Francis Houghton

Music bumped and blared on the bottom floor of the hip and happening club, The Closet. Frank weaseled himself up to the crowded bar top and ordered himself a drink before heading up the stairwell to the rooftop. His black painted nails gripped the glass cup full of a local tap, and he sipped on the head of his beer.

As he went up the stairs, Frank slapped the ass of one part of a couple making out on the stairwell to push them aside, his brown eyes glazed over from the Gillyweed he'd partook in prior to arriving; he smelled of the swampy herb. The couple huffed at him as he squeezed past them while a party of wix walked down the stairs in the opposite direction.

The hawkish man asked for a borrowed cigarette and lighter after setting his beer down on a table. The rooftop was calmer, without blaring music reverberating and vibrating his soul. When the door swung open from passengers finding a reprieve, club music spilled out to the rooftop. At least he wouldn't go deaf up here, and he pulled the ear-plugs out of his ears and put them in his dark gray slack pocket.

Francis Houghton was overdressed for the occasion, still in his work attire from earlier in the day. His salmon pink dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top, with his gaudy gold tie tucked into his pant pocket. The matching blazer had been abandoned at his desk in the Department of Magical Transportation.

Sitting on a lawn chair, he crossed his legs and smoked the borrowed cigarette between sips of his beer. He waved away a "friend" so they wouldn't approach him and he waited patiently for the dealer. His fingers tapped on the table, impatiently. Business deals always made him feel nervous, but he needed the extra money to send his kids on the summer trip with their classmates at Hogwarts.

Elliot Fudge promised him that it would be easy, he'd distributed for her in the past and she never lied about paying up for his services. He just needed to believe he'd not get caught this day.

Valerius Sheldrake
Bartender at the Black Boar, Muse Dealer.

Val didn't love the Closet.

Was he gay? Maybe, could be, a little. But this wasn't his scene and it wasn't where his muse-heads found him either.

No, the Closet was where he passed the good stuff on to other dealers, like France (Houghton wasn't young or old enough for Val to call him Francis) or the few bright young things who dealt at raves.

"Lookit you, all bloody dressed up!" he approached the lawn chair from behind, sat himself on the table next to it. "No need to imitate the young lot, France, but you could put in some effort, mate."

None of this was serious. More what you'd call waggish, or what he would anyway. Valerius sported his own cigarette - he looked like he fit in well enough in his dark clothes, over which he wore a reddish leather jacket.

To each their own though. Houghton dealt a different crowd than Val and plumage had a lot to do with that too.

"How you feeling?" he asked, glancing about disinterestedly. "Good? Feeling good?"

There were clubbers on the rooftop with them, involved in their own little dramas and cliques as they escaped from the noise below. The beat of the music was still audible and it served to obscure his words from busybodies.

Francis Houghton

tw: Homophobia

     "Lookit you, all bloody dressed up!"  The familiar voice broke through the rumbling of the music, and Francis unfolded his crossed legs. He careened forward to grab the beer he'd set on the table so Valerius could take a seat next to him.  "No need to imitate the young lot, France, but you could put in some effort, mate."

"Valerius." He scowled as he addressed the man of the hour, craning his head up to make eye contact, "What?" He expressed defensively, "and dress like a pansy? You'd fit right in."  He was annoyed that of all places, they had to meet at The Closet, though he'd become intimately familiar with some of it's inhabitants in the prior few months.

Francis swore he wasn't homophobic, and he was straight. He'd never serviced another man.[1]

"I'm good." Francis could tell Valerius wasn't interested in how he was feeling, the disinterest was painted over his features. Just like he disregarded the last time he'd asked him to use his nickname, Frank. They weren't friends, and the bloody man buggered him good with his sly remarks. Always gotta one up, and be on top.

Still, there was a short song and dance, formalities to participate in, "What's you been up to lately?" He assumed the answer would be a flavor of work. Maybe work and sex. Maybe work, sex and sleep. Francis pointed at Val to hand over the ash tray next to him, so he could stub the end of his cigarette into it.

1.	Straight identified men who have sex with men - MSM phenomenon

Valerius Sheldrake
Bartender at the Black Boar, Muse Dealer.

He tapped a bit of his own ash into the tray before holding it out for France, who appeared as cheery as last they met.

"Me? Oh this and that..." Val trailed off and sucked his teeth. "Helpin' out the big bad bitch, we had us a snag or two lately. Nothing to worry your pretty head about."

No doubt France had heard about a shortage of the stuff. Muse wasn't easy to brew and the supply for some of its more unique ingredients was beginning to look patchy.

But it was all good, all good. They had found alternatives. Substitutes.

"How much you thinkin' of moving?" he asked as he burnt through his fag. "She said same as last?"

Valerius never said Fudge's name out loud if he could help it. She was wanted by the Ministry and he wanted to steer clear of trouble, even if he did think he could talk his way out of suspicion.

Francis Houghton

There were lessons in drug dealing that one had to adopt to do the business. One, don't use the product you're selling. Two, don't think about the consequences of knowingly selling harmful substances.

Frank snubbed out his cigarette into the ashtray that Val so graciously held out for him, replacing it with the half-drank beer to occupy his hands. "If there's nothing to worry about, I shan't." Francis replied. His smile was crooked, his eyes hallowed and dark. Thinking too hard about it never helped anyone.

