It occurred to Deus, as he swung back and forth from the third story apartment window, that at least this time he had his pants on.

This was an improvement from the last few times this had happened, even if the most immediately previous had little to do with traditional reasons why one might expect a teenage boy to be lacking his pants, but it was still a rather unfortunate position. He dangled, telling himself that it was really past time that he develop a contingency plan for this sort of thing--and never mind that it was usually a contingency plan that landed him on the wrong the side of a windowsill in the first place. Although, point of interest, that particular contingency plan had already been improved, and not just the pants part--he was also neither upside down nor being held as such by an angry father. These were things to be pleased about.

 He ignored the ruckus going onside until an explosion of smoke billowing out the window caused him to yank one of his hands out of the way. He used the free hand to sort of flail around for his wand. His hand closed around wood, and he raised it in triumph, only to realize that the hammer in his hand was not in fact his wand. He chucked the hammer without thinking, focused more, at the moment, on keeping his pretty face in a natural upright position instead of a flat, dead and grossified one.  His free hand closed around a screwdriver, which instantly lengthened into his familiar wand, and not a moment too soon.

The hammer smashed through a neighbor's window, located not so far away over the narrow street, with a resounding explosion of shattered glass. The neighbor in question immediately started screaming, and a man burst out onto the balcony Deus dangled from, red as a tomato, with large, pointy purple ears quite literally emitting smoke, shouting intelligibly. "Time tae go!" Deus chirped cheerfully, releasing his grip from the balcony seconds before the man angrily stomped at where his hand would be. A quick spell as he fell had him bouncing when he hit the ground, and he quickly undid it, and began sprinting towards the end of the street, dodging the fallout of sparks as the neighbors threw hexes at him and each other. The layabout slacker of the Lazy Kelpie made it to the corner, headed towards the shops, a hair before a streak of red sparks he suspected he should be glad hadn't hit him, and he whipped around it, satisfied the neighbors would keep each other busy and that he was good to go.

The whole hammer thing had been completely planned like that.

Aimless summer afternoon was aimless; Sophie simply had to do something with herself. Vacation had gotten off to a slow start but after her adventure at Spellpunk and discovering the joys of sneaking out (she'd never really had to sneak out at home before) she was getting more adventurous. She was also regularly exchanging letters with an American boy and he was particularly sweet. Also Ruby had gotten around to writing her, so that was a thing that had happened. All her talk of barbeques and family dinners and fireworks made the youngest Flickwick feel a bit like she was missing out. Of course her understanding of the American Holiday and fireworks were rudimentary at best; according to her sister they were loud explosions of color (which made Sophie think of Turner Macabee...and also Huxley Ward because it seemed like something he'd like and that could also cause mayhem).

She had no real plot for the day, no destination in mind when she told Nan she was headed to Diagon. She'd had already popped by Reducto, thinking it would be the place to find someone still in town. Unfortunately all she had found was a colorful flier advertising a handful of summer shows. She'd been saving up for ages to see Dead Sirius only to find out it was a 17 & up show. She hated when that happened; getting all excited for something only to have it squashed because she wasn't legal yet. Of course with her new daring attitude she might try to sneak in. What was the worse thing that could happen? They turn her away? Only then her mind did travel down the road of all the dreadful things that could come from trying to sneak into a club - like Nana finding out and Da deciding to cancel the rest of his tour dates because she could not be trusted not to do semi-illegal things.

And then it was as if the thought of illegal things made her favorite little hooligan appear; only Sophie was so entrenched in the internal battle over whether seeing Dead Sirius was important enough to risk being put under house arrest that she didn't see Deus coming around the corner. She actually didn't see him until she ran smack dab in the middle of him, subsequently bouncing off his sturdier (mildly, for he was still fairly skinny himself) frame and almost landing squarely on her bum. It took her a moment to realize what exactly had just happened before her hand shot out and grasped the other boy by the front of his shirt. Of course, logically this could really only mean she was pulling him forward as she went backward - but instinct was instinct. She also happened to make a noise that was somewhere between a squeak and a quack (very attractive Sophie, really) that almost sounded like "Damnit Deus!" but not...quite?

It didn't help that everything seemed to be happening in slow motion either - falls always seemed almost cinematic until you found yourself on the ground with a Slytherin atop you. Aimless summer day might have finally turned interesting - if a little painful.

Thunk.

Deus recovered from the impact only to find a surprisingly strong grip on his shirt yanking him forward. With a sound that sounded quite like hers a few octaves lower, and not anticipating the shift in balance, he toppled. Accustomed to rather sudden departures from upright positions, Deus automatically braced himself for the fall, intending to catch whoever was with him in the process. Unfortunately, he remembered about the toolbelt only at the last minute, and in his attempts to avoid being skewered by a hand saw, Sophie hit first, Deus hitting his forearms hard in a vague attempt to avoid completely smooshing what he thought was some little old lady he was going to have to charm out of hitting him upside the head with a purse. How the little old lady knew his name—

"Sooophie!" Deus cried in utter delight, know quite glad he hadn't smooshed the pretty brunette who had decided that gravity mishaps enjoyed company.  "Darlin'! Why, Ah was jes lookin' for ye." His voice, a bit lower already even over the few weeks since summer had begun, could have melted butter, and his puppy dog eyes positively reeked of sincere honesty.

Of course, the fact he took his sweet time rolling off her belied that somewhat, but he was who he was. Hopping to his feet, he reached to pull Sophie up too. As was typical of him, he waited for no invitation or sign from her that she wanted assistance. Instead, quick as a fox, he leaned over and took one of her hands, slipped a hand around her slim waist, and, rather than give a gentle tug, gave a smooth, speedy swooping motion that would leave her lifted, twirled, and quite caught if she wasn't speedy enough to evade him. It was, of course, entirely possible that (wise to his ways) she would be, but Deus was a firm believer in nothing tried, nothing gained.

Not so coincidentally, the subtle maneuver also put her in between Deus and the street he'd just bolted from. Hey, he was happy to see her, but he wasn't taking any chances here. "Dearest," He crooned, eyelashes fluttering absurdly, "Were ye lookin' fer meh, too?"
 

If there was one thing Sophie had learned in living with both a brother and cousins that often liked to manhandle her like a sack of grain it was how to roll with the punches. She was tiny to be sure but she was what her Nan liked to call scrappy. Being scrappy had served her well this last year - from dealing with Figaro as a boyfriend to refusing to be intimidated by shop keepers that didn't want to answer the SAWS survey. Scrappy was a good thing to be, and she had never appreciated the idea of it more than in the time it took her to finally make contact with the ground and nearly (but not quite) be smothered by the fumbling body she had grasped at in hopes of salvation. Still, she hit the stonewalk hard. For a moment it felt like all the air left her lungs but being scrappy Sophie heaved a great breath followed by a cough and a groan.

Before she knew it (or could wrap her brain around the movement) she found herself caught up and pressed against Deus as though she weighed little more than a feather. As previously mentioned Sophie was quite used to being tossed around and simply leaned into him with a laugh, her forehead coming to rest against the ever charming jawline of the smooth talking Deres, "You are such a liar, and very lucky you happen to be cute". The thing about Deus Deres was that he took physicality about as serious as Sophie did. With some people there were all sorts of implications about hugs and wayward kisses that just didn't exist with him.Between literally every boy she'd ever liked falling for Fauna Blake and the general feeling she was "cute, like a puppy" Sophie had had more than her fill of romance let downs. She liked the lack of intimacy and surefire fun spending time with Deus promised.

