yellow flicker beat

Her words minced his efforts and Max's lips twitched. Of course, he almost forgot how they met. For him, it had been natural. For her, it was an assignment. "For me, it was," he said honestly, shrugging and then turned towards her. "I remember everything...are you hiding anything from me this time? I'd rather know now than be blindsided later."

Max didn't know what they were doing, but he had thought about standing in front of her many times like this. Whether it was a planned speech to get whatever words off his chest or tell her how he's felt, regardless of his vexation with her. "Well if we're being honest, I was hoping for more than just two dates."

She winced. Yes, she had deserved that. Lying to him hadn't gotten easier at any point. Hell it had only ever gotten worse the more she grew to love him. "By the end of tonight, there will be no more secrets between us. I promise."

Merlin she was 28 she shouldn't feel like some school girl with her first love. He made her breath catch. She wanted everything he could possibly offer, anything he'd give her. "I want that, too. Very much so."

The tiny bell above the door chimed softly as Molly stepped into the teashop, the warmth of the place wrapping around her. Autumn wind curled in behind her, tugging playfully at her hair before she nudged the door shut with her hip.

Cradled in her arms was the smallest Weasley yet— red-haired, red-cheeked, and swaddled tightly in a blanket charmed to keep out even the nosiest of drafts. Her sixth boy. Her sixth.

Molly inhaled deeply, the scent of cardamom and chamomile steeping in the air. It had been weeks since she’d stepped outside, her world reduced to the hum of lullabies and the creak of floorboards during midnight feedings. This small escape — a cup of tea, nothing more — felt as daring as dragon-taming.

“Tea for one?” the witch behind the counter asked kindly.

Molly smiled, adjusting the baby in her arms. “Tea for two, I think,” she said. “Though he won’t be drinking much just yet.”

The teashop owner chuckled and flicked her wand. A kettle lifted itself onto the fire, and a plush armchair in the corner scooted back invitingly, plumping its cushions.

Molly settled in, baby nestled against her chest, and closed her eyes for a moment. Then the jingle of the door again. She opened her eyes to look and adjusted in her seat. “Well, look who it is.”

Puddifoot's wasn't normally crowded this time of day and she desperately needed a good cuppa. Opening the door to find the place almost empty made her heart sing with relief. Anthony was strapped to her front in a carrier, facing out for once so he could see the world around him.

"Oh, hello." She said, one hand resting gently on Anthony's stomach. "I'm not interrupting anything am I? I don't know if I'm the one you were expecting."

"What about after me?" he said with a tilt of his head. Max didn't want whatever answer she gave. He tried to see people after her, but couldn't open his heart like he did before it was on a chopping block. Instead, he preferred standalone nights with strangers he wouldn't see again. He knew an invitation back to hers when he heard it and a slow grin spread over his face. There was hope dangling between him, it was enough to give him the confidence that this was a date with a happy ending. "Sure. I'd like to see you prove me wrong. What are you thinking about right now?" It was his own way to prob at her mind without penetrating through, a skill that came easily to him but fell flat on her each time.

She turned to look at him head-on. If she was the sappy sort, Flick might have said he was the real work of art here. Thinking it did make her cringe inwardly even if she did find it true. "Your dates were always the most fun. I probably would've dated you anyways, if we'd run into each other naturally."

Her lips twitched. "Hoping you'll want a second date, even after you come back to mine. Honest."

“I think you’re wise to start with trinkets,” he admitted. “A bit of tinkering is harmless enough, so long as you’re patient with it. The moment you rush or force a reaction, poof.” His hands mimed a small explosion, then fluttered back down. “And the mess is never half as fun to explain as it was to make.”

He followed her gaze to the blender, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Well, if it’s like you, then it’s got some fight in it and refuses to be predictable. I’d say that’s a compliment. Most things that last in this world do.” Her mention of her son softened his smile further. “Floating toys, now that’s brilliant. I used to do that for the boys all the time, until they figured out how to make the things chase each other. Nearly lost a lamp that way.” He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “Still, it’s worth every bit of chaos, seeing their faces light up. Magic’s meant to delight, too, not just defend.”

