The Three Broomsticks was ridiculously crowded. Not that Landis usually attended the Three Broomsticks, but it was a good enough excuse for him to avoid the busy little pub and head for more familiar ground. It wasn't even Hogsmeade weekend, but any student that snuck out of school and saw him, the new librarian, at the Hog's Head might think it unusual. Landis didn't care about this as much as he probably should have. The Three Broomsticks didn't have quite the same... atmosphere as the Hog's Head. The Hog's Head, for all its sometimes unsavory clientele, never gave off the same overly-cheery,  butterbeer-scented vibes of twee.

And Landis couldn't stand twee.

He entered the Hog's Head in a rush of cool autumn air, his long blonde hair loose and shining against the black of his cloak. Another good point for this place- seedy enough that he felt comfortable, but not so name-blackening as to necessitate a polyjuice potion beforehand. Filthy, though. That was always unfortunate.

He went to the bar for an Elvish wine, then took a table, ignoring the usual bunch of hooded lurkers and the occasional hag. It was too early in the evening for firewhisky, and not really an ideal place to drink something so strong, either. The barman wouldn't slip anything in it, but Landis had very little desire to get drunk in a pub full of predators.

Dazmond was one of those hooded lurkers tonight, and hadn't noticed Landis come in from the cool Autumn evening.  She was, well, hiding.  From everyone.

It had been a real rough week -- on top a real rough fortnight -- on top a real rough Summer -- and Dazmond Lois Wiedman Briggs was real Fed Up.  She'd been crossed, first by some cleverly anonymous Dark Wizard and then thrice by the Ministry of Magic.  First they went after her werewolf clients, then her husband, and then another of her closest -- ex-Azzie Cinaed Tawse.  It was enough to imperious a Witch all the way to loony-town.  Or, to a night off at the Hog's Head, apparently.   

Slouched at the bar toward the back of the room, Dazmond was complaining over a mugwort imperial stout to the barmaid about the frequently invaded privacy of Knockturn.  But she maintained that she knew nothing about the explosion of cured Runespoor venom outside Tawse's pub on Tuesday, even as the news of her husband's arrest had come out yesterday in the morning's Prophet.

Overall, however, Dazmond was having the Ministry as a scapegoat for all that had been going wrong in her life -- the lapsed memory of the Summer, the bouts of confusion, the threat on unregistered werewolves, the Runespoor accident, her snapped wand.  And really what it all amounted to was a whole lot of running around, placating clients, who were either not all too eager to buy with the current Ministry crackdown or facing directly the consequences of the other night.  Daz was tired.

It was just then that the Witch behind the counter pointed out to Dazmond that 'her friend' was at a table across the way.  She'd been working long enough to have seen them together at the Hog's Head back in their school days.  Dazmond nearly winced at the word 'friend', however.  It could have a thousand implications and she'd been hounded by various folks the last day or two, on top of making house calls to werewolves during the aftermath of the Full Moon -- who were all very worried about the news reports on Vane Hendric's performance during the attack on Knox Greyfriar.  And everyone was freaking out about the Ministry.  It seemed that Dazmond was charged with keeping them all out of trouble. 

But when she wheeled around and saw a spot of long, golden blonde hair atop a dark cloak, she held a little smile of relief.  "Ahh -- 'scuse me, then," she told the Witch.  And with that she left the counter with her stein in hand and turned toward the palatable Landis Rue Morgan.  It had been at least four months, probably longer, since they'd met.  And it was always a pleasure.

Dazmond helped herself to setting down her stein on his table with a dull thunk, still wearing her hood up round her head of black and crimson stripes.  "Landis," she acknowledged.  "Thank Salazar!"  She stole the seat across him and folded herself over upon it.  Then succumbed to the social custom of extracting a cigarette and bumping her wand on the table for a light.  Since the new alder piece had come to her aid the other night, it had been working well for her -- at least as far as the management of fire went.

She looked across at him and a sort of smile grew in the space between her sudden apparition and the exhalation of smoke below brightened eyes.  "How're you, then?"

Landis had actually not been looking in her direction when she saw him and approached; as such, that one of the numerous hooded figures had sat down at his table was a bit of a sudden surprise. Even more surprising was the bouncy, completely non-threatening gait of the stranger- not really succumbing to social hooded figures standards, was he? No, she, for even a robe couldn't hide such a petite, rounded figure. But then she spoke, and Landis had to smile; months or not, he wouldn't have failed to recognize that voice. And when she took out a cigarette, her wand lit up a smiling mouth and the mane of red-and-black striped hair that he remembered well.