Slowly sliding her legs down, she kept her arms wrapped around him in a fairly tight hug, "I suppose I was, in fact, looking for you. Subconsciously at least. I was debating the need for slightly illegal potions to get into the Dead Sirius show". Sophie was a lot of thing - stupid wasn't one of them. Just because she didn't actively participate in most illegal activities on school grounds (other than Fir's short lived broom racing circuit) didn't mean she didn't know where to go when she didn't have time to concoct something herself or the ingredients were too valuable to "borrow" from Nan. Eyeing the dark haired boy she was currently tangling limbs with she sort of wiggled an eyebrow, "I don't suppose you could help a girl look a little closer to seventeen," it wasn't really a question so much as a carefully worded suggestion. "I mean for the proper number of kisses and maybe a tiny but adorable date"?

When Sophie leaned into him, Deus simply shifted her weight slightly to better support her against him. “Ah’ve never lied a day in me life, ahn Ah’m insulted ye’d suggest it.” He sniffed to emphasize his point, and considered ceremoniously dumping her on the ground, but decided he owed her one for letting her fall.

Which he wouldn’t have, except for that whole skewered by a saw thing.

“Ah’m adorable. Tis a gift.” 

Deus was a physical person. Arms slung across shoulders, around necks, wrapped around waists. Cheeks to cheeks, hands and lips to skin. He hadn’t always been—truth to tell it was as much so he could pick his friend’s pockets to stay in practice as anything—and he wasn’t always. There were as many days when Deus wouldn’t sit within a foot of another person, let alone slobber all over them like a well-meaning but slightly dim golden retriever. But Sophie…well, hell, Deus wasn’t embarrassed to admit she sort inspired dog-like behavior. Of both the flopping in one’s lap because one seemed sad kind and the biting your laundry and dragging it around a mud puddle mess of a backyard just because kind.

But while Deus had been called a dog more than his fair share of times, one thing he’d never been accused of was being in love.

He returned the hug, casually but impulsively wrapping his arms around her so he could wind one of his hands in her hair and dip his head to kiss her mildly on her brow. He didn’t lighten the hold, and wouldn’t, until she pulled away or otherwise indicated she wanted her space back, but he did rearrange himself so he could actually see her face. And stare at it, utterly bemused. “Were ye now?” His lips twitched, and he tried to suppress the entirely amused laugh and failed completely. But then, he wasn’t trying that hard.

His eyes glittered, dangerous with mischief. Sophie was smart to choose a suggestion over a question, which he never answered directly. But he also took things literally, and there was something mighty appealing about slipping Soph a potion that would make her look like a seventeen year-old boy. Luckily, he liked her too much to give her a mirror shatter potion, which would give her the appearance of being in seventeen pieces. Great for Haunted Houses.

Once again, he re-arranged them—and once again did so without a by-your-leave from the Gryffindor girl—so her arm was wrapped in the crook of his, like an old-fashioned escort. “Ah might. Where they playin’?” Long strides started in a specific direction even before her answer, because either way, he had to make a stop. "An' 'ow opposed are ye tae breakin' an enterin'?"

"Right, I forgot, I'm so terribly sorry," Sophie squirmed with delighted giggles as he dipped her, glad for her luck on this afternoon that had  formerly seemed so very dull to have run into the most interesting boy she had ever met. Deus was the devil in a sixteen year old boy's body no doubt, but it was a nice body and he didn't make her feel all weird about the fact she was, indeed, a girl. Boys like Chance and Luc liked to forget until they were rudely reminded by virtue of walking into her room while she dressed or seeing her go cow eyed over a boy. If they thought of her in female terms at all it was as one would a little sister - lovingly protective and dead set against her having any real fun. The latter applied less to Luc because they had snogged that one time, but afterwards had agreed that while pleasant enough it was not an experience they should repeat for fear of damaging their friendship.

It was just different with D. He looked at her the way, she supposed, a boy was meant to look at a girl. Of course he looked at all females that way, even little old ladies well into their seventies. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only though, when he locked his chocolate eyes on you you just wanted to believe he really meant it (even when reason told you he didn't). Falling for Deus would be like falling for Devlin and having traversed that path once in the last year she knew better than to believe all the forehead kisses and the slight fluttering in her belly. She was well aware where she fell in the pecking order of girls-one-fell-madly-in-love-with-and-changed-their-wicked-ways-for, and it was not near the top ten. Knowing this made the fluttery feeling easy enough to quash and allowed for the simple act of enjoying the spectacle that was young Mister Deres.

As he tossed her around some more (she really was hardly phased by it), Sophie made little gleeful squeals before finally being righted and letting out a long slow breath, "You certainly know how to keep a girl on her toes Lovey". As they walked along the sidewalk she let go of a happy sigh and rested her head near his shoulder. He had grown over the  short span of summer and she was in flats, highlighting the increasing height difference. She felt almost minuscule in the way everyone seemed to still be shooting up past her. Mulling it over it took her a moment to realize that he'd said something and even longer to register what he was actually asking. Eyeing him, she tried to size up how serious he was. She knew enough to not completely trust her to leave her holding the bag. Wetting her bottom lip she considered, everything really - the situation on the whole and how much trouble seeing Dead Sirius was worth.

Tapping her chin she tilted her head to the other side before speaking slowly, "If I wanted to get caught in the midst of misappropriating goods and or services I'd have just nicked it from Nana's cellar. Besides, I'm more a getaway flyer at the end of the day," her grin was more smirking than usual as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered lowly against his ear, "less chance of someone leaving me holding the bag that way," and then there was her laugh - just a little more sinister than the giggles that had preceeded it. Sophie was sweet but she wasn't stupid, she knew when she asked him that there would be a price to pay but if she wanted her fingers to get sticky she'd have done it herself. There was a reason to job-out something like this. Also she wasn't totally sure she was ready to jump two feet all in with this bad girl image she was toying with. Baby steps meant if she felt the waters rising she had plausible deniability, "I make a fair diversion though".

“Ye should be. Mortally offensive, that. Donnae ken why Ah’m still talkin’ tae ye.”

Deus had never been one for protecting girls like glass. It probably had something to do with the females in his life—selkie woman who were known to drown their human lovers, werewolves who drank whiskey like lifewater, hags who had tried to eat him as a kid, and even the ‘normal’ sort of women in his childhood had been witches with tempers, tattoos, and wicked talent. Sure, he enjoyed telling them they were pretty—they were, young and old, squat and skinny, human and…well, human-oid—and flattering them. But even the brotherly sorts of gestures he was known to pull from time to time had an edge: a wink, a wiggle of the eyebrow, just a sense he was well aware there was no blood shared, and a distinct difference in some vital biological equipment. It would be easy to see Sophie as something to protect. She was tiny. She was kind. She was sassy and sweet, a well-meaning whirlwind going a million miles a minute, and she attracted trouble like she was cursed. But what she wasn’t, to Deus’s way of thinking, was stupid. Nor was she twelve. And she sure as heck wasn’t his damn little sister.

Deus was not, and never would be a knight in shining armor riding up on a white horse.

He was more the slightly drunken knight in rusted armor with a temperamental beast of an old cranky brown horse who clearly took visibly malicious glee in trying to chomp fingers, the scoundrel who’d chuck some armor at you and make fun of you the whole way to the tower for riding a donkey—which, after he robbed you blind in a game of cards, would be all you could afford.

But it’d be a hell of an adventure.

And if he wanted to keep that optimism around—and there was something in him that did, and knew how easy it would be to get caught up in that warm glow, drawn into its light and get suckered into trying to keep it safe—well, he had he had his heroic moments. He wasn’t exactly Lucas Norwood, and he’d never been a prop to hold someone up in his life, but he knew how to let someone just be. If you got help from Deus, it was slippery, it was sneaky, it was at the crisis moment, it was behind the scenes, and it probably cost you 20 fewer sickles than it should have.

Besides, a glow was nice, but fireworks were more fun. And he rather thought Sophie had some fireworks in her. Even if there was a part of him that wanted to keep the glow for, well, for at least a little bit longer. He wasn’t stupid. His giggling little Gryffindor had been through hell the past year, and while he wasn’t about to be the jackass who told her he understood how she felt…he did.  A little, at least. Somehow, this silly, distracting, petite brunette had come to matter to him as a friend. And that was important.

