20 March 2012
1pm, Wednesday. Spring Equinox.
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Lobby

Figaro Sellaphix was chatting with the receptionist for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He and his family's lawyer Talisha Crowe had just finished an update with one of the junior Aurors handling the Dumphriesshire werewolf safe house case. There wasn't much news other than they'd officially ruled out Figaro as a suspect in his own assault. And that in itself wasn't actually news; it had been there for weeks but the paperwork switching his file from suspect to witness/victim had taken some time to go through.

Talisha had bidden him farewell with the directive to send best wishes to his parents. Figaro had stayed behind to meet up with Fauna Blake. He was wearing his Falmouth Falcons jersey and a too-light jacket for the weather - and a pair of glasses.

"Yeah, I can finally read," he was saying to the receptionist. "I always figured anyone who said they read the paper was lying."

Fauna hurried down the halls of the bullpen, aiming to get away for lunch before any of the Aurors could stop her with something urgent. All things considered, March hadn't been too terrible, except for, well - she wasn't going to dwell on that day before the full moon, or that day a few days ago, or - at the very least, March wasn't over yet.

She'd just seen Fig that day a few days ago, but they'd had little chance to catch up after the stinky protest. He'd had a meeting today, and for his sake, she hoped this would be the last of his official visits to Level Two. No more safehouse tragedies. No more broken limbs and stolen identities.

Just lunch visits from now on.

"Hey! I like your glasses," Fauna gave Fig a hug, smiling at Sandra over his shoulder. The receptionist always seemed very amused with Fig.

Fauna, of course, was wearing a warm yellow jacket, the bright color heralding the hope of spring.

"What are you thinking, for lunch? Pub grub? Café, uh, cookies? Or, I hear that another bookshop just opened off of Diagon, and it has good soups and something called a harvest bowl," Fauna shrugged, up for whatever.

As they were waiting for the lift, Fauna lowered her voice.

"How'd it go with your lawyer?"

How was his lawyer? Talisha Crowe was likely a little more cautious about any food sitting out on Level Two, but Fauna still felt a little guilty that the lawyer had taken the poison meant for her, so to speak.

"Talisha? Completely normal and not at all unsettling," Figaro answered with a straight face, as he turned to head them both towards the lifts. "Why do you ask?"

He cracked a little smile then. Talisha was infamously akimbo, one could say, always just off-angle, a little bent in the head - but she got the job done.

"Booksoup sounds fine," he added regarding lunch location. As long as they had something hot and vegetarian, Figaro was easy. "I just need to bring mum a sandwich from somewhere after."

Zelda would also be wanting an update, even though Figaro was sure she'd request one from Talisha straight after to clarify all the details Figaro hadn't written down.

"Back to usual, then," Fauna smiled, imagining that the meeting had gone fast with the lawyer's speed-reading ability. Most of all, she was just glad it seemed to have gone well.

It shouldn't be hard to find a sandwich for his mum after lunch. They boarded the lift, and the lift took them to the atrium where they floo'd to Diagon Alley.

Once outside, Fauna shoved her hands into her coat pockets to keep them warm, though there was barely enough room with the extra pairs of mittens and paraphernalia she collected on a daily basis. She glanced at Fig, waiting for him to do his characteristic shiver dance.

After a five-minute walk, they found the shop called Booksoup, just as Fig had predicted. Glossy book covers were propped up in the window display, announcing the debut authors of 2012, along with cardboard cutouts of characters acting out scenes.

Fauna opened the door.

A frowning man with graying hair exited[1], grumbling about the state of 'bookshops these days'. Fauna nodded at him respectfully, but his gaze passed over her, and she was kind of glad, as she hated to be a reminder of someone's worst day on Level Two.

At the front of the shop, the wireless played a peppy, loud tune, and they had to talk over it to order at the counter. Fauna pointed out the minestrone and other vegetable soups to Fig, while she selected a beet and wild rice harvest bowl. Though there were several tables at the front next to the large display windows, Fauna tilted her head to the stacks, and they meandered past the shelves of books to the lone tables at the back of the shop, the smaller window looking out into an alley. Oh well! It was quieter back here.

"I know I just saw you a few days ago, but it feels like it's been forever," Fauna sank into one of the armchairs at the table. They'd met at the protest, at birthday parties, pub nights, that one awkward visit in the garden with Bagnold, and probably a few visits she was forgetting about, but it had been a while since they'd really caught up.

1.

Donnan!

Figaro did indeed dance a little in the chilly air, bouncing on his toes and warming his ears with his shoulders. But discomfort caused by his lack of attention to the weather would always be short-lived, just hopping from one doorway to the next as they were. It wasn't logic that satisfied the caregivers in his life, but he was free of worrying about what to do with bulky outerwear in tiny bookshop cafes that were cursed to close within a month.

Figaro ordered a cheesy potato soup. Fauna found them a good table, professional sleuth that she was now, and they got settled in for a bite.

