A Night In

Jack stood at the counter in her kitchen, one ankle swung around the other as she scrawled notes in her thick journal. Her Jarvey Fred remained atop the fridge, a place she had helped him to. The creature preferred the spot, because it gave him an optimal point to offer his insults.

She reached over and took her glass of soda in her hand and took a sip, setting it down and fluffing out her hair. She rolled her neck and the microwave let out a ding. She sighed and closed the journal. That was what she got for thinking she could do all of her observations at home. She needed to get back in the office.

Things were just crazy.

She heard a small noise and turned to see her spectral dog Elliot slip through the dog door, in the shape of a white wolfhound. She pushed his bowl towards him with her toe. "Me, knucklehead?" Jack looked up at Fred, smirking at his question. "I set your food out ten minutes ago." She leaned up, reaching a hand out, and Fred jumped into it, ran down her arm and lept from her shoulder onto the ground, hurrying to find his food.

She took her TV dinner out of the microwave and tucked her journal under her arm, holding the tray in the other as she made her way to the living room. She set the journal atop a stack of other onrs- for her various hobbies, jobs, and interests- and plopped down on her couch, turning the TV on.

Michael had been out, taking care of a great many things and looking forward to being able to spend time in his own home over the upcoming holidays. He had been out prepariing to open his cottage again. His oversized messenger bag, despite being enchanted, was jampacked. And moving. He drew a piece of Honeydukes dark chocolate fudge out of a paper bag shoved into a front pocket and put the fudge in his mouth. It was delicious. And he had an incredible weakness for it. He had stopped stealing it, unless there were too many students crowded into the shop. And they had taken to looking the other way when he took it because he made up for it with all the fudge he legitimately bought.

But he had made a promise to Jack, and he was going there now. The messenger bag began to growl, and he scowled down at it. "Stop it, you lot," he said, as if they had any intention of obeying him--which they didn't. "And don't get into things," he added. When he had been in the muggle part of London, for the most part, outside of growling, the bag had remained still. When the muggles looked at him oddly, he merely shrugged it off and said it was his cellphone ringtone. A rude young man had asked him if he was too old to remember how to turn the "damned thing off," at which point Michael's wand hand had gotten exceptionally itchy. He had restrained himself, though, and made a rather scathing remark that had shocked the rebellious adolescent into silence.

As he walked, he grumbled to himself about Ozzy and about himself and being such a sucker for anything Ozzy asked of him. But it was his own fault for his unfailing devotion to the only thing he had left that even remotely qualified as family. He walked up to Jack's door and knocked with his typical sharp, staccato raps on the door. He wondered, if Jack wasn't home, if he could leave his delivery without her being offended that he'd been inside. And then again, was it safe to drop off his delivery and just leave? Hm....

Jack's television usually blasted horror and thriller movies or old ridiculously funny movies. Her uncle Chip had given her a sense of humor that was very akin to that of the American 80s movies that he had introduced to her whenever she had visited. When the television turned on, the title screen to Ferris Bueller's Day Off shone in front of her eyes and she smiled, pushing play.

The dinner was simple but filling- three chicken strips, a small dollop of mashed potatoes and gravy, and steamed brocoli. Fred came and sat on her knee, staring at her and the food, licking his lips. "Nope, mine," Jack said to the Jarvey. Elliot trotted into the living room and shook himself, before lying down and licking his paws. Her little family.

There was a series of short knocks and Elliot lept to his feet, staring at the door, scruff ruffled. Jack stood up, checking to make sure her wand was on her and walking over to the door. She opened the door and relaxed. "Michael!" she said. Elliot was at her feet, Fred having climbed aboard the dog's back, and Jack said, "Back, he's a friend. Come on in. Want a drink?"