You certainly know how to keep a girl on her toes Lovey

“Makes it easier tae reach ‘er lips, lass.” He said with a suggestive wink, squeezing her hand ever so slightly as she put her head near his shoulder. And then his expression went politely, cheerfully unreadable as she attempted to scrutinize just what he was talking about. The slight widening of his eyes and the abrupt blink that accompanied it was the only sign Deus gave of his surprise. Good answer. But he wiped the expression clean automatically and turned to catch her chin again with a nasty little grin. “Aww, ‘ow cute. Ye t’ought I meant how ye felt about ye tryin’ tae break ahn enter.” He smiled fondly, sniffed like a proud papa and patted her on the head. “Donnae worry yer pretty ‘ead. Though we goin’ tae test that last bit ‘ere.” He stopped in front of a grim looking shop that seemed to be sagging with its own miserable, unhappy weight.

He swiftly detached the toolbelt from around his hips maneuvered her in front of him and wrapped it around her hips instead, though he had to knot the thing instead of belt it, given the  size difference. “Mind the saw, ahn donnae pull out the ruler unless ye 'ave tae. Apparently,” He said with good humor, “Ah need to lose weight. Ye’re a wee lass, aye?” He kept his arms wrapped casually around her waist, amused that he probably could have encircled its entirety with his hands alone. He was…particularly fond of the pipsqueak Gryffindor. She wriggled under your skin, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he was the only stray she’d taken a we-should-be-friends shine to. His job was just to make sure he was the most memorable. He tightened his arms around her waist, brought her close, leaned in and ducked his head, close enough to kiss her, which it seemed he was about to do before the twinkle in his eyes gave him away as just teasing and he abruptly stopped, winked, and said in an admiring, low, rumbling voice, “Hell of a looker, though.”

And then he wasn’t touching her at all, except to whirl her around, half-depositing her in front of a store with windows so crammed full of things it was impossible to see past to the inside. “Okay—payment part one, lass. Ah need ten minutes. Flirt wit th’ lad at the front desk—donnae let ‘im go tae the back room, donnae let ‘im go upstairs, ahn get out in ten or Ah'm leavin wit'out ye. Aye?” Without waiting for a response he half-turned her again, swooped in to press a warm, friendly peck to her lips, and then he was suddenly halfway up a drainpipe and swinging quietly into the upper window of the shop.

She turned her eyes skyward as he patted her head, pout forming on her lips. She was the perfect height for patronizing head pats. She hated that - so of course that meant Deus found it endlessly amusing. Of course she reckoned he had to respect her a fair bit, he didn't try to take advantage of her the way he might have other girls. She didn't make assumptions about him, it was just a matter of what she had seen. D made no secret of the fact he delighted in the con, she made no effort to change him. You couldn't care (she refused to use the "L" word) about someone and want to change inherent parts of their personalities. You might not like their choices, but everything they had done up to the moment they came into your life had made them who they were, if you liked that person why would you want to change them?

The answer, most generally, was that people didn't actually like who other people actually were. They liked the way they imagined people to be, the versions made up inside their head that no one could ever really live up to. Sophie could understand this about her friends, but she had not yet made that leap to her father or brother. They were held to a higher standard...mostly because they abandoned her when she needed them most. Being selfish all the time was one thing, proclaiming to be selfless and love selflessly then turning tail and running when things got ugly? The thing about Deus was Sophie knew to brace for impact. She knew that she couldn't count on him to save her so she didn't. She trusted him, but she also didn't put all her eggs into one basket. It was a very tricky balance with him... but she liked it.

Admittedly, for all her knowing he didn't mean it and his flirting with most anything in a girdle she felt her heart jump into her throat. Her stomach fluttered and her breathing became shallow. Her cheeks flushed and she found herself having to look down at the compliment. Sophie might have been the Queen of causal physicality but that glint in Deres' eye made it feel more intimate than it would ever be. His arms settled at exactly the right spot on her waist, his voice husky as he teased back. For all her playing and giggles and little teases... she was just trying this part of her personality on for size. Adorable was a more apt moniker than looker in her mind; she didn't turn heads and she doubted she ever would. She had made peace with that - but when Deus... and just like that it was over and she had her instructions, "I am not even going to ask why you have a damn saw".

The transition was almost dizzying, and the weight of the belt without his arms threw her a little off center. She gave him a rueful sort of smile, former bashfulness lost as she glanced down at her watch. Ten minutes... she could occupy the guy for ten minutes. She might not be cool, collected, and conniving as his Posh-y Monarchy friends but there was something to be said for a sweet face. Slipping into the shop she peered around  for a moment before her eyes locked on the man behind the counter. He was the young side of older but flirting would be inherently creepy - also she was not entirely sure how one flirted, just that she was accused of it a lot. Instead she stuffed her hands in her back pockets and decided to go the 'I'm adorable and enchanting' route. It was a nice fail safe to have. "'Lo? I was wondering if maybe you could help,,,me," she stumbled a little over the corner of an ornate rug and looked at him sheepishly.

The man, tall and almost as skinny as Sophie herself arched an eyebrow, inspecting the tools at her waist as he slowly lowered The Daily Prophet and coughed. "See, I'm working on this project, for um Potions"? The last part sounded like a question as she tucked her head to avoid some dangling ropes of...spices, possibly, she didn't want to sniff and find out. "Well, really, it's not Potions. It's building this bottler for perfumes and potions - you know, to make it easier? Anyway, know you're probably really involved in," she gestured toward the paper, "but I'm having trouble with the valve nozzle". She was talking a mile a minute and she could see that the man was having a hard time keeping up with her. She wasn't completely sure where she was going with this. Gordic's Garters she hated having to think on her feet. She would obviously have to get better at this if she wanted a glamorous life of crime.

"Anyway my problem is cross contamination. See I brewed up a little prank for my brother - because, you know, that's what siblings do," she gave him her best bashful smile and looked down shuffling the toe of her shoe against the dusty floor, "only then after that - even when I thought I had cleaned everything really really well, I mean really well. I scoured all the parts, and flushed the tubing and all kinds of different things I could think of - but um. Well, then I bottled this scent I had been working on for my Nana because her birthday was last week and she's mostly been taking care of me since my mom died," lots of random details to keep tract of, that was distracting right? "And I just wanted her to know how much I appreciate it and everything, but when she put it on she broke out in boils! I was so mortified...so I need your help to fix it and everyone in the Ally said I just had to come as you".

Again he cleared his throat, gave a nod of his head and motioned for her to follow. She had not meant to be lead into the store's depths just to keep him talking. So far she had eaten up about six of her minutes. She had no doubt that Deus would leave her there without much of a second thought (she liked to think there would be some second thought). She couldn't risk being that far from the door when her time was up, so as he lead her past a shelf of ornate glass vials she stopped and grasped his arm, "Oh! Are these antique? They're so pretty! Maybe this would make up for the boils you think? Nana collects them. Well, she used to. My bother and I can be really clumsy". At the word clumsy the clerk's eyes went wide with panic as she pulled her slightly back from the shelf - which then made them bump into a barrel of...potatoes?

She didn't even have time to puzzle over why there were potatoes in the shop because the fates smiled on them and for once her butt was big enough to knock something over and the spuds just went rolling all over the shop floor. Her eyes went wide and she gave a small gasp - but was silently thankful for the chance to escape, "Oh wow, um. Sorry? I can see you have a lot of work to do, so um maybe I will come back another day? I'll just get out of your way," she cleared her throat and bit her cheek to keep from laughing as she hastened toward the door. She had forty-eight seconds left before she was left just as she burst through the shop door onto the street. She had no realized how suffocating it had been, or perhaps she had just been holding her breath. Well, it might not have been the kind of diversion she hinted at, she might never be a sex pot, but she sure as hell could keep someone occupied. Now where was her Knight in crinkled tinfoil?

