Leoman sat alone towards the back of the room, a cigarette between the two remaining fingers of his right hand, smoke curling languidly up into the air above him. In his other hand was a book, a Muggle book in fact rendered inconspicuous in its plain leather binding. Even should someone read the title it was unlikely that any of those who frequented this place would recognise it for what it was. Before him on the table was a large glass of fine single malt whiskey and a neat wicker basket containing a multitude of glorious flowers. A dour, unremarkable stranger had delivered these to Leoman personally not half an hour ago along with a card that read simply “Many thanks, A xx.” Another satisfied customer. Beneath he flowers he knew lay a pouch filled with gold, the payment for the latest item he had procured for the eccentric old warlock. The flowers were a clumsy and rather amusing attempt at subtlety on his client’s part… last time he had sent Leoman a stuffed toy unicorn, its belly heavy with coins which had proved endlessly amusing to his acquaintances at this fine establishment.

It was early evening, Leoman had closed his shop early today. He had today, he hoped, found a potential  candidate for the sales assistant role which he had recently advertised and he felt he deserved a drink to celebrate. Having an employee only added further legitimacy to his innocent business venture Should the Ministry decide to check in on him and he could not help but admit to himself that he was rather enjoying his new life. Any life beyond the dank walls of Azkaban was infinitely preferable to rotting away in that small corner of hell…

He placed his cigarette down in the nearby ash tray and took a sip from the glass, closing his eyes briefly in appreciation. A quiet relaxing night, that was what he deserved as a reward for jobs well done. He would linger here this evening, following the adventures of young Steerpike as he wormed his way into the heart of Gormenghast’s crumbling society until his lovely companion arrived as they had arranged. Perhaps a venture into Muggle London would be on the card tonight, he enjoyed the thrill of a double life and he knew well that Lucy preferred the anonymity of those crowded bars. In the Wizarding world she was a squib, a pitiful accident, an embarrassment to her illustrious family to whom she might as well no longer exist. Such was the way of the world…

Getting into Diagon Alley had become more and more of a bloody pain.  For the first time in his life - including the years when he'd gone well out of his way to avoid it or had steadily walked on by without giving the building a second glance - even spotting the Leaky Cauldron had become a challenge.  Convincing the doorway into the magical shopping thoroughfare to open for him had repeatedly proven to be impossible.  In the weeks since his wand had apparently decided to stop working, Jonas had become adept at lurking inside the tavern, keeping a wary eye out for any likely candidates who looked to be about to begin a shopping trip, and then abandoning his drink and settling his bill in time to sprint to the back area so that he could follow them into the Alley.

Considering how much effort it took him to even get inside, Jonas had taken to combining as many errands as he could into one trip.  This particular evening, he'd managed to stop by the owl post just before it had closed, picked up a couple of supplies for his Shodding Arms project, and had planned to call it an early night after grabbing a quick pint and dropping off some research at the Black Chimaera.

The Knockturn Alley pub was relatively quiet; there was probably still a few hours yet before the regular Tuesday night bone fights brought in the crowd, though there were a few figures still lurking about.  Jonas gave the room his usual cursory glance, tugging his hat down low over his forehead.  Nothing out of the ordinary, though the bloke reading the book near the back of the room was either waiting to shower Forrester with rose petals or had the wrong idea of where to take a girl on a date, judging by the size of the basket of flowers sitting in front of him.  Shaking his head, the private investigator started for the bar, intent on finding Ashford to ask if Tawse was about.

...and then paused, as he gave the man sitting by himself with the flowers a second, more cautious look.

It was, when he thought about it, really quite fortunate that he hadn't yet run into anyone who would recognize him at the Chimaera.  Apparently he had been pushing his luck.  The odds that he could make it in and out without Leoman Gild spotting him and potentially raising a ruckus, especially considering what Jonas had been doing for a living the last time he had seen his old schoolmate a decade ago, were not ones that he wanted to take on.

The private investigator considered the situation for a moment, regarding the other man thoughtfully, and then carefully altered his course.  Being taken by surprise wasn't something he particularly wanted to risk, but choosing the time and place might let him skew the odds a bit.  If he was going to get cornered by an old friend, he'd much rather do the cornering on his own terms.

He cast a casual glance over the former banker as he approached the table.  If appearances were any hint, he evidently wasn't the only one who had changed his station in life over the past decade.  Still, Jonas kept his tone light as he cleared his throat and then addressed the other man.

"Didn't realize this place doubled as a library," he remarked, smiling crookedly as he rested a hand on the opposite chair.  "Or a florist, if that's what you were aiming for.  Buy you a pint, Leo?"

Recognition sparked in Leoman’s mind at the same moment that he lifted his glass once more to his lips to drain it. He did a commendable job of not choking to death on the fiery liquid in his surprise and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, grinning easily as his old friend approached. The smile disguised the sudden racing of his heart and the tension and suspicion that suddenly filled him. He risked a glance about the room but saw no concern upon the faces of the others… perhaps it was studied unconcern or maybe… maybe he was the only person here aware of Jonas’ line of work. He had not seen or heard from his friend in many years and once he had begun his doomed scheming at Gringots he would not have actively sought out the company of such a person, however well they might have gotten on at Hogwarts. It was not particularly smart to spend time with aurors when you were up to no good, they had instincts for such things…

He followed his old friend’s gaze to the rather suspect objects upon the table, placing the book down carefully and venturing a soft chuckle at Jonas’ comments.

“I was thinking they might brighten the place up a touch, I’m sure  Cináed will be thrilled…”

Steady voice, steady hands, so far so good. He retrieved the cigarette, took a long drag and instantly felt a little calmer. It was a coincidence, nothing more. If Jonas was here on a job then it was unlikely that it was Leo whom he was investigating... he kept his head down, he was careful. This was a simple matter of old school friends running into each other, perhaps not in the best of settings but that could not be helped. Suddenly aware that he’d been quiet a few moments longer than propriety usually allowed he retrieved his smile which had slipped just a little and gestured to the empty glass.

