the original quibbler™

☆

        Charlie had known full well that the charm they’d placed on their doorknob was all but an invitation – a door that unlocked itself for a friendly hand was wonderful for a person that hated carrying keys or getting up when their landlord dropped by with the new gelatin recipe his wife had heard about from her sister in the states, but it also came with the chance of company. Luckily the only one of their friends who both knew where they lived and would just waltz in without a second thought was Llewellyn. So they weren’t surprised when the closing of the door was followed by the familiar voice, even before they’d walked into the kitchen to find him. “For breakfast waffles? Of course I’m hungry. Do you want coffee or juice? I think I have tea too, somewhere.”

☆

He turned with a bright grin at what was, naturally, the only acceptable answer to his question, but it was the first real smile Llewellyn had felt fall into place in several days, and he was glad for it. “I think juice for me, actually,” he said, giving it an extra moment of thought, “I’ve already had several cups of coffee this morning, if we’re being honest. I think if I have another, I’m likely to start vibrating.” But he made himself useful, pulling the boxes out and setting them on the counter, all too proud to have brought back the selection of toppings he’d managed to. “I remembered the fruit this time, too, so that we can pretend we didn’t cover half of these in whipped cream, or chocolate. I got all the syrups, too, all the flavors. Oh, they had a new one, too. Grapefruit. Grapefruit syrup! Who thinks of these things??”

–

“If it helps at all, his brother isn’t even allowed through the front door.” Walburga offered. She couldn’t blame Aberforth on that one. Her older brother wasn’t allowed through the front door either. Older brothers were, as a general rule, a bit of a let-down.

“Perhaps it was someone with a sick sense of humor.” Walburga said stiffly. Merlin only knows they had enough weirdos around these days. Probably something Orion’s new friends would love. “Hopefully whoever did it has the good sense to put her back. I believe Mary Jane has gone through quite enough without this.”

–

.

That did help, and the tilt of Llewellyn’s head as he considered that information showed it. “He is allowed in, though,” he pointed out a beat later, remembering the gathering that the man had arranged downstairs in October – though Llewellyn realized now, as he spoke, that he had no way of proving Albus hadn’t been told no and then simply decided he was doing it anyways. Gryffindors (and siblings, he’d been told) were simply like that – “but, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

Of course, the firmness from Walburga, while not unexpected, assured Llewellyn that he had, at least (if nothing else) found someone to speak to who gave a damn. “I agree with you,” he said, wanting to reassure the young Black that he had no respect or kind wishes for whoever had done this. “They’ve all been through enough. No, no, she isn’t missing. But you -” Llewellyn broke off, silent for a rare moment as he regarded Walburga once more; he found himself shocked that the assumption she’d made was so close, though he felt certain, he decided, softening as he readied himself to finish his sentence, that Walburga didn’t know – she was just upset, and rightfully so. “You aren’t that far off. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything at all, I can see I’ve upset you, and I never intended to. I can’t leave you with more questions, though, after drudging it up, but I need you to know that I’m sickened over what I’m going to tell you, please know that. Her ... coffin was exposed in the open earth. It had been pried open, same as that of Smith. The others .. the others, weren’t though.” 

Most people had more sense, or more tact, maybe even more consistent manners – but most people were not Llewellyn. Most people, after knocking, would not try a door, and were that door unlocked, enter, but again, most people were not Llewellyn, and to Llewellyn, it stood to reason that if Charlie hadn’t wanted visitors, they’d have locked their door. At least Llewellyn didn’t wander too far – only to the kitchen. “Charlie? Are you here? I’ve brought breakfast waffles, are you hungry?”

–

The thing was that Llewellyn wasn’t actually fully wrong. Abe wasn’t in the mood for questions when it came to Llewellyn exclusively. With other people he tended to suffer far too many fools. Hence, Walburga. And occasionally Fyodor, depending on which direction the fool went. “Preferring to talk to him rather his brother makes you smarter than several other people, but that doesn’t mean he’s currently free.”

At the mention of Myrtle, Wally’s back went straight and her eyes flinty. “Yes, I am aware of what happened to her. Her sister is my friend.” Was her friend? Is her friend. Wall chose to believe that she and Mary Jane were still friends. “What is it to you?”

–

.