“At’s me lass, time tae go!” Deus hit the ground with a small bundle under his arm almost simultaneous to Sophie’s exit, and just a few second before something glass shattered on the ground next to him, accompanied by a female screech of MALCOLM FINKLEY DON’T YOU…DON’T YOU DARE! YOU—STUPIFY! STUPIFY! Deus ducked and dodged, wrappin his large, calloused hand around Sophie’s so much smaller one, and taking off, pulling her down the twisted alleys in a dead sprint, navigating seemingly without thinking. He didn’t need to—he knew where he was going.

“So, yer poor wee auld Grannie. Do ye often disfigure folk who help ye out, legs?” He winked, though his voice was low and a little breathless as they hit the street he’d been looking for. Merlin he was amused. The floorboards were thin and he’d heard her whole spiel, much to his amusement. Confirmed his theory—Sophie wasn’t stupid. She handled herself well, and that had an innate appeal for the shifty Slytherin. He wrapped an arm around her waist again, though he held the bundle in his hands. He held close enough that his fingers could almost touch his own side, but even he could be protective sometime. On his own turf, it was easy. The street appeared to be empty, but Deus had his wand out, and while he appeared as casually nonchalant as ever, there was a faint tension in the arm holding Sophie that hadn’t been their before. His eyes flicked from doorways to windows and finally to the brick wall that marked the first dead end they’d encountered since he began pulling her away. He seemed to relax a bit then.

Deus was a thief. He was a liar. He was a cheat, and a self-preserving, openly-admitted juvenile criminal. But in his own way, his skewed sort of ethics was more honest than most people were. You knew where you stood with Deus from the get-go, which was to say, you were standing on constantly shifting ground and always would be. There was a distance associated with his mercurial behaviors, and while he wreaked merry havoc in his dances across and over the friendship line the moment, he never closed that distance. He didn’t tell people about his summers. He didn’t talk about his family. He’d never talked about how he honestly felt about another human being in his life, and even his best friend would have to take a blind guess at what his favorite color was. But that distance came with a very simple truth—nothing was serious. And that never changed. Or at least, it hadn’t yet.

Sophie was…well it was tempting to solidify a little bit underneath her feet. To maybe stop messing around so much. But he was reminded, every time she surprised him with her…with her Sophiecation of the world around her, that while her glow may have been warm, more than the occasional moth had fried themselves from seeking out the light.

But, Deus reminded himself, it was a hell of a lot of fun to mess around. And he was who he was. And Sophie, Merlin willing, would keep that light on even when the ground kept quaking.

He balanced his bundle between his knees and reached to undo the toolbelt from Sophie’s waist, hands lingering maybe a couple seconds longer than they should have, and he tossed the belt over his shoulder—but not before pulling out the ruler, at the end of which were three small vials filled to the top with a pale green powder that shimmied a little uneasily. Deus’s face shut down for a minute, after briefly passing through an expression that didn’t belong on a sixteen year-old’s features. The vials saw the light of day for less than a second, and then they disappeared from his hands into some hidden place the way only pickpockets could instantly manage. Two per Lazy Kelpie orders, one for…discretionary use. And the expression slid back into an easy smile, with that faint edge. He undid the bundle, pocketed a watch, tossed the cloth in his back pocket, and raised an eyebrow to his favorite Gryffindor.

“All righ’, love. They arenae glass, but they should get ye to yer ball.”  Dangling from his fingers were two pairs of shoes. The first was a pair of high-heeled shoes, candy apple red and slick with shine. The second were heeled black boots, not quite as tall as the red ones, but they had the same slick shine, and the heels were stripped and bare as ivory bone. With a wicked smile, and a low, dangerous rumble of laughter, he offered them out to her. “Pick yer poison, princess.”

Sophie almost screamed when she heard the glass hit cobblestone, her heart leaping into her throat as he pulled (well, really more like jerked) her along behind him. The air made her lungs burn, pulse erratic as she sprinted after him. She didn't bother to say that she while she understood that they needed to be running she did not possess the leg length required to match his stride. She also realized, as they continued at that dead sprint, being thin did not equal being fit and she was in piss poor shape. By the time they stopped her chest was heaving and she could only offer him a vaguely bemused smile at the mention of her story. It was, of course, complete fiction - though she had once given Johnny boils in the middle of a prank war. Pressing her hand over her heart, the other resting on her hip as she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, finally managing, "How the devil do you run so bloody fast you chain smoking wanker"?

And then his arm was around her again and her heart was beating harder than it had before, for completely different reason. In her brain she listed off a million mundane things to try and bring it back down - and also to remind herself that it didn't mean anything. As much as she liked Deus he was not...he was not a one girl kind of guy. He was a 'have your cake and everyone else's too' kind of guy, he liked women - all women. He liked having a smile that could stop hearts and maybe start a riot. She mentally amended that thought to include a as much as anyone could tell, because Deus was unknowable. He made you think you knew, but Sophie knew she didn't. There was something her mother used to tell her, about knowing someone long enough to see their secrets in the way they kept them. Sometimes that might have been true - but Sophie knew, in the way you could just know things... no amount of time would be enough to ever really know who Deus Deres (or Malcolm Finkley) was.

Still, despite her reasonable mind she let her heart hammer against her chest as her head rested against his shoulder area again. She couldn't quite kill the grin on her features as they walked along the alleyways, a slender arm wound around him. She wasn't going to ask about the name... even though a part of her really wanted to. It was better to garner the little bits of information that slipped here and there - usually not from him. Of course the silence swelled a little (as it was apt to do when two people who were constantly running their mouths suddenly stopped) and it proved too much for her to let sit. Still, she was adament with herself about not asking, "So Finkley, hmm? I'd have pictured something..." she trailed off, turning her eyes toward the summer sky that was neither blue nor gray at that particular moment, "I dunno, less 'I wear glasses held together with tape'". She smile was just a little cheeky as she turned her eyes on him, arching a slender eyebrow - though she didn't expect him to answer.

Then they were at the dead end and he was relieving her of the tool belt's weight, unsure if she really felt his fingers linger or if it was an overly hopeful and active imagination. When he produced the heels and boots she sucked in a small breath, she'd known he'd be able to pull it off - but his planning on the fly was better than hers. In the back of her mind she could hear the politely veiled insults Kit had thrown at Ayla for wearing shoes not half as high, lady of the night and all that. Still, Sophie had told him this was what she wanted - and a part of her did. She didn't want to be all grown up and look back on her life with a sense of vague dissapointment in all the adventures she didn't have because maybe they weren't the strictly narrow moral path her mother and Ruby had pushed her toward. Merlin help her if she cracked up like Ruby and ended up running off on everyone who loved her. To avoid that fate, she chose this one, taking the red heels and carefully kicking off one then the other of her flats.

When she stepped into the heels the change didn't so much hurt - but rather felt...just weird. Her clothes felt tight in a way they hadn't before. While it was often said girls rarely grew after puberty, her legs felt longer (that might have been just the heels themselves, she was almost as tall as Deus in them). Her torso still lean but now more exposed because other parts of her had tugged a little the formerly innocent looking white and blue tee-shirt, and her shorts...were decidedly shorter (because her bum was decidedly rounder). She hadn't counted on such a drastic change in feeling, but it made sense because she just aged at least four years in a matter of two minutes. A person might not really notice changes in their body over the span of 1406 days (give or take) but when it happened all at once... it was hard not to notice that the clothes your sixteen year old self wore did not fit your at-least-twenty-year-old body.

