milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

*There's an Andrew coming down the stairs. A very shaggy-haired Andrew, rubbing his eyes and beaming sleepily at the entire room. He steps up to the bar a yard or so down from Raph, and lays a hand flat on its surface.*

Hi hon. Missed you. What's good for breakfast?

*A plate of blackberry pancakes and bacon materalizes. There's a tiny Union Flag stuck into the top of the stack of pancakes.*

*Andrew grins.* Good to see you, too.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*Andrew pulls a hand across his mouth.*

Frell.

So you can see why I can't let this slide.

No matter how devoted he seemed all these months.

...seemed?

*Andrew's head comes up.*

You think he ...

*For a moment he can't say it.*

You think he was on their side? All along?

I can't tell.

*He looks into Andrew's eyes, and it's apparent how hurt, how conflicted this has left him.*

*Andrew's silent for a long moment.*

There's a way you could.

...Oh?

*He doesn't look happy about the suggestion, but...*

Veritaserum. Truth potion from Tonks's world. She probably knows someone who could get you some.

Peter could make it, for that matter.

*He writes the suggestion down, and pauses, thinking.*

You know Tim pretty well, yeah?

I'd like to think so.

Um.

What does it mean, when he tries to give up his Name?

*Andrew stares.*

-- to whom?

Um.

Tried to give it to me.

I didn't take it.

...Should I have?

...oh, Tim.

*Andrew has to swallow hard before he can continue.*

It's ... that's the most complete surrender he could make. You could -- you'd have a rein on every part of him. You'd own him.

It'd be physically impossible for him to lie to you, if you held that.

God.

*If possible, Bernard looks even more miserable.*

That's what I thought.

He's so fucking stupid sometimes. I don't want to own him. I just want to trust him.

*Andrew takes a deep breath, and seems to deflate.*

Can I talk to him?

*Bernard shrugs*

Go ahead. Want me to let you in?

*Andrew nods.* Please.

*A sigh*

No time like the present.

*He starts to walk.*

Last I heard, he had a pretty bad cold. Was sneezing fire.

...sneezing fire? That's weird even for Tim.

I know.

It's going around, so watch it. People are growing fucking tails, man.

*Andrew winces.*

Disease with weird magical symptoms ... sounds like something from the wizarding world.

-- oh. Speaking of which.

*He lowers his voice.*

The, uh, the guns? That the Death Eaters have now? Are they just ordinary guns?

I don't think so; magical cures haven't done anything to help, and someone named Ako seems to be taking some responsibility.

*At the next--*

Far as I know. Shitty ones, too.

Huh.

*They're quite close to the Security office by this time.*

How hard would it be to magically sabotage them? Like, all at once?

I'm not the person to ask about that, Andrew.

*Andrew's thinking about an issue of Books of Magic, and about guns that inexplicably fired chocolate or emitted streams of butterflies.*

No, but I'm about to talk to a guy who might be.

I don't want to bring it up to him without your okay.