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Juliette had owled him for want of something to do on Sunday evening. Perhaps it had been too long since she’d had a good row-- the whole castle knew she’d turned into a harpy before Landis Morgan, and now that it had worn off, they were effectively not speaking. She had the energy for barely a syllable of late, and even the music of the puppy’s unthreatening growls in his direction had lost its appeal. She was tired. But May had come, and finally, warmth. Or as much as Scotland could muster before balmy August.

She might have preferred the pub where professors went when they didn’t want to be seen, but that would have Juliette had something to hide. Instead she found herself waiting at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, casually eying the evening crowd. Cameron, as newly appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, also had a reputation to keep, though Juliette was loathe to let his pretty form walk away clean whenever they chanced to meet. It was a game, the drinking, the compliments, the memories, and finally, the alcohol-tinged loosening of the tongue.

He was a timeless sort of man, his face almost cheeky in its refusal to age. He might have been thirty or fifty, and no one was the wiser. The Prophet, of course, saw fit to outline his life in alarmingly magnified detail, and she could only imagine what the tabloids might say if Cameron found his nth wife. Juliette, though, had liked their age difference and his experience. Until recently, it had been what she’d thought she’d wanted. Not having to babysit one’s lover was always a plus in a relationship, even if the man was noted for his pretty row of trophy wives. (And playboy indiscretions.)

But Landis had proved her to be the child, the clingy, resentful, easily tempered one who did not take no for an answer. If that was the same woman Cameron knew, she would never admit as much aloud. Naturally, he, like Landis, had seen her wrath.

Juliette ordered her usual glass of wine and waited for the man to join her at the bar. She would need to congratulate him on his new job. It was no surprise what his ambition had earned him, but it always helped to have a drink to toast. Cameron could order his own, of course; she knew his favorites, but not his mood.

Of all the people who sent him owls to congratulate him (or express their frustrations with a howler) on his new job, he didn’t quite expect Juliette. On a normal day he would perhaps refuse to meet her, blaming his tight work schedule, but now albeit tired he was in a good mood. It was a very tedious, busy weekend; contracts had to be made, statements needed to be given - Cameron was under a lot of pressure and he believed he deserved a drink or two (or five), and having a lovely companion was just an added bonus.

But anyone who knew Juliette well enough could account that she was not all that lovely. Her fiery temper and sometimes childish demands used to give Cameron such awful headaches from time to time. However, she was certainly a character and Cameron couldn’t help but admire how far she came in life at such a young age. Not many people could say they were professors at Hogwarts in their twenties. He was slightly envious of that too - he would love to live in the castle again, there were so many fond memories he wouldn’t mind reliving again.

It seemed like Hogsmeade never really changed much and he was grateful for that. He always felt slightly nostalgic around here, but it was a good sort of nostalgia. As he entered the Three Broomsticks, he couldn’t help but notice how many heads turned in his direction. He tried not to look too distinctive, wearing only formal black robes without the shiny DoMLE badge, but obviously there was not much one could do when his face was all over the newspapers. He hoped he will cease to be “Mr. Popular” in a week’s time…funny how the older he got, the less he enjoyed this sort of attention.

He didn’t have to look around much, her distinctive ginger locks were easy to spot in a relatively crowded bar. She was always impeccably dressed and Cameron couldn’t help but think how unfair it is that his Potions professor was Horace Slughorn while the kids these days had her! He knew he would have put a lot more effort into Potions if his professor looked like that.

“Sorry I’ve kept you waiting, professor,” he said with a faint smile and touched her lightly on the shoulder before sitting at the bar next to her. “Busy times…” he added with a sort of a grumble, then decided to order a glass of red currant rum. “How have you been, my dear?”

Juliette stirred from her wine glass, the red sinking back into the vessel as she set it on the bar and turned her cheek. Her eyes swept over him with subtle approval, and her lips appeared to be swayed against their will into a warm smile. Or perhaps she was perfectly in control, content to greet him nostalgically. One couldn’t quite say; even Juliette was not sure, sure as she usually was where her own will as concerned.

