Kevin took one last glance at the piece of parchment before he began to fold.  Using steady hands, he made sure each crease was straight and even.  The parchment was of a light brown color and extraordinarily smooth; it was the French Ministry's standard for important documents, but Kevin felt this need was equally justified.  Using a piece of twine, he carefully tied the letter closed.  Unbeknownst to Kevin, the parchment held the soft odor of expensive cologne with a hint of stale cigarette--this was the trademark smell of this Hargrove man.

"Come here," He asked softly to the small, but elegant owl sitting on the corner of his desk. (Pretty Lady, as she was named, was a name indicative of her oddly peculiar desire to never have one rumpled feather.)  The owl hooted softly and hopped over, sticking her leg out for her assignment.  "This is for Hogwarts, Ms. Snark," he said, carefully tying the letter to her leg.  Using two fingers, he stroked her once down her back before she hopped towards the window and out into the night air.

The letter read...

---

To the lovely Headmistress of Hogwarts,

I'm know I missed your birthday this year, but I hope you've forgiven me by now.  It's been one pain in the arse working for the French.  Would you believe they actually expect me to finish things before my deadlines?  What kind of bullocks that is, I don't know, but it's annoying.  The blokes at the Ministry in London understand the need for perfect attendance at the pub.  I've heard that you were the new authority at Hogwarts and I wanted to congratulate you.  I wasn't surprised, though.  I knew it was only a matter of time before you gave the Ministry the ol' heave-ho...especially since they wouldn't let you leave the building without backup from some lowly hitwizards like me.  Of course, every man in the department jumped at the chance to go fetch you coffee or throw their cloaks down over puddles as you passed.  Not I, of course, I had better things to fetch and better things to spill on my cloak, but they all did.  (As I'm sure all of the 6th and 7th year boys are doing now.)

Anyway, I've been keeping up with the Prophet ever since I heard and it sounds like you've given the Ministry quite the field day with this werewolf war you started.  Of course, I'm not surprised; you never were very, ah what's the word... conventional.  Nevertheless, when I was talking to some old friends at the Ministry, it really sounds like they need a Hargrove in their midst.  I've put in a request to transfer back to London; I'm not sure what'll happen (I think the French have a plan to keep me here for eternity--if so, it's been nice knowing you) but hopefully I'll get my old desk back, I think I left some brand new quills in one of the drawers.

I hope you have a wonderful day, Headmistress.  And, on a serious note, I do have your back if you're ever in need of someone to watch it...or massage it, whatever you wish.

Kevin C. Hargrove

P.S. My youngest sister Allie--you remember her--she is a 5th year at Hogwarts now...I told her to send you a note.

---

Alone at her desk, Analiza was reading over the personal files of a couple students when an owl tapped on her window. Without looking, she waved the window open and ushered it in. The owl dropped a letter on her desk and stood waiting for a treat for several moments before realizing that Ana didn't have one. With a disdainful caw, it pooped on her desk and flew off. "Damn birds..." Analiza muttered, sweeping her wand over the stain in irritation. It took a moment for the smell of the crap to clear the air and that was when Ana noted a familiar scent. Sniffing she distinguished expensive French cologne and cigarette smoke. It smelled like... something warm and familiar. Her eyes fell to the letter the owl had left, which she had been intending to ignore lest it be another angry death threat, and she snatched it up. One look at the sender caused Analiza to sit up straight.

Standing, she hurried to the door, letter still in hand, and made sure it was shut tight and the silencing spells were on. Once she was sure no one could hear or look in, Analiza let out a mix of a squeal and a giggle as she beamed. Nothing like a letter from an old friend and major crush to turn a 35 year old professional woman into a 15 year old lovestruck schoolgirl. Nearly skipping back to her desk, Analiza threw herself into her chair and nearly spun into a bookshelf, tearing open the letter as quickly as she could without ripping it.

