"If something can be said to make an awkward moment even worse, I'm going to say it."

Mairen glanced up sharply at Keiran's scoff, hearing it almost the instant they walked into the ballroom. "What?" she asked quietly, glancing from side to side as if the answer would make itself known to her somehow. "Did I miss something?"

Keiran shook his head, offering her his arm as he tried to lead the way in. The evening was to be spent quietly planning their goals for the trial with Ana. But making an appearance here made them look much less volatile or hasty to rush into attacking Ana publicly. So she had asked to come along with him to the fundraiser, clearly hoping to find some time while everyone was talking to look as though they were just having a chat while they discretely made points for their case. Kenna would have been proud, Mai was sure.

"Please tell me," she asked after a moment, unable to leave it alone. Keiran wasn't even surprised anymore.

"I just saw someone I thoroughly detest, that's all," the professor returned flatly, frowning although he just looked straight ahead, leading them towards Audriana and Gavin instead of towards the man in question. If Keiran could help it, he would avoid that specific person the entire night. It had been ten years. He could manage to pretend it wasn't an issue for one more night, right? Hopefully he wouldn't have to. Hopefully Mairen would stop asking questions.

Keiran doubted it.

As Keiran approached, Audriana smiled at him. Ever since things had gone wrong with the Order, Keiran had seen less of Oliver and more of Audriana. Was the other Order leader around? Keiran couldn't tell. Of course, as soon as he thought he had escaped Mai's curiosity, she murmured, "that's a pretty strong feeling to have towards someone..."

But he had a reason to ignore it, because he was now close enough that he needed to greet the two people in front of him. One arm reached out to hug the brunette, before he offered his hand to shake Gavin's. He glanced around, avoiding any sort of eye contact with the person he so strongly wanted to ignore successfully. He caught sight of Jack - or, at least, he thought he did - and although Audriana and Jack quite possibly weren't getting along because of the older woman's antics, he figured it was better to look like a united force. "How about we walk around and say hello to everyone?"

"Everyone?" Mai whispered, a smirk clear just through her voice. He didn't bother turning to look at her, even though he wanted to glare at her. Instead, he pointedly ignored her and started towards the people he recognized across the hall.

There were times that the Ministry decided to put away all of the trappings of straight-laced bureaucracy to come together in the spirit of brotherhood, fellowship, and charity. Robes were abandoned for dresses and suits, professional demeanors were loosened with champagne and small talk, and people who rarely spoke of anything besides paperwork and memos suddenly acted like old friends, as they all pitched in to help some sort of noble cause. The benefit to raise money for muggles was one such magical event.
 
And Jack was so boooored.
 
After attempting to walk out of the house in pajamas, Jack had finally acquiesced to the snipped remarks of Charlie and the look of terror on Max and put on decent clothes, though wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt was considerably underdressed next to the women in their dresses and heels and jewelry. Max didn’t seem to mind, seeming grateful that at least that he was not going to be seen next to Jack in her sweats and beanie, with the bored expression to match. Jack tended to forget that, just because she cared little for making appearances, didn’t mean everyone felt that way.
 
The problem with being an Unspeakable was few people liked talking to once they had the chance to, scared of asking a question that would seem too prying, receiving the typical Unspeakable glare, followed by a murmur and departure. Jack had the added problem of her checkered past. She had been one of the few employees to openly argue the marriage law. She had been openly apart of the Order for years, still involved even if she had been missing meetings due to the stresses of a busy life. Jack was simply too well known, and not well-liked enough, for people to feel too comfortable approaching her.
 
Max, however, got on well enough with his coworkers. So a few nods and brief conversations floated their way. Jack had grabbed the first cocktail that had some sort of dark liquor and had already made her way through her second when someone with just as few people skills, but more than enough compensation, found them.
 
Claire Bishop was feeling out of place. Elsie had not been feeling well lately and was looking into some sort of vacation for the summer, to break herself out of the funk. Claire had worked very hard at not looking disappointed when there was no invitation extended to her to accompany her best friend. Claire was finding her life once again making another dip to the incredibly lonely. Friend preoccupied, Ben busy, and her last run in with Fred had left her less than  excited to entangle herself in matters that involved the self-assured Weasley man.
 