“And it doesn’t help me either. Though, I guess ... it doesn’t really hurt me, does it?” Llewellyn conceded, much faster than he normally would. Was that a credit to Walburga? Possibly. It was equally likely that it was one of those rare occasions he was able to recognize a lost cause. At least she was being nice about it, typical reactions to and tolerance of Llewellyn being the comparison he held it against. “He’s almost insultingly slippery, but I can’t be the only one he does it to.”

Still, though, her reaction, at least, made it clear that perhaps his trip wasn’t entirely fruitless. A reaction meant, to some extent, Walburga Black cared about Myrtle Warren. And if Walburga cared, that was likely the best chance he’d have at knowing anything the rest of the world didn’t already. “It’s the grave disturbances, you see,” was his answer, simple, though, laced with trepidation. “Hers was one of those ... affected. But I can’t see any reason as to why. It’s been fourteen years, why would someone want to reopen that wound? And who?”

+

He hadn’t heard such an opinion spoken so boldly before, especially not within a public setting where anyone could be listening and Niko was interested to hear the rationale behind it. His name meant very little in the eyes of the wizarding world, and those who classed themselves as the sacred twenty-eight, which sounded more than just a little pretentious in his humble, and often quiet, opinion. He had not given much thought to how the Wizengamot conducted itself; out of the few instances where he had needed to stand in front of them, he had found them fair, if not a little imposing and self-important. He had supposed it came with the title.

Snapping his journal shut and pivoting in his seat to give the other man his full attention, his lips pursed slightly at the explanation, his mind mulling over the words thoughtfully. Ambitious and cunning though he could be, contemplative had never been an easy trait to embody and the reasoning gave him something new to ponder. “I honestly had no idea how the Wizengamot earned their places” he admitted, lifting his fingers to his lips and tugging slightly on the bottom. “Perhaps they feel that those who might be elected into position would upset the delicate balance they seem to have carved for themselves? From what I have heard, traditionalists are not fond of change, and the current members of the Wizengamot might find comfort in clinging to their power through old ways?”

He sat back in his chair, falling silent for a moment, the cogs behind his eyes evidently turning as he processed the argument. Some might have thought he wouldn’t speak again, but Niko liked to take his time when he posed questions, or responded to the beliefs of others. Cleverness was no excuse for ignorance or ego. “It could make things fairer, however, it could do the exact opposite. Splitting a court into two sections; the elected and those who have been around each other for generations, might cause more tension than harmony, and less decision making than petty shot throwing, right?” he questioned, reasonably. “What is your name?”

.

it was a truth universally acknowledged that Llewellyn had more ideas than he had sense. It was equally true, though, that, when he got going and nabbed himself a captive audience, he was suddenly very eloquent with those ideas. His smile grew, and his nod deepened as he lay his hands flat on the table, as though steeling himself for the aftershock of such an earth moving suggestion. “Most don’t, and truly, there’s no confirmed method. I couldn’t even tell you myself how most got theirs, but I do know that most of the same names have had the same amounts of power, only ever more, never less, for generations now. We all know that, though, don’t we? And things never change for the better, do they, not for the whole. Only ever, really, for what seems a peculiarly select demographic, do things ever actually improve with each new law that gets passed. We don’t even hear about most of them, do we? Only the big ones.” Perhaps he was starting easy, sowing the seeds of conspiracy gently to get the juices flowing. But it was, in Llew’s experience, the easiest, and most effective way of getting anyone to consider an alternative to the government as it was – reminding them how little they actually knew about what went on.

“Let’s say that they do, let’s say they fear it.” He liked that, liked how quickly, how willingly, this lad was to pick it up and run with it. “Maintaining the status quo, the one that keeps them in place as the most privileged, the most important peoples – who does that serve? Them, right? But no one else. All the restrictions, all the changes from year to year .... they’re all about limiting new additions, if you think about it. About keeping people out, keeping them unwelcome, instead of opening the community to them. Isn’t that alone reason enough to shake things up?”  He shrugged, but a beat later was slapping his palms (not loudly, not causing a ruckus, just idly, mostly) back on the table as he started up once more. “The traditions they’re holding onto, do they even serve a purpose beyond maintaining the status quo? Surely tradition cannot be more important than the best interest of the community as a whole, can it?” He smirked then, but was willing to let the idea sit to marinate for a bit, feeling it deserved it. And clearly, it had, because his grin grew with Niko’s next thought. He liked this man a lot, whoever he was. “It could, but that’s the thing about change, isn’t it? We adapt to change a lot quicker than we’d like to admit, especially when we don’t like it, because we’ve got everyone reminding us why we did. In as little as a generation, maybe two, what once was a groundbreaking change is now as natural as breathing; cooperation a habit, not a hindrance.” With another smile, he extended a hand. “Llewellyn Lovegood.”

