When Iza stopped running she paused, hands on her knees, bent slightly forward, panting hard.  She was still lucid, but looked to the world as if she were more feral than ever—hair plastered to her face and shoulders by sweat, eyes bulging from lack of breath, heaving.

Her clutching fingers discovered a tiny rip in the fabric of her skirt over her knee.  Now, when did that happen? she wondered, coming to herself a bit.  The panting subsided just a little as she fiddled with the tear between index and thumb.  She felt at her waist, suddenly, and let out a relieved whoosh that her purse was still securely hidden in the folds, there.  With a tiny sound of dismay, she remembered her aunt’s wand and feverishly patted the folds of her skirts until she found it.  Sliding it out gracefully, she repaired the rent fabric and checked for others.  It was the only one.  She sighed, her breathing normal again, and relaxed her taut muscles, standing up straight and opening her eyes to the world around her.

She was in another alley.  It had to be Knockturn: there were no gay and cheerful lights to trouble her.  Down the tunnel of the alley, she squinted and made out the sign on the shop across the street: a bookseller.  Again.  She leaned against the alley wall and her fingers touched a small, dirty window.  She peered inside, but the shop was vacant.  Blinking, she considered sitting down again to think… but there were no crates in this alley.

Her stomach rumbled and she ignored it.  Those people are insane! she thought, snorting delicately through her nose, remembering.  That she’d been the Queen of the Nutjobs at the time didn’t occur to her.  Well… except for Frank…  She twitched uncomfortably.  Out of everyone she’d run into today, he seemed… the most stable.  A rock.  For a split second, she felt bad about running out on him.  She ran a hand through her hair nervously, found a twig caught in a snarl, tugged on it irritably.  The sweat on her forehead was beginning to dry and her hair would be impossible.

The twig came free and she twirled it in her fingers as she considered.  Yes, the world had gone insane and no one seemed to notice but her.

A door opening into the darkness made her flinch.  From the complete darkness of her alley, the wan light that tumbled out into the street seemed warm, almost cheery, carrying with it a waft of pipe tobacco, stale beer and…

Her stomach rumbled again as she realized her little alley slipped in between the vacant shop and a bar… or a restaurant!  Though the smell of food wasn’t precisely mouth-watering—clouded and embittered as it was by tobacco and beer—it opened up a hole in her middle and reminded her she was hungry.  She dropped the leaf, untied her sadly misused bath-bun, ran fingers through the knots in her hair until she was satisfied that she at least wouldn’t look like a madwoman and tied it again more loosely into a tail at the nape of her neck to cascade down her back between her shoulder blades.

Though her clothing was still on the sorry side of fashion, having freshened them before her flight from Frank and his… friends… she was at least as presentable as she’d been when she’d first stepped foot into Diagon Alley late that afternoon.  A bit out-of-date, a bit rumpled… Nadine had kept a House Elf, and Iza hadn’t freshened her own clothing since her school days…

The thought of Dollup and whether he would come after her gave her a momentary thrill of fear.  Then the door opened again, and the wonderful smell of food and tobacco traced its tantalizing way down her alley.  She crept to the alley mouth and looked around the corner.

The Black Chimera…  Had she ever seen it before?  She wracked her memory, her eyebrows coming together with the effort… and the disappointment.  Her memory wasn’t what it once was… but she was altogether herself, at least.  The thought of leaving this alley and entering that… pub?  restaurant?  didn’t cause her to cower and shake.  She smoothed her skirts—saw that she’d been clutching Nadine’s wand this whole time—tucked it into her waistband, and stepped round the corner, pushing her way through the door…

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her first impression of the dimly-lit pub were the rows and rows of beer mugs hung from ceiling and walls.  She almost flinched away—they swung in the breeze of the door’s passage and it felt as if they were straining toward her.  Eyes on the ceiling, she found the barstool with her hands and mounted it, tucking her skirts under her legs demurely.  Beer didn’t sound so bad… but the smell of food continued to taunt her.

It was full-on night by now, though Iza had no recollection of the passage of time.  Was the kitchen even still open?  She glanced around her nervously but by this time any curious onlooker had turned to his table.  Her seeking eyes found only uninviting backs, heads hunched over their drinks, pretending to ignore her.  Hmmmmm…

She swung back to face the bar, placing her hands on its top and lacing her fingers together.  Her wrist found a puddle—a ring of dampness left over from the seat’s previous occupant—and she jerked her hands up again, annoyed.  Noticing that one nail was chipped, she wiped her wrist on her skirts and raised her thumb to her mouth, chewing on the fragments unconsciously.  Nadine would have been horrified…

James had completed practice an hour ago.  He decided to shower and change into a semi-decent gray robe that had the Tornadoes logo on the front.  After seeing his parents there, and not really wanting to have feign interest or diplomacy, he decided to get lost.  After walking for fifteen minutes, he wound up in Knockturn Alley, and figured as a pureblood, he would be relatively safe.  Even if he wasn't, he decided that he could still fly away from trouble if it got a bit rough.  He had almost deluded himself into thinking that he wasn't here for the cheap booze.