So when she spotted the Dyllan-Morrisons, it had not taken her long to weigh the pros and cons. Jack was a bit abrasive, but Claire did not have to work too hard around her. And she and Max had always managed to get on well enough. Yes. She could probably latch onto them for the night.
 
She looked like Jack’s antithesis. In a dress scavenged from Elsie’s closet, her hair and makeup done with extreme precision to show that she recognized the importance of the matter they were all meeting upon. Her chat with Jack did not last long, as the redhead seemed to bored to really find anything of interest, but she found pleasant small talk seemed to be a hidden skill in the Morrison man. The night was shaping up to be a nice, normal, pleasant one.
 
“Kevin!”
 
Jack waved a hand and turned to Max and Claire. “C’mon!” She walked quickly over to the man in question, meeting him halfway, ignoring the looks of people who were clearly confused as to why she was approaching Kieran and not Kevin from Law Enforcement, as they had assumed.
 
“I am bored out of my mind, and there aren’t nearly enough guys in tuxes with trays of alcohol,” Jack said by way of greeting. She scratched her arm, gazing across the ornate room with her nose scrunched. “If we’re going to have a party, I don’t understand why we don’t make it a party, y’know? Feels more like a time share meeting, or a conference for ink salesman.”

No introductions, or hellos, or how-are-yous. Of course. Did she know any better?

This probably classified as a state secret, even if it should have been rather obvious. Fred Weasley didn’t have a taste for parties.

Oh no, not the fun kind. He was the self-acknowledged, uncrowned king of the fun kind. The ones that used to rage at the Gryffindor dorms after a successful Quidditch match, with smuggled Firewhisky and starstruck girls throwing themselves at his feet, the ones with his coworkers back in LA, when they’d crack the riddle of a particularly stubborn artefact and go clubbing in celebration, the lazy get togethers at the Burrow, red and black hair and freckles sprouting from every corner, gorging on homemade food that just never got old and heck, even degnoming.

This kind? Well. Tradition never suited him, so the tuxedo was scrapped and the lines of Fred’s indigo-grey blazer stretched across his shoulders, slithered down the ribs in a perfectly tailored-cut, resting sleekly above dark, stone-washed pants with the slightest gleam of Dragon leather from his jet-black loafers to add a hint of danger. That, and a glass in hand, and Fred looked like the epitome of any high society toff who could schmooze his way through the crowds. He could charm the knickers out of any poor sod who strayed into his orbit in this grand gala, and no one would even have to know that this king, this toast of the Unspeakables, didn’t really glory in this domain as he appeared to, so nicely.

Yeah, he could ‘class and out-class’ with the best of them. That didn’t change the fact that Fred was a guy of simple tastes, who’d rather snort with laughter over a tankard of Firewhisky in a rundown pub somewhere with the rest of his mates, rather than pick like a sparrow on hors de’ fuzzballs in a hoity-toity Ministry party for some charity he hadn’t really bothered to pick up the name of. Not like anyone else here cared for the charity in the first place. No, they all just wanted to pose like those silly Muggle statuettes in shop windows, fluttering and exclaiming over their fuss and feathers, patting themselves on the back for accomplishing the phenomenally difficult task of existing. No, honestly. Some of these people were walking hazards. Fred had no idea how they walked down the road without someone succumbing to the temptation of offing them. They were constantly putting themselves in danger. By breathing.

Long story short? Fred Weasley was many things, all he’d acquiesce and admit to shamelessly, but he wasn’t fake. And now he was standing in a room full of wax sculptures pretending to be human.

Which was obvious why, the second he caught sight of Jack Dyllan’s hair in the crowd, he moved towards it immediately (Not Dyllan-Morrison, because ugh, he was not acknowledging that travesty). If Fred was a person more inclined to admitting his mistakes, he would have said that this one was the first he made. Approaching Jack. But since thankfully he wasn’t that kind of person, he blamed Jack. Immediately.