.

        “Charming my way out of working today.” It’s an idle statement, one they don’t imagine Llew picked up on as they watched the metaphorical gears spinning away in his head. They don’t bother making any move to follow, instead finding themself a place to perch out of the way enough to not be too much of a nuisance. “Four hours is plenty of time to do a quick check and get that all sent off. And with an extra set of hands and eyes, you may even have time to spare to jot a quick hint that you’ll be releasing a special edition soon. And like I said, I had to talk my way out of working today – for as wonderfully as they do pay me, I’d’ve lost my mind if I’d gone in after staying late last night. Please though, a decent cup of coffee now and again is plenty payment – you know I only write for my own enjoyment.”

.

Llewellyn wasn’t sure what he’d do without Charlie, but he certainly didn’t want to find out. Charlie seemed to make everything so very simple. If only he was more aware of himself, or of the dumfounded look of awe that often found itself on his face when Charlie was around, maybe he wouldn’t have provided have as much amusement as he did (– but if he didn’t provide amusement (unwittingly), then Charlie might not have had reason to come around so much, and maybe it was just best for everyone he remained unaware). Regardless of his awe, though, he relaxed in her presence; crisis averted. “I can’t say I blame you,” he said finally, unaware (again) of how many moments (consecutively – like three minutes) he’d managed to be silent. “It must be like a mad house down there, all hands on deck. What do they expect an Unspeakable to do about it when you can’t even explain to them what you do? That isn’t your department anymore, I wouldn’t want to be drafted back in either, I’m sure.” But Llewellyn set the crumpled papers back down on the table with a grin and a laugh, shaking his head. “I think you picked the right place to hide, then; no one would think to look for you here. Or to thank you for sparing them my torture. Coffee, though, I can definitely do. I think. I believe I’ve finally mastered the coffee maker, and it does seem to be about time for a coffee break. It’s nice to have a cuppa after a crisis, soothes the nerves.”

Her son? Great. Another useless man where a woman could be. Well that wasn’t entirely fair. Some men were very useful and competent. She just wouldn’t quite trust any with the entire Ministry. It needed a woman’s touch, a woman’s ability to see the bigger picture. But that wasn’t information Llewellyn Lovegood needed.

“Whoever sent you to me when you asked for Aberforth knew that Aberforth isn’t in the mood for questions. He suffers a great many fools already, you see. Tell me what you’d like him to know and I promise to pass it along.” She said with a banal smile.

–

.

“Aberforth is never in the mood for questions,” Llewellyn pointed out, as if that were a protest that was going to change anyone’s mind. “He promised to help me flesh out a theory, and I don’t want to discuss it too much,” he began, frowning. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Walburga (and it wasn’t that he did, either), but he didn’t want to say to much to the wrong person, or near the wrong person’s ears – though it was a mistake he frequently made, even when he wasn’t trying his best not to. “About the grave disturbances,” he added, finally, after his hesitation.

Biting his lip, his frown continued. It just wasn’t a topic of polite conversation, let alone one that one should have with a lady, which Walburga was, or someone who already had a job to do, which, again, Walburga did. “I know he isn’t keen on talking about it again, but I’d prefer to talk to him than his brother. At least Aberforth is honest, and willing to keep an open mind in a hypothetical discussion.” Llewellyn didn’t know, though, if he meant that in general of specifically just in this moment, he realized a beat later. “Unless ... well, you remember Myrtle Warren, don’t you? She would’ve been, what, a year? two? above you?”

-

   Maddox liked Llewellyn even if he found him a bit strange and sometimes difficult to follow. He imagined people thought the same of him, and who was he to judge someone else for being a bit out of the box? He tried not to throw stones at glass houses, unlike someone. He shrugged, “not about worth though, Mr. Lovegood, just expertise. If the Minister had been this year’s hottest seeker, or there’d been a scandal in Appleby, then I’d be your guy.” He grinned, not the least bit self-conscious about the type of journalist he’d chosen. Sports were important, for culture, for politics, for health, for entertainment, and analysis took time, intelligence, and careful thought. He had nothing to be ashamed of, so he wasn’t. 

