With the collaboration of Sparky, we present to you all, this multi-post snapshot – a scrapbook, if you will.

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Arriving outside of Rosheen Bagnold’s flat was always an adventure.  First of all, Margo had to apparate into an alley, and at times, had the misfortune of disturbing the drunken slumber of some poor man who took sleeps there – she believed he had introduced himself as Stumpy McGibbons before, but she couldn’t really be sure.  Every time she showed up though, he would blink wildly and tell the ‘Devil’ he wasn’t ready to follow her down to the depths of hell and to keep her hands off his recyclables – whatever those were.   

Despite the fact that she often got chased out of the alley – some metal containers being thrown at her, Margo thought it was kind of funny – and a little flattering: not everyone could get routinely mistaken for the Devil.  When she escaped the alley, she had to go through the peril of getting upstairs, which usually involved plugging her ears as the old man who lived downstairs was practically deaf and had an affinity for polka – ugh, horrible! It only lasted until she got to the top of the stairs and got let inside – sound proofing charms were a blessing. 

When the door opened, Margo tripped inside, slamming the door shut behind her and breathed a sigh of relief at the sound.  Rosheen’s place was so nice, she always noticed, first thing.  It was actually clean, and like she put her things away – not even a pair of pants or stray shirt laying around.  The woman was probably like some sort of domestic goddess in disguise; Margo couldn’t fathom such a thing.  After all, her brother was such a mess, and going off of her own experiences, Margo wasn’t exactly the clean one. 

“You couldn’t have found a neighborhood with less crazy old men in it?” Margo asked, letting out a deep breath as she started to peel her boots off – customary now that she was a perpetual guest wherever she went. 

It seemed Ro was pulling out all the stops too.  Rosheen Bagnold was constantly bustling – unlike her older brother, she was always a flurry of motion, and she barely slowed down as she showed the other witch through the door, helped secure her things, and immediately began ushering her further in.  At Margo's words, she let out a twinkling laugh, flashing a dimpled smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Margo to stand in the obscenely clean living room – God this woman really needed to release her secrets to the world or something. 

Probably a better option than Muggly the Bear… Weird wireless program… even if it was probably far more lucrative than desk jockeying for the DRRB. 

"Oi!  I wouldn't be after callin' them crazy, then," she replied, immediately setting about fetching proper glasses for beer.  "They're sweet, rather.  Just this morning, Mr Higgins was on about some new trial that's facin' the nation.  Said he thought of me first soon as he heard about it.  You should give them more of a chance, Margo," she scolded the other witch, half teasingly, as she began laying places at the table.  "Not really so bad once you chat them up a bit, are they?"

Margo sighed and shook her head.  “I don’t know – I mean, after the hundredth time of being told you’re the Satanic overlord, a girl starts to wonder what kind of reputation she’s amassed,” Margo laughed, a devious sort of smirk decorating her face as she finally bounced in the kitchen after her compatriot who had been clattering with glass and things in the cupboards. 

She was already at the table, putting things together and Margo rolled her eyes.  “I’m not the minister, Ro,” she pointed out, “no need to set the table or anything,” she glanced around suspiciously, trying to discern whether there was anyone else in the flat.  “This isn’t a trick, right?” she poked around the kitchen, checking for signs of doilies or tea or finger sandwiches.  “My grandmother –“ she paused, “My cousin isn’t lurking somewhere in here, is she?”  That would be absolutely horrific. 

Rosheen laughed, flashing Margo a bedazzling smile – the woman was always smiling!  She could make Margo look like a Scrooge.  "Which one?" Ro asked, with a devilish twinkle.  "Not Miss Ó Móráin, is it?  Merlin, no."

Quick as a flash, she'd laid out the place settings, and was retrieving a whole plate of decadent looking desserts from the ice box.  "Here, heat these up, would you?" she asked as she set them on the table, and then went to fetch the beer.  "Candy dropped them by earlier.  If she ever started callin' on me, I'd reckon she was half-possessed, I would," she called back to Margo, having already half-vanished inside the ice box once more.  "Not her sort of purebloods at all, are we?  A disgrace to the name, I'd imagine."