As such, James was nursing a glass of fire-whiskey.  He wasn't really paying too much attention to anything around him.  It was getting late, and he was about to leave until he saw her.  He still had a little bit more of liquid courage left, so he swallowed it.  Idly (sp?), James wondered if alcohol was responsible for the propagation of the species.  He knew he needed it when talking to attractive women, and most of the other guys on the squad needed it when dealing with them.  His internal debate was cut short, because his legs were moving while his mind was thinking.

He sat down on the stool next to her, and immediately felt something damp on his robes.  James could have slapped himself.  He hadn't even met her, and he was already acting like a giddy-little school girl.  'It was ridiculous,' he thought, 'that 'a Durmstang Graduate and professional quidditch player is completely nervous around a girl half his size'.  His pheromones didn't listen to his logic.   He noticed that she was chewing her thumb nail.  The best he could come up with was,

"Hi - I'm James - what brings you here?" he asked, trying not to stare too blatantly. 

He then noticed that she was chewing her thumb nail, and that her clothes looked decent even though she seemed slightly winded.  He wondered what else he should talk about, since he now realized girls never really wanted to talk about quidditch, and he wasn’t a starter anyways.  It was a somewhat moot point however, as the girl had yet to respond to his first inquiry, and once again his mind was going off far ahead of his body.  He thought about that for a second, and then realized it had put him next to a pretty girl.  ‘Maybe it isn’t a bad thing?’ He thought to himself.  Before he could impress her anymore with his verbal wit, he noticed the bartender looking at him.  He realized he should probably provide himself with an excuse to sit there, and hopefully talk with the pretty witch that he sat down next to.

“Another whiskey for me, and would you care for something, fair lady?” he asked remembering every last bit of pureblood etiquette that his parents drilled into him.  He did not have the manners William did, but he knew how to act and play the part when required.   

Meeting Cináed Tawse, proprietor of the Black Chimera, Zavier felt it necessary to visit the ex-con’s establishment out of politeness if nothing else.  He owed him for siding with him the day Aberdeen Spencer decided to poke her nose around in his business.  He hadn’t been planning on doing anything ‘questionable’ the day she followed him around Hogsmeade - that included casting hexes on Ministry Officials and the like -, but knowing Tamis Raynor and the entire Auror Department, they were as crooked as Knockturn’s cobblestone streets.

Garbed in his more formal of wear - which was really nothing more than his charcoal gray robe and black loafers -, Zavier passed over the threshold.  Almost immediately, the stench of alcohol and wafting smoke invaded his nostrils.  Witches and Wizards, ranging from pompous Purebloods to respected - and some not - ne’er-do-wells.  He took in these newfound surroundings, intrigued by the Chimera’s uncommon decor - or what there was of it, at least.  Cináed certainly seemed like the old-fashioned type by the look of the front barroom.  

Zavier took a seat at the bar, and no sooner had he ordered himself a glass of oak-matured mead when he spotted the same young woman from earlier sitting not too far away from him.  Iza Franti was sitting at the counter, biting her thumbnail.  The same Iza Franti who, earlier, had hexed some woman in Borgin & Burkes.  The same Iza Franti whose aunt whom he thought was criminally insane when she proposed that he marry her neice. 

Then, the man who so foolishly sat down next to her, whose goal was to no doubt do the unspeakable to the poor girl.  He recognized him at first - or, he thought he did at least - and when he introduced himself to Iza as “James”, his suspicions were confirmed.  James Forrester, on Reserve for Tutshill.  Interesting.

“Funny, seeing a professional Quidditch player in a place like this,” he commented boldly, paying his due for the mead.  He chuckled.  “Making a move on my to-be wife, no less.”

((Edited to add a bit of clarity.))

The risks were calculated but the payoff was significant.  One night away from the monotony of early evenings confined to the halls of the North London Bridge House was proving well worth the risk of getting caught breaking curfew.  Almost all of his first full year of freedom after his release from Azkaban had been confined to that institutional parole group home, sharing the experience of mainstreaming with fellow ex-Azzies.  It took him almost a full year to be released from the Bridge House though he was still under strict Ministry supervision - it had been during his last meeting with his Ministry Supervisor that they'd fabricated some excuse to toss him back into the Bridge House for three months. 

He'd been present in his room for roll call at evening curfew but a few hours later his restlessness had gotten the better of him.  Unable to sit tight any longer, he'd shifted and had flown out the small window in the small black and white magpie form.  He would have to be back for morning recall but the night was his. 

And it was good to be back in the rustic and bustling Black Chimaera.  Especially for a Monday night, business seemed to be thriving.  A couple of his fellow WBA cronies had been holding down the fort with remarkable success over the last couple months.  Determined to enjoy his one night of freedom, he was leaving the majority of the bartending and work to his two closest cronies.  With a tall glimmering glass of the house's specialty drink and namesake, Cinaed had settled himself at a table of fellow WBA members, the pub's resident mastiff slumped haphazardly on the floor near his feet. 

When the dainty blond stepped into the bar, several of the heads at the table turned in her direction.  Following their lead, Cinaed pivoted his chair, content to simply lean back in his chair and watch the young woman walk in and settle at one of the few empty tables.  Something about her seemed distinctly familiar though, at first, Cinaed couldn't place her.  He'd seen her before - that he was confident of.  But where was proving the difficult question to answer. 

