Late Night

The majority of Saturday night had been spent in familiar company at the Black Chimaera, sharing drinks and laughs over cards and too much smoke to see straight.  Their game of Poker was hilarious and entirely wonderful, but didn't do nearly enough to help Dazmond forget herself.  If anything, the more she attempted to break the spell with normal engagements of merriment with her danger-loving crew, the more her anxiety grew and the deeper her concentration on the little vial that was burning a hole in her pocket became.  Something was unsettled within her.  She was feeling a caged lion and had the pull toward absurdity upon waiting for her feeder to open that gate.

That wasn't to say that she was not bearing the countenance of a person who was well at ease, happy and relaxed.  Dazmond was, in fact, exuberant in her display of comfort.  The playful grin stayed fixed on her features even after jokes had faded into the fire and, smiling to herself, Dazmond seemed animated by something ridiculously curious that only she had knowledge of.

She'd booked a rented cabin in Hogsmeade for a few of her closest to continue their night in privacy, and inside of that cabin is where we find our crew unravelling from a buzzed state of revelry at present.  The cabin was quaint and cosy, sporting a main room with fireplace and ample seating, a long table and many mood-setting magical lanterns.  They'd already settled in and were joking round after lighting the fire and lanterns, the room lit gently by the various sets of flame.  Dazmond had her wares spread out on the tabletop, delicious wines she'd made that opened the heart and spilled the tongue.  Her own goblet was on its second filling and she was feeling precarious, form half slunk into the cushions as she swirled her drink with a finger and gazed into her goblet bemusedly.

She wanted to say something entirely sappy but for how long she held her tongue.  Such heart-spilling statements, though, were begging to come flooding out of her, her mind spinning in a mess long-overdue to come forward.  She wanted it all to be normal, but Daz still felt a feverish maddening coming on after quite nearly a year of hushed troubles.  Dazmond was quite near melting point, to be honest enough.  She didn't know how it would all come together in the end for her, but she knew and deeply felt that at this moment she was safe and in safe hands.  It was that feeling of safety that had made her yearn to tell them all what they meant to her, how happy she was for Landis and Juliette, how thankful she was for Dolly's health, how she really really loved Cinaed... and it was also likely that she had quite a few beverages under her belt to help with it all as well.

But nothing had been normal.  This wasn't normal.  This wasn't hers anymore, this life that she feigned control over.  These were some of her dearest friends among her, and it was simply seeming nonsense to not come forward with everything that she'd kept hidden from them now.  It wasn't that she had planned it or, rather, knew that she had been planning it subliminally, but Dazmond simply couldn't keep it down any longer and suddenly felt poised to expose herself and those pesky problems that, despite all sorts of suppression, simply hadn't gone away:  The monkey on her back, the Truth, her Circumstance. 

Still smiling, Dazmond cooed a laugh over the rim of her goblet.  "Well since we're sharing," she said, tagging on to the tail-end of someone's story, "My memory of last Summer is mostly bollocks, but come to find I was working for some rich dark Wizard who's been stalking me since."  She gave a bright laugh as though she found it completely absurd, as though she didn't even believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth, and certainly as though she was not bothered with this news.  There was no worry in her voice, nor trouble in her eyes.  She just offered it up as a ridiculous addition to the conversation, minimising the issue and returning to her goblet.   

Dolly had forgotten this world existed; this place between work and play that was freedom. No, that wasn't true - it was a cage like any other; but it felt freer. It reminded her of misspent youth and loving too hard while drinking too much and trying to forget she was waiting for something that would never come to her. This night, even while it was happening and she partook of it... was not real. This was not the world any of them lived in anymore. They were not children playing at being grown. They were adults; they had seen and done too much for this evening to be innocent and carefree. Yet every single member of the party seemed to subscribe to the idea it was best, if only for the night, to pretend. Perhaps it was the Birthday Girl's superb acting skills and a deep seeded desire in Dolly to make and keep her oldest and dearest friend happy (Dazmond had not trampled Dolly's good will the way the elder Wiedman had). Whatever anyone else wanted to say about her, true or untrue, when it came to friendships Dolly tended hers like a loving gardener. There were few people she let close enough to truly love but the only one who had ever misused the wisps of trust she did dole out was Dominik.

Curling up next to Dazmond, her arms looped lazily around the other woman; she was vaguely reminded of how this had felt when they were young. She remembered getting dolled up for parties and the way they'd climb into bed after dizzy from the wine and other spirits they snitched from various places. There was, above all else, always laughter. She wondered how much time Daz spent laughing these days. It was not that there was a rift between them (though after the sicking Dominik on her at Calavera's Dolly might have been a bit miffed) it was simply that they lived in separate worlds. Whatever anyone else thought; Daz wasn't good or bad for Dolly's image. She didn't help or hinder sales - and even if had Dolly wouldn't have abused the friendship that way or allowed anyone to dictate who she spent time with. It was simply a matter of...Daz was often like a ghost. She slunk around places - and when she got caught up in her world she was impossible to reach. Of course the same could be said for Dolly - when she was really working the world would see neither hide nor hair from her for weeks. Then she would burst back onto the scene in all her garish glory.

She toyed with Dazmond's hair while the tiny sprite sipped leisurely from her goblet; and at the mention of the previous summer Dolly's face twisted itself into an expression rarely seen on her features - genuine concern. It wasn't that she thought that Daz couldn't take care of herself; it was just... well when you say next to her you felt how tiny she was. Dolly had always been acutely aware of the delicacy that Dazmond's persona belied. She was scrappy and a fighter; she could handle it all no matter what came at her. That was the attitude that she put forth - it was not until you held her hand or brushed her arm that you felt how slender and birdlike her bones felt. Her wrists, when inspected closely carried no weight; as though with no effort at all the appendage could be snapped - she was a waif. In their youth Dolly had often been jealous of the other woman's seeming physical fragility (before she had learned to appreciate every extra inch of feminine curve to her own body).