“Sorry I’ve kept you waiting, professor.”

She liked the sound of the word, even if he’d been teasing her. She had not felt like a professor when she’d been hired, but she’d been determined to make a decent one. It was still strange, to wake up and mold the minds of thirteen year old boys instead of dabbling with raw ingredients and producing scents in the solitude of a laboratory.

“Sadly, I can’t take points from Ravenclaw alumni.” She briefly brushed the hand on her shoulder in greeting, and then turned more fully toward him as he sank into the seat beside hers. Juliette's arm rested gently on the bar. Once his order was squared away, she began to speak.

“I’ve had better months,” she admitted. “Children really do detest exams. I always remember being more... vicious about it.” But when Juliette thought back to her childhood, she never really thought of a child, as most people tended not to. The continuity of one’s memories turned time into something half-meaningless, half-enviable. “Should I encourage them to pursue openings in your department now that you’ve been promoted?” She teased, grinning over her glass as she took another sip. The idea of some freshly graduated mother’s boy waltzing into Cameron’s office with a resume in one hand and a briefcase in the other (while his wand was checked upon welcome) was laughable. She wondered how many years it would take to get that high, and then considered the man before her.

“Tell me about your new office. Preferably what I don’t hear in the papers. The taste for gossip on this side of the channel...” She made a melodic mmm noise, though she was obviously as susceptible as anyone. As were the French, who loved a good bit of drama. "You look well, if that's any indication." Whether there was a woman behind it, or just his usual perpetual wealth of charm, she could only guess.

“That’s good news; I don’t want to cause the Ravenclaw house any more problems,” he replied with a small smile, remembering how bitter he felt every time his house lost points thanks to his need to hex everything that moved or wander around the castle during the night, doing truly horrible things. Those were such good times though, but unfortunately they also reminded him how much time has passed and how far from that cocky, pretentious young boy he was today.

Juliette could complain about her pupils all she wanted, but Cameron knew she could handle her job. Many things could be said about her, but she was a competent woman who probably even enjoyed the looks on her students’ faces when she would announce an exam. “Encourage only the sharpest ones,” he replied smiling back at her, liking the sound of the phrase ‘your department’. Yes, it was his department now, even though it sounded completely surreal – it will certainly take some time to get used to the title.

“Tell me about your new office. Preferably what I don’t hear in the papers. The taste for gossip on this side of the channel...”

He couldn’t help but laugh slightly at this; the Prophet loved to write such scandalous half-truths about him (he wouldn’t even think of the tripe he glanced over once or twice in the Witch Weekly) and Juliette’s curiosity was quite amusing. “Well, this weekend was very busy, a lot of running around…But I couldn’t really tell you much about my new job, since my first official day is tomorrow.” He pretty much knew what to expect, but he still tried very hard to make himself feel busy, so he wouldn’t dwell too much on it. “As for the gossip…well, it’s not true I married for the fifth time,” he chuckled. “For now,” he added with a small spark in his eye.

“I look terrible,” was his simple answer. He was tired and overworked and the last time he looked in the mirror, he greeted a reflection of an old man with many problems. But if he by any chance still looked even slightly appealing he could only thank his house elf for taking such good care of him (incidentally – he wondered what he made for dinner tonight). But he wouldn’t be mentioning that tonight. “You however, look as lovely as ever. What have you been doing with yourself besides teaching?”

“That’s good news; I don’t want to cause the Ravenclaw house any more problems.”

“They do have their share,” she conceded, as if it were regrettable. Not particularly. Juliette had not been schooled in the fine arts mascot-worship and team swagger. When Beauxbatons children got into fights, it was because their peers were being stupid. When they played Quidditch, the teams were independent of any definable category. The students who were best at their sport were picked. But she supposed it was not the best thing to say out loud now that Hogwarts was paying her to educate after their hoards of emblemed ruffians in color-coded silk ties.