"Ah, I knew I shouldn't have come here tonight," he said with a sigh. "There's all sorts of unsavory types." He pushed his hair back from his face, pale eyes lowered still in that mock-regretful expression, before flashing up to meet hers when he abandoned the teasing. He had missed her- and that wasn't something Landis could say of many people. It was always nice to see Dazmond. Of course, hidden in that robe, he wasn't really seeing much, but it was hardly as though he could complain. Dazmond must've been approached a dozen times by him under Polyjuice in Knockturn alley. Although Landis' broad shoulders and hard face saved him from the femininity of his slender waist and long hair, his appearance didn't exactly strike enough caution into the hearts of most Knockturn alley residents for him to always be left alone when he visited. An ex-Azzie, covered in scars and tattoos, would never be touched, but Landis' fastidious, obviously well-off appearance did him more ill than good. Even without that, for him to be recognized there was much riskier than someone seeing him here in the Hog's Head. It was only necessity, and Dazmond hardly complained . Landis could see the necessity in her cloak, here and now, as well. After all, he read the papers, and he knew her reputation besides. It never failed to amuse him, the reputation of this petite woman he'd always considered with higher and closer regard than his own family. But, Landis supposed not everyone had the fortune to know her as he did, or as he had. She'd become much more difficult to find after graduation.

"I'm well, Dazmond." His tone turned satisfied as he added, "Got a job up at Hogwarts, only a month or so past. It really opens up so many wonderful... opportunities." He trusted Dazmond could catch the implications of that. "But I hear that you're having a harder time of things. Is this true?"

"Not really." 

That was the automatic response, and Dazmond quickly caught herself and smiled, waving it off.  "Well, okay, yes.  It's true, Landis.  I'm dodging some bludgers.  Some real back-breaking ones, like Dominik could be behind that bat, right.  But it'll work itself out.  Always does, right, for the right folks."  She shrugged.  The last few days were spent reassuring people, and Dazmond had fallen back into her old habit of burying her emotions and downplaying enormous issues -- like Nate Briggs being in Ministry custody right now.  Or like not being able to remember anything that happened over the Summer months short of an ominous sea -- and some dark presence who might want his nine hundred galleons back.

But all that was small stuff, really!  Right?  Right?  Well, maybe not.  But Dazmond could convince herself to stay sane when she needed to, by marginalizing an issue.  Or twelve.

She pulled her hood up a little to reveal the rest of her face.  When she spoke it was with something akin to amusement, and she couldn't extinguish the smile on her face had she tried.  Landis was blood to her, always had been, but she hardly ever saw him as much as her other few favorites.  And when she did see him, they usually had to play Twenty Questions so she could tell if it was really him.  Although, Dazmond could usually tell pretty quick.  They had quite a few inside jokes to pull from.  Still, it was nice to see his face.  It did make her troubles seem more manageable.  So she turned back to the curious thing he'd said, before he'd turned the topic to her well-being. 

"What's this job then?"  She leaned in a bit.  If Landis was setting up at Hogwarts, she could only imagine that he was aiming for the Headmaster post.  That was the highest, right?  Landis Morgan wasn't the type to be bossed around any more than Daz was, but he usually won his freedom by climbing to the top of the ladder, where he could boss other people around.  That was just how he was.  Kinda like Analiza Snark, who they both admired. 

"Sounds like you have some, ahh, career plans?"   
     

Landis folded his hands over each other on top of the filthy table, sharp eyes scrutinizing the little more of her expression she'd revealed by pulling her hood back. Vague with her issues as always, and she hadn't mentioned the one thing Landis had had firmly in mind when he'd asked. Her husband. "I read the papers, you know," he said conversationally. "Every morning. The other day, I read something that left me wondering... wouldn't it be just awful if Slug & Jiggers had pulled a stunt like that Runespoor explosion to frame those two gentlemen who'd been arrested? Terrible what people will do to get rid of competition these days." It'd been two days since the explosion, and Sellaphix and Brigg's arrest. In all probability, it was far too late. Two whole days her husband would have been with the Aurors, all interrogation and Veritaserum, and he'd probably coughed up all he knew. But Landis knew how easy it was to muck up a criminal investigation, how easy it was to cast memory charms and then claim the memory charms as evidence of the criminal's innocence, and especially how easy it was to produce credible witnesses. For a certain amount of money, and perhaps another memory charm, one could get witnesses to swear up and down whatever one wanted, and the witness themselves wouldn't know their claims weren't true. At the very least, get enough rumors started and the trial could be stopped by the sheer power of a whisper in the right person's ear. Sometimes Landis despaired of his current line of work, even as satisfying as infiltrating Hogwarts was. He would have made an excellent lawyer.

Landis leaned forward, using the pretext of smoothing Dazmond's hood to say quietly, "Perhaps others could be persuaded to wonder the same thing. Perhaps even be persuaded to act on this suspicion- what do you think, hm?"

"What's this job then?"

"Librarian." Before she could laugh at him- not particularly impressive, Landis knew- he added, "And soon, the Slytherin Head of House. Did you know there's none at present? All those young Slytherins, with no one to promote their interests." He smirked. "Such an oversight."