Swallowing she looked at her feet in the heels, the slender line of her leg and then to Deus' face. It was a lot to take in, but in the back of her mind she realized with a start that she would have absolutely nothing to wear. It wasn't only because the shoes were screaming candy apple read - but, "None of my clothes are going to fit"! As soon as the words left her mouth she clasp her hand over it, even that had changed, not by a lot but the voice you hear when you speak is more about the way it sounds vibrating in your body than how it sounds in reality - so it made sense that what she was hearing wasn't the same as it had been just moments before. Dark brown hair fell over her eyes, and she lowered her fingers to blow the fringe away and looked at him kind of expectantly, "Well? What do you think? Is older-Sophie still too baby faced to get into a dive bar ball"? She sure as hell hoped not - even if she wasn't totally sure how she was going to manage to walk in these heels, "You do realize I'm going to fall on my face before the night is over, yeah"?

Merlin he wished she hadn’t mentioned smoke. The craving hit him hard and he had to grit his teeth slightly to keep himself for reaching for one. You didn’t smoke when you were stealing. You didn’t eat anything but bland and boring, either—people’s noses were pretty damn sensitive, and more than one Kelpie-frequenting criminal had been caught in someone’s house because of a whiff of smoke or garlic. His fingers twitched but he didn’t have any on him. Damn.

“Ye didnae know? Ah run twenty laps ‘round th’ Quidditch Pitch every morning ‘afore dawn.” He nodded sincerely, even though it was common knowledge the layabout rarely moved a muscle before 10 AM unless forcibly dragged. It was, as usual, an evasion of answering a direct question, which he never did truthfully. The truth was this was kind of his every day routine in the summer—if he wasn’t waiting tables at the Lazy Kelpie and dodging the chaos that required he be just as quick on his feet, he was running away from someone he ticked off. Truth to tell, he was pretty good at not getting caught, but if he had enough close calls, people would underestimate him. He was in Slytherin for a reason.

And for all that he kept his secrets, he liked knowing others. He was quite close with the noisest of school gossips, though none of their stories went any further because of him. He knew how to smile, to touch, to comfort, to get someone to keep talking and to spill their guts—because who was he going to tell? And what was it going to matter? Deus didn’t judge. And so he knew a lot about people. He knew Sophie had a heart the size of an elephant packed into her tiny frame. Sure, everyone knew that, but Deus wondered if people really thought about it that much, thought about just how damn much she forgave.

It made him nervous, that forgiveness. There were things, to his mind, that girls like Sophie—smart, sweet, sassy and inherently good—should turn on their heel (or flat) and walk away from. Where forgiving would diminish that goodness by association. He’d know. Not about forgiveness, of course, but of the kinds of things you didn’t drag good little girls into. And for a moment, his face unaccountably softened as he looked at the tiny girl leaning against him. He couldn’t stroke her hair with one hand full and the other with his wand, so he settled for an unusually gentle increase of pressure in the arm wrapped around her thin frame, not minding that they were both a little ripe from the run, just enjoying the comfortable warmth emanating from her curves and the faint scent of sweat and something that wasn’t quite flowery, but unique and subtle and soft and rather appealing. He pulled her tighter still to press his cheek against her head and sighed, resisting the urge to close his eyes and rub his temples.

She thought he was trouble.

And then his cover was blown. He winced overdramatically as she commented on glasses with tape, and murmured with feigned, curious innocence, “Did ye, now? Ahn who would ye be, then?” And his lips twitched as he tried to imagine Sophie stumbling on one of his other aliases. He rather thought she’d enjoy Lerman of Schwin.

The only promises you could trust from Deus Deres were the ones he didn’t say out loud. They were rare but ironclad up until the moment they hit air from lips. Like the shoemaker elves, or brownies of old, he was contrary enough to disappear if you called him out. He liked his…well ‘good deeds’ might be stretching it a bit, but maybe his acts of decency could cover it, to be unacknowledged. And he saw the care with which she took the shoes, and his eyes watched her with equal care, still sparkling with mischief and anticipation, but with a sort of calculating edge. She wasn’t her sisters—and good to it, to Deus’s mind. They weren’t nearly as interesting as she was—but he wondered if this act of rebellion, casual to him, cost her something. So he caught the hand that took the red heels, turned it upwards, and pressed a soft kiss to the palm, and released it with a quick squeeze.

It was a promise.

Although, it had to be admitted, he even managed to make that gesture slightly inappropriate feeling. And then he winked. “It’s jes’ like playin’ dress up.” As Sophie pulled on the shoes, Deus pulled off his t-shirt and tied it around the toolbelt like a rag. He’d done this before, and the shirt wasn’t going to fit him after the change—it was just easier to deal with it now. The jeans, well, luckily they were loose, but they were still going to be short and uncomfortable when he changed. But this part of town wasn’t really the place in which to wander around in your knickers. He slipped the watch around his wrist, and closed his eyes for the shift. It wasn’t…a comfortable thing to feel or watch, but it was over quickly. And Deus immediately that while he’d gotten the shirt right, he’d forgotten something else.

His feet hurt like hell

“Merlin’s arse!” He hissed, and quickly got to work on unlacing and yanking the too-small boots off and chucked them to the side. And then he straightened to his new height, old scars white against skin, shoulders too broad for his younger self’s shirt, and lines all a little sharper, far less boyish than they had been.

And he couldn’t say a damn word for about twenty seconds.

Well, mother of shit.

Wasn’t that interesting.

He was too damn stunned to even summon up a whistle. He coughed, glad she was looking at her heels, because it gave him a chance to let his eyes wander, and he didn’t even try to hide the stunned, downright wolfish grin that stretched on his still familiar lips.

None of my clothes are going to fit

“Nae,” he said with…obvious appreciation in the husky smoke of his lower voice, just a little rough from the unexpected sight of his pure little companion looking, well, ‘pure’ wasn’t the word for it, that was for sure. And ‘little’ may not have been quite so apt, either. “Nae they arenae. Donnae suppose ye’d be willin’ tae twirl?” He leaned against the brick, and his jeans were too tight to allow for him to put his hands in his pockets, so he crossed them against his chest, entirely enjoying the moment with anything but innocence in his expression. He’d anticipated that, which was why he’d brought her here in the first place. “I ken older Sophie’s goin’ tae give her Fairy Godfather a hell of a workout keepin’ th’ wolves away.” Christ, he thought weakly, putting the heat in his blood down to the sheer surprise of the transformation. Sophie was cute as a sixteen year-old. She was pretty, too—he wasn’t kidding when he called her a looker. But hell if she wasn’t going to be a stunner in a few years. Snooze ye lose, he mentally directed to Fig, Devlin and the rest, letting the reminder settle him a bit.

“Ye ken Ah’d let ye fall, lass? Nae a chance.” She gave him the perfect opening to stop resisting the urge to get his hands on her, and with a suggestively raised eyebrow and a fast, dangerous smile, he closed the distance between them, and because he didn’t quite trust himself at the moment, settled for just putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her to the store door. It was the only contact he allowed himself for the moment. And being closer…his voice was velvet, his lips by her ear. “Ye ken, I donnae t’ink this Fairy Godfather is goin tae work after all. Beauty ahn the Beast jes got a lot more appealin’.”

He brought his wand to the door with his free hand, blue-green sparks exiting the tip as he muttered a spell and drew something on the door.

 “Hadley’ll take care o’ ye clothes. She’ll know ye’re comin’,” He waved his wand to show that’s what the business with the sparks had been, “Ahn she owes meh big. Tell ‘er tae leave yer makeup.” He hefted the toolbelt still on his shoulder. “Ah got tae run these next door.” And then he ducked so his face—familiar but different, stronger than it had been—was almost touching hers. He brought the hand that wasn't on her back to her cheek, hovering just a breath over but not touching skin. The teasing spark in his eyes was a clear warning to be wary. “What do ye say, lass?" he asked, referencing his earlier comment about playing dress up. "Play pretend wit’ me?”