If Slytherin happened to win the upcoming match, they would also win the House Cup. Salazar’s little serpents had the edge on House Points this year, but Ravenclaw was not far behind. Gryffindor was another story, a tragedy that would surely kill its founder’s famed ego after its thousand-year immortalization.

If Juliette had cause to see Slytherin win, she said nothing. Still, she had grown fond of those who dwelled in the dungeons. Perhaps it was common sense a vicinity thing.

“Encourage only the sharpest ones,”

“There we might have a problem.” She was still grinning mischievously. She was joking, of course. There were plenty of-- or a few, at least-- sharp minds in her upper classes, and some of the young children show promise as well. But it was, Juliette felt, a different landscape than her own youth had been. It made her feel strangely old for fleeting moments, before she came to her senses. She was not so squeamish about growing as she was settling down. And now... well “But if I find your future wife, I’ll be sure to point her in your direction.”

“Well, this weekend was very busy, a lot of running around…But I couldn’t really tell you much about my new job, since my first official day is tomorrow.”

“And already so much publicity. You had better not disappoint them, Cameron. The Ministry’s track record for losing their employees of late is...” Almost as bad as Hogwarts.

“As for the gossip…well, it’s not true I married for the fifth time. For now.”

“Do you think if we’d been married, we would be divorced by now?” It was an earnest question, though spiced with enough humor to keep it friendly. Casual. She did not want to tear into him so soon. She had asked herself the same once or a dozen times, and she knew what her parents would have said if that had been her fate. It was easier for men to replant themselves.

She shook her head, but nodded when the barman landed a drink in front of Cameron with an easeful wave of his wand. Terrible? “Only when you moan like that.”

Accustomed to compliments from well-bred men, Juliette was nevertheless touched. “I may have found a new tailor,” she murmured off-handedly. A joke. Her dress was not new, and where she might have sought Darian Morgan’s services for all of five minutes upon learning his profession, she now knew that it was not going to happen. He had given her much to think about it, none of it sweet. She considered what to say, pensively sipping her wine. “I’ve... discovered an affection for younger men. A younger man.” By ‘younger,’ she meant a year younger than herself. In other words, they were the same age, but Juliette had always believed that males matured at a rate dismal to that of females. She had thus kept company almost exclusively with men like Cameron from the time she’d graduated. “Does this mean I’m getting old like you? I know they get younger each year.”

He smirked when she joked about finding him a new wife in Hogwarts. As if he was looking for one! And it was sort of a cruel myth that he liked such young girls; such stories usually filled the pages of papers like the Witch Weekly or anything Rita Skeeter ever wrote about him. “But would you really condemn some poor girl to living with me?”

“And already so much publicity. You had better not disappoint them, Cameron. The Ministry’s track record for losing their employees of late is...”

“Atrocious, I know,” he said, this time with a slightly grim note. But Cameron was not a man who deluded himself;  he wasn’t  where he was now so he would suddenly fix all the problems Level Two faced and with a swish of his wand arrest all the criminals. “But I swear I wasn’t behind the assassination of my predecessor – I didn’t want this job quite so badly.” It was said in a light, conversational manner, like a joke, even though Cameron usually didn’t make jokes like this. It was once again the fault of the press. He remembered The Quibbler calling him a 'Callous, blood-thirsty playboy'…and a vampire.