Because she’d called him Kevin. He’d heard her loud voice braying it, he’d seen the lips moving. He could swear to it in court. He’d definitely heard Kevin, and he’d strolled over, seeing Jack inflict vicious injury on a tall, dark-haired man who had his back to Fred. Fred had strolled over, and if there was any moment in his life he had ever lamented his utter disregard for personal space, his impenetrable smirking tendency to just insert himself into a situation with ease and nary a thought as to this consequences………it was this.

He’d heard her say Kevin, and he’d reached the pair and then propped a casual arm on the man’s shoulder (Lament. Absolute, complete lament. Some people would say it served him right, but he didn’t need more agony to add to his plate at the moment), words exiting in a careless drawl, “Which poor soul are you terrorising this time Dylla-“

The man turned.

Fred froze.

The arm stayed stuck for a second, even as his brain growled, move! move you stupid lump of muscle!, then withdrew carefully and went creeping back to his side like a mouse skittering back into its hole. His mind was blank. There was only a tiny voice inside his head, that sounded a little childish and very much indignant, stamping its foot on the ground, almost whining.

But she said Kevin!

“…..hi.”

If anyone else had addressed him as 'Kevin,' Hayes would have ignored them. As it were, he recognized Jack's voice and grinned almost cheekily. "You know as well as I do, Jack, that I can't answer that. We can go to a pub after. I'm sure that Arryn would sort us out, eh? Can't turn down the man who hired him."

Behind Keiran, Mairen hesitated. Jack. The last time - which had also been the first time - Mai had seen the other woman, she had been convinced that all hell was breaking loose. She still wasn't sure how she was expected to act around Jack, so she hung back by Gavin and did her best not to make any sort of splash by walking over. Last time, she had just been sitting there and somehow caused a terrifying reaction.

Unfortunately, Keiran didn't catch Mai's fear, because he was too busy greeting Max and giving an awkward hello to Avery's sister. She was, obviously, recognizable to the man who had dealt with enough of the Bishop family drama to catch on. Besides, she worked at the Ministry, and as soon as he heard her last name, he had known. Being casual but polite was the best way to go, he figured, so he gave a tight smile and then returned his focus to Jack and Max, asking after all of the folks living with them.

Of course, even if they had intended to answer, they couldn't have done. A hand fell over Keiran's shoulder in a sort of masculine way that Keiran might have greeted Robin. That voice, though. Keiran recognized that voice, and his jaw clenched. When he turned to glare at Weasley, the sentence trailed off and the arm fell away.

Because this was exactly what he needed. Obviously.

He wanted to echo his first request from that night in the lab. Piss off. Instead, he remained stiff and the only visible change was that he lifted himself to his full height.

"Evening."

Scorpius Malfoy was in his fuck!ng element. No, really, he was. He enjoyed functions like this, in a sick kind of way. This party, this collection of people dressed in formalwear with perfect smiles and rehearsed words, was what the Malfoy heir had been raised for. One could argue otherwise, though not many had tried, but the blond knew better. This was in his blood, always had been.

There had been a time when Scorpius had hated functions like these, gliding his way through them with faked ease only to go home and get drunk beyond all reason. Properly drunk, on something good and hard, not the cute little flutes of champagne the men in immaculately pressed suits were handing out like candy beans.

The lawyer had spent years suffering through function after function, all smiles and smirks and creaseless robes. But then, years ago, now, Scorpius had realized something. Instead of looking at the false faces, he looked at the people underneath. The people who hadn't been brought up as Scorpius had, the people who spent every moment of these parties uncomfortable in their own skins, and yet so very careful, knowing it could be the destruction of them if they said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Scorpius'd never had this problem. Every step, every word, every charming smile was effortless, happening without a thought. He could spend hours running on automatic, with nary a though as to the proper response for any situation. Scorpius hadn't just been raised for this, he'd been bred for this. This was his breathing. And Scorpius, well, he'd never been the type of man to deny who he was within his own mind. So the Slytherin had stopped forcing himself through functions, and allowed himself to enjoy them. Enjoy the way uptight Ministry witches would flush uncharacteristically as he charmed them. Enjoy how a few careful implications could send powerful men reaching for their bank accounts. Enjoy how Scorpius was decidedly in his element, while everyone else around him was decidedly... not.