Slug and Jiggers.  There was an unmistakably sharp moment between them as he smoothed her hood and made that keen perception.  Of things that might be done.  She got it well enough, what he'd meant, and her steady eyes had communicated digestion of the idea before she'd steered them on.  Dazmond had deflected back to the topic of his job post at that interval, although there was always more in the way of a subtext going on when she spoke with Landis.  And the two conversations were now artfully entwined.  They could intuit deeper meanings without catching anyone's ear.  Appearing to be two old schoolmates with respectable jobs, having a talk about the current events of the day over a drink on a Friday night.  Landis was always undercover like that.  He didn't seem very interested in acquiring the kind of reputation Dazmond had.

But the idea had been planted.  And the gears were turning.

Dazmond grinned her mirth in response to his answer.  It was a matter of pride that her old mate, always the precocious type, was soon to be the Head of Slytherin.  It was great news -- and at least they had that.  At least they had Analiza and Landis up in the castle -- sort of a foot in the Ministry's mouth.  Was all well and good.

"Get out!  That's brilliant," said Dazmond.  (Alright, so she was pretty excited after all.)  "Ahh, shit, mate.  Make me proud.  Salazar knows you'd best Slughorn.  That twat.  He was always shoving his face with those sugared pineapple pieces."  She laughed.  "Was always sour we were shorted on the better Potions' Master."  She meant, of course, Severus Snape, who she was quite fond of in school.  Unfortunately, he had already moved on from the post by her third year, and Landis' second.

She savored her stout, tickled with the idea of Landis as the new Head, and recalling for a moment their days together in the commons.  It was reassuring that he'd be holding up the fort.  And she didn't even seek to clarify his chances of getting the job.  If he said he'd have it, he would.  It was really that simple.  Of course it helped that he had worked under Analiza for such a long time.  It would naturally follow that he'd join her new... administration.  It was all very exciting.  Dazmond had been trying to influence Hogwarts from the outside for a while.  She had many aspiring young minds to influence and support, who were her clients within the school, and they weren't even all Slytherin.  There were quite a few promising Ravenclaws under her watch, as well.

She shook her head a bit, and ashed her cigarette.  Dazmond seemed to be pondering something, and when her eyes next matched his, it was clear what topic she was on.  "There's been nothing definitive," she said.  "I'm not sure what's going on at the Big House, though the word on the street is -- they're just trying to get at the root.  Nate'll go free.  He's innocent."  In other words, Nate would probably be the little fish, and Rafe Sellaphix the big fish -- considering that Nate was only an employee, following through on instructions.  But if Rafe went to Azkaban, or maybe even if he didn't, Nathan was probably down a job.  Framing some other apothecary might just lower his chances of getting on somewhere else.  Dazmond wasn't sure the amount of convincing that could be done at this point, although that really wasn't her expertise.  Maggie Groust had ratted out her husband, and Daily Prophet reporters usually didn't have a reason to frame apothecaries in Knockturn.  Although what she was doing in Knockturn, was still a question that bothered Dazmond.

"What an awful thought, though.  You know Rafe -- he doesn't deal in rotten goods.  He's the shiniest shop in the Alley, freshest bubotubers on the market.  It had to have been planted.  Who would do something like that?"  The glint in her eyes told him that she was not as in the dark as she let on.  "You think you'll be narrowing your scope to Hogwarts, then?  That's a big job.  I won't ever see you any more."

Landis could talk double meanings with anyone. That was what he did, how he operated. But there was something particularly pleasing about his conversations with Dazmond- it was more enjoyable than shop talk, although that was often what it was, something much more companionable. And there was never any question of whether Dazmond could keep up with him conversationally. They both knew what they were really talking about. And now, to be able to sit with her as his own self...well, that was even better. Landis had donned other's faces enough times to really appreciate when he could wear his own. It made being here with her all the more nostalgic. Still, there was no mistaking that the both of them had changed since the Hogsmeade weekends when, as students and occasionally sweethearts, they'd come here regularly. Landis found both ideas rather satisfying. Being here now, with her, was like some lovely blending of the past and present.

Generally Landis was very guarded with what he let slip in his expression or stance, but there was little need to be so careful around Dazmond. Her reaction was more enthusiastic than he'd expected, but that pleased him, and when he smiled back at her it was so open that it was nearly a grin. "I thought it was a rather good accomplishment, yes." A pause, before he added, laughing a little, "Well, that's no compliment. A trained kneazle would make a better Head of House than Slughorn." It really was unfortunate that Snape had left. Landis had admired that man as tremendously in his own 1st and 2nd year way as he could. So unpleasant, and so intelligent. He would have given anything to have been taught by him. Instead they got an incompetent for a Potions Master, and Landis had learned most everything he knew on his own or from older students. It made him sneer to think that he probably knew more now about Potions than Slughorn ever had. Shame the post of Potions Master had already been filled. It would probably look suspicious now if Professor Gunnar were to mysteriously die.

Dazmond took a moment to savor her drink, and in the pause Landis did the same with his wine, although as she was thinking, he was watching her. He knew what she must be considering- he could almost see the gears turning. And while he had the chance, he casually drew his wand under the table, just the tip of it revealed from the fabric of his robe in case anyone was watching, and spelled the table silent.