“Do you think if we’d been married, we would be divorced by now?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly, without any hesitation, which probably came out rather ungallant. But what a silly question! Oh, women were so, so silly! Their relationship didn’t survive, so how did she think a marriage would? She also worked at Hogwarts – what good would a wife be for him if she lived in Scotland while he was in London? He knew he had a slight problem with women and the whole “marriage thing”, but it wasn’t  something that really affected his life so terribly. He would marry so impulsively because deep down he wanted a family, but then soon realize he didn’t want it with that person…or maybe anyone. It was his family’s fault. But how did she possibly think they could have lasted that long? After she witnessed what kind of a cold, loveless person he could become and how he never truly loved anyone, anyone but Cameron Rosier himself and that ever elusive and special lady – the Ministry. “Come now Juliette, do you really see yourself as my wife?” He smiled slightly, keeping the tone just as friendly as she did and graced her with a sincere, broad smile.

Taking a sip of his drink he ignored her comment about him moaning about things, but was mildly interested when she mentioned a “new tailor”. Whatever that meant, it sounded amusing and Cameron was interested to hear the entire story…which however took a slightly unexpected turn.

“I’ve... discovered an affection for younger men. A younger man.”

Rosier couldn’t help but laugh a bit at this. Did she realize what this sounded like? And even though he knew Juliette didn’t mean it that way, it was just too amusing to let it go. “Blimey! And you’re telling me about the Ministry losing employees…What do you think they’ll do to you when they find out about your…affection for that one lucky student, huh?” Ignoring the jab about him being old, he just added with a subtle nod; “Yes probably, but getting old was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“But would you really condemn some poor girl to living with me?”

“You aren’t so bad when you remember work won’t please you in bed,” she offered, tilting her head and smiling half-kind, half-knowing. “And when you aren’t drinking...” She noted his glass, and took another sip from her own. She’d invited him for a drink, anyway. Or perhaps for the exact reason that he was so easy to tease with a few in him.

For a moment, she studied him seriously, the smile evaporated as his own face grew momentarily telling. It was not a pleasant truth, the fate of the man who had come before him. And if Cameron faced similar threats...

Easier as it was to brush it off with laughter, to pin him for some cheeky assassin in a pretty suit, she did care for him, worry after him, even. They had not been an easy creature to wrestle, the pair of them together, but there had been lovely moments, too, and Juliette had learned much of life while sharing his.

“Never mind your reputation or what I think,” a brief smile flickered and faded with the teasing suggestion that he had, in fact, offed his predecessor. “It might not have been so personal for the person who actually did him in. I hope your blazers are Avada Kedavra proof. Your pretty head must come at a lofty price.”

Juliette glanced over his features and knew it was truer than she would have liked.

“Yes,”

His answer was quick and honest, and Juliette could hardly look offended, but she pressed her lips together and held her drink steady, waiting.

“Come now Juliette, do you really see yourself as my wife?”

His smile cracked her. She began to laugh as suddenly as he’d spoken the single word yes. Her eyes fluttered shut and shook her head in reply. “But I would have looked cuter in an apron than any of the others,” she said at last, sobering and pinning him with a glance. Laboratory apron was a minor, unnecessary detail. Her brand of breakfast in bed was also less traditional.

“…What do you think they’ll do to you when they find out about your…affection for that one lucky student, huh?”

And then it was his turn to laugh. Juliette let out a small, annoyed breath, and pointed an accusing finger at him; it danced in the space between them. “Your nerve is a lot bigger than other things.” Her eyes flickered down to his lap, and back up just quickly, and her grin was edged with friendly viciousness now. She was lying, but boldly so.

“Yes probably, but getting old was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

She tilted her head again; the wine made the habit more frequent. “I like this attitude. At least until I’m on my death bed, then I’ll think about that terrible man who worded old age so prettily.” Pretty, pretty, pretty... everything about him was just that on the surface. Or perhaps it wasn't. Landis was pretty, pretty and lethal; Cameron was... a shark in man's clothing. His smile could bite, but it wasn't until he'd sunk his teeth in that you figured out you were bleeding. They were different sides of a shadow.

“But since you say such pleasant things, tell me... why is it required of you mystery men to block your own shots?” It was the kinder way of asking why Cameron was nearing his fifth wife with no foreseeable future of contentment, and why Landis preferred cruel words to simple, honest answers. Different problems, to be sure, but with similar outcomes.