"Stalked? Dazzums hyperbole is my area of expertise. Exaggerations make my skin prickle," it was said in jest but her blue  eyes went searching the other woman's narrow features. What in Merlin's name was Daz only telling them now - or rather only telling Dolly now? Yes they had their spans of time when Dazmond was a ghost and they didn't keep tabs on one another anymore (there was a time when where you found one you found the other but that time had long passed); but when push came to shove Daz was generally the first one called upon. The fact that Dolly had not been privy to this information soon her made her rather uncomfortable. She shot a look to Landis - for once not in accusation but in curiosity if she were the only one left in the dark. In the dim firelight it was hard to suss out his reaction (oh who was she kidding, Landis wasn't the sort of man to be read in broad daylight), his features gave little away awash in the flickering light. Turning her gaze then to the rest of the room she tried to decide who else might have known, she was sure Dominik would have told her. He was bloody awful at keeping things to himself; at least with her and things concerning his sister.

Tucking a chunk of red hair behind the dainty woman's ear she tilted her head and sucked in her cheeks before letting out a long breath and following with, "happened to come to find out, when, exactly? This seems like a vastly important owl that I have missed". She tried legitimately tried to keep her voice light and airy; but the concern was evident in her tone. Hashim (or as he was known in the books The Turk) had told her many times that dealing in the black market left her closest friend open to attack. She never gave it much thought (with a famous bruiser like Dominik for a brother who'd be stupid enough to lay a hand on Daz?), but now she could feel the worry and panic percolating in her stomach as she waited for the tiny woman to answer. She might not have been a fussy mother type the majority of her life but Daz brought that instinct out in her.

They'd been drinking all evening, and even spreading them out Landis felt properly heavy with the stuff. The buzz had just been fading after their time at the Black Chimaera; none of them were too drunk to Apparate here and continue their fun. Daz had broken out her wine - potent stuff, he should know - so he had the taste of it on his tongue and the faintest lightness to his head. Daz looked happy, and so did Juliette; Cinaed was good company, right where Landis could keep an eye on him and be bizarrely reassured that he wasn't going anywhere(it shouldn't have mattered whether Cinaed was in his presence or not, at long as he hadn't been caught, but after a few drinks Landis had stopped denying that it definitely did). And Dolly had always been more tolerable when he was drunk, so he was at a point where he was carrying on a perfectly civil conversation with her while being able to appreciate that she dropped the act a little in such a close, personal setting. So it was just like old times, only better, because Juliette had definitely not been available in his school years and Landis was getting to like her comfortable warmth against his side in a way his 15 year old self would not have been able to admit to so easily. He was smiling openly and warmly as the conversation flowed, laughing a little at the stories thrown out as they went around the circle and occasionally contributing his own, when Dazmond broke merrily in to tell them she couldn't remember a thing about last summer but that she'd apparently gained herself a great dark wizarding fan. And that this was the first time she'd mentioned it, and wasn't that funny? if the way she smiled and looked down into her drink was any indication.

Landis' own smile faded. His gaze dragged from Dazmond's face to Dolly's, who was looking to him with precisely as much wary confusion as he felt. He knew what she was silently asking, the confirmation that she was looking for, but Landis didn't know what Dazmond was talking about either. His usual course of action would be a liquid shrug, but even half-drunk that was too direct, with Dazmond here and liable to skitter away if they pushed too hard. He frowned instead, let Dolly see the way his brows drew together, intent, uneasy - he didn't know. He wasn't being nasty. This was one thing the both of them agreed on. Dolly was the closer one, and that was good; she was able to curl around Dazmond with all the open affection Landis couldn't show. This sounded like something that needed to be heard, and between the two of them they could coax it out of her.

They made strange partners, but it was an act older than some of Juliette's students. Already Landis was trying to push his fuzziness away, trying to gather himself enough to think.

And it would work. Dazmond was secretive, almost as much as he, keeping in her secrets until they didn't hurt anymore and then airily telling him over a drink months later what had happened. Unless he could catch her in the midst of something too shaky to push down she didn't bother to contact him, to ask for help - she was proud and stubborn, needlessly so, she loved her flighty independence, and Landis had grown used to biting his tongue on demands and angry rebukes so as not to make her resent him. She'd asked for help once or twice, enough to hope but not enough for habit. But drink and drugs loosened her tongue, gave her that air of careless distance she seemed to need - and surrounded by those she loved and trusted, she would surely tell them everything.

Landis was not above calling the task of easing out her stories manipulation of the most deliberate, delicate kind, but at least he was doing it out of both concern and love. Besides, she never would have mentioned it if she hadn't intended to talk. The drink probably played a hefty role in that decision, though.

Stalked. It wasn't an exaggeration, whatever Dolly said. Landis did not like the idea, which brought to mind a shadowy male figure lurking and watching with probably the basest, most harmful intent, but knowing Juliette could probably feel the sudden tension in his body Landis tried his very hardest to relax.

"Go on, Dazmond. Don't leave us in suspense."

Dom sat on the floor with his back against the couch populated by Daz and Dolly, smoking some dried plant matter out of a rolled cigarette.  He, too, watched for Landis's reaction as his own brows lowered in consideration of the tale unwinding from Dazmond's too-happy lips, but his gaze was worlds more guarded than that of either comrade, concealing his concern and curiosity.  He did not say anything nor look towards his sister from his spot on the other side of Dolly on the floor.  Rather he waited for exactly what was to transpire, for Landis and for Dolly to coax her into letting the rest fall off her chest, to elaborate as he drew darkly from his cigarette and drank directly from his own bottle of wine.