"Nix 'The Pixie-Stix' Sullivan," she said without a moments hesitation when he asked. She gave him an impish sort of grin, wondering if he had expected her to mull it over a bit longer than all that. When you had a name like Sophie, so normal compared to other people, and your nickname was Monkey... well you spent a fair amount of time thinking on names. Of course Hannelore was different but not many people knew her middle name. She wasn't ashamed of it or anything... she just wondered sometimes about the power of names. A name like Nix was mysterious; much more so than a Sophie - so that person would lead a vastly different life than she did. It was a theory, it was probably wrong, but it was a theory. In her head Nix Sullivan was leggy and dangerous. She'd kissed more than two and a half boys by the time she was sixteen (two and a half because the thing with Chance counted but also didn't), she wore scandalous clothes, her heels were too high, and her hair... well actually Sophie loved her hair so Nix's hair was like hers.

"She's a very fabulous painter or art thief or something. No one really knows, it's tres mysterious," she was going to continue but then he kissed her palm and was taking off his shirt and there was the aging and it all just kind of faded away. He looked like himself but also he didn't, which, she mused ironically was kind of exactly like him. It wasn't as though she spent a lot of time thinking about it or anything, she didn't obsess over him and trying to dig under his skin. She accepted that he was who he "was" on the surface and let herself be satisified with the feeling that there was more there. He was inherently flawed but he managed to like himself anyway - that was something Sophie struggled with. She knew that she was flawed, she just didn't know how to like herself with those flaws too center stage. Deus was comfortable with his self-preservation, Sophie's still made her feel guilty. Her temper, her anger, she tried to push them all into the back most part of her mind and life...Deus just did what he did.

But sometimes, as smart as he was, even the great and wise Deus Deres miscalculated himself. She watched with a mix of bemusement and worry as he jerked his body around trying to get his boots off. Apparently boys kept growing long after girls had stopped. For Sophie it was about fourth year the last time she'd changed shoe sizes... or bra sizes for that matter (while he was distracted she pulled a little at the now vastly uncomfortable underwire digging a little into her upper rib). She oblinged when he asked her to twirl - though she felt a little shakey in the heels and in glancing over her shoulder to her backside gave an exhasperated sigh, "I am going to end up with my Abuelita's arse. I hate it when Ruby is right," she felt like one wrong move was going to split her poor shorts. She wouldn't really, because there wasn't a vastly different amount of weight on her body (though she'd weigh a buck o five easy without getting soaking wet now), it had just settled into into her formerly tiny frame and made her rounder - where such a thing possible.

She blushed at his wolfish praise and simply nudged him with her hip as he placed a hand on the small of her back. Sophie hadn't ever been good at taking compliments. Just because she wasn't a liar didn't mean other people weren't. Well, she couldn't even say that about herself anymore; she was telling fibs big and small more and more lately. It was a necessity of survival she had found. The fact that Deus made you want to believe all the things he said was actually the reason Sophie wouldn't let herself. She knew well enough to know she couldn't ever really know when he was lying. It was better to just assume all truths were half truths. It didn't make her like him less, t just lowered her risk of being hurt (at least in her mind's twisted logic). That seemed to be the driving motive behind a lot of what she was doing lately, lowering the risk of potential heartbreak - she hoped to get it down to less than a snow balls chance in hell by the end of summer. Spending time with the Slytherin Casanova might help with that.

Biting her bottom lip she considered his request with a bemused arch of her eyebrow, leaning in to close the sliver of distance between their faces. Her brown eyes locked on his, breath warm against his skin as she finally spoke, "So long are you're not pretending to be a Finkley,  I'll be your Beauty". Feeling bolder in her new skin she pressed her lips to his for a long drawn out moment without so much as a second thought before pulling away and slipping inside the shop. With the door closed safely behind her she collapsed back against it and let out a long low whistle. When she opened her eyes there was a leggy witch of Amazonian proportions leaning leisurely against one counter smirking at her. She had a shock of white hair in her bangs, the rest long and vividly red, her features were sharp but not unattractive. She looked like she could handle a grown man in a bar fight all while looking decadently fashionable. She exuded the kind of confidence Sophie associated with women who had 1) never had children and 2) drank very early in the morning.

"Hadley?" Sophie questioned, biting her bottom lip, as the witch slithered forward and took her hand, every finger on her hand was adorned with ornate rings (those would be useful in a bar fight, Sophie reasoned). The witch seemed to be studying the not-so-tiny Gryffindor, but it was alright with Soph, she was busy studying Hadley. She found herself fascinated by the long feathers that dangled from her ears and the bangles jangled on her slender wrists. Hadley was a cross between every over romanticized version of a Gypsy and a pin up girl known to man. No wonder Deus knows her, Sophie mused - to which Hadely seemed to directly reply Don't look so worried Poppet. He only brings the one's he likes 'round to meet me. Let's get you out of those clothes before you go popping seams. You're too pretty to pull off street urchin chic. Sophie almost sputtered at the woman's words but instead gave a short nod of her head. She could do this. She was almost completely sure of it.

She let Hadley lead her toward the back, watching as she pulled various dresses from seemingly random racks, "So you've known, um," she paused wondering what name Deus used around this one, "him awhile then? He said you'd know what you were doing..." her voice sort of trailed off. She had to work on this sounding more sure of herself thing, but it was hard to concentrate with her bra digging into her side and everything feeling bunchy. First things first, we've got to get you a better foundation going, the redhead wasn't even going to pretend to answer Sophie's questions so Sophie didn't bother asking what the bloody hell she meant by foundation. It became clear once they were standing in front of what could only be described as a massive forever extending wall of unmentionables. Even growing up in a house full of females, Sophie had never really understood why wearing frilly things under one's clothes was particularly important. Apparently, now, she was going to learn.

Hadley said little else - seeming to pull random items from random places and then she stacked them all in the dressing room in a pile and pushed Sophie in as she closed the curtain with a flourish. Sophie almost stumbled right out of those damn high heels when she caught a look at herself in the mirror, well technically the 360 degree mirror that encompassed the small room. She had never seen so many sides to herself -and yet the person she was looking at didn't look like her at all. She felt decidedly shy as she slipped out of her "old self" so to speak and into something new. The first dress was short and tight and made Sophie think of a straight jacket. It came off without so much as a head poke out to see if the other witch was still there. Next was a slinky red dress that also did not make it out of the 360 degree view of (mild) horror. She was starting to get discouraged as she went through the pile, dismissing things out of hand because she just couldn't fathom putting them on (or how to put them on).

Just as she was about to give up, and maybe burst into tears because that was generally how trying on clothes went for her, she happened to pick up one last little black dress. It was different than the others, for one it had a modest neckline (she could distinctly remember her mother explaining to her that you could show cleavage or leg but not both), it was sort but an acceptable sort of short, the kind of short that was figure flattering without worrying about who might see your knickers. It also had long bell sleeves trimmed in lacy crochet, that made Sophie feel a little like a princess, a feeling that only grew when the material settled over her slender frame. She looked at herself for a long time, hands folded in front of her as she let the image sink in. She still couldn't quite believe her eyes, it seemed the older she got the less she'd resemble her mother - it was sad and strange and nostalgic all at once and was too much emotion for one tiny dressing room. So she shook out her hair, and pushed the curtain aside to see if anyone was waiting for her.

Deus was surprised at how quickly his companion summoned an alias, and he didn't even try to hide his small snicker. Well, it sounded like her. "Is she now?" He murmured quietly, letting her talk, and the raised eyebrow looked precisely the same, young and old. "Tray, indeed." He knew an art thief. But somehow, he suspected that grubby, twitchy McGrowen wouldn't mesh with her ideals, and he'd hate to take that away from her. Anne-Thérèse, now—the petite, frigidly perfect little French forger who worked with McGrowen—she might have fit a little more snugly in line with Sophie's mysterious, leggy artistic aspirations. Except, he thought ruefully, for the crippling addiction she had to dragondust that left her ready to shred your face with those impeccably manicured nails and screaming in a locked room more often than not.

He wouldn't tell her he preferred Sophie.