Nathan would go free. But the other man, Sellaphix? He wouldn't get off so freely. "I don't suppose Sellaphix would be looking for someone to keep shop for him if he's otherwise detained." A pause. Then, delicately, "Crinchley's Potion Shoppe is in Knockturn too, isn't it? That's a like-minded business." Whether he meant like-minded in terms of being another potential shop to blame for the "set-up," or  in terms of a possible new job, he didn't bother to specify. "The Ministry does like their scapegoats. Fortunately, scapegoats are easily turned into underdogs. You know that if you ever need my support- " intervention, blackmail system, expertise, contacts- "you only have to ask."

"And you can speak your mind freely now, if you like. As long as you're touching some part of this table our conversation won't be heard." He smiled, just the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. "I thought it might be convenient to have a little more... privacy." Of course, anyone listening wouldn't hear complete silence. Along the same lines as the repelling spells used to deter Muggles from wizarding places, this one would subtly guide any eavesdroppers elsewhere. Landis found it garnered less suspicion than simply sound-proofing everything.

It was true, between the librarian post and being Head of House, Landis would be busy. But Landis was used to being busy- he thrived on it, reveled in it, turned it into something profitable and manageable, and for him there would never be any forgetting that his first loyalty was to the WBA. There would always be time for his duties to Tawse and his organization. "Oh, I'm not too worried about it. There'll be time enough, and always time for you."

Dazmond nodded and visibly relaxed after Landis explained the table charm.  She'd been biting back her tongue a lot as of late; it was getting right annoying.  And this was precisely what she'd needed!:  some privacy, a good mugwort stout, and a buddy to conspire with.  It was a bit depressing at the Shodding Arms right now.  Only hours before Nathan's arrest, Dazmond had finally gotten the guts to say she wanted to live there.  With Nathan.  And then he was gone.  That was why she was out tonight, and hiding.  It was a bit contradictory, wasn't it; but it was after all a better atmosphere in which to clear her head.

"Good!" said Dazmond.  Then he'd have time for all this.  All what?  She'd asked for his assistance once in the past, when she was content to say, 'Yeah -- just do bloody anything!'  -- And she never really found out what that anything was, either.  All she knew was that it all worked out in her favor in the end.  Landis had some serious dark leanings, however, and the current situation was delicate.  Dazmond wanted to be careful.  This wasn't just a misunderstanding between equals in Knockturn.  This was the Ministry -- and they had Azkaban.  And that was everybody's secret fear.

"I've been avoiding a trip to the Ministry," said Dazmond.  "Because I was there to help Tawse sort out a precarious little... hostage situation."  Not to mention Seamus.  She drew from her cigarette.  "Tamis Raynor and two lackeys saw me there.  They've been sending me owl summons."  Dazmond looked at Landis, communicating the uneasy position she was in with a guilty shrug.  "I might need your help, but hold off a bit.  Just -- keep in touch with what's going on -- you have contacts, right?  I think I'll go up to the Ministry on Monday.  Sort of have to; I need to see if they'll take gold so I can get him the feck out.  To be honest, mate, he's all I care about.  If Sellaphix takes a bludger for him, it's not my problem."  Dazmond shifted a little, not lifting her palm from the tabletop.  Sellaphix was always a good man.  He had a family and even gave Dazmond discounts.  She would never wish ill on him.  But.  If it was him or Nathan, there wasn't any room for fuzzy feelings.

"If Nate goes free, and it's not too late, I'd much rather see Crinchley's out of business than Sellaphix," she said.  It was clear what she meant -- Crinchley's dealt in poisons and was her only real competition.  Sellaphix generally sold legal brews and had never been a real threat to Dazmond.  Besides, Nate had been a stockboy.  That didn't mean he'd be a stockboy forever.  The Wizard was the smartest she knew, and he could do anything.  Maybe even go back to being her business man.  That was a charming thought. 

"I'll be in touch unless they nab me," she told Landis, stubbing out her fag in the ashtray.  She was starting to feel much better, like this would all be just a little misunderstanding in the end. 

But Dazmond wasn't fixing to leave just yet.  It was much too settling to be in her old sweetheart's company.  The only residual feelings were ones of companionship, of course -- more blood, less loins.  Daz and Landis were friends first, and friends after.  There had never been any serious feelings of love that went beyond family bonds.  Their occasional sweetheart status back in school had always been without ropes -- and interwoven with their primary status as friends.  But he was as ever helping her get to a place of peace tonight.  Dazmond reclined a little to show she was staying, and turned her attention to Landis, who she watched over the rim of her mugwort ale.