"Oh my merlin... He's coming back..." She giggled, grinning from ear to ear. And then, quite suddenly, the grin dropped as it dawned on her that he was coming back. It had been 6 years! Did he still look the same? Did she? Would he still make her head spin with that charming smile of his? Questions buzzed through her brain as Analiza tried to get a hold of herself so she could write back. Grabbing her quill and a sheet of her nicest paper, Analiza started writing rapidly before balling it up and tossing it away. That one was too rushed and sounded desperate. Trying again, this time she got a bit farther before balling another sheet up and tossing it in the already overflowing garbage. That one was too formal and professional. Taking a deep breath, she told herself just to relax and remember that he was just a friend. Smiling, she started to write

---

Analiza Snark
Office Behind the Gargoyle
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Kevin Hargrove
House on the Hill, Rue du Vivier
Quiberon, France

To my dearest Head Senior plain old hitwizard,

You are still just a hitwizard aren't you? I suppose some of us just never quite reach career puberty. Perhaps you should have gotten someones 'coffee' on your robes after all . But I digress, of course I am sad you missed my birthday. NOT that I noticed at the time mind you. There were just soooo many people there that I thought I had simply missed you in the crowd. It must be something to do with being a lowly hitwizard in a room of the elite and powerful. At least there was an open bar, right?

Joking aside, I am sorry that the only news you have heard about me is the tripe they published in the Prophet. They really don't portray my decision properly, but then I suppose I should have known it would be the case. Exciting and controversial characters such as myself are always misunderstood. Needless to say, it is a wonderful feeling knowing that you have my back. I would have never thought otherwise, but it is still nice to know. It's also nice to know that the one person who has my back in the ministry will actually BE in the ministry, although I am not sure if it outweighs the negatives of having a lug like you around. That smarmy smile of yours... that 'charm' (As you call it)... and especially that smell. Merlin I am going to have to invest in a lot of perfume potions!

Seriously though, let me know when you are back in town. We have a lot of catching up to do and those drinks you owe me have collected a lot of interest!

Love,
Analiza Snark

PS: Allie is such a sweet girl. Not only did she write me but she sent me a box of chocolates. I can only imagine who told her that I loved chocolate.

---

Sealing the letter with a glob of limegreen wax, Analiza made sure to spritz some of her perfume in the air and wave it through, just to get revenge on him for making his letter so deliciously tempting. It was then that she realized she had sent his owl off already and would have to walk down to the owlry. Oh well, the icy trek was worth it in this case. Remembering she had pissed the owl off when she had offered no treat, she carefully undid the wax and added another PS to the letter

PSS: give your owl a extra treat, I didn't have any when she came and she left before I wrote the reply.

Resealing it, she smiled broadly one last time before regaining her composure and preparing to venture out into the cold to send it off.

It had only been a day since he had sent the letter when Pretty Lady returned.  Kevin was shocked, and excited, over the speedy reply.  He opened the window and immediately flew to his desk.  He walked over to her and extended his hand with the intentions of untying the letter (that he had not yet noticed did not exist) when she nipped his finger and shat on the desk.  "Hey!  I did nothing to you..."  He flicked the feces away with his wand and proceeded to reach into his drawer and withdraw an extra large handful of owl treats that he then placed in front of her.  He stroked her back while she ate, “I’m sorry…how was I to know she wouldn’t feed you?” 

It was then that Kevin noticed there was no letter attached to her leg.  Instantly, he felt the weight of his shoulders pressing down.  “Well, Pretty Lady, I guess she’s changed.”  He drained the glass of firewhiskey, poured himself another, and began to flip through some of his work files.

Two more days went by, Kevin trying desperately to not think about the letter.  Unfortunately, with an office that overlooked the coastline, he couldn’t help but to stare out into the distance, down the coastline, to see if he saw and owl.  Finally, on the third evening after sending the letter, he saw a pinprick of darkness in the sunset's canvas of orange and pink.  Kevin knew, from the soft bobbing of the 'thing' that it was an owl.  As it neared, he opened the window; the owl immediately flew to his desk.  Without opening the letter, Kevin knew it was from her—almost as if his instinct could smell it.  Pulling out a piece of parchment, he began to address the letter...he wanted to be able to send the owl back off immediately (after giving it something to eat, of course.)

As soon as he had it addressed, he placed an even larger handful of treats in front of this owl (illiciting an indignant hoot from Pretty Lady who was watching the scene from her cage in the corner.)  "Good boy," he said as he carefully untied the letter; the aroma it was giving off was intoxicating.  Carefully, but quickly, he tore the letter open and read.

