9pm

So it went down like this:  In the middle of the night on June 21, he'd made a deal with an off-duty Auror that essentially gained Briggs nothing but a wing and a spell.[1]  Then on July 17, he was formally charged and bail was set.  And then, on July 27, someone posted his bail and Nate found himself out on the streets again, no wand, jumpy as shite. 

The Wizengamot had made it blindingly clear that should he decide to go anywhere or do anything he would be roundly re-jailed until and during his entire trial.  Nate presumed they were as worried as he was that he'd come up with the heavy fee for his freedom. 

Nate Briggs had fully expected to wait it out.  This wasn't at all to do with what he and Trevelyan had talked about, and Dazmond, well, she'd quashed the rumor that she had any substantial amount of gold by nearly choking on her cigarette when he showed up home at the Sodding Arms. 

Free was never free, he knew that.  He almost preferred the holding cells to this kind of suspense.  The last time he had this kind of suspense, he'd gotten a rough-up by a former client of Sellaphix's[2], and then forced to do a big favor for Cinaed Tawse[3].  Which had started this whole, inescapable mess.  And now he couldn't go out for milk (which he was right now) without knowing he owed something for the privilege.

Briggs hurried through Knockturn to a tiny corner place that sold all sorts of useful things, like shrunken heads, toothbrushes, false muggle money and well, milk.  He slid across the knuts to pay for the glass bottle and then the clerk (who he hadn't looked at) slid him a folded bit of paper. 

"Don't need a receipt," he said, and turned to go, but the cashier slammed his hand down on the counter.  Nate, wandless and wanting no trouble, not over milk, obeyed the strange imperative and took the note.  He opened it on his way out, and standing under an orange-glowing lamplight, he read in neatly typed letters.

Mr Prideaux wishes to speak with you.  Eat this note if you agree.  Throw it on the ground if you decline.

Nate looked around for someone on the street nearby but saw no one.  In a few quick paces he found himself in one of the dead end passages that riddled Knockturn Alley like swiss cheese and read the note over and over again.  Inspecting it.

Vedir Prideaux was a Wizengamot Elder.  Nate had seen him when he was formally charged.  He wasn't a wizard that you turned down, not if you were bottom of the cauldron like Nate was lately.  But eat it?  Merlin's bones, that seemed ominous. 

Even as he stared at it, another line of type appeared.

Mr Prideaux wishes to speak with you.  Eat this note if you agree. Throw it on the ground if you decline.

Don't dawdle, Mr Briggs.

With a look to the dim stars above his head, Nate crumpled the note and popped it in his mouth.  And washed it all down with a swig of fresh, cold milk.

1.	Hidden Away At The Bottom Of My Brain
2.	Lessons, Son
3.	Think Of It This Way

"Excellent choice, Mister Briggs."

The voice was, no doubt, magically altered; but the effect was one that usually worked quite well on nervous little worms like Briggs. There was nothing quite like the look on their faces when they agreed to the note and then a voice whispered almost in their ear...of course, it wasn't actually as good as the expression when they'd refused.

The man that emerged from the shadows at a casual stroll was well-dressed, his robes crisp and snappy. But the robes also left an aura to him that made it clear they'd been either assigned to him...or that they'd been chosen more for the fact they were enchanted to absorb stains. His actual appearance was rather normal; his brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, his brown eyes weren't piercingly cold, and - most likely to his annoyance - freckles had yet to fade on his cheeks. The combination was a bit disconcerting.

"Good evening," he said, with a smile that was clearly completely for Nate's sake, his hands folded formally behind his back. "If you'll come with me, Mister Briggs? My employer isn't fond of waiting." Certainly not for people like Briggs, anyway. He waved Nate to the opposite end of the Alley, which opened into the street.

"Walk to this address," he said, handing Nate a new note; it contained a crude map. "I will join you there shortly."

When Nate had eaten the note, and nothing happened, he flinched and coughed when it was just a voice in his ear.  A wizard he'd never seen before was speaking to him gently, like a person waking up from A Draught of Living Death. 

Why the hell had he been told to  eat the note? He was expecting a Portkey and now, when it wasn't, well - just why the hell had he had to eat it?  A Portkey he knew, rather than the ingested whatever he didn't? Which was the more unsettling for his stomach?

He took the second note, still eyeing the stranger and holding the opened jar of milk in his left hand.  He glanced down at it.  He didn't recognize the layout.    He studied the map for a moment and then looked up.

"This is-"  he stopped.  The bloke was gone.  And there hadn't even been a crack of an Apparition.

"Lovely." 

---

Even though he'd followed the map, Nate wouldn't have been able to tell you where he'd wound up.  Could as likely have been Greenwich as Greenland for all he knew.  But he was now standing ahead of an old warehouse covered in all manner of forbidding signs.  Every step he took in sheep-like compliance seemed to be taking him to a place he didn't want to be.  But who knows.  Pushing against all authority hadn't worked that well either.

By now his mood was flippant and devil-may-care, and so he didn't hesitate to approach the building, turn the handle and go in despite all the signage urging him to do otherwise.

And of course. 

"Mr. Prideaux."