     He was proud that balance seemed to be the right answer though. It still felt good to be right, even if it wasn’t his area of journalism. Maddox quietened though, eyes creasing as Llewellyn declared him part of the Quibbler family. He wasn’t opposed to it. Monty loved it there, after all, and so did Podric, it seemed. He brightened further at the mention of his dearest friend, but managed to bite his tongue, the offer for the inside scoop too good to resist. However, his stomach dropped as he heard more of what was going on. “Missing people, graves disturbed, a missing auror?” He shook his head, stomach rolling. “Who would disturb a grave? Why?” He wondered, anger flashing across his features. “That’s demented.” He scowled, “Whose grave did they disturb?” He asked, a bit more hesitantly. He didn’t think he’d like the answer. 

.

“If you think worth is only determined by expertise, then you’re going to be eternally disappointed, Mr. McKinnon. Worthiness can come from whatever you decide, you know, worth isn’t objective; it doesn’t weight the same for everyone.” Llewellyn was often a font of inspirational, quotable babble, but rarely did he realize how well timed or placed some of his off-handed (to him) observations could be. Which was not to say that this was one of those moments, no, only that even when deviating from the topic at hand Llewellyn was capable of pulling insight even from the thinnest air. “If expertise were the name of the game in this situation, sir, then I would have to say we have a total of zero experts. If expertise is based on how much experience you have in a certain field or situation, then I believe this is a new combination of such to anyone we currently have on the case at any level – from media to investigative. So it’s a balance. Balance in information being reported and released, a balance in the workforce of those investigating: the seasoned and the fresh, who both bring different skills and perspectives; balance in all things, Maddox, and worthiness in any regard, of any thing, dependent upon each who behold it, whatever it is.”

He was getting away from himself, though, and this time realized it, so when Maddox redirected his thoughts with his reactions and queries, Llewellyn was happy to travel back down that path, and get back on track with what he’d been meaning to say – without saying too much. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t be able to read for himself in the morning, or that he was afraid of being scooped, but truly, Maddox did not appear to be someone who really was prepared to hear the truth. “You know, Maddox, they say that you shouldn’t ask questions that you don’t really want the answers to. They also say that there’s no such thing as bad press, and that no news is good news. But the fact is, Maddox, that there are a lot of things that happen in this world, combined or separate, every single day, and these things happen at the hands of people whose motives simply ... make no sense to us, even when we discover them. I agree with you, that disturbing graves is demented, but beyond that, I also think it’s disrespectful. To their memories, and to their families.” It was, however, the most widely available of all the news yet so far, because the cemeteries were ... not private or securable places in the way the Ministry was. “You might be to know these names, but the graves of Myrtle Warren, whom you’ve actually met before, and Hebzibah Smith, were disturbed, along with another, an unmarked one.”

where: anywhere with: @ll-lovegood​

He wasn’t entirely sure he had overheard the conversation correctly. Niko didn’t like to make a habit of eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers, even familiar looking ones, but the topic being discussed had him a little baffled. Several words had caught his attention, turning his head away from the journal of scribbled quidditch plays in front of him, towards the silvery haired man at the next table. 

When the man’s companion stood up to leave, Niko dithered for a moment before leaning over and knocking his knuckle against the other’s table to get his attention. “I couldn’t help overhearing…” he started, grimacing a little, “but do you really think that?”

.

Most likely would’ve minded the eavesdropping, but not Llewellyn – not only was the Lovegood far too familiar with people tuning out when he was speaking, or leaving, he was always searching for a listening ear, so when he found one, he wasn’t likely to let it slip away. “No, I do, I do,” he assured the man, who did look familiar (Llewellyn wasn’t as up on his sports as he could have been, as a man in media, but he recognized the face as familiar, at least, and deserved half credit) but whom he couldn’t place. “I truly believe the Wizengamot should be comprised of a mix of hereditary seats and elected seats. A fair blend.”

