National Museum for Wizarding History, 7pm

Tomorrow would be interesting, Johann mused, on his way down the pavement towards the address the newspaper specified. There, a small, but eye catching notice had been placed announcing an evening lecture at the National Museum for Wizarding History, nestled in amongst non-magical London and its museums, quite at home, and unnoticed by the Muggles. Perfect to keep him occupied the evening before the careers fair at Hogwarts.

He'd stay just a little longer to listen the lecture, before heading back to Hannah's. He was biding his time so as to let Hannah have as much time without his hindrance as possible. She'd also be there tomorrow. Besides, lectures were good for the brain, and one should learn something every day, if not several things, or several hundred.

Locating the correct Victorian house, listed as a very comfortable looking hotel with 'no vacancies' hanging from the sign. Sliding his hands from his coat pockets, feeling the January chill, he headed inside. Beyond the front door was a reception desk, convincing enough that Johann paused mid-stride, wondering if he really had stepped into the correct place. No, definitely correct he assured himself, seeing a wardrobe unusually placed in the foyer.

Reaching for the handle he opened it and stepped inside, the darkness seeping away to reveal a vast hall below him, at the bottom of a staircase. Aha, magic never failed to be beautiful in concealment!

Johann wandered down, joining a group of odd characters gathered in the hall below, penned in by crimson coloured ropes suspended from waist high posts. Being late, Johann had wondered if the rest of the museum was open, but it looked shaded, and very quiet. These people had only really come for the lecture it seemed, and what an odd bunch they were.

Moments later they were encouraged to take seats, and Johann found a place off to one side of the group, able to see enough faces, and the speaker clearly, and settled in, mind alert. The lecture seemed to be going all according to plan until a squat little man with an oversized nose and a beard longer than he was tall began to interrupt. Intolerably he questioned  the speaker. Johann thought to speak up against him, but the subject was not in a field he had particularly detailed knowledge in, and he found his mind wandering.

As an interchange broke out between several of the visitors, Johann slipped away, into the shadows of the edge of the hall, and made his way softly away from the group. He'd entirely lost interest in the discussion and the interruptions, and was far more intrigued by the shapes and shadows being cast by the museum and its artefacts. Slipping his hands back into his coat pockets, he stepped softly into the adjacent gallery and felt himself relax, staring up at a huge sphinx statue.

"Didn't I ask you to find a file for me- say, a good three hours ago, Clara?"
Clara's large blue eyes widened with fear. It made her look like a house elf, all eyes and nothing else. Her short blond curls quivered alongside with her doublechin. She had forgotten. Completely forgotten.

The "Do to" list the head historian had handed her this morning had already been two pages long and with a work day starting at 5 am and ending at...well, 5 am - if Aidan wasn't around or didn't mind hanging out with the dementor puppets in the 2nd War Department all day long-the list didn't get shorter one bit.
Piles upon piles were staggered on Clara's desk, sideboards, chairs and floors. The chubby 20-year-old was on the brink of a nervous breakdown only 6 days after taking the job.
And for a change, Fiona absolutely felt for her.

In fact, since Frank had finished his training in November and had then been forced to "take a break", Fiona felt a lot like crying herself. It wasn't the same without him around and she missed him. Finding someone with the competence, knowledge and motivation to work for Gareth, Frank and herself had been hell. Clara was the 15th person to sit in this office since November and had already survived 4 days longer than Gordon, the most good-natured historian from the Goblin Wars Department had predicted, but the hope she'd last died each day a little more. Fiona sighed. "What about the maps of Siberia? Where did you put them?"
Clara jumped out of her chair and started to roam frantically through the piles. "I..right here..somewhere..I swear..right here..or..th-there..maybe..or..not..."
It wasn't exactly Clara's fault. When Fiona hired someone, she showed one one's office, went away and waited.
Do it- or die. That was the way things were handled done there.

Fiona left her rummaging and went into her office to collect her Blazer. As it was time for her final round through the museum before they locked the doors, she'd go and get the file herself. Reaching over the desk for a copy of the list she'd given Clara, her elbow brushed a wobbly pile of diverse content and sent it crashing to the floor. With a deep grumble of discontent, she went down on her knees to at least form a pile, when she saw something bright red peep through the parchments. Aidan's soother. Picking it up, the historian felt a wave of calmness washing away the irritation she had felt all day. The bright red plastic and the bold white letters spelling "Bedtime sucks" on top were so out of place between all these dust and historic artefacts, it pulled her out of this dungeon of grumpiness in an instant. Tonight Aidan was with Jason, but she'd pick him up in the morning before Jason was expected at the hospital and bring him here. It made life easier for Clara and herself. Despite tantrums and an enormous temper (Where on earth did he have THAT from?!), the boy created a less tensioned atmosphere.

"I'm off to close the doors and get the files from the archive, Clara", she shouted and waited for the habitual grunt of notice before closing the door behind her."And if you find any member of the ministry lurking about, lock them in the dungeon to starve," she added, remembering they hadn't shown up since their last argument about a translation of letters from a Welsh muggleborn witch to her parents. If things didn't speed up soon, Fiona's hopes to hope to open the 2nd War Department in this year's summer would fade into nothing.

At this time of day, the buzzing normally filling the vast corridors and halls of the museum had long faded, making way for the strangest sort of silence. In the dimmed light and hushing shadows, most of the smaller paintingswere empty while the large ones almost overcrowded. After sitting nicely beneath their own frames all day long, everyone gathered, whispered and gossiped. Fiona stepped aside to let a suit of armour from the medieval section pass. He waved Hello and turned round a corner. His left knee was squeaking terribly and he was obviously off to get it greased from John, one of the museum's caretakers that all the suit of armours were particularly fond of. No one else made their metal this shiny.