For good reason, he mused, as he watched her twirl. It was lovely view, really. Particularly given the effect her…distribution was having on those shirts. He'd been expecting her to smack him for the suggestion, not oblige, but he bit his cheek to keep in the chuckle at the reminder that while Nix may have locked lips with half a dozen Aurors and criminals alike, Sophie was still pretty damn pure. But willing, he amended. And that made a hell of a difference. If Deus was attuned to anything on this earth, it was girls who wanted a little bad in their life. Because he was happy to provide a little bit of danger, and his price, to his mind, wasn't so bad. "Yer Abuelita seems like a fine quine." Only Deus could comment on someone's grandmother suggestively. But hell, anyone in his shoes with this particular view would have done the same. It was pretty hard not to when she was twisting all around herself and causing the already strained fabric to shift in fascinating ways.

He finally understood why girls loved shoes. Right now, he did too.
 
And he was just going to, you know, let her take all the time she needed.

Pity she didn't seem to believe him. Not that he blamed her for not believing him really, but he knew it wasn't just him. She brushed off praise in way that may have seemed modest, but modesty required a knowledge that the statements were true. Frankly, he'd never seen what was so supposedly great about her siblings—which, he assumed, was the source of things, given his knowledge of similar situations and how her family wasn't the type to give the youngest special treatment just for being the baby—but, well, he had plenty of time to convince her, didn't he?

And while he was…distracted, again, she brought her lips to his.

Well now.

Deus wasn't the kind of boy whose mind went blank when a pretty girl pressed against him, but it did flicker out for a nanosecond. And after that, well, who was he to not be fully engaged in a little bit of fun? Particularly when he'd been having such a hard time keeping his hands off her anyway. He was aware it was more an exploration of excitement and the unknown than an invitation, but little girls shouldn't wander in the woods without expecting to run into a wolf. She started it, he figured with a mental shrug, and one hand reached up to tangle his hand in the hair the she and Nix shared and pull her closer, while the other arm circled the entirety of her waist, fingers slipped neatly through belt loops to drag her up against him even as he took the step forward that had them both against the door.

He didn't question, he didn't analyze, and he sure as hell didn't believe in discouraging bad ideas. But if he wanted to make a point, well, now was the time to do it. It was all playing pretend, wasn't it? But playing pretend could become playing with fire, and that was a line Deus particularly enjoyed. So he held that fire with both arms, his smooth lips against her soft ones, warm and slick.

But he let her go, and with a smirk and a little salute, added in a lower voice than his sixteen year self could yet manage, "Have fun, princess."

Christ!

--

There were several entrances—not always necessarily doors—in Knockturn that led to a sketchy, dismal pub in Northern Scotland. It was easy to drop off what he'd come for (though getting himself to and from was a bit more difficult, had he needed to), and ignore the blustering of Pa Quigley about being a no-account, lazy, good-for-nothing slacker for cheerily passing on the news that he was mysteriously going to be late for the late-night shift he was supposed to bus tables for.

It wasn't really like anyone would notice the lack of a blackened rag smearing filth across the tables, anyway, though the tips were surprisingly okay.

Point was, he had changed and slipped back into the back alley kingdom that was Hadley's domain. As she came out, he was in the process of wiping two suspicious red smears off his cheek and neck, sitting at a pretty little bench and mirror that looked more like it belonged in a theatre from the 20's than in a Knockturn shop.

In the debate of nature versus nurture, Deus Deres had a big bloody checkmark under 'nurture'. What kind of chance had he ever had for 'nature' to kick in? In his world, loved ones got taken hostage and attacked first, going out late by yourself meant getting cursed or worse, violence was respected and you watched your neighbors, daily, fall further into the inevitable descent into drug-addled insanity. There was a reason he appeared to never take anything seriously. There was a reason why he kept his acts of decency hidden behind a curtain, and undid them if they came to light. But the weird, distorted family he grew up with him had also given him a sense of humor, a solid sense of self, and his healthy dose of self-centeredness came with an acute knowledge of exactly what it felt like to be worthless; he owed his life to fiery fifteen year-old girl who had fought hell and highwater for him when his uncle had taken the money and dumped the responsibility at her father's pub door. So maybe, most acutely, Deus knew what it meant to build your own sense of worth, and your own sense of belonging. He'd never doubted himself because those same messy criminals, for all the good-natured insults they exchanged, had kept him for a reason, and it whether it would have been so had his parents lived was a moot point—he was 16 years cocky and not about to change now.

But he got it. On some level. What it was like to lose one of the few people in the world who loved you unconditionally, knew you inside and out. He hadn't been so young that he didn't remember his parents, even if those memories were a bit fuzzy on the edges. He certainly had been old enough, when Hailie had been taken away in chains, to know what it felt like to lose your rock in the world. He was tolerated at the Kelpie. He was loved at the Kelpie, he knew that, but by the kind of people who just didn't know how to do it right. Even Hadley, who he'd clung to like a barnacle until he was 6, well, she hadn't been a mother—and how could she have been? But she'd been what he had, in the shady filth of his childhood world.

Deus would be the last person on earth to say he was alone in the world.

But it didn't change that certain people were distinctly absent.

So when Sophie exited the curtains, the first thing Deus noticed wasn't the appealing drape of fabric, or way the length of it flirted with appropriateness, and how it made the petite girl look longer than he knew was possible. He noticed the energy, which was…considerably dampened for someone who was supposed to be on a thrilling walk on the wildside.

With a mental, resigned and wistful aw, damnit, Deus hid his sigh behind a smile. He'd really been hoping for gleeful. And maybe another round of pretend. And he should have known better. So what he said instead was "I t'ink I need tae upgrade 'looker' tae 'heartbreaker'." He motioned for her to sit at the little bench, next to which sat a makeup kit that was already open. Deus reached for one of the brushes and motioned for her to face him. Another thing about his upbringing—asking questions was a good way to get thrown to the kelpies, which explained his tendency to avoid answering them. But open-ended questions, the kind that didn't pin you into giving anything away if you answered them, where you could spill your guts or be cheeky and cute, those were fair game.

So his voice softened to the nonchalant, dreamy tone he used to coax the gossips to spill that part they really shouldn't say, and looked just a little past her instead of at her, fishing around in the cosmetics. "Penny for ye t'oughts, pretty gal?"

He was waiting for her - she had known he would be, but she had hoped she would be wrong, "Well don't you clean up nice for a Beastly Fairy Godfather"? She needed a moment to breathe, to compose herself and remember that this was all just a silly game and having a dead mother you didn't grow up to look like was not pleasant date conversation - even if it was just pretend. She wanted to be sultry - or at least some variation of glowing when he came back for her. She wanted to preen and glitter and giggle...and maybe repeat that kiss she had cut short before she'd ended up out of her shorts for an entirely different reason in the alley. She didn't know that... anything could be like that. Her lips still burned a little from the shared heat; even if she kept telling herself it was all just make believe. She was Nix and he was Finkley (only she really hoped he come up with something better - even if it meant giving up another one of his aliases she wasn't supposed to know about).

The fact was in all her sixteen years a kiss like that had never happened to her - not even with Luc and (as stated on his Wizard Trading Card)  Luc was a very good kisser. BUT Luc just needed her, in that moment before pulling herself away Sophie was almost completely positive that Deus wanted her. It was a new and powerful feeling that she was not totally sure what she was supposed to do with. She wanted to hold onto it and yet the part of her that nagged about things that weren't real and how getting caught up in moments was the most sure fire way to care too much dampened the mood when it had free reign to nag in her ear. That was another side effect of Deus - for all the adventure and fun and bad-boy-with-still-water-depth-ness of him... when he wasn't there and there was no flash and charm to distract you, you could feel all the ways he didn't mean the things he said. She didn't begrudge him that, she just wished her inner Ruby would shut the hell up about it.