Nodding, as if this cemented his argument before he even gave reasoning, he continued speaking as he turned to more fully face the beater. “As someone whose name means nothing, you can be assured I don’t want a place in it, so I’m not biased in that regard – and I’ll even allow that perhaps the names that do –” he had to stop and use air quotes there, “would like a chance to revise their hierarchy of sacred names, but –” he trailed off, shaking his head. Llewellyn, almost as a rule, spoke too much, and sometimes, in such strange patterns, that it was almost a wonder he hadn’t discovered why people disliked being trapped in chats with him. “If they feel secure in having a proper say in courts and lawmaking, in a fair number of seats ... The court usually hovers somewhere near fifty, right? So even if they only swap names on it and don’t cut it ... twenty eight hereditary seats for the pure, twenty eight for the rest of the wixen world. Can’t you see how much fairer that could make things?”

where; hogs head whomst; open

Walburga had never actually cared much about the Minister, or politics. But the recent death had her father shaken. She hadn’t seen him this out of sorts since Alphard left. He’d even mentioned Orion the other day. Wally hated when he did that, it hadn’t boded well since Cyg had replaced him on the family tapestry.

“No, I don’t know who they’ll pick to replace her.” She told the client currently doing a very poor job of checking in, “And frankly I don’t care. Are you going to book a room or not?”

==

.

“Oh, I heard her son wants to throw his hat into the ring, if there’s an election,” Llewellyn offered, unsure what else he was meant to do. he’d come up here for a reason, and that reason had not been Walburga, but, on finding her instead, he’d attempted small talk to try and ease his way towards what he sought, and it did not seem to be working out for him. “Not, to be frank.” He was relieved, honestly, that she’d just gone and asked so blatantly, though he didn’t understand the continued icy demeanor she carried into customer service with her.

“I was looking for Aberforth, and got directed up here. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him? I fear I’m being sent in circles and that he doesn’t intend to speak to me at all.”

-

  Mira smiled, finding that Llewellyn’s way of seeing the world was refreshing. She had no doubt that he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but she didn’t mind him at all. “I appreciate them, absolutely.” She agreed, before softening as he explained the ‘potato’ ordeal. “You’d never met a child before just recently?” She asked, amazed by the idea. Her family was so large, she couldn’t imagine not seeing babies all the time. She had sisters upon sisters, and cousins upon cousins, and with it came nieces and nephews and second cousins. She knew all too much about infants, even though she didn’t have one of her own. “I suppose some of them might look a bit like potatoes,” She laughed, nodding. “I’m happy you’re fond of the child, I’m sure they’re very fond of you as well. What’s the child’s name?” She asked, curiously. 

   “They say that’s a picture of Heaven,” Mira agreed. “Everything at the table, everyone sharing so everyone gets what they need.” She explained, as she walked with him, considering the advice he’d shared. “You ought to add to your Quibbler, Llew. A section on tips for herbology, or potions, or whatever subject you’d like to share advice on. I’m sure your readers would love to know about the lacewing silk.” She noted, finding that she agreed people seemed to praise selfishness these days. “Oh, I’m not one for resolutions either. If I’m going to make a goal, it doesn’t need to wait for a special date.” She agreed. “I think people have done them more out of tradition than desire, but why do something simply for the sake of tradition if it’s of no true benefit to you?” 

.

“I fear I may go overboard in compensation,” he confessed, grinning, despite his best efforts not to, “because for whatever reason, people just love to let a promising light’s shine be overshadowed at even the hint of thunderstorms others brewed. It’s envy, I expect, indirect and mostly-blindly unaware though it appears to be,” he continued, though the time for compliments and their discussion had past, and he had now reached overkill. But it was so delightful to hear, in return, that Mira had met several children, babies even, and, by the look of it, found that to be an enjoyable thing as well.  “The Lovegoods aren’t really ... anybody, in terms of things, and I’m not really what most would consider close, to my nearest cousins – on the tree, or in age. There was Brienne, but she moved to Tuscany after her marriage, and I haven’t seen her since. An old friend, though, came to visit a few weeks ago as a surprise and brought her baby. It’s been a wonderful change to my usual routine.” He realized, though, as he told her how to build a clock when she asked for the time, that he’d never considered how to avoid using the child’s name or acknowledging the child’s confirmed presence, lest they be discovered. “I always butcher it, the poor thing, so I call them Peanut.”

Of course, he was sure that Miranda was just being kind, herself, now. After all, she let him babble on endlessly, and frequently, and still found it in her to say that he should babble for the world. Truly, people this kind were few and far between, and Llewellyn was glad to say he knew her. “Perhaps I should, that could be fun,” he agreed, nodding. “It would give us something to look forward to, each week. What will we learn next?” What, indeed, and what a thought. He was grinning ear to ear, and nodding happily at all the agreement they seemed to find between them. “I simply don’t see the point. You either want to do something, or you don’t. Tradition adds value, or it falls away. There’s no in between, no gray. Why should December/January promises be so special?”