The woman didn't seem entirely at ease but some bloke seemed to already be taking advantage of her clearly frazzled state.  The bloke had turned looked towards Manfred and requested a fresh round of drinks.  With a recognizably flustered nod, Manfred began to grab glasses from behind the bar. 

Up until the point when the fellow from Hogsmeade - Blackstone wasn't it? - had approached the table, Cinaed had been content to sit back and observe the proceedings.  But, there was something about Blackstone's mannerisms that prodded Cinaed to his feet.  He rarely felt a need to intervene with barroom altercations - Chris had a wand; he could rectify any damages that might come from a good, hearty barroom throwdown.  And, fights seemed to help business.  But, given he wasn't supposed to be here, he didn't need anything drawing the attention of any meddling aurors Aurors to the Black Chimaera. 

And, he sure didn't need any rich quidditch players driven from the pub - their money was as good as anyone else's. 

With a distinct shake of Cinaed's head, Manfred abandoned the drinks he was preparing for the table.  He crossed the barroom to the table in question and made a clear point of entering the conversation. 

"Evening," he offered to the motley trio.  "Enjoying a friendly drink, I see?  What can I get for you all?"

"Hi - I'm James - what brings you here?"

Iza had been vaguely aware of a man sitting down beside her even before he spoke.  Like a child, she’d concentrated on chewing off the offending nail and ignoring him.  Now, she swiveled to face him, still chewing on her thumb.  She regarded him for a moment from beneath long lashes, her face serene though she was automatically suspicious.  After a moment, she pulled her thumb from her mouth, answered, “I’m hungry,” and then continued her contemplative gnaw as if she’d not been interrupted.  She’d worked her way halfway through it by now, and wasn’t about to be interrupted.  She wondered if he would tease her, and ask her if the nail were better than what was on the menu.  Someone… someone had once teased her like that in school.  Someone… she couldn’t remember who it was, now, but she rather thought he’d been an irritant.

Just because she seemed outwardly to be completely occupied with the job of gnawing off her thumb didn’t mean she was unaware of her surroundings.  She didn’t turn back to the bar again, but scrutinized his appearance closely instead.  He was dressed in a Quidditch robe (she remembered the Tornadoes from school!).  Dark, wind-swept hair.  His pits were damp.  Had he been playing?  She wasn’t about to ask, because she remembered having been bored by the last Quidditch conversation she’d endured… How long ago?  Hmmmm…

“Another whiskey for me, and would you care for something, fair lady?”  Iza raised her eyebrows at him and managed at that moment to finish off her thumbnail.  She held it in her pursed lips for a moment and then picked it daintily from her mouth so she could speak again.  At least she hadn’t spat it out.

“Ogden’s… no.  Hmmm…”  She thought of warm Butterbeer and how it might settle her empty stomach more effectively than whiskey.  She was torn.  Just as she’d done when she’d smelled Frank’s cigarette, the thought of liquor that wasn’t as cloyingly fruity as cherry cobbler made her mouth water.  She picked up a menu laying on the bar.  Her eyes fell on the perfect thing… “Irish coffee.  Extra light, extra sweet… is there any Jameson’s?” she asked, searching the top shelf behind the bar.  She’d be happy with Bushmill’s, though… it was sometimes smoother.

“Funny, seeing a professional Quidditch player in a place like this... Making a move on my to-be wife, no less.”

At the sound of the voice, Iza stiffened, her eyes narrowing.  Without looking over to see who it was, she said loudly, “I don’t know who you really are, mister, nor do I care.  If you dealt with my aunt for a marriage, you should have married her.  You’d have been much happier… you would be a rich widower by now, if you had.”

The thought of marrying someone her aunt had chosen for her disgusted Iza.  She supposed she should be grateful he'd came along when he did tonight… she might have done something stupid…er.  At the same rate, she had no interest in him whatsoever, thanks to Aunt Nadine.

Of course, Iza was a bit gullible and naïve.  She had no clue that half the heads had turned to look when she’d come in because the men there found her attractive.  Nor did she realize that Quidditch Boy had any motive other than friendliness… her lip would have curled at the thought.  Everyone wanted something but that was furthest from her mind.  She knew she was pretty and had an effect on others, sometimes… but she’d never used sex appeal in that manner.  Only appealed to people’s nurturing side…

When another bartender stepped in, she broke off the string of creative expletives she had planned for this Blackstone character—just to make certain he knew she was completely uninterested in his imaginary betrothal.  She smiled sweetly up at the waiter, aware that he was probably interrupting because he thought she was about to become noisy and unruly…

Noisy, no.  Iza knew how to keep her voice down, even if she intended to verbally explore Blackstone’s questionable parentage, intelligence (if he thought an old woman had any right to determine which man would share Iza’s bridal bed), and personal hygiene if neither of the first two affected his suit.  It mattered little that Iza thought he smelled nice… he was repugnant.