Tawse and his little hostage. Landis nodded. Yes, he'd heard about that, but not from the man himself. Landis hadn't had any contact with Cinead since the weekend before his very first day at Hogwarts. This wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't unusual either. Landis had gone even longer without instructions before. He didn't, strictly speaking, need them. He could take his own initiative very nicely. Of course, before he'd been at the Department of Mysteries, and although that organization was secretive and extremely useful in terms of information, it had been a much less active role than the one he took on now. He'd watched, he'd been unobtrusive and intelligent and put things together for his own means, but he hadn't been recruiting then. In some ways, moving to Hogwarts was a demotion- but in other ways, much weightier ways, this was where he was needed. And it was funny, how he felt more paranoid of being caught out in a school full of teenagers than he had in a Ministry full of spies. But then, Landis supposed that was the way it worked- even after you thought you'd left it, somehow everything came back to Hogwarts.

And yes, of course he had contacts in the Ministry. Landis had a small but useful network, composed of those who could be blackmailed, those who could be Imperiused (the state of things today made him sigh, it really did. The fact that no one checked Ministry workers for signs of invasive magic was the surest proof that the higher-ups were a bunch of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs), and those, oddly enough, who just liked to gossip to an attentive ear. Of course, this network wasn't solely his. Some of it- most of it- had been formed for the purposes of the WBA, set up before Landis had even begun to tread the back alleys of London in search of something interesting. Still, as its regular upkeep was something he'd taken upon himself to check on, he saw no reason not to also use it for his own personal gain- for things like this.

"Good luck," he said. "Try Rackley Ainsworth in the legal department. He's a sensible man, and may be interested in your situation. But of course- " Landis smiled and spread his hands, elbows still resting on the table. "Don't mention my name."

As if Dazmond didn't already know his urgent desire to keep his name unconnected from even the hint of dirty dealing, and the lengths he'd go to in order to preserve that. Almost an obsession, really. Certainly a paranoia. But, in Landis' case, not necessarily an unfounded one.

"In the meantime, I'll start some rumors. Even if it tuns out to be unnecessary, framing Crinchley can't be bad for your business. And do let me know how the proceedings go. If you're involved, you know I have a vested interest. I really do hope Nathan gets off." Landis wasn't exactly much for comforting, but the nonchalant confidence in his tone when he added casually, "I'm certain he will," was a promise of its own, if only because Dazmond would know Landis wouldn't say he was certain of something unless he was.

It seemed this topic was drawing to a close, but at least he'd accomplished what he'd meant to do; Dazmond looked like she had a plan. Really, Landis felt sorry for ordinary wizards. If their significant others were arrested, they wouldn't hardly know what to do about it. She looked a bit more relaxed, as well. Landis raised his glass to her before drinking, his gaze wandering as they both settled down to less urgent, and more conversational, topics.

Of course, it wasn't as though Landis ever stopped thinking, and Dazmond had mentioned him, so of course the first thing Landis asked was, "Getting a little closer with Tawse, are you?" in as casual a manner as he was capable of. Dazmond knew a little bit about him, he supposed, she'd probably gotten the general shape of his and Tawse's knowing each other. But Landis had never told her, and he was never sure, whether she knew the specifics of that relationship. She might suspect, but she didn't know that he was in the WBA. Surely she suspected him of something shady. And while they were good friends- while, in fact, Dazmond was about as close to him as people got- he liked to keep his work and his private life separate. Very separate. He might hint, but he would never tell her, unless for some desperate reason he couldn't imagine forced him to do so. It was too risky- if she didn't come back from the Ministry, if they used Veritaserum... Landis never asked her about her other clients. He imagined it was much the same principle.

"Rackley Ainsworth," repeated Dazmond, committing the name to memory.  She nodded.  Landis was an angel.  Perhaps a fallen angel, but endlessly useful to Daz nonetheless.

And Dazmond accepted his reassurances with another sure nod, and a shiver.  She couldn't allow herself to imagine Nathan winding up in a dark, cold cell over something so silly as a little bit of Runespoor venom.  (In actuality it had been a LOT of venom, but Dazmond failed to see the harm in that.)  He was the most important person on the face of the Earth.  And she would get him out of their dirty little hands, even if she had to die trying.

She couldn't stop herself from starting slightly at his interest in her connection to  Cináed Tawse, even though his curiosity was well-founded and she trusted Landis.  The man had an even more notorious reputation than Dazmond.  She hadn't known the two were connected.  "Mm -- yes," she said.  She angled her head and considered a moment before elaborating.  How could she put this?

It was an ambiguous dynamic they'd been developing since his release from Azkaban and his reorientation to Wizarding society, mostly chummy but now growing into something solid.  Although their dealings were for the most part kept individual and apart, Dazmond actively sought to keep  Cináed close.  The other night was a true testament of Dazmond's desire to keep this newfound alliance of theirs strong, for what reason she wasn't exactly sure.  The compulsion toward  Cináed was hunkered in her intuition, that he was an asset and a companion who would have her back in the future.  She had put herself out on the crime scene and into probable trouble of the worst sort by going to his aid the other night -- and even Dazmond wasn't entirely clear of her own motivations for such a tremendous action.  It had certainly been a surprise to Nathan.