"Hello, my dear," he kissed her cheek lightly in an affectionate greeting. "No thank you. Somewhere in this bag I have my own." He made his way into her place and when he saw all the muggle technology it made hi laugh. "Contraband? Jack Dyllan, I am surprised at you," he said with mock shock. "You do realize muggle technology is a breech of wizarding laws. But, inasmuch as I've not been sinless myself...." he smiled at her and then looked around. "Nice place." He looked at her TV dinner. "I didn't know they made those in edible form," he laughed. He sat down and put the bag beside him, and it continued to move and growl and seemed to be trying to chew its way or ways out of the leather bag without success. He opened the front pocket instead and drew out an unopened paper bag. "Here. Catch." He tossed the bag of Jack's favorites from Honeydukes to her. "Before they eat it first.," he said. He opened the back pocket and drew out a silver pocket flask of firewhiskey. "When you get to be my age, you'll have certain things you wont' leave home without either," he told her.

"I do apologize," he told her. "I've been meaning to stop here long before this. I have a couple of things for you. One is worth decidely more than the other. Personally, I think one is priceless, in a sentimental way, and one is good insurance for you in a monetary way. Bur, let me give you the first one..."

He reached in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a dollhouse sized frame. He set it on the floor, leaning it against a chair and took out his wand and flicked it at the frame. It quickly grew to its original size. It was an original wizarding oil painting, but not a portrait. This one was a very clever abstract in jeweltone colors that continued to constantly move in a rather slow and relaxing manner in a style much like an odd meld of a kalaidescope and a muggle lava lamp. Sometimes the colors seemed to shimmer and sometimes they had other finishes, flat finishes, textured, etc, but they were always moving.

"There aren't very many of these," he told her, "And they are nearly priceless. Those that do exist are in the vaults of Gringotts for the most part. This here...," he told her, turning a diamond shape carved into the center of the bottom of the frame, "controls the movement. You can speed it up or slow it down at will. You can make it anything from dizzyingly fast to almost indetectably slow. But it never stops altogether. Jack, I have few people I can leave things to, and those that are closest to me do not need more financial security. However if you should ever need to sell it, do so with my full blessing. It should keep you quite comfortable for the rest of your life. And, no, its not hot. Others might like to have it, but it is not on anybody's black market list. I got it legitimately. So you are in no risk by having it. If it annoys you, shove it into the back of a closet someplace. I won't be offended. However, on nights I can't sleep, it does seem to have a rather soothing effect to simply sit and watch it. The silly thing can be fascinating."

She smiled and closed the door after him as he moved inside. The sight of the television caused Michael to laugh and she grinned. "Have you ever known me to do what I was told? Santa will be displeased, yeah, but coal is wonderfully practical." She grinned, moving further inside, shushing Elliot who still stood at the ready, always ready to protect Jack.

All she said was, "Thanks," when he complimented her house, but she felt like she should say more. "Never would have afforded it if it wasn't for Zoe Gould. She wanted me on her team so bad at the Ministry she practically paid for it herself. She made sure it was part of my contract." She laughed at his comment on the TV dinner. "I asked a cook for some handy spells that I have cast on all my kitchen appliances, so that I can't posion myself with my terrible cooking."

She turned at his warning and caught the bag, peeking inside. "Alright!" She grinned. "Thanks. And I will." Already, Fred was trying to climb up her pants leg to check out her present. She shook him off and warned, "No." She reached in and pulled out a classic chocolate frog, eating the chocolate and glancing at the card, Harry Potter. Psh, the most common card...

At Michael's words, she waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. I've been so busy, you'd be lucky to catch me at home anyway." At his words she shook her head. "At this rate, you'll go bankrupt with all of the things you insist on giving me." He insisted however, and pulled out the first gift. Her mouth dropped open as he explained it and she reached out to take it.

She would not sell it as long as she could help not to. She was making enough money to survive, and to live with the things she needed, whichwas enough. Besides, there was a calming effect and she shook her head. "Michael, it is amazing. I could never sell this. Thank you."

Subject: Re: A Night In Today at 10:51 pm

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You're very welcome," he said. "Do me a favor, though. Toss out that swill you were going to eat. If you have a kitchen, I can do better. And as it happens, I've just come from the market. In fact, we will do better. You'll excuse me while I take your invitation literally and make myself at home."