She didn't plan on starting with tinkering. Just taking them all apart to see what made them up and how they functioned. Maybe she would try and put them together sure, but more likely she'd bring them back to Arthur. "Well, luckily I would only have to explain it to myself. That is the plus side of being a single parent, I think."

Her smile grew warmer, more personable. It was nice to feel complimented and known. "Thank you, Arthur. Anthony's got quite a while before he'll start sending things chasing, thank Merlin. I have my hands full as it is! I have no idea how you and Molly handle so many kids at once."

She nodded slowly, absorbing every word, though the conversation stirred an unwelcome memory, Beck showing up at her apartment that night. She pushed the thought aside. Dating was complicated enough, and relationships even more so. “That’s… a lot to take in,” she admitted, still trying to piece it all together. “He deserves to know he’s a father. He might need some time for it to really sink in, but you can’t build anything with him unless he knows the truth.” Her words were honest and sincere.

“If you do feel the itch to dig deeper, books are usually the safest start. You can find Muggle history, culture, even their rituals, often for far less than the more practical gadgets. The real trick is money. Muggle currency can be confusing, depending on how you go about things. I still find myself short of the right notes at the wrong moment.” He chuckled, shaking his head.

His eyes dropped fondly to the blender. “Yes, it’s a bit sad when magic doesn’t sit well with the object. Sometimes it works in harmony, though helps the enchantment hold, for better or worse. This one, I think, is mostly benign. Temperamental, perhaps. Nips at fingers, switches on at odd times, runs hot. Annoying, but not explosive, which makes it practically a success compared to some.”

Arthur leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Once I had a wizard try to pass off quick levitation charms as ‘flying toasters.’ Popular novelty, apparently. Quite soothing, watching them drift about the room until they fizzled out. Not even as lively as a Bludger, really. But even so” he grinned, “you can see why I can’t help being fascinated by them.”

Books on trinkets she could probably hide more easily than anything else. Trinkets could get seen as eccentric, anything else could be treasonous. She had too much to lose to do that, not now. "Just trinkets for now for me, I think. But I appreciate the offer. Truly I do."

She kept one eye on the blender. "It sounds a bit like me, when you describe it that way." Flick couldn't help but smile. If she didn't have Anthony to worry about she would offer to take it home with her.

"I make my son's toys float around for him sometimes, so I do get the appeal." Flick laughed, imagining a 'flying toaster'. It felt like quite the sight.

"I did go on a few dates before I met you. No one nearly as interesting though." Flick shrugged. It was true. Even if it hadn't been a job at first, she would've wanted to know Max better. "I've gotten better at that, a little." Pausing, Flick let herself take a steadying breath. "After we're finished here, I could show you why. If you'd like."

“Oh…” It wasn’t what she had expected to hear, certainly not something they’d ever really spoken about. “And how does that make you feel?”

"I--" She ran her hands over her hair and sighed, moving to drop herself down on the couch. "Oh, I hardly know. We were so in love, and I broke his heart so badly, he shouldn't want anything to do with me. But somehow he does. I haven't told him about Anthony. How could I? What would I even say? 'Oh, hello Max, welcome to town it's me the woman who betrayed your trust and broke your heart and what do you know also had your baby'? Sometimes I think he might've forgiven me, or at least partially forgiven me, and then others... I want him to forgive me. He made me so happy. I don't think he can until he knows the full truth of it, but how on earth can I even tell him? The whole reason I was sent to the States in the first place was to arrest him and the people he worked for."

He brushed his hands together, then turned back to her question about the books. “Most of what you’ll find is written by wizards who were curious enough to dabble but not always careful, or by Muggles who somehow glimpsed our world. Either way, the results tend to be, discouraged. Stamped out by some, outright forbidden by others. A curious mind has very few friends these days, fear and distrust have made sure of that.”