What was Tawse to Dazmond?  She saw him in terms of brotherhood.  Most people in Knockturn had her support, but  Cináed was a true and tried Wizard in her eyes.  Certainly useful.  Dazmond had come to be quite the little anarchist and, as far as she was concerned, Knockturn Alley was the Head Quarters for the revolution she'd yet to put a name to.  It was a neighborhood, a network, and a place where the Ministry should never intrude.  She felt rather vindicated in this belief.  Dazmond thought that Knockturn should really only be for the Knockturn crowd.  She did not like the idea of Aurors and Daily Prophet Reporters coming in and causing trouble.  They didn't belong in her Alley.  And, obviously (to Dazmond), Nathan's business with the cured Runespoor venom would've gone without a hitch if Maggie Groust hadn't been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  In the London syndicate of Witch and Wizard 'crime' -- which was, essentially, only a set of like-minded and nonconformist folks going about life as they saw fit.  Only when stuck-up, goody-two-shoes, self-righteous types intruded was there really any problem.

Yet Dazmond was not involved directly with the Wizarding Blood Alliance.  She had not shown any interest in it, and  Cináed had not attempted to divulge the information.  Any potions she may have provided for the cause were simply common orders to her, no matter how toxic or questionable they may have been; she thought nothing of it and asked no questions.  When the potion was bottled and corked and sealed with wax, it left her hands and she would never know what it was for, who it disfigured, or whatever political faction it may have supported in the end. 

Certainly Dazmond had some idea of what was going on.  It seemed both Rocio and  Cináed were less than worried about her knowledge of certain plans, for one.  She had caught onto the plot to terrorize little Akiva Katz, with the general knowledge that her wand was a prize.  She had joined in multiple conversations on blood purity, witnessing extreme positions being taken by her closest friends, and nodding along.  But all of this was not her business.  At least she didn't yet know that it could be her business, that as her politics developed they would necessarily fall into line with  Cináed's attempts at stirring revolution.

"Tawse is a brilliant Wizard, isn't he?  Curious.  I'd like him to know I'm as much an asset to him as he is to me.  Otherwise, I wouldn't be in this mess.  I think it's important to have a sense of comraderie... with the right folks.  You can never know when you'll need it.  With the Ministry breathing down our necks.  They disgust me."  Dazmond quirked her brow at Landis.  The webwork behind her circle of friends was interesting, though she supposed it made sense.  But she had to ask.

"You know him personally?"

Interesting. Landis, like Dazmond, hadn't been aware that his friend and his boss were connected. Of course, had he given any thought to the matter... they worked out of the same places, had similar values, it was only logical that they would. Landis was glad. Tawse was good company for Dazmond to keep, and vice versa. She was so straightforward with him that Landis didn't even bother to think that she was part of the WBA. Shame he couldn't be so straightforward with her, but, oh well. He supposed she'd understand if she knew. The thought of lying to even his friends didn't really bother Landis- or, in this case, only holding back a bit- and he didn't dwell on it.

"We've met. Talked." Landis sipped his wine calmly. It wasn't entirely an untruth, now was it? "Everyone ends up at the Black Chimeara eventually. It's part of its peculiar charm."

Landis respected Cináed Tawse very much. In fact, he agreed whole-heartedly with Dazmond. Especially the bit about the assets. However, there was none of the consideration and affection like he felt towards Dazmond with Cináed; there was  no empathy beyond that of their shared morals, and very little mercy. Landis admired the grizzly-bearded head of the WBA, but if the time came when he could be safely replaced, when he became weak, or distracted, or able to be disposed of in some way either untracable or even completely unrelated to Landis... well. He would be waiting for that time. Until then, he would be a most reliable, dependable, and trustworthy second. He would be ruthless, efficient, and do whatever Cináed or the WBA required; he wouldn't make a move until he was absolutely certain he could get away with it.

After all, Landis always aimed for the top. Tawse was only another step to get there. There was nothing personal in Landis' keeping an eye out for a time when Cináed would not be necessary. Just business. Landis didn't even think Tawse would blame him, if he knew.

"Yeah," chortled Dazmond.  "It's sort of weird, how fast it came from being a dive to Social Central."  She thought about this for a moment, then sighed bemusedly, taking a deep sip from her brew.  "There's nothing like seeing right-minded Witches and Wizards come together," she said, with a fair dosage of amusement.  Of course, this would have been that much more exciting if only she knew what went on at the Black Chimaera on any given Thursday.  But, being slightly ignorant of such matters, Dazmond could only offer a slight chuckle as she recalled a number of drunken nights of unbridled fun.  With... darker sorts.

"I don't suppose I'll be seeing you there any time soon?"  -- If I'm not locked in a cell somewhere with Nathan, she inwardly quipped.  For all the nasty inconveniences the Ministry was putting her through, the least they could do would be to allow Dazmond to share a cell with her husband, right?  Although -- she really had no intention of allowing that to be their fate.  Fecking Aurors!  She shrugged it off for now, continuing on with her thought as she followed the many diluted paths within her busy mind.