"I know. I barely recognize you," Figaro agreed, testing the magma-hot temperature of his soup. "So news, news, news - oh, Frank's got a girlfriend. The one who's hand he was holding at the protest, yeah, with the black hair? Did not honestly see that coming."

Most people who knew the Sellaphix boys would know that while they weren't always friends, Figaro was never cruel to Frank. The age gap between them was six years - it was the kind of distance that allowed Figaro to be mostly uninterested and Frank not too crushed when tagging along wasn't tolerated. But they'd shared a bedroom until this last year, so Figaro felt like he had a good read on his little brother.

With his wand, Figaro set his spoon to stirring his soup. He gave Fauna an amused sort of shrug.

"That was your little brother? Aw," Fauna said, with feeling.

She took a bite of her harvest meal and chewed, considering both the meal and the surprising news about Fig's little brother. The bowl was way too large for the tiny table they sat at, and the rice needed more seasoning, and wasn't Frank a second-year? How was he dating already?

"Well, he's 12," Fauna guessed, then glanced at Fig. "Thirteen?"

A sweet kid, but definitely a kid. Fauna shook her head and smiled a little. She did remember passing by the pair of Ravenclaws in matching Ravenclaw scarves - too adorable - on her way into the smoky building.

"Has he been asking you for advice, or pretending he has it all handled?"

With Ravenclaws and little siblings, it could go either way.

"Thirteen," Figaro confirmed Frank's age. He blew a few times over the soup, to help along the stirring spoon in its labor.

"Actually, he does ask my advice," Figaro answered then, rather delighted. "It's hilarious. It's in a letter, right? He tries to make out like I'm the last person he wants to ask and lectures me not to make fun of him. And he's still really concerned about what mum and dad think and swears me to secrecy, as if I'm going to run off an tell them. I mean, it's Frank."

Figaro set down his wand and picked up the spoon. "He has no idea the groundwork I've laid. So carefully, Faun. I have prepared them - primed them. Frank could do anything short of homicide and they wouldn't bat an eye. But he's just too ... damn sweet. Babies of the family have it so easy. You could get away with anything."

He grinned at Fauna, who was guilty on both charges - of being the youngest and getting away with anything.

Fauna had just taken another bite of harvest-surprise when Fig went on about how much he'd prepared his parents for Frank's teen years. She covered her mouth, stifling a laugh as she swallowed.

Oh hey! Excuse him! Youngest siblings learned what not to do from the eldest.

"Yeah, yeah," she nodded, furrowing her eyebrows exaggeratedly. "Uh huh. It's too bad I'm sort of the middle child now."

A smile inched up her face and grew into a grin.

It was true! He'd met her future stepdad back in January. Over soup.

"That's sweet though, that he's writing you letters."

She took a sip of her drink, considering how much Fig cheered her up whenever they saw each other. At the very least, Frank would know he had his brother's support.

"Between your advice about making armpit music and your genuinely funny jokes, Frank and his new girlfriend might last until - I don't know - spring break? May?"

She smiled, mostly teasing, but young romances at Hogwarts fizzled out faster than the shops on this doomed corner of Diagon.

Figaro rested his elbows on the table as he finally got into the potato soup. He agreed stoically with Fauna's prediction of Frank's relationship.

"No, spot on. Definitely won't last the summer. Summers are hard," he added, pointing with his spoon. "Can't blame them. Also, I'm ninety percent sure he's gay. Or bi. Bisexuality exists."

Again with the spoon, this time more of a joke as Fauna did not need to be reminded. Then he shrugged.

"He'll figure it out."

Of anyone in the Sellaphix family, Frank was the one most likely to figure himself out. Figaro and his Dad were the same, preferring humor to introspection. And mum, well, she was too busy keeping the world from falling apart. Nope, Frank was the family's only hope at normalcy, and Figaro didn't find that a dark thought at all.

Fauna nodded at the spoon dance. Yes, bisexuality did exist, along with so many other terms she could barely keep straight (or not straight).

Abby, whose obsession with the internet knew no bounds, had quizzed Fauna once a few months ago, summoning a list of sexualities on her mobile and asking questions until Fauna had died of embarrassment. At the very least, Fauna kind of knew what she was now, and Abby had laughed and felt cheered, so Fauna couldn't regret it.

Fig was a good older brother to Frank. Accepting, no rancor or judgment in his voice. Though she'd never expect anything less from him, it was still nice to hear.

"My family was among the last to know, for me," Fauna offered. "Not because I was worried about telling them, but because friends just happened to be around to hear it first."

She paused, guessing that Fig already knew this next part, having witnessed her confusion with Ollie and train-wreck of a relationship with Devlin.

"I couldn't figure it out till after Hogwarts, either," she chuckled. "Zero points for Hufflepuff?"

His little brother, a Ravenclaw, should fare better.