From the first mention of last Summer something in him had most certainly perked to attention.  He remembered her missed presence in his own life, rapping on Nate's door and asking after her, only her own husband hadn't known where she was.  She was gone three full months, the entire duration of Summer, without anyone knowing where she had gone.  Even for Dazmond, who at times took off for long stretches without a word, this was extremely unusual.  She always checked in, she always came back if only for a short while before moving on again; it was just like these last few months - Daz was away, but she was around.  Not so last Summer, and when she finally did return he'd demanded to know where she'd been, why she hadn't owled to tell him she was okay, to tell anybody she was okay, she'd flatly refused to be frank with him.

The bit about her memory being bollocks followed by word of a dark artist made Dominik brood from his spot in the dark.  Someone had teased out her memory of whatever transpired.  She'd been manipulated.  Still virtually neutral, Dominik held his tongue in wait, hoping to hear who this Wizard was so he could murder the bloke.

Knowing the Chimaera was likely under constant surveillance, Cinaed had left the gathering at the pub a little early to make his own way to the afterparty.  Getting seen leaving the pub in the company he'd kept would have given any onlookers all the reason they legally needed to haul any of his companions in to the Ministry for questioning.  As the game was starting to wind down, Cinaed excused himself and left through the backdoor of the main barroom but rather than head out the back door of the building, he took the stairs up to his old room.  Once more in the now very familiar form of the black and white magpie, he winged his way out of the window until he could safely change back and apparate out of London.  Before leaving the Chimaera, he'd left instructions with both members of the afterparty gang and Colburn that the attendees were welcome to take whatever beverages or booze to go that they sought fit. 

It was easy, in that moment, to forget his current fugitive status.  He was starting to feel more like a proper, blue-blooded socialite than some hooligan on the run .  Size sometimes had its advantages and Cinaed had claimed one of the cabin's largest, overstuffed easy chairs to drape himself in.  His current legal status wasn't something he could forget completely - doing so might prove to be a fatal error.  Or land him back in Azkaban.  He was well aware of every exit to the building (windows, included) and currently had a clear path to at least three of them.  His animagus ability still remained a closely-guarded secret but, if it came down to getting caught or spoiling his secret, his current company would find themselves in the presence of a bird. 

He dragged lazily on a long, dark cigarette, his head tipped over the back of the couch as he watched the grey tendrils of smoke curl up towards the ceiling.  Contentment, intensified by the alcohol, smoke and company, seeped deep into his muscles.  That was until Dazmond started sharing her story. 

Cinaed lifted his head and pushed himself more properly upright in the chair.  Stalked by a rich dark wizard.  It couldn't have been any of the usuals of the Knockturn crew.  Dazmond was well known and, as current proceedings would attest to, liked in that particular social circle.  Which, for better or worse, ruled out most of the wizards Cinaed would have had previous dealings.  "Who is the bastard?" Dolly was a storyteller; she may have wanted all the details of what and when and why but Cinaed really only cared about who.  With that information, the problem could be solved. 

Dazmond thought briefly over Dolly's initial words, squeezed her arm affectionately and leaned forward to set her goblet down and take out a cigarette.  She lit the fag, her brows drawing near to each other as she rested back into Dolly's arms.  The other woman tucked an errant hair behind her ear and again Dazmond smiled, this time less exuberantly and more belying her own sense of comfort in the embrace.  Dolly had always been motherly towards her, and it was times like this when Dazmond felt most... surrendered.  Dolly could make her feel okay about no longer being the master, the crafter of her own existence, and for a moment as her eyes glided over and gazed upon Dolly's face, she felt sorry she hadn't told the Witch sooner. 

Her attention was drawn toward Landis, his subtle drawing forth of her tale.  She wasn't oblivious to what was going on; it was as familiar to her as it was to the both of them.  She was thankful for it, as she certainly needed their support.  She had told Nathan what she'd known back in October - such were the binds of marital truth-telling and the spell of risky, self-sacrificing love - but to tell the others now and to tell for the first time how things had developed, how they weren't simply going away, becoming a casual tale to tell over herbal wine....  Dazmond could have gazed long at Landis, who she'd had ample opportunity to tell before this moment; the only reason she hadn't is that for six months she'd crazed herself into thinking that this was a self-manageable enterprise.  She just hadn't realized how hard it was to save yourself when you didn't know anything.  She drew on her cigarette, squinted at Cinaed who was by all means a hero of the finest suit in her mind.  She could have easily believed that he alone could save her.  His words were reassuring to her, only....

"I don't know," she said.  She sort of shrugged and gave a ghostly laugh.  "I'm serious, my memory of it is complete bollocks.  All I know of the Summer is that I was working, I was on the sea in a cave, I got loose and came home with nine hundred ninety-three galleons, sixty sickles, twenty-three knuts and a potions vial filled with a substance that has completely withstood all attempts at testing."  Dazmond paused, smoking and looking at nothing in particular.  "I lost my wand," she said.  "My feeling is that it --" she stopped short.  It'd been destroyed.  She felt that.  Her conversation with Deaglan McDonough only confirmed the feeling of irretrievable loss, despite the fact that she couldn't remember what had happened to it.  It was telling enough that the illusory tale she'd spun for him was that it'd sunk into the Black Sea.  "It's gone," she concluded.

