Who Bertram Aubery & Rolf Scamander What Eggnog and Rum! When Christmas Eve Where Bertie's London flat Status Incomplete Rating LOW--BECAUSE ROLF IS BEING GOOD!
You know I love Christmas, I always will. My mind is made up, the way that I feel. There is no beginning, there'll be no end. Because on Christmas...
Occasionally, Rolf fell into bed with people at--at least in part--no fault of his own. It wasn't as though he set out with the particular intention of seduction when he came across a willing partner. It was simply that one thing led to another. It never meant anything and it was all contained experiences and nothing else. After he'd started his relationship with John, he'd even put less effort into 'letting things happen'--and now there was none at all.
Except.
Scamander couldn't ignore the little signals he was picking up from Bertie. To do so would be nothing but ignorance. He wasn't particularly sure if Aubrey liked him or not--or just considered him useful--but he could at least sort out the fact that the werewolf found him attractive. Now ideally, he would ignore that kind of thing for John's sake and probably interact with the poor Irish bloke a bit less--but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to see more of him--at the very least--because Bertie might lend himself well to being the kind of werewolf that Rolf's research needed. He'd lost a lot of his close contacts after the book had been published with mistranslations. Not to mention the fact that, in addition to that, he'd moved to England and had to say good-bye to a lot of his German werewolf friends. Then, of course, there was the attack a few months ago which had just made him a bit wary of making new contacts.
The climate for werewolves in Britain wasn't a good one and it really did seem like it was about to get worse. He wasn't an official Ministry worker, but he'd caught enough partial conversations in the Creatures division to know that something was coming and it wasn't going to be good.
But none of that had anything to do with the fact that he was now standing, well-dressed and holding a bottle of 15-year-old scotch, outside the flat of a man who'd shown passing interest and invited him for drinks on Christmas Eve.