With nothing but a smile, Kevin picked up his quill and dipped it in royal blue ink.  Slowly, and with great thought, he began to write...

---

Headmistress Snark,

Well, you'll be glad to know that in their efforts to keep me, the French offered me the position of Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement...and I turned them down.  Maybe I don't want career puberty...after all, what does it lead to?  Emotions and acne...and Merlin forbid I ever have to wear makeup like all you women.

Nevertheless, great news...I got the transfer.  Of course, I'll have to finish up my current cases here and I may have to return for a few weeks here and there until everything I've been working on is completed.  I hope to travel to London for a few days next week and find a place to crash until I can find something a little more permanent.  Ideally, it'll be close enough to the Ministry, but not so close that I'm in the middle of the city.  I'll need a pub close by, but no muggles or their cars or anything like that.

Oh, and while you are exercising your career puberty, how about take a moment to buy some treats and feed my owl?  I knew you hadn't even before I opened the letter... She nipped my finger and shat on my desk the second she landed and she only does that when I've sent her to my Mum, and Mum tends to be stingy on treats. 

I hope you have a wonderful day, Ms. Snark. 

Kevin C. Hargrove

P.S. I owe you nothing...we never shook on it and therefore that bet was nullified.  Besides, I think I still ended up paying that outrageous bar-tab when you 'went to the restroom' and then waved to me from outside the window.  Do you know what it's like for a man to have to pay for drinks with names like, "Cosmopolitan" and "Bertie-Bott-tini"?  Yeah...owe. you. nothing.

---

Kevin re-read it twice before carefully folding it and tying it closed with a simple knot.  Pretty Lady flew over, stepping right between Kevin and the big brown owl.  She stuck out her leg with another self-righteous hoot.  “It doesn’t much matter who carries it, you know.  You’ll be flying together.”  Nevertheless, he tied it onto Pretty Lady’s leg.  “But wait...” He said as the owls prepared to take off for the sunset.  Grabbing a white rose he had placed in a vase, he trimmed the stem and tied it to the large owl.  “Now you both have something.  Have a safe trip.”  He waved them off, leaned back in his chair, and smiled again. 

Dammit it had been three... no, four... days since she sent the letter! Did she say something wrong? He had never been the type to get upset over silly banter, even banter lashed out by her sharp tongue. Or maybe it was the owl. By the time Ana had gotten to the Owlry that night, the only owl left had been the oldest, fattest and slowest. Probably the dumbest as well. With her luck, he got lost and ate the letter for food. Perhaps she should get over her distaste for feathered things and buy her own bird.

When a tap came at her window the next day, Analiza nearly tripped over herself to get to the sill and invite the... two birds in? Why had he sent back the bitchy white one? Then she remembered how long the letter had taken to get to him. Perhaps that was why. She and the white owl eyed each other warily, as though they were rivals in a battle of wits. It wasn't until the larger owl hooted in irritation that their staring contest ended. Sighing, Analiza found the bag of treats that she had procured for the sole purpose of making amends with Kevin's filthy little birdwhore and put several on the windowsill.

As the two birds attacked the morsels, Analiza noticed what seemed to be a flower clutched in the talons of the Hogwarts owl. Retrieving it, she realized that the nearly beheaded stem, with its few lone wilted petals, was the remains of a white rose. As romantic as it was, and as much as the idea made her heart beat painfully, she couldn't help but laugh. Oh was she gonna make him pay for that. But first, his letter. Tearing it open, she read it over and let out a loud and uncharacteristically jovial guffaw at the end. Tears budding up in her eyes, as she remembered that night, she sat down at her desk and got out her inkpot and quill.

---

Hey jackass,

Yeah I heard that one of our magical maintenance guys got offered the same position, but he declined. Told me that the pay was better as a janitor for the Ministry. Got more respect too. Can't imagine why... Either way, I think moving to London is a much smarter career choice. Besides, what crimes does your ministry handle over there in gay ol' Paris? Someone beat up a mime with a baguette? HERE you will have some fun. Not as much fun as we did when we worked together though, but almost.

As for my career puberty... while yours was suffering from a cracked voice and headgear, MINE was getting boobs, so I am afraid I have no idea what you are going through. But if you are in a need of a place to stay, my home is more then open for you. I have a guest room, the floo is still connected to the Ministry and while it is in a muggle area, it is set off far enough not to be bothered with those pesky automowhatzits. It's ideal if you ask me.