Unruly… possibly.  If Blackstone didn’t know how to take “no” for an answer…  Well, she vaguely recalled having hexed more than one person, this evening.  Despite the fact that she could plead incognizance if brought before the Tribunal… why ruin a decent record?  Langlock came to mind… as well as one which caused excruciating jock itch in its victim.  She eyed Blackstone as if trying to decide which… Tribunal be damned…

Despite her lucidity, Iza had no clue that nearly nine years had passed since her incarceration.  Nadine had been very thorough in her control.  Part of the reason Iza was strung tighter than a violin was because she was waiting for someone to take note of her freedom and force her back into that house.  She wouldn’t go!

She sighed gently and smiled again as if pleased with the interruption.  “Irish coffee, please, light and sweet,” she told him.  “And a parfait, if you have nuts.  I’m hungry, and I’m rather partial to iced cream.  If you haven’t any nuts… whatever’s in the stewpot.  I’m not picky… but I can’t eat iced cream without nuts,” she rambled sweetly, as if the man were a confectioner…

(((OOC: Sequence might be off, if there’s an issue let me know)))

James heard her request irish coffee, and before he could ask the pretty little thing for her name he heard someone call him out.

“Funny, seeing a professional Quidditch player in a place like this,” Blackstone commented boldly, paying his due for the mead.  Blackstone  chuckled.  “Making a move on my to-be wife, no less.”

James paused for a moment, and before his mouth could move, the lady he was hitting on told the other guy to @#$@ off in so many words.  If James was thinking rationally, he would have realized by now that the girl he was hitting on was a pureblood, so she was less likely to have a one-night stand.  He was not thinking rationally though – he was guided by pheromones.  James got up from the bar stool, and placed himself between the lady and his competition. 

“Because a lady is present – and she has asked you nicely to leave - I strongly suggest you do so before I aid your…departure,” James shot back.  James had a few more words to say, but then saw the bartender walk up. 

He was a huge man, half a foot taller than James, and had two hundred pounds of pure muscle on him.  ‘So no bar fights tonight’ James thought.   The bar tender was there to do damage control, and James had no idea how skilled he was with a wand.  James also considered offering him a try-out for beater, but then remembered that it wasn’t his job to recruit and he had his own @#$@% to worry about.   ‘A conversation for another time,’ James thought.

"Evening," the bartender offered to the motley trio.  "Enjoying a friendly drink, I see?  What can I get for you all?"

James wondered how the man could *seem*so sincere when it was plain as day that he and this other fellow were going to go at each other’s throat any second.  Regardless, James was not going to pick a fight in this guy’s bar.  His sense of self-preservation overrode his pheromones.  He did not move from his position between the girl and the newcomer though.

As he listened to the young lady beside him order dessert, he realized that he didn’t even know this girl’s name, and yet he was ready to get into a bar fight for her.  James then realized she was ordering *dessert*, assuming they served it here. ‘This night might turn out well after all’ he thought.  He needed to deal with this new guy though.

“Wife to be?  Who uses that term?  Arranged marriage - whatever the cause -,” James paused, “if you do not know what to call your fiancé, are you sure you should even be dating?  Why don’t you go to…well somewhere away from here would be fine.  Go bother someone else.  The lady does not want you here, nor do I.  Leave.” James finished with his usual diplomatic skill. 

Zavier’s smile faded.  He hadn’t expected such a rash response; in retrospect, he thought that Nadine woman was an absolute nut - and she was Iza’s aunt?  Despite the obvious quirks that Iza possessed, she wasn’t nearly as batty as the former seemed to be.  She’d invited him over for a cup of tea, which seemed like quite the innocent proposal at the time.  He enjoyed the occasional cup of tea, and he had that particular afternoon off.  So, he didn’t see the harm in partaking in a friendly sit-down with her.  Sadly, if only he knew then what he knew now, he wouldn’t have stepped into that woman’s home at all.

Too late now, he thought with a sigh.  Apparently, his attempt at getting the Quidditch player to leave Iza alone didn’t work.  So much for that.  This Forrester fellow was proving to be quite the nuisance.  

“Because a lady is present – and she has asked you nicely to leave - I strongly suggest you do so before I aid your…departure.”

“Lay a finger or spell on me, son, and I’ll string you up by your tongue,” Zavier threatened.  His tone of voice was cold.  Colder than he’d meant it to be, actually.  He took a step toward Forrester, sweeping one side of his robe to the side.  Tucked into a crisp leather holster was his wand.  

Then, the proprietor of the bar himself approached them.  Zavier cast Tawse a respectful glance, then nodded towards the flustered Seeker.  Or was he a Chaser?  Blast, it didn’t matter.  He didn’t give a damn.

”Evening.  Enjoying a friendly drink, I see?  What can I get for you all?”

“I’m fine, Cin, but I’m afraid that one of your customers is about to pull an asinine,” Zavier mused, keeping his robe open.  He wasn’t afraid of Cináed; in fact, it was quite the contrary.  The two were friendly, and had managed to make a fool out of one of the Auror Department’s schmoes.  The remembrance of that afternoon made a faint grin enlighten his cockled lips.

“Apparently, Mister Forrester is biting off more than he can chew,” he added, ignoring the man's concluding quip.  “And by that I mean, to put it rather bluntly: he wishes to prolong his night with Miss Franti here.”