"Yea, yeah." He nodded his head, affirmingly. "Folks have been waiting and I hate to make them wait." He'd secretly hated that Elliot trusted Valerius with more of the operations. He was a bit jealous because she wouldn't tell him what the hang-up had been when he asked.

It was like Valerius liked hanging the carrot over his head, but it was always out of reach.

He drank his warming beer, and it was beginning to taste like piss. Flat. Disgusting. "Glad I'll, I mean we'll be getting back to work." The grimace on his face could be attributed to the beer.

Valerius Sheldrake
Bartender at the Black Boar, Muse Dealer.

Every now and then, Val himself would try a bit of Muse.

He liked the novelty of it - someone else's memories, another life, another perspective. But he could never understand getting hooked on the stuff, the way France's waiting clients probably were.

"Yeah, sure." Valerius snorted as he stubbed on his cigarette. "Never hurts, does it, the coin? Got m'self a nice looking pair of Oxfords I been eyeing."

Not that he would get much wear out of those while tending bar at the Boar. He just couldn't help himself - he liked nice shoes and nice clothes, and maybe one day he'd live a nice enough life to wear the stuff he collected.

"Time for the goodies..." he muttered as he reached into his jacket to take out a quilted black pouch, which he threw into France's lap. "Formulation's a bit diff this time, shouldn't be a problem."

Val had tested one of the new batches and it was fine, far as he could tell. "How long will it take you to move it?"

Francis Houghton

So nonchalant and dismissive, Frank was sure that Valerius thought himself important. Especially after he dropped he purchased Oxfords with the money from selling. Posh. "Brill." He tried to smile up at Valerius, but he couldn't hide he wasn't happy about it.

Perhaps it was jealousy, perhaps it was Valerius apparent freedom. He'd been tied down to his kids, and felt a responsibility towards their raising once he'd sobered up enough. There was guilt the wizard harbored for his neglect.

His life didn't pan out the way he wanted. Frank thought he'd be more important by now.

The frown pulled up into a grin. He took the quilled black pouch greedily, and opened it. Grabbing at a small silver vial to verify that it appeared the same as prior. "By the next weekend, I'll be back."

Curiously, Frank couldn't let it go. "What's different?" He asked. He handed the pouch back to Valerius, "..and how much will I owe for this lot?"

Valerius Sheldrake
Bartender at the Black Boar, Muse Dealer.

Just a week? France moved fast, he forgot that. For a miserable looking prick he wasn't so bad.

Valerius gave him a number first - it was the same as before. Could be more, Fudge wanted to up the price, but not yet. Not till they saw how the new formulation went down anyway. If all went smoothly then they could afford to be a bit greedy.

"Couple ingredients here and there," he explained, shrugging. "I gave it a go. Not so diff, pulls you in deeper if anything. That's what they like, innit? The muse-heads."

It went without saying he didn't think much of addicts. Val thought it fine to mess around but getting hooked? Weak.

But who was he to judge? They kept the galleons rolling in.

Francis Houghton

The Department of Magical Transportation afforded Frank with some liberties that placed him in the places where people who could afford Muse, could get Muse. He worked over the team overseeing the Floo Network, certifying fireplaces and providing technical support to wix when something went wrong. The books were cooked, as the lead of his team he could assign himself important appointments.

It was risky work, passing things along.

The number sounded right, Frank would take his own cut on top. It was never enough for Fudge to realize he was taking a piece of her pie. "Mhmm, alright. alright." He nodded his head, satisfied with Val's answer. Taking a coin purse out of his pocket, he passed it along to Val. "Half now; I'll have the other half after." He smiled a crooked smile, "Like always."

He was starting to feel giddy, excited for the galleons to come. "There might be a little extra in there for you." Frank watched Val. His dour mood improved, as it often did during the exchange's negotiation. Help a friend, and they'll help you!

Valerius Sheldrake
Bartender at the Black Boar, Muse Dealer.

A little extra. What do you know, maybe France wasn't so miserable as he looked after all.

Valerius didn't make a show of counting the coin - he didn't have to, he did this kind of thing all the time and it was easy enough to shake the coin purse to guess at its weights. He glanced in, a smile twitching at his lips.

"Generous, France..." Val whistled low and then laughed as he pocketed the payment. "You know how to make a bloke feel special."

He glanced around the rooftop but nobody was really sparing them a glance. France wasn't exactly a looker and Val didn't come here to peacock - to anyone else's eye that might've been two fellas coming to an 'agreement'.

Best not to stick around anyway.

"We all good then, mate?" he got up, nodding at the dark haired wizard. "Next time, you pick the place and time."

Francis Houghton

"Of course, of course!" Francis stood from the chair he sat on, and slid the acquired Muse into his enlarged pant pocket. It would do no good to have it on display, and he had to get back to his "life" before anyone suspected anything strange.

Francis reached out to shake Valerius hand to officiate the deal, but Val seemed disinterested. He beat him to the punchline, "Next time, you pick the place and time."

"Sounds good, good." The man grumbled. As Valerius took his exit, Francis cursed under his breath. He picked up his empty glass cup and headed to the bar to deposit it. At least he wasn't a prick.