He went out to the kitchen and put together a gorgeous chicken marsala and a four cheese risotto, with a beautiful caesar salad on the side. It didn't take him long, and he delighted in cooking. Michael couldn't remember if he had ever shared with her the fact that as a boy he had wanted to be a chef. Somehow he ha gotten so far away from that before he ever hit Hogwarts, just trying to survive. He still enjoyed gourmet cooking though. It felt like it hardly took him any time or effort at all. Before long, he sent two caesar salads floating in to the living room, followed by two plates with the chicken marsala and the risotto, and a pitcher of iced tea with big slices of citrus fruit floating in the pitcher, and two tall glasses of ice.

"This should be better than whatever that was supposed to be," he said. "Eat first. Then we'll get to the second thing I wanted to give you. I am very glad that you have someone who values you as much as Gould does. You deserve that. I am hoping that very soon we can get Grindlewald out of here and put things to rights again. As for me, I will do whatever it takes to get my family off the Most Wanted roster and get them home. They don't deserve to raise their children and grandchildren in a safehouse. And I'm sure that if it weren't for the kids, they would be here duking it out." MIchael did not know how to say the words to Jack to tell her that he well knew that Robert's plans and the Order's plans were coming closer and closer to finally connecting. That the risk was dramatically escalating, and if Forbes found out Michael was a leak that showed her vulnerabilities, his days might perhaps be numbered. As far as MIchael as concerned, it as a calculated risk. He wanted Robert and his family home, in a free country again.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, glaring at his bag, and brushing a hand quickly over the skin just above his belt. "You little buggars bit me! See if I feed you tonight! Any of you."

She laughed at Michael's words, thinking he was kidding at first, and slowly realizing that he actually meant them. And before she could stop him, he strode into the kitchen. Jack glanced at her own plate, having only eaten one chicken strip before Michael had arrived. Fred and Elliot looked at her expectantly and she sighed. "You lucked out."

She set the food on the ground and they both began to eat from the plastic tray. She glanced into the kitchen to see Michael already busying himself. So Jack turned and picked up the elaborate gift from Michaell, glancing around the room. She found a spot and took out her wand, attaching it to the wall and casting protective spells on it- all of the other things on the wall had similiar protections, seeing as the animals constanly barrelled into the walls and would have knocked them over had it not been for the spells.

She turned and spotted two salads and some iced tea. She caught them and set them on the coffee table in front of the sofa- much fancies than Jack typically ate. Michael entered and advised they eat first. She poured the tea and obliged, starting with the salad as she listened to Michael. True, she did not often eat healthy, but she ate anything, in all honesty.

Jack listened to Michael's words, concentrating on eating, not really finding more to add. Everything she had to say was the obvious reaction. Instead, then settled for nodding. He suddenly exclaimed as something from his bag attacked her. "Okay, I have to know. What's in the bag?"

MIchael looked at Jack's pets a bit skeptically. "I presume your pets wont' eat them, but alright," he said. He lifted a corner of the bag flap and peeked inside. "Heel! Sit! Oi! Basil! Yes, I'm talking to you. Sit. I might let you out if you sit." He waited a moment. "Much better. You're learning." He got out a small brown paper bag, opened it and set it beside him. Then he opened up the flap on the bag. "Form a line," He commanded whatever was in the bag. "No, not a mob. A line. Better. Now. March." He sat back and waited. A moment later came twelve dollhouse sized footstool puppies, each one in a different wood finish, each one with completely different fabric, in every imaginable color. They were about two inches long, about one inch wide and perhaps an inch or so high. They marched out relatively politely. As polite as any baby ottomans could be.

"It seems Otto and Faline decided one litter was not enough to curse me with," he said. "I have another. Twelve of the little buggars this time. But I have been training this lot pretty much from the outset. I'm going to have to take them to Hogwarts with me. I can't leave them behind. They'll eat every pair of socks I own if I'm not there to feed them and pee on my floor if I'm not there to let them outside. As I recall, I did promise you one of the last lot and then I missed getting it to you. But, if you would like one of these, you're welcome to whichever one you want. . They'll be pocketsized at least for a couple more months. They are learning how to sit on my desk at home and actually act like furniture for awhile before they get the puppy crazies. If you want one, I'd go by personality if I were you. You can simply transfigure their upholstery, you know.