He induced a hefty amount of emphasis into the word ‘prolong’, keeping himself straight-faced as he drew his observation of the obvious to a close.  He glanced at Iza, wondering if she, like so many other unfortunate women didn’t realize it when they were in the crosshairs of a lowly debauchee.

The blond was, clearly, flustered.  Which of the two men was the root cause of her distress, Cinaed didn't know.  Frankly, he didn't care.  Out in the world beyond the doors of the pub, his reputation (not to mention record) might not have the best reputation.  He could be as crude and short tempered as the best - or worst - of them.  But, this pub was his domain.  He was top dog (okay, second in command if one counted the mastiff) in this pub and wasn't about to stand by as a couple of blokes (no matter how well he knew them) flustered a young woman who was caught in the middle. 

What could he say.  He'd be protective of any young woman that was willing to bring their patronage to his pub. 

He ran his hand through his long length of hair, pulling a few stray locks back from his face, nodding as the young woman placed her order.  Normally, Cinaed might have sought some crude joke involving an abundance of nuts in the bar but - given the circumstances, he let the thought remain unspoken.  "I'll see what I can do," he offered, but he remained where he was, maintaining a strong presence in the trio's interactions.

Wife to be?  Cinaed's gaze flickered from the quidditch player to the young woman to Blackstone.  Was he serious?  Did people actually do that anymore?  Regardless, tensions were quickly lifting amongst the two other men  and Cinaed knew, if wands were drawn, his ability to intervene would be limited.  Well - that wasn't entirely true.  There were plenty in the crowded bar with wands that would either intervene at his bidding or loan him their wand. 

But, Blackstone was heating up more, tossing around threats.  He listened to Blackstone's assessment of the situation.  When Blackstone finally grew quiet, Cinaed lifted a rune-tattooed hand, making it clear he had no interest in hearing anymore heated squabbling.  Pointedly, Cinaed stepped forward towards the bar, stepping in between the two men to lean against the bar next to the young lady. 

He spoke to her in a low voice, "You look like a woman that can handle herself well enough, but if you need me to intervene and take care of either or both of these blokes, just say the word."  Again, Cinaed was taken with the feeling that he knew the woman in front of him.  Well, there was one way to find out.  "Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked, pushing himself off the bar and casting a warning glance to both of the men.  "Now, I'm sure we can all behave ourself?"

((I apologize ahead of time: I honestly thought I could make a shorter post... but you are all so marvelous I hate to shortchange any of my responses ))

Isa was flustered, now.  She’d completed her order as if nothing untoward was going on, but James had gotten to his feet in the meantime and was menacing the cad who thought he had a right to marry her without her consent.  She had no idea that Blackstone’s assertion had been a ruse to pull her from what might have been a nasty duel—or that the bridegroom in question had turned her aunt’s thoughtful proposal down out of ethics.  She only knew what he’d told the others, and that the thought of marrying—or even bedding—a man chosen for her by Nadine disgusted her.

Her jaw tried to drop and she stared up at James, towering like a gorilla protecting its mating.  She hadn’t asked Blackstone to leave… only intended to make him squirm a bit and if he decided to leave of his own volition, all the better… and if he stayed, to snipe at him a bit more.

”…Go bother someone else.  The lady does not want you here, nor do I.  Leave.”

James obviously had it in mind to protect her honor… Iza would have found it amusing… if she’d understood it, if they hadn’t only met moments before.  Instead, she was flummoxed by his behavior.

But Blackstone was on his feet as well, which boded ill for the evening.  Iza barely glanced at him, still bemused by James’ knightly behavior.  They were taunting one another…

“Lay a finger or spell on me, son, and I’ll string you up by your tongue…”

Startled by the coldness in his voice, Iza looked at Blackstone directly.  He rose a notch in her estimation.  A cool head, a mature response and the pure menace appealed to her.  She frowned, refusing to be swayed.

“James… sit down,” she hissed, reaching out to tug at his robes and reinforce the command, sneaking a peek at Blackstone around him.  She hoped the bartender’s presence would dissuade him from doing something foolish… Had it not been for the bartender towering over them, Iza would have found the tableau entertaining, perhaps smirked and allowed James to take care of Blackstone for her…

But the bartender… She looked at him directly, now, even as she tugged at James’ robes, rather than dismissing him as being a simple waiter… or the instrument to diffuse the bomb that had been dropped in her lap.

He lifted a tattooed hand.  Iza’s eyes widened as she spied the ink… and then he inserted himself between her and James, forcing her to release James’ robes and her feeble attempts to diffuse the situation herself.  Had either man actually drawn a wand, Iza would have known how to react.  Words were much more difficult to destroy.

When he spoke in a low voice to her, Iza’s eyes widened even further.  Just another Gallant offering to protect her questionable honor, except…   "Do I know you from somewhere?"

She searched his face, for once her innocent expression of surprise and wonder was unfeigned.  She couldn’t remember ever having seen him… except the flash of his eyes, the low rumble of his voice… was familiar, even soothing, though with it the memory of distress, insanity and feelings of hopelessness.  A vague memory of a cold, stone cell, shivering, withdrawn, clutching at her knees as she rocked… and a voice from the other side of the wall…

She nodded in answer, then shook her head, then nodded again, not quite knowing how to answer.  She didn’t know him.  “I can behave,” she answered his other question faintly.  She closed her eyes tightly to dispel the feelings of distress his voice conjured up, breathing in and out deeply and purposefully.