Frowning only slightly, Scorpius stalked away from a balding small-time politician who had the gall to tell Scorpius that his opinion on a piece of legislation was preposterous. Seeing a perfect opportunity to scare the older man, just a little, Scorpius stopped gracefully beside Rivah Trenton. As he greeted the newest member of the Wizengamot warmly, and she smiled slightly in return, Scorpius watched the blood drain from the politician's face. When would people learn, Scorpius thought with a smirk, that no matter who you are, a Malfoy will always have more connections.

"You look stunning, Rivah," Scorpius stated with a charming smile. She did, too. Unlike the wizard, however, she was not in her element. She appeared to be, unsurprisingly, for she wouldn't have gained her position if she couldn't schmooze decently. Scorpius, however, knew better. Knew better because he had seen her in her true element. Not ruling a Ministry department with a sharply-pointed quill, although that did come rather close. No, Scorpius had never seen the woman so at ease as when she'd been leaning over two huge tomes, eyes leaping back and forth from one to the other, gaze occasionally flicking to the one resting in her lap, eyes alight as the gears in her head shifted so fast he'd almost been expecting to hear them. But this was the position Rivah had chosen for herself, and Scorpius never frowned upon having friends in high places.

Eyes scanning the room, Scorpius felt his attention fall upon a particular group. Politely excusing himself from his fellow Death Eater, Scorpius scooped up a glass of bubbly and headed over.

"My friends," he greeted with a smirkish smile firmly in place, well aware that quite a few in the group considered him anything but. There was a strange tension that hung in the air, but Scorpius had no problem ignoring it until he could figure out the cause. His eyes met Jack's, whose relationship with himself could never be called anything but complicated. Scorpius liked to blame Albus for that, but knew himself well enough to admit that even sans Potter their relationship would be the same.

Pulling his gaze from Jack, Scorpius found his eyes catch on yet another redheaded once-Gryffindor. Bloody buggering hell, if Scorpius had known Mairen was among the pack he would have stayed away. Still, it was too late to walk away now.

Jack had always like Kevin, with his quiet work ethic and sort of old-man eyes that revealed a tired spirit. It reminded her of how she felt often, and her recent realization that she really did not have consistent, loyal friends like she had once had, had prompted her to put a little more effort into finding similar sorts of people. She was certain he and Max would get on – everyone got on with Max, it seemed. And Claire – well, Jack could be a shortsighted person, and that extended to considering the needs of the blonde woman with her.

Jack had caught the familiar face near Keiran, and this was the only point on which she was purposefully lacking etiquette. Everything else was her own lack of experience, but she was purposefully avoiding making eye contact with the eyes that seemed so similar to Chase’s. The last time she had seen Chase’s eyes, they had been glassy and unblinking. The last time she had seen this woman’s eyes, Mairen or something of that nature, they had been full of confusion that Jack doubted she would really ever be able to clear up.

Oh you just look like my dead friend and I’m not okay with that because it’s my fault she’s dead.

Right.

But not looking at Mairen kept those thoughts at bay. She snapped her fingers into a gun at Kieran, face completely serious as she said, “Drinks better happen. You can’t back out now.” He greeted Max and Claire and then inquired after her zoo of a household. She grinned and opened her mouth, when suddenly the focus was torn from her.

If Jack was a more subtle person, she might have noticed the shift. Claire Bishop did. She had spotted Fred Weasley right as he approached, and had immediately inhaled and turned to ask Max about work, because she would rather have mindless small talk then talk to Fred Weasley – that was the lie she was sticking to, anyway. Because the worst part wasn’t that he had been so horribly rude and unfair to her, tearing her to shreds with little remorse and no empathy. The worst part was that she kept thinking about it.

So, of course she could feel the sudden drop in the expressions of both men. The wildest thing, however, was that Fred was almost acting… shy. His usual gravelly voice, annoyingly alluring, was suddenly quiet and almost, dare she think it, uncertain. There was something that made Self-Assured,  Know-It-All Weasley hesitate. Despite her deep desires to be completely indifferent to the man, she was very interested to understanding this sudden shift.

The shift was lost, however, on Jack in its first moments, as she was busy finishing off the last of her drink. When she lowered the glass, she spotted Fred and grinned. “Fred. Thank Merlin, my boredom is gone. Alright, here’s the dare. Make faces at Krum while he schmoozes all of the fancy-pants donors.”