-

   Maddox had no reason to drop by the Quibbler, except that he wanted to see if Monty was there, and also he thought it might be nice to bring him lunch. He had no doubt that the office would be bustling with everyone trying to figure out what the hell happened. What kind of Salazar Slytherin bullshit was that snake mark anyway? It gave him the chills, and he didn’t like it. So he’d channeled the discomfort into something productive. His job in the paper didn’t have him analyzing the death of Ministers, after all, and it seemed insensitive to focus on sports analysis at a time like this, which meant he had the day off. 

    He came into the office, sack lunch for Monty in hand, but paused when he heard Llewellyn speaking. He listened, nodding along as he spoke. “I’m not really the person to ask, but balance seems good yeah? You can talk about her accomplishments and whatever’s going on with this mess? Did you learn more, Mr. Lovegood?” He wondered, curious if he’d gotten more inside details, being a skilled journalist and all. 

.

Though Unspeakable Cahill had already solved his spiral, Llewellyn had remained stuck in and around it, repeating it to himself throughout the day as he’d rearranged the work from the original edition, sprinkling in the extra pages which thickened it so nicely, while leaving the bulk of the extra work for the suggested (and genius) special edition. Putting out the first Quibbler of the year was necessary, and the additional edition was a nice bonus, and a kind gesture, rather than overkill and disappointment from all sides. Still talking to himself, he wondered where he’d forgotten to consider the notions the Ministry’s favorite Mystery had presented for contemplation. Somehow, his train of thought and logic simply did not have a stop in either Emotional or Information Overload as it made its’ way through to Public Awareness. The sudden sound of another voice was jarring – though, not in a bad way. It was helpful, actually; especially on the awareness front.

“I did, actually, though not in the way you meant, most likely. But I did learn more, today, and that is what I feel is the most important component, overall. Balance, though, yes, agreed. And doubly, so, Mr. McKinnon, as you’re the second to suggest balance, so you’re not as far from worthy as you think, opinion wise, though, why you’d let anyone else determine that for you, I will continue to remain unclear on.” Getting away from the point, any point, tended to be Llewellyn’s thing, though he rarely realized it; it was all connected to him, and he could prove it to you, though it would be such a dizzying journey that it was usually easier not to point out seeming irrelevances in the first place to avoid such nonsense. “But to answer your actual question, Maddox, yes. I did learn more. And because I am so familiar with you, at this point, if you don’t mind me saying, because I feel you are very much a part of this Quibbler family in your own way, and because as soon as I figure out where to place the article our Mr. Potter is polishing up –” Llewellyn paused, here, but not for breath, or to break in his ramble, purely to  gesture to where Fleamont was working away dedicatedly and turn back to Maddox, “– it will be about twenty minutes until the arrival of our Print-Prentice™ Podric, like clockwork, to whisk the entire thing away to hit newsstands, doorsteps, windows, and perches by dawn, and the pair of you, as any would be, will be be tempted to read it early, and seeing as you’ll have nearly unimpeded access to do so, I’ll just tell you myself: the Minister’s murder is not the only New Years’ incident under heavy, hushed investigation. We’ll all hopefully know more by the weekend, but graves were disturbed, several people are missing, and one of them might be an Auror. Oh, and there’s going to be an election. I think those are the highlights you were seeking, yes?” 

.

        “Mhmm, and tell me something, Llewellyn – did you take any time to consider the people that wrote that last edition for you before you tossed it? Or your readers, for that matter, who’d mostly be uninterested in a full two-page spread about Tuft, let alone an entire edition.” They’d managed to take the day for themself – not hard, given that the Department of Mysteries was hardly needed while everyone else was bustling to sort things through. Though as they watched him pace about they had to imagine their day wouldn’t’ve gone much different if they had gone in to work. “Not to mention many people are going to want a break from all the news. Would’ve been a better move to print an extra edition on the side – likely would’ve reached a bigger audience.”

.