“I’m Izadora Franti,” she said when she opened her eyes again, purposefully ignoring the other two and searching this man’s face for any hint of familiarity outside the remembered cold of the Dementors which had leeched inside her head again.  Her grey eyes darkened, pupils dilating, and she couldn’t help a flush which crept up from her throat.

She hadn’t introduced herself to James because she rather thought he didn’t really care what her name was… and had she settled on him, she wouldn’t have really cared for his, either.  Had she known his thoughts on Pure Bloods and one-night-stands, she would have thrown back her head and laughed delightedly.  What Pure Blood didn’t have one-night-stands?  They were simply discrete about it, and made certain to pay off their paramours if loose lips threatened to betray them.  Too many of them married for political reasons—or to shore up a sagging Family Name.  Those who had nothing to lose by it married for love… and passion.  At least to Iza’s recollection, Pure Bloods found idle playmates to fill the void…

She should have added, I can take care of myself.  She glanced at the two men quickly and kept her peace.  She hadn’t been doing a very good job of it, and though she had no idea what had set the men at one another, she was highly aware that they were in public and she had no right to prolong a battle in this man’s bar.  If she needed help… she would call on him.  “This one thinks we’re engaged,” she murmured to the bartender.  “The other…”  She thought about it for a moment, finally came to the conclusion that his behavior was like a gorilla intent on mating and suddenly chuckled, relaxing…  “I think that neither appeals,” she lied, though under other circumstances she might have played with James for a bit.

She remained planted firmly on her stool, having refused to rise during the altercation, and had to crane her neck slightly to look up at the men.

“And by that I mean, to put it rather bluntly: he wishes to prolong his night with Miss Franti here.” Blackstone said.

James did not react at the accusation.  He thought that picking up witches at a bar needed no explanation.   Admittedly, James did not come here planning to hit on anyone, it just happened that he saw the young belle on his way out the door, and decided to try his luck.   Coincidence, but truth is stranger than fiction.

“James… sit down,” she hissed.  Iza tugged at his robes, causing him to involuntarily sit on the barstool.  James looked up.  The bartender was deliberately put himself between Blackstone and James. 

"Do I know you from somewhere?" [Cina] asked, pushing himself off the bar and casting a warning glance to both of the men.  "Now, I'm sure we can all behave ourself?" Cina asked.

James could barely contain a snort at that remark.  The only reasons spells were not flying was because of the giant of a man in front of him.  James had no doubt that as soon as he was gone, spells were going to fly faster than a hippogriff herd. 
James heard Iza answer the other question the bar tender asked, before finally learning her name.

“I’m Izadora Franti,” she declared.  ‘At least I have a name for the pretty face, but this flower has too many bees around it…for now,’ he thought.  Due to his proximity to the bar tender & Iza, he heard that “neither one appeals…” ‘Damn!’ James thought.  He wondered if the other guy did though.  Still, he was not going to leave unless that other guy did.  While James did not have an outstanding sense of ethics, he did appreciate the fact that no meant no.  That, and he was not going to leave without a parting shot to this @#$#@%@ who ruined his night.  He got up, and spoke softly to the bar tender and Iza,”I’ll put a couple of quidditch tickets for both of you in the will-call window at the next Tutshill game.”

 While making sure the bartender was between Iza and the other guy, he walked over to where he could clearly be heard. 

“Ah, yes…you have caught me trying to meet a witch in a bar.  What is my next grand conspiracy you are going expose?  Perhaps catch me flying at a quidditch match?  Or reading in a library?  Bravo detective!“ James started, sarcasm coming off in full force.

He continued in a normal tone, “The difference between you and me, is that when a lady tells me no, I leave her alone.  What were her exact words…ah yes:  I don’t know who you really are, mister, nor do I care,” James paused for a breath.   

“And you claim to be engaged?  That is a load of dragon dung – and you know it.  I do not know what you are trying to pull here nor do I care.  I shall be blunt, since I do not believe you have the mental capacity than a flobberworm.  I want you to leave Miss Franti alone.  What say you? ” James said, glaring directly at Blackstone.

Zavier chortled.  “You know me well enough, Cin, to know that I can behave myself.”

He looked at James and snorted.  “I wish I could say the same for you, boy.  Look at you - threatening somebody you don’t even know.”

He took a step forward.  He wasn’t walking toward Iza - he disregarded her here; she was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time.  He’d talk to her later if need-be - if she even let him.  From the impression he got from her, she wasn’t the type of woman to succumb to steely muscles or nerves.  She was a strong-headed woman - a force not to be reckoned with.  Of course, he should have seen that from the way Nadine both acted and conversed.  Unlike her niece, however, she was probably criminally insane; or something along those lines.

“I’d listen to her if I were you,” he declared.  “You don’t want to be taken off Reserve for the rest of the season, do you?”

He scoffed at him.  “You’re pathetic - on Reserve.  At least when I played, I was one of the first ones onto the field.  Don’t let your supposed ‘fame’ cloud your judgement.  You really don’t want to piss me off.”