"I also - I have a sort of emotional memory of just general bad omen and a - y'know a dark Wizard sort.  It's all very general and not at all helpful.  But, so," continued Dazmond, becoming more engaged, "My former client who was with us tonight - Lexus?  She used to work for that ginger PI that'd come into the bar."  Her eyes lighted on Cin.  "And back in January she tipped me off that he had a whole file on me, and she let me look."  Daz caught herself short and turned toward Dolly with a strangely apologetic expression, conveying how the Wolf had helped her, explaining why she'd been round, how much appreciation she held for the woman.  Dazmond had felt sorry enough for the intrusion on Dolly's recent past to not say a word in the Wolf's defence.  But she had also not directly supported Dolly's offence. 

She continued, counting the affronts on the digits of her hand.  "My whereabouts, my private conversations, my more affectionate engagements, every last bathroom visit and nose-picking.  So I go to confront Jonas, yeah?  And he says he's hired by the same man I'd worked for, and wouldn't I like him to tell who that is.  But he can't tell, cause he's scared he'll face all these dire consequences if he gets on this bloke's bad side."  Dazmond was now in full-animation mode.  She figured as long as the gates had been opened, she might as well tell them everything she knew.  "I've been having nightmares for months about this elusive figure in a sleek purple suit," she confessed.  "But also Jonas said the case on me's been 'put on hold' and this Wizard isn't done with me yet and I'd better be ready for when he comes cause he wants me back in his employ." 

Dazmond looked around and, for as much of an engaged storyteller as she'd been, she felt suddenly very, very exposed.  Defensively she added, "Look I'm sorry I haven't said, but blimey it's been a rough ride y'know?"  Her hand slid down Dolly's arm and she reached back for her wine.  Satiating her dry throat she took a drink and her heart fluttered.  All of the substances she'd imbibed had, in the last few moments, begun to catch up with her.  Everything was out into the open.  It wasn't till the very end where she had nothing left to say that she felt her heart quicken, the emergency of the moment dawning on her breast.

Dolly's stomach turned over, the rough contents (basically a lot of firewiskey) sloshing painfully in her belly. She had know something wasn't right. She had felt it down in her bones that the time Dazmond spent away that summer was not...a normal ghost vanishing. She had been untraceable. Then there had been that nasty row between Nate and Dom over the whole sodding mess and all Dolly could do was scream about the insufferable stupidity of both their egos and someone needing to fucking well find her best friend. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth she tightened her hold on the other woman - as though she could physically absorb the confusion and pain of not having a sodding clue who had been chasing Dazmond in her nightmares. She stroked the slender woman's hair as she spoke - trying to calm her much the way you would a spooked or caged animal. She spoke not a single word but made soft sounds of sympathy (which could not be confused with pity). The thought of who knew what when suddenly seemed vastly less important - his shared look of confusion and gentle insistence she go on told Dolly that Landis was as in the dark about all this as she was.

Somehow that was far less comforting. Bicker though they might have over Dazmond and who loved her best first... Dolly had always felt that when she wasn't there to be sure the spirited pixie kept herself from getting murdered at least Landis was. There was relief in his mere existence for Dolly because it meant there was one more set of eyes looking after her most treasured friend. The posturing and hissing at one another...was such a farce in the face of the real pain their Dazmond had been shouldering alone all this time. Dolly felt her eyes prick with tears. The terrifying loneliness of it all absolutely shredded her heart. The whole point in having lifelong friends was that you didn't have to stare into the abyss alone - that was the whole sodding point! And hadn't Landis proved that, showing up in her hospital room? They weren't close anymore but he'd been there when she was scared and alone and too stubborn to admit she was scared and alone. It must have been exhausting for Dazmond to work so hard and pretending to be alright. Dolly couldn't even be mad; and Dolly usually could find several reasons to be angry any given day of the week.

The help Lexus had offered Daz...sadly did not change her opinion of the werewolf. There was a time when it might have swayed her and she might have had a smidgen of remorse for tearing into the woman so viscerally. It was the way in which Dale carried herself, the way she'd brandished the scars about oh-so proudly. It was all an act in Dolly's mind; she tried too hard to be impressive and had failed miserably (this new tidbit about working for a man who was paid to spy on people did nothing to endear the other woman to her even if she had proven useful at one juncture). Dolly, however, had no plans to cross paths with the werewolf again. She spent as little time with Nate as humanly possibly and still maintained a loving close relationship to Daz. If she could maneuver around the woman's husband avoiding one of her clients would be no issue at all.  None of that really mattered so much as the idea of how exactly one would go about torturing the name out of the redheaded stranger.

Salazar's knickers! There must have been something laced in that whiskey. Dolly had never given so much as a second thought to being capable of physical torturing someone - maybe she would have to defer to Cin on that front. She shifted her eyes to him, letting Dazmond's  story settle into the walls of the cabin. She felt helpless and acutely, painfully, this-isn't-fun-anymore drunk. She needed her wits about her to fix this - because Dolly was convinced it could be fixed. One of them had to have a clearer head than she did; only it seemed highly likely. She let out a small puff of air, blowing a curl from her eyes as she rubbed Dazmond's shoulder.

Giving a small sniff, she tried to draw the other woman back from the defensive,  "Hey...hey, you, look at me," she waited until Dazmond had drunk her fill before tilting the other woman's chin so their eyes were level, "you, me, the boys? We're in this together yea? Fuck me, just like old times," she brushed her friends cheek with her hand then flicked away the tears gathering in the corner of her own eyes. "You don't have to go it alone; no more secrets, no more play acting. You'll see, it's better this way - it's always better when we're together," she wrapped her arms around Daz then and placed a kiss on her forehead. The boys could be loud and try to figure out the best way to get the next level of information and how to deal with the bastard that had taken her. Dolly just wanted to be sure that Dazmond felt...safe; unjudged for trying so hard to go it all alone.