Figaro covered his mouth so he wouldn't snort potato soup everywhere.

"Zero points for Hufflepuff," he echoed once he recovered. How often had they heard that one? "We should get shirts."

Hogwarts was a complicated place to grow up. It was all most of them knew, but re-defining yourself when you were surrounded by everyone you knew all the time was difficult. Was like changing your underpants in a fishbowl. But he and Fauna had made it out okay, both of them significantly more mature and self-assured than their chubby, excitable first-year versions.

He took a drink. Then he remembered. He set his spoon down and lifted his hand in the air.

"Oh! Big news! I'm officially not a murderer! Finally. Up top."

Realizing context was needed, he explained. "Talisha got them to put it on paper I am not a suspect."

"Good!" Fauna laughed, shaking her head at his phrasing. "I was hoping that's what you meant earlier, but I was also going to snoop around Two after lunch, just to check."

She nodded. No big surprise there. Talisha Crowe had worked her magic, and Level Two would leave Fig alone until the next disaster.

No, there would be no next disaster, Fauna told herself firmly. The next full moon disaster would not involve Fig, and it would not happen in April, after the relative peace of February and March. Spring would not bring Tawse and other horrible people out of the woodwork to spoil the fresh air and sunshine and birdsong.

If she wished it enough, she could make it so. If she worked hard enough - that was more likely.

"Are you still helping out at safehouses every month?" Fauna wondered curiously, warmth in her tone. Out of the many original SAWS members, Fig was one of the few who had found time to do something good and practical, remaining a friendly, steady presence even after the attack at Dumfriesshire.

"Oh, and how's your leg?"

Fauna raised her eyebrows as she took another bite of her meal, trusting that he'd stop her if she was pestering him with questions.

"Leg's fine," Figaro answered without resentment, returning to his soup elbows back on the table. Fauna was among the few Figaro was alright with doting on him in that subdued way she did (partially because she did it for everyone, and partially that she'd earned it for the times she'd crammed some sense into him.) Other protectors in his life had not earned the same grace.[1]

"Was a bit sore for awhile, but you know: modern magic, and all."

He went on to answer Fauna's question about the safe house job. "Yeah, I still do that. I mean, I sleep strange hours already. Obviously, they've moved me somewhere else. There's the one in Lancaster right by the sea. I honestly thought they'd sack me, but they must be hard up for people - maybe even more now. Do you think things are back to normal?"

Figaro had been thinking along the same lines as Fauna, that with two quiet full moons after a few horrible ones that maybe all the extra precautions were working. They now had an Auror at each safe house, which Zelda could almost bear to admit made her feel marginally better about it all.

1.	12 Mar 2012 - Don't Plant Your Bad Days when Figaro faked a problem with his leg in a nasty prank on Kurby. Not his best performance.

Fauna hesitated, taking a sip of her drink. Fig seemed fully recovered, thankfully, and she didn't want to add to his worries, but she also didn't want to downplay the danger.

"Back to normal at the safehouses? Yeah, I think so," Fauna nodded. No safehouses had been attacked since Dumfriesshire, most had additional security measures in place, and Fauna couldn't help but feel like the attack in January had been just another horrible test and follow-up to the ambush in December.

But whoever it was had gotten near enough to Fig to steal his identity, likely months in advance if using a potion. Whoever it was had hurt Fig at the safehouse, could have hurt Tia, did hurt and kill two werewolves, and then scared the daylights out of Penny by leaving the remains in the phone booth.

Her mouth thinned, her eyes narrowing. She shook her head, trying not to let it get to her over soup and salad.

"Otherwise, I hate to say it, but full moons bring out all the lunatics," Fauna sighed.

It wouldn't be over until they were caught. As always, Tawse, was at the top of Level Two's list, but he rarely worked alone, and there were far too many outside of his circle - like Ira had been - who hurt werewolves for sport.

"Do me a big favor and let me know if you get anything anonymous in the mail, or even at work," Fauna said a little too casually, glancing out the window at the view of the brick wall. "Especially if it's food or flowers and you don't know who it's from. I know that's a weird thing to look out for," she glanced at him with a slight shrug and smile.

They were living in weird times.

Fauna was down about work. It was such a perplexing contradiction. Figaro still didn't know exactly how to reconcile his gentle, flustered, snuggly friend from school with the steely, hardarse, authoritarian career as an Auror. Instead of schoolwork and silly crushes, Fauna's day must be filled with grim and worrying things. The seriousness always snuck into lunches, but Figaro could tell she hesitated.

"So you're saying I should not be eating food delivered from strange owls? Are you sure?" He furrowed his brows skeptically. "I don't even shop anymore, all the free food that just shows up with the cut-and-paste letters..."

He shrugged then, set his spoon down in the bowl and wiped his mouth with a napkin. Just the smallest smile. He was giving her a hard time, of course, and would do as she asked if anything so outlandish were to actually happen.