Willingly inducing his concluding statement with a trickle of metaphorical venom, he merely chuckled when the bigot said:

"And you claim to be engaged? That is a load of dragon dung – and you know it. I do not know what you are trying to pull here nor do I care. I shall be blunt, since I do not believe you have the mental capacity than a flobberworm. I want you to leave Miss Franti alone. What say you?”

“A flobberworm?” he laughed.  “I’ll have you know, son, I am years beyond you in terms of ‘knowledge’.  You’re only, what, twenty-years-old?  Act like a fool if you wish, but at least act like a logical one.  Save us the dogmatic.”

He took another step forward, stepping around Cin, but maintaining the distance between himself and James.  Robe still open, he let his hand drop over the unfastened flap of his wand holster.

“What’s say you and I take this outside, Mister Forrester?” he suggested, allowing a baneful smile to manifest across his lips.  “Think of it as a... non-lethal duel of sorts.  Hmm?  Winner stays, loser takes his leave.”

Of course, if he agreed to it, Zavier had no intentions of sticking to the ‘friendly’ terms.  Again, the incident between himself and Roland Vulp came to mind - the idiot had gotten himself Obliviated for meddling in the bookkeeper’s business.

Thank the Lord he’s out of the picture, he thought.

 Cináed's eyes left the young woman and flickered, attentively, from one of the young men to the other.  Oh - men were such strange creatures; even he could admit that.  They put so much effort into trying to prove themselves better than your average beast but when you regarded them in a situation like this, they weren't that dissimilar from a pair of roosters, strutting themselves in a desperate attempt to impress.  And, yes,  Cináed was perfectly aware he was doing his share of strutting and posturing though it wasn't for the same reasons as the other two blokes. 

For  Cináed, the Black Chimaera served three important purposes.  First and foremost, it was his home and his source of income and, as a close second, it was a meeting place for the Wizarding Blood Alliance.  But, arguably almost as important, for those like him - for ex-Azzies or the scattered remnants of the loosing side of the last wizarding war, the Black Chimaera was a welcoming, casual place to sit back, relax and enjoy non-critical company.  With the exception of the most blatant enemies (usually aurors and other meddlesome Ministry officials),  Cináed considered all those that chose to walk through his doors allies.  At least for the evening.  If these two blokes wanted to duel it out, they were welcome to do so.  Someplace else.  Without dragging one of his customers in the middle of it.  "Good.  I won't tolerate any dueling in here,"  Cináed said, at Blackstone's assurance. 

Having gotten her order,  Cináed nodded and pushed himself off the bar, watching carefully as the woman urged the man named James to take a seat.  She seemed to be a rather dainty thing but  Cináed knew well enough not to be fooled like that.  Like little wasps, he'd met plenty of petite witches that packed a vicious punch.  "I'll leave you to it, then.  But, if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."  He cast a warning glance to both of the fellows before circling around to the backside of the bar. 

He was confident in leaving them enough to prepare the drink on the far side of the bar; leaving the room to prepare the food, that was out of the question.  "Mannie!" he barked.  A chubby, stocky middle aged wizard moved over towards the bar, mumbling under his breath as he did.  "Go fix a parfait," he said, adding a healthy spoonful of sugar to a cup of coffee.  'I ... a ... wha?'  Mannie asked, looking a bit overwhelmed by the peculiar order.  There was a reason it wasn't, exactly, on the normal menu.  "Just go put some ice cream and nuts ... and ice cream and nuts in a cup.  A'Right?" 

As Mannie shuffled off to the back of the building,  Cináed turned his attention back to the James, Blackstone and ... Izadora?  The name triggered memories and, almost immediately,  Cináed placed her.  His eyes widened and a broad, earnest grin settled across his face.  "Aye, lass.  Good to see you about."   Cináed was careful to not expose her ex-con status; he was content wearing that status on his sleeve but he knew that feeling was shared by all.  He looked at both the fellows in turn as Izadora summed up the situation, his gaze lingering a few moments longer Blackstone.  "He thinks you're engaged?  But, you're not?"  So, that James bloke was serious about the arranged marriage comment. 

 Cináed looked up at James at the offered tickets and nodded his head in appreciation, offering the his hand to shake the fellow's in earnest appreciation.  "I appreciate the offer, friend, but I'm afraid they'd be wasted on me.  I'm afraid, for the time being, my evenings are relinquished to the charming neighborhood Bridge House."  It had been years - probably since before he left school - since  Cináed had observed a public function such as a game. 

But, the situation between the two men was continuing to escalate.  Blackstone was in the midst of calling this James bloke out , his wand not in hand but at the ready.   Cináed straightened himself up, peering across the bar, his eyes shifting between the two fellows before settling on Blackstone.  "If you I'm going to leave it up to you as to who can or can not bring their business to my bar, you're a bit mistaken.  So, unless you can civilly enjoy a drink, some friendly company and let this young lady leave with whomever she wants - if she even wants to leave with anyone - you may want to find another place to drink.  Understood?"