Landis listened as Dazmond vented, her manner gaining that choppy quickness and intent animation that she always had when she got worked up. He was getting worked up too, but he was much, much quieter about it. His eyes did not leave her face or the motions of her hands; he did not move, except to slowly and completely tense. The faint soft blur of the room stopped being comfortable and became annoying instead; it was hard to make his eyes focus on Dazmond, and his stomach roiled with the drink it had previously welcomed. He tried to squash these physical reactions, tried to squash the headache that was building as from a long way off, like his sudden desire to be sober had prompted an early hangover. If the thought of some anonymous stranger creeping heavily after his best friend did not please him, the revelation that it had been thorough investigation, kidnapping, and careful monitoring was much worse.

He did not waste any time getting angry at Dazmond for not telling him; Landis had long ago gotten used to playing the long game. It took most of a year, but she was confessing now. It solved several mysteries concerning last summer in his mind - three months was an excessively long time to go without any word at all from Dazmond, a long time to notice the lack of a familiar figure in Knockturn. But Landis was loathe to infringe upon her well-loved freedom, and while he had made some discreet inquiries among the usual alley lot he had not approached her husband to ask, or Dolly, or Dominik. He had stewed instead in his own quiet paranoia and worry until she'd popped back up again, indomitable as ever, refusing to say where she'd been. He hadn't pressed. Now, he knew he should have.

Someone knew where she'd been, though. Landis did not know the private investigator of which Dazmond spoke, but he would be easy to find. A vague, amorphous thought drifted through Landis' head, looking for anchorage: if she was so closely monitored, then everyone she met with was noted... myself included. He waved the thought away with some annoyance. It was more of a matter for Dazmond's private clients to worry about, not him.

This made it easier though, gave him an easy, straight-forward plan of action. Find Jonas, extract the name, kill the man. The path to what he wanted wasn't always so direct. And if he waited... it had been months and months of survellience without recapture, which spoke of both a patience and an intellect Landis did not want focused on Dazmond. A wide work base, to watch her so - plenty of money - and the kind of man who would wear a sleek purple suit. (His cousin Darian sold such suits. Landis silently weighed the pros and cons of questioning him about his customers.) That she had someone like this after her was bad enough. That they were eccentric and rich doubled the threat. A man who had money had no limits; this had to end as soon as possible before something happened to Dazmond again.

"You, me, the boys? We're in this together yea? Fuck me, just like old times."

He couldn't help but smile, feeling a brief flare of warmth at Dolly's words entirely separate from the drink. It was something that she'd say, wasn't it. Now she could take care of Dazmond, hold her, make sure that she was all right, and Landis could take care of... other things. He sent a sidelong glance at Cinaed, at Dominik; yes, they would find this man.

She was across the table, too far away from him to take her hand or touch her shoulder. He comforted her instead with the ring of truth in his voice, the casual confidence and the resolute certainty in his direct: "We'll find out what happened, Dazmond." The We will find HIM went unspoken, because as much as it would have comforted Landis were he in her situation to hear talk of swift and thorough revenge, he suspected Dazmond might be less than thrilled at her closest friends taking on someone so powerful. It was the damage to her that was most important to rectify... and if it was better, they could inform her of the death of this bogeyman after she herself had recovered. She'd done this long enough on her own. Memory charms were finicky things, but that she'd already remembered part of her abduction suggested the rest may still come flooding back. His voice, when he spoke again, was not brisk and businesslike but tender and coaxing, pairing sweetly with Dolly's physical affection as they both directed their complete attention to their mutual friend.

"Tell me about this potion. You say it's resistant to testing; still, do you think you made it?" 

Juliette sank a shoulder gingerly into the doorframe, making not a sound. The cabin was cozy, the buzz of the ale pleasant on her mind. She had excused herself from the group for a moment to catch her breath and comb her fingers through her hair, and to swallow down a glass of water in the interim.

Halos swam around everyone-- despite a few less than angelic moves during the earlier poker match-- and she was content to keep silent and watch her acquaintances (old and new) as they philosophized and engage in semi-heated conversation about summers past. Despite not knowing many of them, nor having much idea about their current discussion, Juliette felt comfortable. It was with much thanks to Landis, who had played the (somewhat unexpected) role of social commentator, murmuring names, whispering poker tips, and bumping shoulders to warmly share anecdotes to whatever was being discussed.

Glass in hand, she watched him through an inebriated haze as he seemed to speak in a silent language. His eyes were on Dazmond, and he seemed none too happy to hear her confession. Dolly provided the shoulder to lean on, however, rendering Landis’ affection more covert, subtle... strange.

She had suspected only a moment ago, while staring at the moon and her own opaque reflection in the kitchen window, that the evening was winding down, that she might steal the librarian away and wander up to the castle, or else curl up beside him on the couch and shut her eyes  against his svelte frame while they placed bets on who could make it until morning.

However, something seemed to stir everyone into sobriety; a disturbing man was mentioned, an unease flitted through the otherwise cozy cabin. Juliette raised her tilted head from the wooden frame of the threshold at the mention of a potion. Her eyes found Dazmond, her lips parted. She wandered carefully into the room, sinking down beside Landis, whom a moment ago she was studying as if were a particularly enticing feather pillow. She cupped her drink over her knees and waited for the answer to the question he had asked. Her eyes never left the woman who once upon time ago had also been Landis' lover.

"Do you still have the vial?" She asked, adding her own inquiry, her mind flitting over the details of the story, and zeroing in once more on the potion.