The historian decided to check on their mummies first. One of the younger Egyptian findings had recently had the brilliant idea not to just wander around the museum, but to rearrange furniture and artefacts as she pleased. One day, the museums personell had come to work to find every single item in the museum had been neatly sorted by size and colour. It had taken them the entire day to clean up this mess and another week to find out who had done it. Since then, the said mummy got magically restriced to the Egyptian section only.

Entering the gallery, however, Fiona found she was not alone among the artefacts. With the large keys dangling unused from her belt, she knew she couldn't really accuse him of being here at this time. But she was surprised nonetheless.
Clearing her throat, she stepped out of the shadows of the corridor. "Excuse me, Sir? We're closing," she said, crossing her arms and scanning the man in front of her enquiringly, "May I see you out?"

For a moment, she felt there was something vaguely familiar about this figure.
Did he belong to that nasty pack of Ministry officials she had been expecting all week long?
"I'm sorry, but you're not from the Ministry, are you? To argue about the colour of the stonefloor in the 2nd War Department, maybe?"

"Excuse me, Sir? We're closing, may I see you out?" The voice came from round the side of the sphinx and caught Johann by surprise. He'd been contemplating how much you'd have to feed a cat of that size.

"Ah, sorry." Johann acknowledged her, looking a little sheepish. Time must have gotten away with him.

"I'm sorry, but you're not from the Ministry, are you? To argue about the colour of the stonefloor in the 2nd War Department, maybe?" Johann paused, mouth half open and then closed it, looking quizzical.

"I am, but..." He paused again, thinking about her face. "Not about the floor, no... I was at the talk in the other room but it went off topic, I get curious." His eyes were still lingering, rather impolitely on her face, staring at her unblinking.

"Why, what's wrong with the floor?" He asked, buying time.

His brain pieced the shadowed view of her face and her voice together and he snapped his fingers.
"Aha, you don't recognise me. I had longer hair then - in Egypt." He broke into his usual boyish grin, and blushed ever so slightly, "you saved my neck in a bar, three locals were about to break it as they didn't appreciate me winning at cards." Still grinning, he thrust out a hand.

"Johann Storm, good to see you again Fiona." Ah yes, even after quite a few years, he still remembered a face and a name.

The moment he spoke, Fiona relaxed a little. He had been caught too off guard to mean any trouble for her.

"I am, but...Not about the floor, no... I was at the talk in the other room but it went off topic, I get curious."

She smiled a little. Lectures in the museum tended to be a messy business. There were always the same odd, tiny men attending. Those who carried their tummies in front of them as if they were 9 months pregnant, usually coming with from excitement redend checks. Intellectuals long retired, who were alone at home or didn't want to see their knitting wives quite that much, usually coming to talk, discuss, argue. Preferably argue, actually. It didn't really matter what the lecture was about, as long as at some point someone shot up from their seat like a tiny space rocket to insult whoever he saw fit.

Still, it was confusing. He starred at her so intently that it was clear they didn't know each other from the ministry or the museum. Since no one else here had the nerves to deal with ministry officials, who were usually not more than an ignorant pain in you know what, he would have known her.
She on the other hand could proof to be impossibly ignorant herself when it came to "these people" and even after two years, the historian still introduced herself to Winfried Knutterknickle each and every week he stood in her office. He proved more patient then she would have liked, though, and had always played along.

"Nothing is wrong with the floor. It is the exact same as it is everywhere else in the museum. But since Mr. Knutterknickle is running out of possible problems that are or might be but never will, i thought maybe we are now moving on to the impossible ones."
Suddenly he snapped with his fingers and, in surprise, her eyebrows shot up. What now? Enlightenment at this time of day?

"Aha, you don't recognise me. I had longer hair then - in Egypt. You saved my neck in a bar, three locals were about to break it as they didn't appreciate me winning at cards." She scanned him again, slowly reaching out to shake his hand. Trouble in a bar in Egypt? Now that was a clue the possible record holder of  "Most barfights involved in in a span of 10 years" could work with.

"Johann Storm, good to see you again Fiona." She shook his hand, adding longer hair and the name into the memory pot of her brain. Slowly, recognition spread across her face.
"I would have thought you hadn't made it out of Egypt in one piece. But here you are, looking quite healthy.." she turned his hand, "and even with all of your fingers still there. Well done." Letting go of his hand, Fiona grinned. The world was such a small place. "What brought you into this rainy corner of the world?"

Somewhere in the hall, the large grandfather clock struck 8pm. The deep, clear chimes could be heard from every single corner of the museum and announced the end of the visitor's time.
"Listen, I need to check on everything, see the last visitors out and lock the doors. Why don't you walk with me and we can catch up, maybe grab some dinner later on?"

"I would be delighted." Johann smiled broadly, and lowered his head respectfully, tailing Fiona through the museum.

"I'm working in the Department of International Magical Co-operation, since January on a part time basis. Its interesting. Enough to allow me to continue my freelancing and keep myself occupied. When did you end up here? Are you in charge?" He asked politely.

Johann waited, staring up at a restored costume of one of the first referees of an international quidditch match, as Fiona coaxed out the straggling visitors in the exhibit on sporting history. Just as business like and assertive as she had ever been when he'd first met her. He smiled to himself.

"What have you been up to in the years, not marriage, children...?" Johann wondered aloud, rejoining her as the visitors departed.