“Ah, yes…you have caught me trying to meet a witch in a bar.  What is my next grand conspiracy you are going expose?  Perhaps catch me flying at a quidditch match?  Or reading in a library?  Bravo detective!“

Iza was distracted enough to smirk… Quidditch-Boy did have a sense of humor after all… she was almost disappointed that he was walking out the door, now, then she caught herself.  You aren’t here to dally with the local talent, she told herself firmly.  Not that Iza was above teasing a man, but she recognized that in her recent state of mind, doing so would be a decidedly bad idea.  Damn Nadine, she thought, frowning again at Blackstone—Damn her for both this… and him.  What am I going to do about him?   She considered a “mysterious disappearance” to rid herself of Nadine’s baggage but discarded that idea as well.  He’s not a Muggle… he’s a person.  Her frown deepened.  Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn…

She blinked when Blackstone offered to “take it outside” with James.  Cocking her head, she tried to decide whether that was a duel she’d like to witness and whether she would be cheering for James to take him up on his offer… or apathetic at this point.  She decided on the latter.  If Blackstone wanted to get his ears singed off, he was fully capable of managing it without her encouragement.

“An arrangement with my dear, departed aunt, apparently,” she answered Cin’s question regarding her supposed engagement to Blackstone.  “Or else he’s just insane.  Whatever the case, if he thinks I can be coerced into marriage, he is daft.”  She turned her back to the door, even more pleased that the Cin had sent his lackey to build her a parfait.

“What are the odds that Blackstone will escape with both his ears, if James takes him up on his kind offer?” she continued offhandedly with a delighted smirk, after Cin called the boys out and cautioned them against dueling in the pub.

With that pleasant thought percolating in her mind, she suddenly blinked again and her brows furrowed as his words from a moment before sunk in. ”Aye, lass.  Good to see you about.”  It wasn’t what he said, necessarily, but the way he said it.  Lass…  Ah, lots of men hereabouts of Scottish decent.  Plenty who would call her “Lass” as well…  But the gentle lilt of his voice, coupled with the nagging sense of familiarity and the brooding echo of Dementors still fresh from the flash of memory a moment before…

“Cin?” she asked, surprised, glancing at him sharply.  “When did they--?”  She hesitated to ask the question, When did they let you out?  And then—at great odds with her aloof, sarcastic Ice Queen routine—she suddenly leaped to her feet, drawing herself up to her full, miniscule height on tippy-toes, and threw her arms around him in a bear hug.  The top of her head didn’t even reach his chin, and she found herself with a face-full of beard…

Perhaps she was distracting Cinaed at an inopportune time, but the thought didn’t even cross her mind…

(((OOC: Sequence is probably off, but if there’s an issue let me know)))

James looked at the scene in front of him.  ‘Maybe she is engaged to the bartender,’ he thought.  Either way, he couldn’t help but smirk.  ‘It was ironic, how after all that verbal repartee with that other guy, neither of them wound up even talking to her,’ James thought to himself.

James heard the barkeeps words, and wondered why he didn’t at least have his hand on his wand by this point if not outright drawn.  James had his in a semi-tight grip for a while.  He heard Iza’s comment, and then finally had some sense dawn into him.  He at least knew Blackstone’s name now. 

James looked directly at Blackstone. 

“You see, I really want to take you up on your offer.  But there is no honor in it.  Something I am confident you do not understand.  Which is a true shame for a pureblood, but I digress.   It is not good form to pick on someone twice my age who might be half as fast as I am.  Next dueling tournament, I shall challenge you to an exposition match.  By that time, I will have come up with a suitable handicap,” James arrogantly claimed.  James really had no idea if Blackstone was a pureblood or not, but he doubted anyone else would claim an engagement to the bartender's girl.  Then again, he was hitting on her fairly blatantly in this bar. 

James tossed Cina a couple of galleons to pay for his tab and Iza’s order.  He proceeded to walk out the door. 

‘That was a long night, I am still restless, and I should have been home thirty minutes ago,’ James thought.  With a crack, he apparated away from the alley. 

Zavier opened his mouth to say something in regards to Iza’s retort, but James spoke first.

“You see, I really want to take you up on your offer. But there is no honor in it. Something I am confident you do not understand. Which is a true shame for a pureblood, but I digress. It is not good form to pick on someone twice my age who might be half as fast as I am. Next dueling tournament, I shall challenge you to an exposition match. By that time, I will have come up with a suitable handicap.”

He nearly burst out in a fit of laughter.  Clearly, this young sap was afraid of getting his rear-end  handed to him.

“No honor?” he asked, amused by the man’s choice of words.  “That’s quite an exemplary excuse for one’s cowardice, James.  I would have expected a more formidable lie from somebody of your... regard.  If you so wish to challenge me in a future exposition match, feel free.”

Of course, by then, your head will be mounted on my wall, you gutless piece of filth.    

He opened his mouth to say, ‘I challenge you to a race, then, you conceited worm’, when, to his amusement, James turned about-faced and left - but not before laying a couple of galleons on the table.  

Good riddance you piece of trash.

With Forrester out of the way, Zavier turned back to Iza and Cin.  He looked at Iza, who had the latter locked in an embrace.

He didn't see the point in staying any longer.  Before he took his leave, he nodded at the Chimera's proprietor but didn't acknowledge Iza.  Instead, he turned about-face and strode out of the establishment, disappearing into the night.