Attentive, Dominik had turned halfway towards his sister and Dolores, left arm resting on the cushion proper as he continued playing the passive observer.  His countenance was at a medial point between lackadaisical and the characteristic heaviness of deep concern, but still he said nothing.  Brow heavy as it ever was, he rested in his own reflection of the moment, smoking and drinking pensively as many thoughts collided in his mind:  he could see and sense the darkness he'd come to know as Dazmond's own; the level to which it matched the bedtime stories shared to them by their father was startling.  And yet he still felt he should be in the role of her grand protector.... 

Just as Tawse had voiced the question that was on Dominik's mind, just as Dolly reassured and Landis led, and Juliette followed in the direction of the potion....  Dominik began to become aware of the coming together of forces.  He looked at Dazmond, saw the tremble that she kept quiet, and heard her words from the night before.  She had said that she didn't want help.  Not his nor anyone else's.  She'd said what she wanted was to be as strong as stone; a woman but, even more than that, a Witch.  She'd told him it was this - this need, that had kept him from Rocio, Niobe, Dolly, even Dazmond herself; for she supposed his loyalty caused him to act chivalrous, and there was no higher fault for a man to possess.  He should have learned by now that the Witch was meant to have the first and the last word, fight and brutal danger of death and all.

It was this backstory that made him look so heavily curious at Dazmond now.  Why was she drawing them all in like this, if what she wanted was to persevere in the strength of her own solitude?  He listened as intently as he could; she had her reasons.  And still the reactions of the others gave him insight.  She was not soliciting their help, she was....

Yes, Dolly pinned it, probably without even knowing she'd done so.  They were together.  "You, me, the boys...."  Daz was only looking for that.  She wanted their love and their support, for whatever purpose she would, by herself, put that love towards.

But Dolly's words and Dolly's embrace caused Dominik further consternation.  Seeing her with Dazmond like that made her look to him like a matured, matronly beauty with a golden soul.  Her reassurances painted their shared path in silver, drew him to her, made him feel like her quiet conspirator and loyal enthusiast.  He took a moment to look at Dolly, as ready to stand back with her as he was with Dazmond.  The both of them were previously so easy to figure out, to coddle and protect with his life, to keep in a pretty little box to conjure Dolly's own words to him....  But in this moment both women seemed so mysterious, and enough so for Dominik to put all of his immediate reactions aside, in order to watch these two true Witches in an act of becoming that they seemed to share.

He didn't need to speak, for the others were doing a fine job of asking the questions he might have raised.  Instead Dominik waited and hearkened, his eyes dancing between Daz and Dolly, occasionally gliding towards the others, reading the room like a fly on the wall.

What memories Dazmond seemed to maintain only further ruled out any of the usual Knockturn crowd.  There was, of course, no shortage of dark wizards and unsavory characters lurking down the shadowed twists and turns but most thought well of their resident potioneer.  Those that might have held some peculiar grudge or might have picked her as a random stalking victim likely wouldn't have had the initiative to follow the woman to some sea cave.  They were, by and large, a lazy bunch - more apt to linger in a dark alley, waiting for their victim to come to them rather than follow them to the edge of the earth.  And, Cinaed couldn't think of anyone who'd have the disposable income to just drop almost a thousand galleons in their victim's pocket. 

He shifted more upright in his seat when Dazmond mentioned Lexus and her former employee.  There were too many questions surrounding both Dale and Trevelyan and not nearly enough answers.  His curiosity had been piqued by the man and his 'associate' when they'd first visited his pub.  "So, Trevelyan knows?"  Cinaed asked, leaning forward in his seat, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair.  "He's with the Auror office, you know.  He was two of the Aurors and Raynor when they busted in at my home.  Did record come from the Auror office or his private endeavors?" 

Dazmond's story was as peculiar as it was unsettling.  A quick glance at the cluster of party-goers revealed the variety of different responses each person at Dazmond's side was having.  Dolly was playing the roll of comforter and motivator quite admirably.  The fellow potioneer's interested seemed to be focused on the women's shared talents.  Cinaed met Landis' glance and nodded, disregarding any presence or absence of a request for help from Dazmond.  If what Trevelyan had told Dazmond was the truth, the plights of Knockturn had, once again, been deemed not worthy of risking the Ministry's time or manpower.  He wasn't about to allow this unknown outsider to do as he would through Cinaed's home and community.

"I'm planning on a meeting with Trevelyan in a few days."  Not that Treveylan was aware of this.  But, there were some matters to discuss.  To ... come to an understanding on.  The breach of trust, Lexus and, now, this.  "You say he knows who this wizard is?"

Cinaed was hardly a protege of potions so he left the investigation to those better suited for it.  However, he was no stranger to the use of information gathering potions and serums.  "Have you considered a truth serum?  Those damn things will unlock truths and secrets you didn't even know you had.  I'd see blokes in Azkaban start reliving memories they didn't even know they still had whenever the guards questioned them.  Maybe, that'd dredge up those memories that are just out of reach."

It was amazing how quickly it went from being a deeply guarded secret to a public and shared weight.  It was a curious solution brewing inside her soul, an alchemical wedding of love and terror, the giving and the needing to take.  Dazmond Wiedman let her gaze be stolen; she looked at her beautiful friend and smiled a full and genuine grin, sad but melting.  It was gorgeous the way Dolly's eyes bloomed with her words of togetherness and support, how the room bloomed with her.  Dazmond caressed the arm that encased her, lovingly, resting for the moment in Dolly's embrace as her eyes followed the added promises, questions....  There was something in her exterior that willingly gave to the reassurances, even as her internal mind-state spun into a place of overwhelming activation.