In regards to that bird of yours, I am surprised that she had any shit left after she went all over my desk. Just think, if I had fed her, it would have been even more. (I did feed her this time however. I just wasn't prepared last time).

I fully intend on having a wonderful day, thankyouverymuch

Analiza

PS. if you didn't want to pay for girlie drinks, why did you order them? I believe the Berti- bottini was YOUR idea. And any girl is gonna run out on a bill after being fed a Barf flavored martini. If anything, you owe me extra for the pair of Louboutins that I ruined climbing out that damn window. Which is it? Drinks or new shoes? Trust me when I say getting me drunk is cheaper.

PPS. What's with the beheaded rose? I heard about mobsters sending stuff like that to their hits. Are you threatening me now, Hargrove?

---

Giggling a little to herself, she closed the letter and sealed it with a kiss this time, leaving behind a smudge of red in the shape of lips. Take that, Hargrove... she giggled to herself as she tied the letter to the owl and ushered her out the window.

Thankfully, she did not return both owls...just his own, Pretty Lady.  Kevin got the owl just a couple years ago when his old owl from grade school, the Duke of Earl, passed away peacefully after nearly 24 years of faithful service.  Kevin had buried the Duke in a grave under a large cherry tree in the backyard of his grandparent's home.  (Though, it was technically his house, he always referred to it at his grandparent's...he had inherited it after their deaths.)

"Here you go..." He said lovingly, placing a handful of treats onto the desk.  He allowed her to finish eating before he untied the letter from her ankle.  He looked at the seal...instead of the lime green wax, she had sealed it with the red smudge of her lipstick.  For a moment, he felt a small feeling of urge inside of him; he shook his head as if attempting to shake the feeling away, not that he wanted it gone, but he did...'It's far safer this way, Kev...' he thought, consoling himself.

Kevin opened the letter and took a deep breathe; he could practically smell her perfume on the parchment.  'Hey jackass...'  He chuckled as he read...and raised his eyebrow at the idea of staying at her house.  That could be dangerous... "No sense ruining the one friendship you've been able to really keep going with a same-age member of the opposite sex," Kevin said aloud.  As if she knew what he was saying, Pretty Lady rubbed her head up against his arm.  "Well, of course I have you."  He handed her another treat before picking up a quill and parchment.

---

Hey pottymouth,

You know, you really shouldn't use such foul language being in your position.  What if you were to slip up and say that to a first year?  Parents would surely go nuts.  I expect you would receive a lot of hate mail and I think even the Daily Prophet would get involved.  They would write bad articles about you and would even go so far as to misquote you to support how bad you are.  It would be a field day.  And, of course, I think it might put you out of the running for Hogwarts most loved Headmistress.  So, moral of the story, don't call me a jackass, jackass.  (And I can call you one because I work with criminals who call me a jackass every day; it's part of the job description.)

I would love to stay at your home, but I don't wish to put you out.  I'm sure I can get a room at the good ol' Leaky.  I daresay I miss that place; Tom ought to miss my business, too.  Besides, what would you want with some prepubescent lug like me?  I need to see my son, too.  I've only seen him once a year since I've lived in France.  He'll be at that school of yours soon enough, just two more years.  Of course, I have to say that he looks and acts just like me...so good luck.

And I did not order those froo-froo drinks.  We were, what, 29 then?  That was a scotch-on-the-rocks year, nothing else.  You wanted those drinks even after I warned you what you could get.  But no, no...you just had to have it.  And, replace your what?  I've never heard of such a shoe--where does one come across these Lobotinis?  It sounds like another one of your froo-froo drinks.  You're not drunk writing this now, are you?  I hope not...see my first paragraph for what would result if the parents found out about that!

I hope you have a great day, Headmistress Snark.

Kevin C. Hargrove

P.S.  If you hadn't sent that senile owl, the rose would have gotten to you long before it's charm wore off.  Next time, be nice to my owl and use her, and maybe you'll get a decent rose. 

P.P.S.  Oh, and I wasn't sure if you noticed...but you might have mistaken my letter for a bar napkin when you wiped your woman war-paint on it.   