“Speaking of drinking,” he said while finishing his rum. “Another round?” Without waiting for her response, he signalled the bartender to bring them the second round of drinks. Juliette wouldn’t say no, of course. And she could tease him all she wanted about how he’s not exactly pleasant after a couple of drinks, he’ll probably have even wittier or more daring answers to her constant japes.

It was a bit amusing to him how she suddenly seemed serious when he mentioned Robards. It was sweet that she was worried, but there was nothing that could be done. His life was always in danger anyway, but this time it was just a bit more exposed to the public eye (unfortunately). “Don’t you worry about my pretty head. Nothing will happen to me – Puck takes excellent care of me.” Typical Rosier to avoid all the seriousness and turn this into another joke. Poor Puck the house elf was maybe an excellent cook and kept the house perfectly tidy, but something told Cameron he would be a dreadful bodyguard. He didn’t want to concern her with this stuff though; it was too early to talk about threats he might receive or attempts on his life. All in due time.

“But I would have looked cuter in an apron than any of the others,”

He waited for the fit of laughter to pass. But he couldn’t help but notice how she never commented on his honest answer. Maybe it was a bit too honest, but Juliette knew him well, she should have known he thinks that way. And he also knew her well enough to realize he probably managed to strike a nerve. “Apron, huh?” He said with a smirk. “I never thought you of all people would support that claim that all women truly do belong in the kitchen.” Rosier knew perfectly well what she actually meant, but he just couldn’t help himself – this is what she gets for shamelessly laughing at him.

But he was pleased he actually managed to annoy her with his joke, it was priceless to see that little frown on her face.

“Your nerve is a lot bigger than other things.”

“Ah, other things such as that little boy you discovered an affection for? Yes, quite.” He said even more viciously, completely ignoring what she implied with her statement. Just when she thought she had the upper hand, he would very quickly come up with an answer. Maybe it wasn’t fair – arguing and deceiving was a huge part of his job…but she wasn’t some innocent school girl – she could take this sort of banter.

He would spare her all the negative points of aging though, he wouldn’t ruin the fun for her. Maybe she wouldn’t quite like being older like he did. He looked around Hogsmeade feeling nostalgic and even wishing he could relive some of his school days again, but honestly he would never trade all the wisdom and experience he had now just to be that arrogant, ignorant boy once more.

“But since you say such pleasant things, tell me... why is it required of you mystery men to block your own shots?”

Cameron wasn’t sure what to say to this. She knew some of his struggles, his family, his work…he wouldn’t talk about that stuff now, it was all too grim. “Because I would be bored otherwise,” he said smiling, not really knowing what she wanted him to say. How could he tell her that what fulfilled him wasn’t a wife or a house or anything material, but simply his job. It was not an enjoyable job, but that sense of responsibility was everything to him. “Because life is more amusing when you ask someone ‘Would you be my wife number five?’, I guess.”

Juliette lifted her chin slightly, drained her glass, and pulled away with a smile. “Another round,” she echoed.

“Your house elf can’t cast a Shield Charm,” she reminded him. On the plus side, the poor creature couldn’t cast a Cruciatus Curse, either. Cameron, on the other hand...

“I never thought you of all people would support that claim that all women truly do belong in the kitchen.”

Juliette wanted to roll her eyes, but thought better. That wouldn’t do much to prove she wasn’t childish-- nor that she was truly interested in knowing what exactly made them so stubborn, these men. She lifted the stem of her new glass, considering his cheekiness; perhaps she’d disturbed the hornet’s nest, and he was deflecting. She wasn’t going to swallow it silently, though. A pretty little head wasn't all she had. “Oh, yes, submission is my secret pleasure. But aprons-- do you know there’s a whole subgenre of...” The barman caught her attention, gesturing to the bottle from which he’d been pouring her glasses. She shook her head; he’d only just provided her another round. She wanted to match Cameron in all things, but he still had a few traits working in his favor, even if he made a grumpy drunk. She turned back to said drinking companion, smiling at his clever little smirk-- as if to nonchalantly suggest the only thing she might brew in his kitchen was poison.