"I'm there all the time if you need to find me, you know -- when things are... normal."  She maintained a partial frown.  As it stood, she'd spent the last few nights with her infamous big brother who lived just outside of Knockturn.  But she was considering heading out to her parent's place for the weekend.  After all, Dominik was still jumping down her neck for her disappearing act this Summer, and even without that seemingly endless exchange he was... pining... over her (yes, WBA inspired) friend, Rocio Adair.  She doubted she would be spending much time around those parts until Nathan and Cinaed were back in the clear.  "Grindelwald knows I aint tempting those fates," she said -- a bit of a contrived excuse for a clarification but -- Dazmond was skidding to new magical heights on her new Mugwort-inspired trip.  It was almost always some herb or other, where she got her kicks.

The sensation was coming on quick.  Her chilled stein was near empty and, now, the previously collected Dazmond Lois Wiedman-Briggs was precisely where she'd set out to be when she'd made her special order:  on the verge of being too smashed to tell that... what she was feeling was... nevermind.  Nevermind all that.  This was bliss, I tell you.  This was pure, unadulterated bliss!  Mugwort.  Ahh yes -- Mugwort.  A diviner's dream, it was.  A right medley.

"I haven't the least bit of reserve," she said.  "To kick those bloody red robes off their sorry arses.  I'm sorry mate -- but I just can't fecking stomach it a-nother bloody minute.  I can't pretend I could ever stomach them coming in on my alley -- on Tawse and Nathan, feck.  You know, I had the perfect fecking day, right; then he comes home with ready scars in the making, and I go all anti-venin toxins on his arse, feeling like a right chump dosing up an already injured mate -- and then I get word of Tawse's dog, right.  Tawse's dog!  He'll be fecking blind, now, mate.  I fecking swear."  She shook her head.  It was all coming out now, whether she liked it or not.  So much for hiding in her high robes.  Daz's mugwort imperial stout could've caused her some trouble tonight; luckily she was talking with the trust-worthy Landis Morgan (with the oh so wonderful surname that had come late) -- and under a silenced table.... she was lucky.  It was a near fatal combination -- Dazmond and mugwort at the Hog's Head... oh my.

"Wasn't his fault," she said.  "Nate's wise as hell!  Shit was all muddied up since -- fecking Maggie Groust," she muttered.  Fecking Maggie Groust!

"Yes," Landis agreed, knowing exactly why it'd done such. "Weird." No, Dazmond didn't know anything of the WBA. Her ignorance was painted all over each casual word she spoke. Landis wasn't sure whether to be surprised or pleased. Dazmond worked some dark circles; that she didn't know the kinds of people who met at the Black Chimaera meant the WBA had been very good at keeping itself a secret. In general Landis approved of keeping everything under the table and out of the light, but it made him wonder how much influence the WBA could possibly be gaining if even his old friend, whose livelihood was made in Knockturn alley, didn't know even this. "I agree completely." Like-minded wizards and witches, after all, were the ones to accomplish things.

"I'm there all the time if you need to find me, you know -- when things are... normal."

"Are you?" Landis couldn't remember seeing her there but once or twice- of course, most of his business in the Black Chimaera took place in the back room. "I might come find you, then. Make sure you've kept yourself out of Ministry hands." He paused a moment, then added, "In fact, given the delicacy of your current situation, I'd prefer to... arrange a meeting. For next week. To be certain." There weren't many Landis would care to check in on. It made him a little uncomfortable to admit that there were any. But if Dazmond got herself too heavily involved, and, Merlin forbid, thrown into Azkaban, Landis might just have to take a risk and try to get her out. To be honest, he could care less about her husband's fate, other than how it would affect Dazmond. The man and he were on friendly enough terms, the few times they'd met, but Briggs wasn't the one Landis was close to. Dazmond was, and Landis' affection was as selfish as it was hard to win. But Dazmond had gotten to him young, and for all his distaste at the idea of letting others close to him, Landis was loathe to let go of her.

However, it was also, slowly, dawning on Landis that Dazmond was unlikely to tease him about his concern. Or notice it- or even remember their meeting, if they made one. Both their glasses were nearly empty, but Dazmond had just started on an unexpected rant, and Landis, who hadn't particularly thought about what she'd been drinking before, now had to wonder. It was as though the floodgates had suddenly loosed, and irritation spilled from Dazmond's lips in a steady stream. Landis  was torn between amusement and annoyance  as, now looking for it, he noted her relaxed movements and slightly slurred speech. He reached out and snagged her glass in one smooth movement. Before she could stop him or even register what he'd done, he'd held it up to his face to smell. Mugwort? What was she thinking- she could have talked to anyone, if he hadn't been here, and with that in her- no subtlety at all, really, no intelligence. But the amusement won out, and Landis was trying not to smile as he slid her glass back across the table. Mugwort. Honestly.

"I noticed," he said, referring to her lack of reserve. She wasn't making a lot of sense, either- Tawse's dog? Did Tawse have a dog? Landis was trying very hard to read between the lines, but he was having enough trouble catching her references as it was. Dazmond's speech had never been what one would call refined, but Landis had never had trouble understanding her. However, between the faint slur, the cursing, and the references he didn't catch, comprehension was slightly harder. "Well, you're certainly happier now, aren't you?"