Looking down at the plate of desserts in her hands, Margo blinked.  “Uh… okay,” she said somewhat baffled, placing them on the table.  She pulled out her wand, glancing from it to the plate, shrugging.  She’d either do it right or light them on fire.  Either way, they’d probably still taste good.  She didn’t think that Candy girl cared much for her, but she was a stellar baker. 

She stayed quiet as she pointed her wand at them, ignoring that part of the conversation to wrinkle her nose at mention of not being the right kind of pureblood.  “Story of my life,” Margo sighed with exasperation, glancing down at the plate with relief to see that nothing was on fire, and indeed, rather than singed, the treats smelled good.  “Just making sure,” she smirked, “the only time the real plates come out at home is when the posh crowd is stopping over.  Good to know this is a posh-free zone,” she snorted, plucking one of the treats off the plate and popped it in her mouth, a pleased little “mmm” accompanying her chewing. 

Before Margo could blink, Rosheen was back at the table again, two bottles in hand.  "Cheers," she said, pressing one into the hands of the other witch.  Margo took the beer and lifted it toward her friend.  A muffled ‘cheers’ that sounded more like ‘rears’ was uttered through a mouthful of baked good, and Margo twisted the beer top off with the corner of her shirt, and took a swig to wash the rest down. 

"Haven't seen my brother lately, have you?" she asked, cheerfully switching conversation topics without missing a beat as she twisted the cap off of her beer.  "If anyone's after being possessed, I'd say it's him, I would.  He's been actin' quite the nutter again."

Of course, at this, Margo had to take another sip and shake her head.  “Ah, no… haven’t seen much of him lately,” Margo lied.  Thankfully, though years of adolescent practice, she was something of a convincing liar and took another nonchalant sip from the glass bottle, pulling out a seat the table and plopping down into it without any sort of grace at all, another long sip from her beer ending in the smacking of her lips. 

Raising her eyes in mock interest, Margo shifted more upright in the seat and leaned her elbows on the table – total lady – and smirked, “I’d only be concerned if he started smiling, honestly.  Then, I’d check for polyjuice.”

"Sure, yeah.  Slainte," Rosheen offered, tilting her open bottle in Margo's direction before downing a third of it in a single gulp.  For all of maniacally neat tendencies, the other witch was certainly not proper when it  came to drinking.  Honestly, tt was good to be around another pureblooded woman who didn’t flinch at the sight of a beer, and could give Margo a run for her money in a drinking match. 

"I can't reckon that anyone'd get down polyjuice that tastes like him," she remarked, flashing a impish smile as she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.  Margo tried not to blanche – though it was difficult, particularly as her thoughts tended to travel from the land of completely honest and upstanding to down and dirty in less than a microsecond. 

"It's not like that, though.  He's been quiet lately – even for him," she added, helping herself to a generous portion of the desserts on the plate.  "Not that that's out of the ordinary; he does it now and again, especially when the wolves get bad, sure, but I stopped by his flat this week again – just to drop something off, and straighten up, like – and Margo.”  Her heart almost stopped in her chest, so she did what any sensible girl would do, sit up more, lean in, and shove something chocolate in her face to look as though she was anticipating the information as a gossip, when really she was horrified that the inflection that Margo was less conspiratorial and more of an accusation, or worse – chastising.

Rosheen did not start accusing her though – instead, sat up straight in her chair, her eyes gleaming with mischievous glee.  "There were girl things there," she said, wickedly excited.  "I think there might be a lady livin' with him!  In fact, I'm nearly sure of it!"

Her relief, if Ro were able to see inside of her head, would have betrayed her in a second.  Margo was able to laugh and shake her head.  “You must be mistaken, Ro,” she smirked, leaning back in the seat, “I mean, Satan would be fully aware if Hell froze over – and I haven’t gotten the memo yet.” She took another long swig from the bottle, the end very near for that one.  Merlin, that was fast.  “Maybe he’s finally snapped and started wearing lady clothes?” she winked, laughing at her own sense of humor about the situation.