The door to the Leaky Cauldron swung open, letting in the close summer evening. From over the top of a copy of the Daily Prophet, the eyes of Tarelin Faust appeared, peering to see who had entered. A pair of giddy twenty-somethings staggered into the famous wizarding pub, arms linked, before glancing around, giggling at nothing and rushing across the tavern floorboards and out through the door leading into Diagon Alley. Now that the days were getting longer, shops were open later, and more people were shopping after work. Tarelin watched them as they went, before shaking his head and returning to his reading. Like many single people, Tarelin didn’t enjoy watching couples get all giddy. Besides, the pair weren’t who he was waiting for.

He had known Amilč Vaillancourt for a while now, having met her on-off at Hogwarts, and gotten to know her more during their time at the Auror academy. They got along well, quite probably due to them both being separated by just a year in age. Of course, if fate had played its hand differently, both would be Aurors by now, but it was not to be, and Amilč was now Tarelin’s senior. Because of this, the two had become friends, and often met for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron. At Tarelin was first here, he had a pair of drinks sat in front of him: Amilč’s usual, and a mug of butterbeer for himself. After a day’s training, Tarelin preferred the soothing sensation that butterbeer provided to the strong flavour of other drinks the Leaky Cauldron stocked.

The smell of food began to drink from the Leaky Cauldron’s kitchen, clearly a sign that the chefs were getting ready for the evening rush. Tarelin couldn’t help but feel hungry, but decided he’d wait to see if Amilč wanted anything before placing an order. Folding down the newspaper and setting it down on the table next to him, the young wizard glanced around the pub, surveying the other patrons sat around. As he did so, Tarelin took up his drink and sipped at the warming liquid, trying to stave off the temptation of the food’s aroma.

The pub was starting to get busy now, and the staff looked like they might soon become overrun. Among the crowd, a group of three witches and two wizards sat in one corner, all holing the same book and deep in discussion. Tarelin had seen them in here a few times, and was pretty sure they were a book group. He couldn’t help wonder why they didn’t just meet in the most comfortable seats of Flourish and Blotts, but then again he didn’t much mind. Tarelin didn’t care for wizarding fiction, much preferring muggle work: he had a copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, a personal favourite, in his satchel beneath the table. Taking another sip, he watched them for a moment before being brought back to reality.

Amilč had arrived.

Amilč Vaillancourt took one last look at herself in the mirror before heading out the door. She wasn't vain by any measure of the word, but she certainly didn't want to look haggard. The lack of sleep got to everyone sometime or later. That was the best thing about being a charm creating witch, you had a remedy for every fashion faux pas.

At her front door she apparated to a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron. She always enjoyed observing the other denizens of Diagon, so she walked there daily if she could. The shop keepers knew her and the regulars to the alley nodded as she walked by, her flat shoes hardly making a sound on the stones. Before she had left, she had looked with envy at the beautiful pair of heels that she had wznted to wear, but passed them up for more sensable shoes. Constant Vigilence.

She checked the time, she was about two minutes late, but then, she was French. The only thing she was on time for was work... most days she was even a little early just to be safe. But social outings were lax. She didn't need to worry about being right on the dot. After all, two minutes late must've been a record setting time. She was usually ten.

Amilč found Tarelin easily. Having trained with him for years, she recognized him even from the corner of her eye. A smile graced her usually "all-buisniness face" and she walked over to greet him. She chuckled when she saw that he had already ordered drinks. Her training partner was much better at being on time and prepared than she was. 

"Hello, Tarelin," She said, her French accent light. "How was your first week of training without me?" She teased, her red hair falling around her face. Usually, she was much more reserved with anyone, but most of the aurors she had trained with had gained her respect, especially since Tarelin was a year older than her. Only fate would've predicted the injury that caused him to be her "junior." Not by much, though, she had only just graduated to a full Auror a few weeks prior.

Passing Amilč her drink as she sat, Tarelin gave a clearly fake laugh at her first comment. He’d never be able to escape this particular taunt, and he knew it! “Pretty good, actually. In case you didn’t notice by the drink I just got you, we finished on time.” The two had gotten used to given as good as they got, as people did when they had known each other for a while. Besides, it was all in good fun, and Amilč was pretty much on time… Which was early by her track record!

Taking a quick sip from his butterbeer and wiping some stray foam from the corner of his mouth, Tarelin remembered the newspaper set down on the table. Picking it up, he held it in front of him, gesturing with it slightly as if to ask whether Amilč would like a read as he finished his point. “Besides, I’m finishing soon enough, and then we’re level again.” Of all his colleagues during training, Tarelin had regarded Amilč with the most respect, due in part to her skill, and in part to their close age. The trainee would be happier when there wasn’t the difference in title between the two.

Sitting back in his seat, he waited to see what retort she had lined up for him. It was the way of the Auror corp: light-hearted ribbing was all part of the job description.