"I did manage to sell a pair of the last lot to a wizarding furniture conjurer in Paris, and he intends on breeding them. I think he's lost his mind, personally, but whatever. I'm thinking of buying a sock factory. I could make a very large fortune if I make flavored socks. I mean, where else would a wizard go for socks to feed them if I churn out bacon or cheese flavored socks? It seems the French think these things are wonderful. But then I knew the French were a bit nuts anyway," he laughed. The puppies took a dive off the sofa and just kept marching, around the coffee table and towards Jack. "Ah, look. They are getting better at their marching and staying in a straight row. Much less pandemonium."

Jack watched Michael with interest, wondering what it could be. The paper bag further perplexed her, and she guessed everything from pixies to spiders before he finally decided to end the suspense and release the little critters inside. She let out a hearty, rebounding laugh that caused Elliot and Fred to stand up and stare at her with concerned looks on their faces.

She watched the little things quiver and glanced up to listen to Michael's story about them. She kept laughing whenever he gave her a chance, whenever he paused long enough. She reached out and ran a finger over one, which shook a little and shivered, as though the sensation was pleasant and he was pleased by her touch.

She retreated and looked up at Michael. "They're brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I'm sure they and my model Hungarian are going to to have a great time." She chuckled. "Don't worry, he's trained not to flame pets or furniture. But which of these tykes has the bollocks to withstand living in my house?" She looked at the group and grinned.

She slid off the couch and rested her chin on the cushion, patting the sofa welcomely. They all charged her, eager to be loved on. When they were close she slammed her hands on the cushion and said, "BOO!" Most of them let out exclamations in their own fashion and turned to escape, one fell over. But one curled itself and did not stop it's charge, headbutting Jack's nose.

Jack let out a laugh and scooped it up. "I think I made a friend." She ran a finger over the little ottoman and it's grolwing subsided into a pleased rumbling.

"Well, look at that. You have indeed made a friend," Michael smiled. "I should have figured that it would be that one. He doesn't have a name, but I do believe he thinks his name is 'Stop-That-You-Little-Beastie.' But I presume you might choose something different. That one thinks he is big enough and fierce enough to stand up against anything." Some of the less brave puppies ran back to Michael trying to jump up to get to his lap to cuddle there. He glanced down at them and lowered both of his hands to them. They scrambled on, like loading onto an elevator and waited for him to pick them up. "My big brave dogs," he said, sighing. "How will I ever turn you into watchstools at this rate?" He put them on his lap and one of them snatched the paper bag beside Michael and began tugging on it. "You believe you deserve to be treated when you dashed off like that?" He asked. The tiny puppy turned and barked at Michael, its bark sounding even smaller than its postage stamp size.

Michael groaned at realizing he was being manipulated by a toy sized footstool. He dug into the bag and drew out meticulously cut, tiny bite sized pieces of brand new socks. He handed Jack several. "Don't feed him more than 5 or 6 at his age. That will fill his tiny tummy and he'll probably go to sleep." He began treating the others who were on his lap, stopping to pick up the stragglers who now wanted treats as well. They were all barking and jumping up and down on his lap, eager to try to be the one who got the next bite of sock.

He looked at how well Jack was already getting on with her puppy. "You know, I really ought to hire you to train up the rest of these lot," he laughed. "Given the current political climate, they do really need to learn to be good watchstools. The Gryffindors of the furniture world. If there is such a thing. You really are very gifted with animals. I've never seen you interact with them before. It is a wonderful gift, Jack. My skills are much more, well..." he hesitated before he finished. "...solitary, I suppose...No! Don't...oh, crap." His words were not in time to stop one of the puppies from wandering off and diving headlong into the marsala wine sauce left on Michael's empty plate. "Ew," he turned up his nose at the messy puppy who seemed to be rolling in the white wine sauce. "Lovely. Just bloody lovely," he sighed, annoyed.