Arthur leaned forward, lowering his voice a little as if confiding a secret. “That’s why dead drops are useful. The things themselves can be risky, and being seen with them even riskier. But I’ve always thought it worth it to preserve them, to keep some bridge of understanding. Fragile coexistence is better than none at all. Just remember, tinkering, experimenting, even integrating, those are excusable in the name of study. But to actually use what you build?” He shook his head with a rueful smile. “That’s where the trouble begins.”

Growing up, Felicity had always assumed that wixen obsessed with Muggle artifacts were a bit barmy. What did anyone need gadgets and gizmos for when they have magic ready at hand? Now she thought she could understand them a bit better. There was something about blending magic and technology that was almost beautiful. The way it required someone to think about the world around them stretched the horizons of the mind and challenged possibilities. She wasn't sure if she'd ever want to tinker with the objects herself, but she had to admit observing this blender was certainly the most mentally engaging task she'd had in weeks.

"I'm not accustomed to hiding away my curiosity." Flick admitted. She would, because she wished to stay alive, but she didn't like the idea. "But I do know how to be discrete, how to stay alive."

She turned her attention to Arthur for a moment as she considered all this new information. "You must deal with quite a bit of trouble every day, I imagine."

There was a thought he buried a few months ago, an agreement with himself that he wouldn't see Felicity again. After what happened in New York, he couldn't trust her again and he didn't know if he could trust himself if he did see her. Now that it had, he realized he buried something else at the same time; the love he had for her. It nearly crippled him, blinded him from the rest of the world. Except now, his world had been dark and blue until he saw her step into the bar.

Max couldn't predict that he would ask her out during an interrogation for another crime and didn't imagine her ever saying yes. But now they were inside one fo the many corridors of the museum, filled with sculptures and art. In another life, before Max had been seduced by a life of crime, he thought he would've been an artist. He still had a natural ability he didn't pursue, but he still had the appreciation. Max came to stand next to Felicity after checking out another piece and stepped beside her to be shoulder to shoulder, facing the portrait. "Beautiful," he said in a tone that could be confused if he was talking about the art of Felicity herself. "Someone could easily steal this right now," he said quietly, sharing a telling smile that was a tell he was only teasing. "Although someone already did."

Now she stood in front of masterpieces with the man she still loved, trying to pretend like she didn’t want him to love her back again. “If you’re stealing something that’s already been stolen, I think it’s slightly less illegal.” It wasn’t, but Flick didn’t care. “Thank you for taking me here. Would you believe I’ve never been?”

He tilted his head, smiling at her with that familiar twinkle. “As for learning, yes. Listen, watch, scribble down what you notice, and then try it yourself. Even if the blender doesn’t behave as the book says, that’s the best part. Those little quirks, the gaps the manuals leave, that’s where the real lessons hide. Magic makes more sense once you can see where Muggle ingenuity ends and our kind of cleverness begins.”

Arthur propped himself on one elbow, gesturing vaguely toward a pile of scattered parchment. “I could even set up a little dead drop for you. A few manuals I’ve taken notes from, safe for wizard eyes. No need to worry about money or raising eyebrows at first. Think of it as a sneak peek into their world, engineered with a touch of wizard caution.”

He leaned forward again, resting both hands on his knees. “And yes, write what you think, what you hear, what the machine tells you without words. Often the things the books leave out are the very things that teach you the most.”

“A dead drop would be nice.” Felicity admitted. She did still want to find some of these in the wild per-say, but she really had next to no idea what to look for. “I usually only go into Muggle London if I need specific ingredients. And I certainly respect a health amount of wizard caution. My parents would… not be pleased about this, to put it lightly.”

Felicity nodded and jotted down Arthur’s advice on the first sheet of parchment, using her own personal coded shorthand. Then she spent several moments studying the whirring machine and writing down bits and pieces of her thoughts. “It almost seems… angry ?” She said at last.