---

Jokingly, Kevin walked across the room to where he had a small bar and grabbed a tiny square napkin.  He scribbled on it, "Or if you did it on purpose because you ran out of napkins, you can use this one next time.  "  Folding it inside the letter, he tied it neatly and called Pretty Lady over.  "Okay, Pretty Lady, I know you've been busy the last few days so you don't have to leave just yet.  Get something to eat and take a good nap before you leave."

Analiza was peacefully enjoying a cup of lukewarm tea when the mail arrived, sending dozens of owls laden with letters into the Great Hall. Her usual copy of the Prophet was placed at her table by a rather chunky owl who stared at her toast with keen interest until she shooed it away, worried that it would defecate on her breakfast. Filthy creatures. Picking up the paper, she glumly begin to read an article that, yet again, focused on some negative aspect of her reign as headmistress. She munched on her toast absentmindedly as she did so and wasn't aware of the other owl sitting there until it reached out and tried to pull the morsel from her fingers. It was then that she noticed Kevin's owl waiting patiently at the edge of the table.

Immediately tossing the paper aside for more... encouraging reading, Analiza happily gave the bird the rest of her toast as well as a light pat on the head with the tip of her finger. A pleasentry that no other owl had ever gotten from the illfavored headmistress. Pretty Lady regarded her rival warily for a moment before pecking at the toast. Smirking lightly, Analiza opened Kevins letter and begin to read, pausing only to glance this way and that lest anyone dare to read over her shoulder.

"Ha!" She said suddenly, forgetting she was in the great hall, and smiled despite herself. When the silence around her brought her to her senses, Analiza coughed and glared at those staring at her after her outburst. Great, she knew she should have waited until after breakfast to read it. Glaring at Pretty Lady, who was preening herself, Analiza muttered "If rumors start, it's your fault." The owl gave her a haughty stare before returning to her preening. Returning to the letter, Analiza couldn't help the small smile that was bursting her face at the seams in an attempt to escape. Picking up a quill and sheet of paper she just so happened to have with her, just in case, she begin to reply.

---

Oh I DO apologize, My lord McPrudypants, I thought that a big strong man like yourself could handle a little cursing. I promise I will never ever say such foul things in your presence again! Afterall, I couldn't bear losing my precious title of 'most beloved headmistress' because of some slip of the tongue in the presence of someone like yourself! The shame would destroy me!!!!! (Am I using enough !!'s, I am not sure I am.) !!.

That aside, I was quite put out that you would choose a moldy communal room at the Cauldron over my elegant and beautifully decorated guest room. A guest room with a private loo I might add. But then I realized it was because unlike the barkeep at the tavern, I won't let you bring ladies of the night over for 'tea'. You are such a dog, Kevin. Don't come begging to stay at the foot of my bed when you catch some foul disease. I don't want fleas in my house.

And as for your insistence that you did not order the drinks, I beg to differ. It was a 'scotch on the rocks' year until you had enough to not be able to tell the difference between it and an appletini. Or between men and woman, but that is a story for another time. All I am going to say is that you owe me a pair of very expensive shoes and rest assured that if you have to ask where to get them, they cost too much for you. Just take me out for drinks at a 'respectful' locale (In otherwords, none of the seedy dens you normally attend) and we will be even.

Until then,

Ana

PS. I was nice to your owl and didn't get naught back in return. I do think she is trying to come between us dearest.

PPS. Was that what that bit of rubbish was for? I thought it was a bar napkin and used it to give my contact information to a much more attractive and successful younger man. Pity.

---

Giggling inwardly, Analiza sealed the letter this time with a badly drawn picture of Kevin saying "Dur, I'm a silly pisshead". Shaking her head, she sighed. Why did he always make her convert to behavior she hadn't exhibited in 20 years? Something about the git made her feel like a school girl again and whether she admitted it or not, she loved every second of it. Smiling, and ignoring the strange looks she was still getting, she tied the letter to Pretty Ladies leg and shooed her off to join the other owls in a pre-journey party. Or whatever the birds did before they went to their respective homes. Glancing at the teacher on her left, Analiza scowled "What?" She growled, glowering until they returned to their meal. Returning to her toast and newspaper, Analiza smiled slightly once more, still chuckling at the memories they shared.