“Don’t mistake me. By younger, I mean not old enough to have grandchildren.” Her eyes caught his, the meaning plain. Though she wasn’t supposed to be defending Landis, not now that he’d so seamlessly ruined their arrangement (or perhaps that had been Juliette), she wasn’t going to let Cameron dismiss him. She’d come here with purpose! To insult an old lover, and let him buy her drinks.

Bored. Oh, what a charming fool.

“Because life is more amusing when you ask someone ‘Would you be my wife number five?’, I guess.”

There was truth in his answer; she was actually somewhat surprised that he'd given her that much, but he was still avoiding the heart of it.

“Amusing... yes. That's what you think you are. Underneath, you’re quite soft.” He couldn't blame her for taking it there. Or maybe he could. Juliette did not envy the rest of the bar's patrons if Cameron didn't wish to discuss this. But they were old friends... sharing opinions. She clarified before he could cheekily accuse her of slandering him as some cruel villain in his day to day life; it was a different sort of thing than his usual charm. “You're sweet. You're a perfect teddy bear when you want to be. A gentleman. But that part is easy for you, isn't it? You must be terrified to find the right woman. You’d rather juggle assassins than become too attached.” So he’d buy a pretty ring and a pretty house for a pretty girl, and look so pretty in public... This might have been Juliette’s night to interrogate him about the male sex, the one she'd thought she'd knew quite a bit about, to beg his help, but she found herself speaking her mind, reading him instead of listening to him read Landis-- whom, of course, he’d never met. But that was a minor detail. One ex was sure to offer some insight about another. Unknowingly, perhaps, but...

“Really,” she said soberly, commanding his attention. “I wanted it to be as casual as he did. But...” Landis was right, she’d become attached. It was a bitter thought, his being right. “It can’t have been just me,” she insisted. “Do I really look like the colleague you just have sex with and sometimes invite to parties?” It was dangerous territory. Juliette was predisposed to mutually beneficial relationships. Business savvy people surrounded her. She had been that before, with mutual understanding, and with Landis it might as well have been inked on parchment. But with Landis... They’d grown closer, she’d thought. They didn’t speak of it; it was unspoken, but that didn’t discount it. She’d met his family, he’d introduced her to his friends. If it wasn’t some sort of initiation... Juliette didn’t know. Men were perpetrators of mixed signals as often as they decried females for being too moody. “And he can’t just tell me...” She murmured angrily. She was speaking in fragments, as much to herself as to Cameron. Juliette was socially adjusted, usually clever, able to carry on a conversation with ease. But she’d been drinking, and Cameron brought out the skeletons. The details of what Landis wouldn’t tell her didn’t matter. In part, because she did not know them. That was the problem. He wanted it both ways when it was convenient. “Who does that?” She laughed sadly.

She looked at Cameron, perplexed. She’d wanted out of that situation, in part because she wasn’t ready for marriage... and in part because he wasn’t, either. Their ending had not been pretty, but it had been fairly mutual, from where Juliette stood. They had not, ultimately, belonged together. Like he’d said, even if they’d been married, they would not still be together.

What she sought with Landis was trust. He did not trust her. She could not trust him. He saw no reason to involve her, and Juliette could not fathom why-- he’d involved her in far too much already. Darian, Dolly... Dazmond. Perhaps it had never been intentional. She’d simply been there. It was convenient. She didn’t want to think about it; it made her angry. It made her sad.

Draining her glass again, and all too easily, she breathed out slowly and straightened up. She still had the grace of composure. She looked from Cameron, to the bartender, and back to Cameron. “What are you hiding from the papers lately? Isn't there a lovely new lady in your life yet?”