“I – well, no.” Pausing there – a first, truly – Llewellyn frowned. “I didn’t consider ... any of these things at all, Unspeakable Cahill, where were you two hours ago? I have to –” Off he went, again, across the room and into another, though the rustling sounds were surely leaving no room for surprise if Charlie hadn’t followed; Llewellyn had dashed off in a mad race, hoping he hadn’t crumpled things too terribly in his morning (dramatic) swipe and bin therapy session. He had, of course, but not beyond repair, though he carried them with such reckless abandon – still in fistfuls, directly in front of his face so he couldn’t see where he was going – and moved back through the office on blind faith he wouldn’t injure himself. “You’re absolutely right. No one will take anything seriously, from me, or from the Prophet, if I bin this. It’s a week’s worth of news, and everything coming up.  And .. Well, truthfully, I was running out of ways to stop myself starting several different investigative articles, anyways, and I’m fours hours to print, so .... Honestly, where were you two hours ago? A special edition I can take some extra time with, you’re .. a genius, Merlin, I hope they pay you like it. At this point, I probably should.”

“No, I ... I ... scrubbed the entire edition. It’s done, binned, over. Useless, really.” Llewellyn threw up his hands, though a beat or two later they were fisted into his hips, the blond pacing the room. “Naturally, Minister Tuft is the focal point. It’s all for her – accomplishments, her time in office. What else were we supposed to do? She was more than her ending, so that shouldn’t be the only thing being said about her now she’s gone.”

-

    “You’re far too complimentary, Mr. Lovegood, but I appreciate the sentiment nonetheless, thank you.” Miranda agreed, cheeks flushed both from the praise and the drinks she’d finished. She’d never been one to drink very much, but lately she’d taken to it far more often. She listened, pausing at the comment, her brows furrowing. “I beg your pardon? You wished to spend your evening with a root vegetable?” She asked, not the least bit understanding what on Earth he was on about. “I’m happy to have your company,” She mused, “but I must confess I’m never sure what to expect with you either.” She laughed, almost fond of her former classmate. He wasn’t in her year, but they hadn’t been too far separated. 

     She smiled at the response, pleased things were going well for him. She’d tried the idea herself and had success with her vegetables taking to the silk as well. “It was a very clever idea, Llew. I appreciate you sharing it with me.” She admitted, glancing down at her gown as he complimented her once more. He was full of compliments today, she’d noted. “I agree,” she moved to take his arm, gesturing for him to walk with her. “Do you have plans for this year, Llewellyn? Are you one to make resolutions?” She wondered, deciding to go down a quieter hall. 

.

“Yes, probably,” he agreed, finding himself in a very agreeable mood just then, “but then, isn’t it better, sometimes, to be sure your compliments aren’t mistaken, rather than having to explain them for what they are?” He laughed, though, shaking his head. Mostly, he figured, it was just a him problem, but that was a clarity only afforded to him temporarily, and with alcohol. “But I should explain that,” he added, at her question. “Not an actual potato, no, but an infant I find I’m very fond of. I’d never met a child before, but I rather fancy they miht currently be my favorite human alive. Infants look rather like potatoes, don’t you think?”

He laughed again, though he was willing to follow where she led. “I suppose that rather proves your point, though, doesn’t it? About the unexpected. Sharing, though, that I’m always happy to do. I don’t really care much for secrets, they lead to distasteful things. Things are simpler when everything is on the table. And I’m glad you were able to reap the benefits, there. So many people just keep things to themselves. When did selfishness become an honorable trait?” He shrugged, though, considering her next question as he followed down the hallway, eyes everywhere but her her person. “I’m not, actually. But I don’t think I’d ever thought about it before. What about you? Do you do resolutions? In a way, I suppose, I can see the allure ... but what is so special about these goals that they can only be set at the new year?”

If there were people here she didn’t know who didn’t run in the other direction, she was already comfortable. It seemed her reputation (both good and bad) was known before her. “I’m headed back to the main house. If that’s not where you’re going, I’m happy to direct you in the correct way.” She stuck her hand out, the businesswoman in her coming out. It was never a bad idea to make a new friend. “Maira Black.” 

.

“I think we can both see reason, just this once,” Llewellyn joked, sheepishly, though, again, for once (surprisignly) the joke was made by himself and at his own expensive (and well timed). “I doubt anyone wants me roaming through their home unattended, though, because of my name or my occupation is up for debate I’m sure.” He grinned, though, as Maria introduced herself formally, and reached out himself to take up her hand in his with a hearty shake. “Llewellyn Lovegood, it’s wonderful to meet you. Genuinely, I really enjoy meeting people, I find it delightful fun.”