She couldn’t understand why Fred wasn’t jumping at the dare. She would have. It was then, moments after everyone else felt it, that she noticed the change of tone. “What? It doesn’t have to be that dare.” It was then that Scorpius Malfoy arrived, as out of the loop as she was. She looked at him, offering the briefest of smiles, but the confusion knit into her brow made for a strange expression. “Hi, Scorp. Fred and Kev were just about the explain what the f*ck is going on.”

He would first begin, Fred had decided, with flaying.

Flaying was a little typical, sure. A little déclassé. Messy too, with all those strips of skin and flesh flying around everywhere. But…..there was something just so genuine about flaying. Timeless. Something screaming authentic, nineteenth century inglorious torture for poor bastards, something absurdly fitting for the death planned by Fred Weasley for one Jack Dyllan.

....needless to say, we've got things to do tomorrow, and it would do for you to focus your attention instead of just playing around whatever it is....

Fred barely kept his incisors from snapping, so hard were they pressing against each other, into his jaw. No, he was thinking about death. Blood and gore and flaying. Yes.

And….well. It was a death planned by Fred Weasley for Jack Dyllan. Which meant of course that necromancy would be involved somewhere, just so he could bring her back to life and kill her another way. Fred had always been known for his generosity. He couldn’t help but decree all the deaths for Jack Dyllan. All of them.

(He was still, admittedly, a little partial to death by giant turtle. But we all have our flaws.)

Are you sure you really want to do that?

Fred inhaled. And exhaled. Inhaled one more time. He was so completely not in the mood for this.

And there she went again, braying like the thrice-damned, completely thick, obnoxious donkey she was. To Scorpius Malfoy, who pranced over to their little circle, oozing smarm as if he had a right. Fred could not believe he had ever let her get her grubby paws all over Lizzie once upon a time. He had obviously been suffering from brain damage. Or maybe brain damage was infectious- that made complete sense, he should have chucked her in an isolation ward when he had a chance. Ooh, that was an idea to add to the list. Death via crazy people. It would practically be kind, he’d be letting Dyllan get murdered by her own kin.

Come now, lion……I didn't take you to be someone who goes back so easily on their own challenges….

Merlin, it was hopeless. The guy was just there. Their shoulders were side by side, and Fred had been trying to very conspicuously Not creep away for the last couple of minutes, probably not to much success. It was like trying not to think about pink elephants. Which Fred had managed for twenty plus years so far, no problem. But it was like trying not to think about pink elephants when someone had ordered him very specifically not to think about pink elephants. Fred had always been crap at following orders anyway.

“Hi, Scorp. Fred and Kev were just about the explain what the f*ck is going on.”

It was almost the last straw.

“His name,” Something enunciated, using his voice, biting words into razor sharp syllables, squeezed out against gritted teeth and immense amounts of frustration. Not nearly sufficient though, nothing would be sufficient to express the overwhelming sense you idiot he was feeling in every single pore of his body. “Is Keiran.”

“Which,” A calm, mildly amused voice interjected from behind him, “Is an oddly specific thing for you to remember and correct, considering I remember you used to think first names for Slytherins are shit, and used to refer to all of us with the common quantifier of ‘filthy scum’ in school, eh Fred?”

Almost, Fred had thought. Almost. Because this was the last straw.

Albus Potter stepped up to the little circle they had assembled, black trousers straight and cream shirt creased to perfection, a deep bottle-green, almost black robe slung casually over the shoulders. The smile was constant of course, but the unreadable green eyes fixed on Jack’s shoulder, and Malfoy’s chin, and only acknowledged the……person standing next to Fred with a quick incline of the head and a politely intoned, “Keiran, evening.” They swivelled to fix, straight up, on Fred next, and a very strange thought flickering through Fred’s mind told him that this must be what resignation felt like.

There was a very audible pause, which was desperate to bring awkward back into fashion like nothing else, before his utter wanker of a cousin delivered, with a quiet chuckle that had probably been practiced a million times over. “Such heaviness in the air. It’s almost like that Quidditch match of doom back again, m’I right Fred?”