This little game of emotional cat and mouse was going to be bad for both of them. She didn't even have to have her crystal ball to see that. Still, as deflated as she felt, she did what she did best and put on her most playful smile standing in front of him. As long as she had on those heels she was not Sophie Flickwick with her sixteen years of steamer trunk baggage and a dead mother. standing there she was Nix Sullivan, she was sassy and just as dangerous as Deus Deres or any of his damn aliases, especially Malcolm fecking Finkley. Placing one hand on her hip, she held her chin at a mildly defiant angle, "I tried on six different straight jacket dresses, the absolute least you could to is give me a real once over and stop talkin' utter shite about Heartbreakers". she brushed a wayward curl from her face before turning in a slow circle, glancing over her shoulder at him once, giving an eyebrow wiggle.

Then she gingerly sat down; though rather than the usual dainty tuck of her ankles together, she crossed her slender legs toward Deus, silently grateful she had taken full advantage of her time working in Nan's garden and they were not ghastly white and in need of stockings - though maybe stockings would have been better. She started to ask him what he thought but his question deflated her self assurance that she could just bounce from the idea of not growing up to look like her mother right back to being her playful self. Most people were happy to play along, but Deus? Well she should have known he'd be difficult. The thing was she really... didn't want to talk abut it. She didn't want to think about it. When you got right down to it, it was the kind of conversation she would have with Chance, it wasn't even something she would share with Luc and certainly not someone who had just kissed her with tongue.

So she gave a vague shrug, resting her elbow against her knee and her chin against her hand, "Oh, nothing really. Wondering about stockings. What do you think, better with or without? Arguments could be made for either side," she extended one of the slightly elongated limbs toward him, pointing her toe and arching an eyebrow expectantly. That had worked pretty well to unsettle him a bit in the alley, the whole her no longer looking like the version of herself he knew and was used to. As stated half a dozen time in either of their minds at any given moment she wasn't stupid and she also didn't happen to be blind. She just wasn't sure how one solidly worked that angle. She could try though, she was a pretty fast learner when it really counted, even if she fumbled along the way. "By the way? If you jab me in the eye, I will not hesitate to return the favor," there that was plenty of teasing. He would go with that... hopefully.

She was dangerous, all right. And sassy, certainly. So she wanted a real once over? Believe him, she'd had one, but he didn't mind taking a second look. Or a third and fourth, as she spun slowly. The obliging grin on Deus's lips all but screamed he knew something she didn't, and he knelt on one knee. "All righ', lass." And when he spoke again, a second later, his eyes were glassy and wide, dreamy and devoted, and his voice was a soft and urgent whisper, black velvet and breathless. "She walks in beauty, like th' night / Of cloudless climes ahn starry skies; ahn all tha's best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect ahn her eyes / Thus mellowed tae tha' tender light / Which heaven tae gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray th' less / Had half impaired th' nameless grace / Which waves in every raven tress, / Or softly lightens o'er her face; / Where thoughts serenely sweet express— Aw feck it. Ah donnae remember th' rest." He straightened, and his voice was back to its usual mischevious, charming drawl. "Sommat abou' glowin' smiles that all comes around tae a fancy way o' sayin' yer prettier'n'a cow chewin' cud in a clover patch." He waved a hand dismissively, and then smiled that sweet, boyish grin that was purely his. "But ye do got raven tresses. Ahn some fabulous legs."

Deus didn't bat an eyelash as she gave him the answer he expected, maybe not in words but certainly in spirit. And he didn't indicate anything that would suggest he could call her bluff if he chose.

What do you think, better with or without?

Merlin, he loved a good opening. He caught them limb as it was extended, gave it a quick jerk and caught Sophie around the waist with his other arm, lifting her easily with one arm in a parody of a bridal carry, tilting her so her legs were a bit higher than her head, and letting his gaze inspect those legs extremely carefully, as though to make the most serious decision possible. It was easy to forget that Deus was strong. He didn't play Quidditch, he didn't go running around the Quidditch pitch every morning at 6 AM (despite whatever he said), and it was popularly accepted that when he was skipping class he was snogging seventh years behind the Quidditch supply shed. And it was true, there was plenty of that. But in the summers, there was lots of unloading box after box of liquor and supplies. There was climbing down cliffs and then climbing up again with crates and containers of stolen and smuggled goods. There was climbing drain pipes and wall siding, and, occasionally, the walls of Hogwarts. He'd been caught at that once, and the point loss had been staggering, even if it was popularly blamed on his getting caught selling old tests. Of course, it didn't hurt that Sophie was tiny.

And Merlin did she have some legs. Who knew?

The arm that wasn't supporting her in the air rested lightly on her legs, and he ran a hand from her ankle up to the crocheted lace of the short hem, where his fingers—oh so clever fingers, as more than one Slytherin poker night and pickpocketing mishap had proven—played idly with the delicate decoration. He pretended to consider a minute longer, although he was careful to keep his fingers, well, it couldn't be said he kept them somewhere appropriate, but still chaste perhaps. "Wit'out." He murmured, voice husky and if not strained precisely, then definitely a little rough. "Definitely wit'out." Without putting her down, his hand skirted back down to her ankle, and he lifted it to his lips and placed a cheeky kiss on the top of her foot. Of course, through all of this, he was sure maneuver her such that despite his handling of her, the pressure of his chest and arm would  hold the cloth of her dress securely in place. Not that he would mind seeing the knickers he was sure Haley had forced on her, but despite what most of his peers would have likely assumed, he preferred to be invited to do so.

Feeling ridiculously fond of his little Gryffindor, and amused with how well she fit in this odd atmosphere, he set her gently down.

And realized, with a hard, sudden, sinking feeling, that he was going to have to Obliviate her. Not just because she knew about Malcolm. Not just because she knew about Alex—which was what he was more popularly known as in this part of town.  Or because she knew about Hadley. She knew how he'd gotten the shoes. She knew one of his safehouses, whether she could recognize Hadley's shop as such or not. She knew about Hadley, and that…well that could be as dangerous for Sophie as it was for Hadley and Deus. He didn't usually make these kinds of mistakes. He was horrified to realize he had. But then, he didn't usually run into casual Hogwarts friends when doing deeds for the Kelpie, and it had been ages since his…well, business, had come into contact with the personal. He'd gotten sloppy and complacent. Sophie made him feel ridiculous, and he forgot that underneath, he was supposed to still be serious.

Shit.

Deus was good at memory charms. Flesh memories, modifying charms, all of it. He hadn't been allowed to do anything for the Kelpie other than standard, innocuous drudge work (to this day he detested washing dishes) until he had at least a capable grasp of the complex charms. It was how the Kelpie had survived so long. He'd been able to wipe a memory by 12, modify it by 14. It was all about memory at the Kelpie. Hide and protect. He could manage it. A little nudging, and she'd remember running into him. He'd have sent her to Hadley, who would give her the shoes and the outfit, and she'd go to her concert. It would be easy.

And Merlin help him, he didn't want to do it.

Not yet. He amended. He still had to get her to her concert safe and sound. If she got jumped in Knockturn—and she would, looking like that—that would cause all kinds of problems. And you know, he liked her, so that would suck.

Keeping his face pleasantly neutral and his tone light, he winked. "Ye 'ave me full permission tae draw me a twirly villain mustache if ah poke ye in th' eye. Always wanted one." He rubbed his top lip thoughtfully and sighed. "Guess it just isnae in th' cards righ' now. Speaking of which, if yer curious, Hadley knows me as Ace." Alex, technically, was what most people knew the older form of him as (it was difficult to polyjuice someone who didn't exist yet, and most criminals wouldn't work with a kid, so this had been a necessity more than once, even before he knew about the watch). But it had been Hadley who'd given him the nickname, in a game of cards he'd played as a twelve year-old in his twenty-year-old skin, back when she'd been a barmaid and the whole thing had ended with Deus hitting someone upside the head with her tray, and it had stuck.

And then he went to work, adding only the lightest touch of cosmetics to her face. She didn't need any, really, but without some at least, she would have looked out of place in a world where hiding who and what you were was a way of life.

Merlin help them all.