Kevin stumbled out of bed at precisely 7:47, giving him a whole 13 minutes to shave, dress, and otherwise make himself presentable before he went in to work.  Being that he only had a week left at the French ministry, he had been trying to get into work on time; he was a solid 3-minutes late nearly every day, but one of his favorite co-workers had placed a bet that he couldn't make it on time five days in a row.  This day, being Monday, was the first day of the bet...and 15 galleons hung in the balance.

By the time he was standing without swaying, he only had twelve minutes.  Rushing over to the sink, he lathered his face and chin, before immediately ducking his head under the sink to wash it all off.  "You look good today, Hargrove.  Some ladies do like a little scruff."

With 9 minutes to spare, he threw on a pair of dark slacks, button down shirt, and a tie before throwing a thick cloak over it all; it had been unusually chilly weather the last few days.  Glancing down at his watch, he read: '7:53'.  "Perfect timing."  Kevin walked down the stairs and through to the kitchen.  He grabbed an apple and took a few bites before tossing the rest in the rubbish bin.  He was halfway through grabbing a pinch of floo-powder when there was a loud tap at the window.  As Kevin looked up, he dropped the floo powder and rushed over to open the window.  "Pretty Lady!  So wonderful to see you,"  he indicated over to a small bowl of food he had left out for her on the kitchen table.  She dropped the letter into his hand before flying over to devour the treats.

Kevin ran over to the sitting room, where he had a small antique wooden writing desk, and opened the letter.  As he began to read, his other hand fumbled in the drawer for a quill and piece of parchment.  He laughed softly to himself before setting the letter off to the side.  Quickly, but with great care, he wrote:

---

Dear Beloved Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

I did not choose the Leaky Cauldron over your guest room because of my own personal availability, but rather the fact that sleeping in your house without you sleeping in your house can be rather awkward, not to mention a little bit of a tease.  Where's the fun in that?  But, if you're really pining for me to sleep in your bed that much, I'll try to grab a flea collar next time I'm at the market.

And how dare you bring that up!  How was I supposed to know that men in London were catching on to that Yankee hairstyle...what was it called?  A moollet?  Nevertheless, I saw it from behind and only bought it one drink!  How was I supposed to know?  I didn't realize men had hair and curves like that...my arse isn't that round, is it?  Oh, and, just because I bought the bertie-bott-barftini that you spewed onto your shoes doesn't mean I owe you new shoes.  However, my arm may be twisted into taking you out for more drinks one day...maybe.  Of course, I'm not sure what you mean by a "respectful" locale; is that code for your place or mine?

On a different note, apparently wind of this new werewolf reform has hit the French ministry full-blown.  Of course, I thought everyone would be in a rage over it--considering we have quite a veela/half-veela population--but it seems the other way around.  The veela populations seems to be appalled that the opponents of werewolf segregation would begin to lump them into some sort of "not-fully-human" category, thus pushing them into your arms.  Y'know, I wouldn't doubt if there were some reforms coming here, soon.  We never had any werewolves in Beauxbatons (as far as I know) but I'm positive that no one here will want one.  So, if they ever run you out with torches and pitchforks, you'll probably be well-embraced here.

Have a wonderful day,

Kevin C. Hargrove

P.S.  You gave away my bar napkin to a younger, more successful man?  What, did he get more OWLS than me?  Win the quidditch cup?  You may already know this, but it might not be a good business practice to be giving out your personal information to your students...no matter how much their charm and wit reminds you of me.

---

Kevin laughed as he folded the parchment.  At the close, he drew a small picture--a stick figure, as a matter of fact--that had the caption, "Headmistress MILF" written underneath it.  Chuckling to himself, he sealed the letter and looked at Pretty Lady, who had come over to sit on the edge of the desk.  "You know what to do, I suppose," He said, tying the letter to her leg.

She flew off almost immediately and he stood up slowly.  Then, a frantic realization hit and he looked at his watch.  8:13  "DammitMerlinBertieBottMotherFrackin'RAWR!" He proclaimed loudly, knowing he had just lost a 15 galleon bet before it had even begun. He grudgingly took a pinch of floo powder from a small canister and threw it into the fireplace.  Muttering various cursings under his breath, he stepped into the green flames and set off to work.