Her gaze turned toward Landis and was more than a simple gaze, her blue-green eyes zeroing in on a near-stare, probing and shadowed, fluid and knowing.  When he posed his question, she was loosely holding Dolly's arms in their signature, lazy looping of limbs, but the attention of her eyes -- glazed and penetrating -- was entirely set on Landis and the straight-forward guidance he issued.

"It had to have been mine," she said firmly.  "It was in my boot."  The words were spoken steadily and with full conviction, standing for themselves in an insidious way; they might have meant little but to Landis or Dolores they may have had a persuasive power all their own.  From a fairly young age, certainly as long as she'd known Landis, Daz had kept a shrouded stash pocket in her right boot.  Take the boot off and search it all you want, you'd have to know the trick to fish out whatever treasures she'd trapped there. 

Her eyes, so steadily set on Landis, slid suddenly to the sphinx-like stature of Juliette and wavered at her added inquiry.  "I -- yeah," she said.  Her grip hardened round Dolly's clothes momentarily, wired with the with-held knowledge that the vial was sitting right there in her pocket.  Her brows slightly inclined, and the thumping grew noticeable in her breast.  It had suddenly dawned on her that, if any of them knew where it rested, it would be literally taken out of her hands.  There was no feasible situation where they would allow her to drink the potion, knowing full-well what consequences it could bring.  She saw then, a faint glow outlining the vial in her pocket; it was beginning to shine through the bloody fabric of her trousers!  Dazmond placed her hand over it as if holding her hip in a stiffened embrace.

She avoided Dominik's gaze altogether and instead looked towards Cinaed.  Amidst the inner chaos his admonition of Jonas's new-found Auror status flew completely over her head.  Perhaps in her excited state the newness of the information was incompatible with her sense of reason.  Whatever the case, she focused on his protection.

"I don't know that he knows much," she said quickly.  "Far as I could see he was just a bloke y'know, a bloke doing a job, and a job he didn't have a choice in doing any more than I had in being his subject of study, like.  It's the last I'd want to see him hurt for being dragged into this same as me."  She swallowed, her face strangely contorted for an instant.  "It was just...  with Lexus, in his office.  It was one of his -- private investigation case files." 

Dazmond was quiet a moment, looking ahead at the table.  Then she drew Dolly in for a tight hug, the kind you give when the mood is tense and the closeness is appreciated but you are, nevertheless, aiming to get up.  She pressed a kiss to the corner of the other Witch's lips, squeezed her hand, and lifted up to a standing position, hands on her hips and still concealing the vial.  In a light-hearted manner she shook her head out, then looked over the gathered faces with an almost apologetic, humoured smile, needing to escape from being the centre of attention for the strange pull she felt that none of them would ever get behind.

"Sorry," she said.  "Salazar knows I wasn't aiming to lower the mood!  Have another drink, all round.  Me, I have to pee something terrible," she laughed.  "I'll be right back."  She twirled on the spot, bounce in her step set to reassure as she headed for the privacy of the wash room.

She pressed the door lightly behind her till it clicked shut, and let out a slow, shaky breath.  She ran the water a trickle and placed her hands firmly either side of the sink.  Looking up into her reflection, she gazed into her own eyes a short while, exhaling carefully.  There was nothing for it any more.  It hadn't been the going it alone that she had suffered, it was the not knowing.  A part of her had always known that she wouldn't be satiated fully until she knew what this potion really was, what it would do with her, why she had packed it.  It could have been a swift and deadly out in case she'd been recaptured during her attempt to escape, and still she'd rather drink it  now than to never find out.

She straightened up and turned the tap off, reaching slowly into her pants pocket to retrieve the vial.  She held it up before her, briefly flashing back to when Nathan held it before his face, tapped its side, declared she'd been tampering with tests.  The clear potion sloshed lazily and with a rather new glowing glimmer, clinging to the sides of the glass with an oily vicissitude as it twinkled at her, winkingly.  Dazmond, in a shockingly surreal instant she'd been unconsciously preparing for for months, uncorked the vial and pressed it to her lips, gulping down the tasteless stew and swallowing hard in flowing, forceless movements that seemed somehow beyond her control.

She'd barely felt the trickle of the last drops when her fair frame slumped to the floor.  In a tangle, she stared wide-eyed into a blurry hollow and gaped, no real sound emitting forth from her lips.  Suddenly she felt a hot convulsion in her limbs and chest, and she startlingly shot upward in the air, hitting the ceiling with a loud crash where she stuck, looking downward, unable to make any sound but short gasps from her new home on the ceiling as fire and ice shot through her veins and her world became as if in a dream, the mess of sounds in her head overwhelmingly loud and... serpentine.

Nate only had an inkling of what Dazmond had been planning.  Despite their proclaimed and much-proud strange bedfellows marriage arrangement, everything had been wierd and slightly off since last summer.  The year between them had been trying for so many reasons.  Her bamboozled summer, their sudden wealth that had netted them a piano for their apartment,  his explosion, arrest and his brand new status as Knockturn Stool Pidgeon.  Daz's part in the tainted Wolfsbane Potion.  The Briggs-Wiedman partnership had felt the strain.

And so Nate had only a half-inkling of what all this was about.  Calevaras kept him very late in the kitchens, and it wasn't until they'd all moved to a second location that he was able to catch up.  And even then, clearly all too late.

If the cabin's denizens had been paying attention they'd have heard his Apparition crack outside and the seven keys opening seven locks.  But even as he did so, another loud noise heralded his entrance - although he had no idea what it was... a thud?  He hurried in.

