"Buggering, buggering, buggering fuck," Seamus mumbled very softly under his breath as he dodged quickly between the five 'o clock shoppers on his way from one end of Diagon Alley to the other.
Bax Barlington was as nice a bloke as any, nicer than most, really. He was funny and polite and actually bothered to say hello to Seamus and Penelope when he stopped in the office, made joking chit chat about fanmail or the public speculation that was already stirring over the new book. It was, several people had proposed, to be Barlington's best work to date, and plenty of people were whispering not only about what new and dangerous spellwork might be alluded to, but whether or not the book would reveal some sort of hidden information about the virus.
None of these things were bad on a normal day, but on Thursday Seamus had been trying to leave the office a wee bit early, not nearly twenty minutes late.
"Buggering, buggering, buggering fuck."
A middle aged witch raised her eyebrow at him as they neared, and Seamus gave an apologetic smile, but didn't slow his hurried pace until he'd made it through the alley wall into back entrance of the Leaky. Dean was already at a table, with two pints, and Seamus dropped into the chair opposite his friend with a sigh. "Sorry mate," he said, before taking a long draught off the beer, "work's a bloody nightmare this week."