Just like that she lost the ability to keep smothering her smile. That almost sounded like flirting! If he could flirt with her again than surely things couldn't be totally lost between them. Even if he was still in handcuffs. "I can hardly say yes while I'm working." She said even as she smiled at him. "And it would be highly improper for me to give out my address. But I could certainly check on in you, in a non-work capacity."

“How have you been?” she asked with a bright smile, her expression softening the moment she caught sight of the baby. Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Did you miss me?” she teased. Of course, she didn’t expect an answer, but the baby’s gurgles and wide grin said enough.

Flick paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. She given her family the barest of details about Max when she’d first come home. The baby’s father was in America; no she didn’t expect to see him again. Pandora was one of the few family members that had seen her cry over him. “Anthony’s father is in town. I think he’s staying.”

Just like that she lost the ability to keep smothering her smile. That almost sounded like flirting! If he could flirt with her again than surely things couldn't be totally lost between them. Even if he was still in handcuffs. "I can hardly say yes while I'm working." She said even as she smiled at him. "And it would be highly improper for me to give out my address. But I could certainly check on in you, in a non-work capacity."

He tapped the desk with his quill, leaving a small blot of ink, then shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Notes are an excellent idea if that’s how you learn best. I’ve reams of parchment here somewhere, and you’re welcome to it. Just mind my handwriting, it tends to run away with itself.”

Arthur gestured at the scatter of parchment around him, then with a little conspiratorial twinkle added, “Between you and me, Muggles use pens for the same thing. No fuss, no blotting. I have one, actually… at home. Very smooth. But—” he twirled the quill lightly between his fingers “there’s something rather dignified about a quill, don’t you think? Makes the notes feel more, well, more official.”

He leaned forward again, voice softer, more intent. “So yes, take notes. Write what you hear the blender telling you. The sound, the vibration, the little tremors when it shifts. The manuals won’t say that, but it’s part of its language. And if you can catch it, you’ll be learning both sides at once.”

"Where do you find these books, are they easy to acquire?" She'd have to find a way to get Muggle money without arousing suspicion from her parents. The Nott's had certain standards to uphold after all. "Don't worry about your handwriting, mine is horrendous when I get going on something. It took me ages to write essays back in school."

Flick fished out a quill from one of her pockets, the nice self-inking kind she couldn't do without. Finding some parchment took a bit off doing but she did manage it. "So I just... I just listen and I write what I think?"

Pandora stopped by the little bakery near her cousin’s place to pick up breakfast before heading over. Having Felicity back in London felt comforting, family who accepted her for who she was.

With a quiet pop, she apparated just outside her door. She gave a gentle knock, uncertain if Anthony was still asleep and didn't want to wake him.

"Panda, how lovely!" She said as she caught sight of her cousin. "Come in, Anthony's awake and I'm sure he'll be thrilled to see you. Did you bring me treats?"

He traced a finger along the cord, careful not to touch the coil. “And these wires, they are the language of Muggle engineering. Each twist, each braid carries meaning, a protocol. Learn their language, and you can coax the motor to do things it wasn’t originally intended to do. You could say it’s a dialogue rather than a command.”

His eyes lit with a hint of mischief. “The motor itself is independent, yes. It hums with a rhythm that’s entirely its own, almost like it’s aware of the enchantment. Most wizards would treat it as a tool, but I like to think it’s responsive. Alive in a sense.”

He glanced up at her, smile teasing but eyes bright with excitement. “If you’re willing, I could show you how to listen to it, understand it. There’s a certain satisfaction in coaxing magic and Muggle logic to agree with one another.”

She pulled out the chair and sat down. "How did you learn what they all mean? Surely there must be a book that Muggles use, or something. They can't possibly pass it down by word of mouth, aren't these sorts of things everywhere?

"Yes, I think I would quite like to learn. None of my cases are active at the moment, and I don't have much paperwork left to finish. Should I have parchment, to take notes?"