t even known her uncle played. When did he even have time? Maybe he had a secret club that met up whenever he went out on his business trips and it was just something he never mentioned. With Bagnold there was no telling. Then again, she could see him as being a bit of a gambler. He was friends with Duncan.

The witch barely managed to side step and avoid colliding with Jonas Trevelyan, nodding some at his apology. He was the auror she had turned in the Runespoor token to[1]. Moira spared a thought of hope that he didn’t tell Kurby, ever, about that meeting. That was one of the few facts she had managed to keep from the werewolf hunter during her interrogation[2].

Shaking her head she ordered a drink from the bar, listening to all the people in the pub cheer, jeer, and make noise in general. They all seemed to have a person they wanted to win or beat another. Her own cheering, for the two who made her attend, was internal and more of a fierce determination of willful support instead of a raucous shout.

In the beginning Moira had tried, at least a little, to follow the game and learn the rules but she had eventually given up after a few rounds. Instead she watched the scoreboard because that, at least, was easy enough to understand.

Taking a sip of her drink her gaze wandered back over to the tables. This round was getting more intense and people were getting very excited now. Moira leaned slightly to the side, trying to get a better view through the crowd. Curious as to who would win and who would be knocked out of the tournament.

1.	Hidden Currents
2.	Wolves and Regulations

Dressed in a pair of loud tartan trousers and an once white white 3 Owl Standard t-shirt Josie Flint was among the onlookers. She was equipped with quick notes quill and reams of parchment. Busy interviewing the eliminated players. Josie had never won a game in her life. She had read a bluffer's guide and headed out. She needed the money for reporting on events like this. Someone would buy her interviews. Or she would make up some spurious rivalry or cheating claim and sell it to the Snitch. She had made a bit selling her story about her date with not-so-Orion Gamp the pyschopath metamorph last month. But she could not live off near death experiences.

"Hey, hey!" Josie tailed another possible interview. "Hey a word about your game!"

"I have several, Flint," Talisha Crowe replied to  journalist Josie.

"Capricious, that's the first one." Talisha lifted a long purple cigarette to her lips. Then she lifted a second cigarette, this time green, and gave it too a puff.  "Capricious and arbitrary, that's another."

The Slandermouthian lawyer had gone down in the second round having accumulated a fatal number of fouls, including one hidden foul. There had been an appeal but ultimately, Crowe had been eliminated.

"Bellowscrat. Umami. Backwards. Stephanie. Gin. Write that down."

Her quick quill raced over parchment.
"Cool." Josie said. Unfazed. "Bad luck on the appeal. Should have paid the forty galleons." Josie said it like she was in on something. That she knew something secret. She lowered her voice. Which for Josie was a real achievement. "Worked for the other guy. Just sayin'..." Josie gave an oversized shrug. One that would fit a troll not a titchy witch. "You are a lawyer right? This is small fry. You would not be interested..." She waved a hand. Began to walk away.

"You son of a bastard!"

Eyebrows raised, the werewolf hunter met his opponent's eruption with a particularly impassive expression.  Looking unconcerned at the bear-like wizard's outburst, he coolly dropped his gaze to the cards in his hand, examining them patiently as the fuming Greyfriar drew a new seven-card hand.

Participating in The Annual Ghastly Memorial Wizard’s Poker Tournament had become a bit of a tradition amongst his closer cousins and his brother.  When Nathaniel had reached out to remind them all that the event was coming up, Kurby had grumbled and tried to beg off, but Nate had been having none of it.  And so he'd heaved a sigh and decided to drag Duncan McBoid along as well, reasoning that if he was going to suffer, his old friend might as well suffer along with him.

What he'd failed to realize, however, was that that put Duncan and Kurby's older brother Shay in the same place for the first time since their falling out in 1998.  Kurby had mostly lost track of the pair since soon after the opening round, but from the scant glimpses he'd caught of them, they seemed to largely and thankfully be staying far away from each other.

Across the table, Greyfriar laid down a single face-down card, and then a pair of twos: of diamonds and of cats.  Kurby studied the face-up cards thoughtfully.  He'd started playing Wizards' Poker with his older relatives not long after he'd started at Hogwarts, but it was a complicated game that took a lifetime to master, and it had mostly been luck that had gotten him this far today.  The grey-haired Greyfriar had years of experience over him.  If the old werewolf was showing a pair of twos, he likely had something even more dangerous concealed.

Carefully, he set two cards face-down on the table.  Next to them, he deposited the Skull and Bones -- a macabre-looking card adorned with a wall of grinning skulls that seemed almost reminiscent of the ossuary under Grimshaw's -- and the water-stained Eight of Cups, which looked like it had been salvaged from someone's old Tarot deck.

"Cast," he said, flashing Greyfriar a sharp, predator-like smirk.

Talisha reached out to snag Josie Flint by the shoulder bag. She chittered at her.

"Tch-tch-tch, don't run off!"

Everybody knew that money changed hands at these things faster than a Slandermouth jarvey could pick your pocket, but Talisha had no idea bribery was an option.

"Samir Banda is a saint," she whispered behind her green cigarette.[1] "He wouldn't dare. Or would he? If bribery is on the table, I should have had the opportunity to present a counter offer."

Why Talisha thought a journalist would be an ally in this, she didn't know.

1.	Esteemed Quidditch referee who apparently moonlights as a Wizards' Poker judge.

     "And Bagnold, with the oil of confidence, is unflustered by Greyfriar's counter. These two wizards clearly have a history between them..."

The constant prattle of the Wizarding WIreless Network commentator came in and out of audibility between the rise and fall of the crowd's praise or displeasure. Kurby's next play drowned out the broadcast.

     "It's the Skull and B-"

"Challenge!" Knox waved for the official, an impressive mustachioed man, the esteemed Samir Banda, but he was already approaching the scene with a long pair of brass tweezers and a jeweler's loupe.

Carefully, he inspected the powerful card, observing the front and back, and all around the edges.

    "... fourteen times since the 10th century has a S and B been found to be counterfeit ..."

Banda set the card down, removed the loupe from his eye, and wordlessly waved a green handkerchief.  The challenge was overruled! The card is deemed legitimate. Greyfriar would need to play on.

And so he did. With a flip of his finger, I revealed his earnest gambit. At any other table it would have been formidable, but the Penumbra card was saving no one's hand today. The match was over.

Knox Greyfriar stood from the chair to exchange the respectful handshake, but in spirit he was already halfway to the bar. All around them, bookies were getting everything squared up, and the meta-gamers were getting the final table seatings figured out.

     "... age over beauty ... linked to Genevieve Garcia-Gamp ... international goose law ... longer than you might think ..."

Josie gave another exaggerated shrug.
"Can it harm to try?" She asked. Impish mischief crackled in her body. She was stirring a cauldron of trouble.

"Everyone has their price."

Josie looked at her notes. "Capricious, like."

She had no idea where this could go. But she needed the story.