Landis had a very good memory for names. He'd even trained himself for it- it came in handy, when working for the WBA and the Unmentionables both, to remember the names he filed in reports or when looking for the friend of a friend who knew a guy who didn't exactly toe the legal line... But Maggie Groust? He frowned. It sounded familiar, but...  "Who is Maggie Groust? Some- " official Auror Ministry worker- "Reporter." That was it. He'd seen her name at the top of columns occasionally in the Daily Prophet. He thought. "...right?"

Dazmond gave a pout but little else as Landis stole the stein out from under her.  He sniffed at the Mugwort-infused ale and a sign of recognition lit his face.  Daz would have some potent dreams tonight, but she could hardly have realized that it would awaken in her all of these dangerous topics revolving around Nathan.  It was the force of her connection to him, to that night of all nights, that simmered in her subconscious.  Maggie Groust was as much of a culprit as the M.O.M.  And her fire was ignited at the name spilling off Morgan's lips.

"Yeah," she said, abandoning her pout for a more active spite.  "And she right ratted him out for being there!  I get my hands on her, and you know what -- she's going to be sorry she traipsed into my Alley."  Daz was sure Maggie Groust had been up to Something, loitering by Tawse's pub at that hour of the morning....  But whatever it was, she might think twice about sticking her little reporter nose where it didn't belong now, since her little accident earlier in the week.

"Who knows what the bloody hell she thought she was doing," said Dazmond, collecting her hands round the empty stein he'd slid back her way.  "Four A.M. in Knockturn Alley."  Daz shook her head and rolled her eyes disapprovingly.  "Wrong place, wrong time -- and she bloody learned it.  I'm not surprised the Prophet hasn't said a peep but for the formalities.  Maggie's gotta be in sore shape, with the ride she got Monday night.  It's a right mess, mate.  But serves her right, I swear.  That little Witch...."

Dazmond trailed off, loosening her gaze on him, realizing his more subtle movements toward her increasingly intoxicated state.  Landis was never very interested in her inebriating talents, her not-seldom use of euphoriants and her tendency to be lost on some energetic high induced by plants.  He was much too in his proper mind to find fun in deliriants.  And she respected that about him.  If anything, his presence was the least bit sobering and, while on such a high, a sobering hand could be just what one needed to focus the energies of the botanics whose spirits were fervently sought after.  Dazmond spun a moment, coming into their space with renewed patience and valor.  All would be well and this feeling of upliftment was proof enough for that.

His amusement was also a sure sign -- that he had heart enough to tolerate her tactics.  It softened Dazmond to some degree, favoring the strangeness of their visit that seemed to mirror the action of the mugwort:  some odd dream of days gone past, merging with the most surreal encounter of Monday night... Tuesday morning... and into now.  Some strange blur that echoed right into the Battle of Hogwarts, where it was lost.  All that they had gone through, their friendship morphing with the times. 

Dazmond sighed, and staggered back within herself.  The dream-like streaming was bringing her, in a round-about way, down to earth. 

"Well, I'd like to meet," she said, very belatedly, in reference to his former suggestion.  "So you know it's fresh, if it is, and sour, if it ain't.  I'll make a point to be there on, say, Saturday next?  What's that -- the twenty-fifth?"  She paused and a smile slowly perched on her lips as she turned her gaze on him.  "You know, you're a peach, Landis.  And yeh've got to tell me more about this Hogwarts gig.  While the table's spelled?"

"Hmm." Landis listened, head tilted. There were all sorts of things that could be done to Maggie Groust- nothing too drawn-out, no, he didn't have the time for that, and neither did Dazmond. But something casual, perhaps... These were just idle thoughts, and Landis had no real intention of doing anything to Maggie Groust. Too risky. Besides, it sounded like Ms. Groust had already bitten off more than she could chew. Of course, if Dazmond's husband ended up in jail because of her, perhaps Dazmond would want some assistance with her no doubt terrible revenge.

"I do hope she's learned her lesson," he commented dryly. "There's only so many times a little reporter like she can prowl Knockturn at night before something might happen to her." Dazmond wouldn't be the only resident of the alley unhappy at the thought of a reporter around. Especially if messes such as the one Briggs and Sellaphix were in became the consequences of letting that girl roam as she pleased.

Dazmond rattled off a date for their meeting, and Landis nodded, studying her as she spoke in a very casual, absent-minded manner. "Yes, the 25th," he confirmed. His eyebrows rose when she continued on to call him a peach. He laughed a little at the absurdity, at the comfortable familiarity of it. "Why, thank you." Who else but Dazmond would call him something like that? "Of course I will, whenever you like. Next Saturday or today, take your pick."

He'd have to leave a few things out, but the basics he could give her. Landis rather thought she'd be as disgusted as he was to hear the state of Slytherin today. But then, perhaps she could even give him suggestions.