The first thing he saw when he walked in were a few very unwelcome faces:  Tawse.  St. James.  And to some degree Brother Wiedman.  The second thing he saw was the very conspicuous absence of Dazmond.  He furrowed his brow.

"How the hell are ya...?" he greeted the room with little love in his voice.  "Well...?"  He went on, his elipsis demanding an explanation for this whole mess he didn't approve of in the first place.

Dolly watched as the room fell together; layered in support and love for Dazmond. She offered the physical comfort, the bracing shield Dazmond clung to as she carried on her heavy tale. That was what she was good at; whether anyone knew it or not. The symbiotic nature of response from each person in the room filled the writer with a sense of both purpose and alliance. She loved each and every single one of them more for their reaction to the information - even Landis. It was a strange balance between the way they hated one another and the fact they'd both trade their lives to protect their most cherished girl.

She was hesitant to let go; even when Dazmond squeezed her tightly. There was an empty antsy feeling that filled Dolly's stomach. To let go of the tiny woman at all seemed an absolutely awful idea. Dolly'd let her eyes off Dazmond before and it had ended in her friend's summer "adventure"; it was with a harsh pang of guilt Dolly realized she couldn't protect what she couldn't see. If she didn't watch the sharp featured Potion Guru she could be stolen away from them just as easily as before - and then who knew if they would ever get her back? Even in all this time Daz had been acting as though nothing had changed it obviously had. She was not who she had been.

As the former Slytherin slithered off to the bathroom Dolly let her eyes drop to Dominik for only the second or third time that evening. She wondered how much he knew and for how long he'd known. Sitting there with his arm braced against the couch his expression was foreign to her - it was unsettling. She'd been reading his face since she could walk, to not know exactly what he was thinking was as terrifying as the idea of Dazmond held hostage somewhere. She started to speak, her lips forming words drowned out by a crashing noise from down the hall just as Dazmond's supposed better half burst through the door.

Despite being thoroughly drunk (though sobered greatly from the conversation that had taken place just prior) the boisterous author was on her feet in one surreal motion, "Daz, the loo-" she was hurrying toward the hall, without so much as a glance to Nate. She could give a flying fuck what he wanted or needed to know. He hadn't been there moments before when he should have been, he could see himself right back out that door as far as she was concerned. Trying the door it felt... stuck? It wasn't locked, more as though something was blocking it, from the top?  "Dazmond! Open the bloody door," there was a distinct note of desperation  to her voice as she shoved against it with her shoulder, voice becoming frantic as she yelled back toward the main room, "Will one of you come fecking help me? I can't get it open"!

The two events were nearly simultaneous. Landis' lip had barely had time to curl at Brigg's not-terribly-unexpected entrance when a loud crash from the bathroom made him leap to his feet like a startled cat. Dolly made a dash for the bathroom and he was right after her, arriving a moment after she did as she struggled with the door.

He didn't bother with an unlocking spell, not if the door was stuck. Instead he shouldered Dolly aside, wand already in hand - "Confringo!" - and then as the hinges and the lock both shattered he yanked the door backward. It fell outward and he maneuvered it to the floor without paying the slightest attention to what his hands were doing, because as soon as it'd been removed they could all see Dazmond, gasping and shaking on the bathroom ceiling.

Fear bloomed in the pit of his stomach. He didn't need the proof of the empty vial to know what she'd done.

She was gaping, wide-eyed, and Landis feared convulsions with every tightening muscle that showed itself in her thin limbs; they had to get her down. He petrified her to keep her from doing more harm as she was lowered, directed with a flick of his wand for her prone form to slide far enough out of the bathroom that one or more persons could gather around. Then he released the bodybind, bent over her - maybe she could still talk, perhaps, perhaps -

Drinking an untested potion...it was stupid, irresponsible, completely dangerous and ill-advised, and therefore exactly what Dazmond would do. But she wouldn't want to be taken to St. Mungo's. Too many questions, too many Aurors, and she wasn't out of the clear yet after the Runespoor case, was she?

Runespoor... no. That was too much of a stretch. But whatever this potion was, they only had before she died to diagnose it. Dazmond was such an idiot. How selfish to leave those who loved her, how selfish to perhaps remove in one stupid stroke the person that they loved. But if she'd had her mind set on drinking this, she'd have known they'd never have let her. So at once she'd done what she'd wanted to do, and managed it in such a way that although none of them would approve of it they really had no choice but to help her. No choice but to do their damned best to save her. Selfish and cunning, his Dazmond was.

"Dazmond? Can you speak?" He ran eyes over her face, her body, fingers going to feel the pulse in her wrist. But they could only tell the outward symptoms, and if she could talk she could tell them what she was feeling. Landis had no medical training, but the precautions and training given to those who worked with experimental potions in the DoM would have to be sufficient. That was less medical than it was knowing which potions did what, which symptoms might be caused by which accidental inhale or an ingredient dangerous when soaked through the skin. But it had been - over a year since he'd worked there - his blue eyes caught and pinned Juliette. She might know. He gestured for her to come with the deceptively calm crook of his fingers and the low way he murmured her name, only the unease born of quickening fear visible on his face.

Next his eyes went to Dolly, then Cináed, and finally the husband Briggs. "Are you out of trouble for that Runespoor mess yet?" he demanded of Nate and, more to Dolly (who was in this situation his complete confidant, the one who would be in perfect agreement with anything they'd do to protect Dazmond) but also to  Cináed, "I don't know if she'd want to go to St. Mungo's." He didn't say why. They both knew the situation.

Landis felt dizzy, from his quick movements, from the drink. He pushed it aside. He needed to be as sober as possible, and whatever it was in him that hadn't been killed by the sight of his best friend on the bathroom ceiling would just have to be ignored.