“How could I refuse? Though if you could make mine a whiskey I’d be most appreciative my old friend…”

Up close, the physical changes to his former school friend were obvious.  It shouldn't be a surprise that Gild looked older than Jonas remembered him, not after a decade had passed, but he seemed almost more worn than he should have been, gaunt and weathered.  He looked nothing like the banker that Jonas recalled, and as the private investigator's gaze moved over him, he noticed that the hand that held the cigarette was a few fingers short of what it had once been.

Gild responded facilely enough, with a friendly smile that only briefly slipped.  Whether or not he'd heard that Jonas was back around, he was apparently willing to play the game.  The private investigator tossed him an easy salute, and then limped back to the bar to place the order.

He returned a few moments later with two drinks in hand, one a whiskey that Jonas would have happily turned his nose up at, and the other the new chocolate stout that he quite appreciated.  Sliding the former over to Leoman, he kept the latter in hand as he pulled out the opposite chair and eased carefully into it.

"Cheers, mate," he said amiably, flashing the other man a quick smile as he took a seat.  "Been a long while, hasn't it?  Have to say, I wasn't expecting to see you here," he added easily, his eyes flickering more carefully over the former banker.  "It's not the place I would have thought of to catch up.  A lot can change in ten years."

It seemed that they had both suffered some personal injuries in their time apart. That was a rather nasty limp his friend had, not something that would make a job like his any easier. Was he retired? Was it a natural question to ask when you had not seen someone for so long? Not that he’d ever even whisper the ‘A’ word in this place, he commanded that level of subtlety at least.

“Much obliged…”  He raised the glass to Jonas before taking another sip, well, more of a gulp really. He should probably slow down… though he was well practiced at this drinking business, whiskey had a nasty habit of creeping up on you. One moment you were having the time of your life, the next you were huddled in some dark stinking alley, sore and penniless.

“Cigarette?” He pulled a packet from somewhere within his robes, a Wizarding brand, and held it out to Jonas before taking one himself and lighting it with a match as his friend made conversation. He made sure to catch the delicious whiff of wood smoke that lingered in the air, a habit of his, and resisted the urge to light another of the matches just for the sheer pleasure of it. The smell meant security and simplicity, the wholesomeness of long forgotten childhood days.

“Indeed it can. Its been what…15... no 18 years since we left school, Merlin’s breath, time is a funny thing isn‘t it.”

One thing he loved about smoking was that it was a perfect prop to use during conversation. It gave one something to do with one’s hands, you could take a drag to punctuate a particularly grave statement or to take the awkwardness from a silence. Leoman found it gave him the time he needed to think, particularly during tricky situations such as this one. He decided that sooner or later he would have to address the issue of Jonas’ profession, if only for his own piece of mind. With that out the way he would know where he stood which would make the whole thing a lot more simple. Again the defensive grin, the touch of amusement to his voice as he continued…

“Personally I come here for the good company, the lively atmosphere…”

Leo’s lips twitched into a wry smile as he looked about the room. Here even Leoman felt like somewhat of an outsider. He felt little kinship to those who frequented this place, the oppressive walls of Azkaban had not inspired the burgeoning of camaraderie. The pub was, however, the perfect place to discover new business opportunities. Ex-Azzies had a lot to lose after all and fear was a useful tool when your business required the client to practice discretion, though of course he employed Magic to cover his back, only a fool trusted anyone completely.

“I must say, I’m equally surprised to see you in a place like this. Forgive me for being blunt, curiosity often gets the better of me… tell me Jonas, are you still in the same line of business?”

The red-haired man had shaken his head to the cigarette, choosing instead to start nursing his ale as Leoman lit it up.  It was a bit surreal, sitting in the Black Chimaera with an old school friend.  He couldn't even remember the last time that he'd seen Gild.  Judging by his appearance, it was clear that the former Ravenclaw had fallen on hard times; he still had a smooth, wry way about him, but based on what he knew of the rest of the Chimaera's crowd, Jonas could make his own guesses as to what those hard times might have consisted of.

It was a bit of a relief that Leoman didn't take long to get to the point.  Jonas couldn't help flashing him a crooked smile.  It was a subtle enough way of asking, and it kept him from having to force a hint into the conversation.  He was grateful that the other man could be so direct.

"Nah," he said quietly, lowering his voice as he lifted the pint to take a sip.  "I got out of that eleven years back, back in the middle of the war.  We disagreed over a few things and went our separate ways."  Which was a polite way of saying that the bloody bastards at the Ministry had apparently decided to reward years of loyal service with a summons to appear in front of the Muggle-born Registration Committee, which Jonas still hadn't forgiven them for.  Gild had been a halfblood, but unless he had changed drastically from their days at Hogwarts, he would have understood.

Jonas shrugged, keeping his eyes on Gild, watching for any reaction, even as he kept alert for any other sounds from the rest of the room.  Getting into trouble here in the heart of Knockturn Alley would not be the most survivable situation he'd fallen into, especially with his wand malfunctioning.  If the wrong person got wind of the wrong comment, it would be all too easy for him to just disappear.

"Been working for meself since then.  Mostly jobs outside the Alley," he said, raising an eyebrow at Leoman.  He should understand the Muggle implication of that.  "But I've been taking what I can get.  Private investigator, officially.  Doesn't pay as well as the old line of work, but I do all right."

He studied the other man thoughtfully as he raised his glass to take another drink.  "And you, mate?" he inquired as easily as he could.  "Not still with the goblins, are you?  Been long enough that I reckon you must've moved on."