WHO: Betty Braithwaite & Joseph Bell WHAT: A relationship from start to finish, and then some WHEN: Early 2017 - Present Day WHERE: Around WARNINGS: Language, sadness, excessive length
"Excuse me, ma'am, I said you can't come here."
Joseph Bell was in serious Hitwizard mode and he didn't want any reporters to be messing with any crime scenes. This particular one, he hadn't had the (dis)pleasure of meeting before, but he didn't care to know much about her, either.
His elbows formed identical ninety-degree angles, his hands resting on his waist. A displeased, unhappy expression was evident on his face, and he frowned some more. "Get out of here or I'll have to detain you."
Betty Braithwaite wasn’t used to being threatened in such a polite way. It was almost charming, and certainly not about to put her off from poking around for details. His frown made her smile slightly, as though he wasn’t the first person who’d tried to stop her before. “I’m not harming anyone,” she insisted, taking another step forwards with her eyes on the young man. She was almost daring him to carry out his threat.
An exasperated sigh followed, as Joe's hand reached for his face. He was desperately trying to maintain his calm; the last thing he needed was to tarnish the department's name in the newspaper. So, after drawing in a long breath, and breathing out slowly, he stared at the woman in front of him for a moment.
"This is a crime scene," he explained slowly, as though he were speaking to someone who didn't understand conventional words. "We can't let anything be tarnished. Only those that have the clearance can be here and you certainly do not, Ms…" Joe paused for a moment, looking for her identification but when he didn't immediately find it, he shrugged it off. "So, please." He nodded towards the general area where she was meant to be and hoped that it would be sufficient.
“Would you be able to answer some questions for me instead?” Betty’s persistence took another tactic, smiling at him and not moving at all. He seemed nice, a little younger than she was, and she didn’t really want to get him into trouble. “It’d be such a help.” Without pausing, she stuck her hand out as an offering, ready to shake his. “Braithwaite. And you are?”
"Bell." Instinctively, Joe let his hand reach for hers, shook it, and dropped it quickly. "Ms. Braithwaite, I can't answer anything until we have more details worked out about this case and we can't get more details until you stop poking around here."
His fingers curled around his wand, and he drew it out, with both of his brows raised. "I don't want to resort to force, but you've been warned," Joe stated, his tone steady and unwavering.
His curt handshake barely resonated with her, and instead she was back to peering over his shoulder to check out the crime scene he was barring her from. “I won't touch anything,” Betty insisted, and as she realised that pleading with him wasn't going to work she barged forwards recklessly instead. She had something to prove at work, after all.
"Alright, ma'am, that's it," he started, as Joe mumbled a quiet spell, watching as her wrists suddenly bound together.
Joe had warned her, after all.
"You'll be questioned and released at the Ministry."
---
It wasn't usual to spend a couple of hours in a DMLE holding cell and come away with the promise of a date. It certainly wasn't usual to have had follow-up dates, either. But Bell (or Joe, as she'd learned) was sweet, interesting, and after he'd finally agreed that he couldn't even charge her with obstruction they'd got chatting.
But things were changing in her career, and it gave Betty a certain amount of unease. Or maybe that was the third-date nerves talking. She was oddly nervous about meeting him again, the fact that this was becoming a regular thing.
She spotted him as she entered the bar, gave a little wave and approached him. “Sorry I'm late.”
"Hey!" Joe exclaimed, enthusiastically (though in his head, it came out sounding a lot more enthusiastic than he had intended). He paused for a few seconds, as he lamented to himself about how idiotic he had sounded just then and somehow managed to push the thought out of his mind. "Hey, yeah, no worries. I think I'm merely early, probably."
Joe laughed momentarily, standing up and reaching for her coat. "I ordered a drink for you, nothing special, just a red wine, but if you want anything else, go for it."
She let him take her coat, cheeks a little flushed as he spoke and she smiled at him. “No, wine is good. Great, even. My favourite,” she seemed to be talking more than usual, and she shook her head as she sat down across from him. “And I promise I'm not just saying that.” There was something about the situation that made her feel both tongue-tied and alarmingly verbose.
“How was your day?” Betty asked him. “Arrest any nosy journalists?”
"Nah, I think my arresting-nosy-journalists days are over and well behind me," Joe replied, without missing a beat. A big grin appeared on his face, and he shrugged, as he returned to his seat. "Those were the days…," he trailed off, as though he really was reminiscing about the good ole days.
A few second later, his attention returned to Betty. "And you? Snooping around where you're not supposed to be?"
“That's what I do best,” she shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I'm just glad I'm the only journalist you’ve been arresting.” She ducked her head coyly, afraid that had been a little too flirtatious. Focusing her attention on the glass of wine, she continued to speak. “But yes. Snooping. Legally, of course.”
Joe laughed again, as their drinks appeared and he took a sip of his beer and shrugged. "Of all the people I've arrested before, I'm glad I got a date out of it from only you. Arrested a Knockturner last week and I don't think he'd be so amenable to the red wine like you are."
“Oh, I think it'd take less and he'd be yours.” Betty joked. “Just one of those charming smiles would probably be enough.” She sipped the wine briefly. “Sadly I'm not doing anything interesting right now. Following up on some international cauldron smuggling ring is about as fun as it gets, and I don't suppose it'd lead me to cross paths with you this time.”
"I can't recall anything about international cauldron smuggling ring, but maybe one of my colleagues are on that case?" Joe shrugged and tried to take a brief sip, but with the way his elbow was positioned, a passerby managed to strike the elbow, which caused him to spill some liquid on his clothes and trousers. "Ah, fuck!" he exclaimed, settling the glass down, reaching for napkins and attempting to dab away the liquid. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
She was quick to react, passing him some napkins and trying her best to resist finding his flustered state as charming as she did. “Is it bad?” Betty asked, trying not to stare at where he’d spilt his drink and handing him another napkin.
The tips of Joe's ears had been burning and he knew he was turning an impossible shade of red, but Joe couldn't bring himself to look up at his date, not when it looked like he had peed himself. He grimaced, and glanced around the bar, wondering briefly whether he should use magic, but he was an officer of magical law enforcement. He couldn't possibly use magic in front of Muggles.
"Oh, it's — it's fine, it'll dry off soon, I'm sure. It's not a — really, it's completely fine." Joe didn't realise how fast he was talking, nor did he realise exactly how flustered he was, but if he could at least act like he wasn't bothered, then maybe it would be fine.
Finally, Joe returned his focus on Betty and forced a smile, though his cheeks were still flushed and he looked thoroughly embarrassed. "You were saying something about cauldrons?"
Betty shook her head, dismissing the change of subject. “It’s boring,” she insisted, and she hesitated for a moment. He seemed flustered still, embarrassed, and she wanted nothing more than for him to feel at ease around her. She stared at her wine, unable to meet his eye and practically wishing for the awkward silence to be over.
Until she broke her silence by leaning forwards and kissing him gently.
That had taken him by surprise, so much so that he had pulled back for a moment to analyse whether it was actually happening or not. Joe blinked a few times, slightly dumbfounded, but a second later, he too leaned forward to kiss her once again, forgetting all about the spill.
Joe broke the kiss, before mumbling quietly, "I should probably change my clothes, and my place isn't too far from here…"
She’d felt bold in that moment, but he seemed to be even bolder with his suggestion. She leaned back a little, watching him intently. Time to match that with some bravery of her own. “Look, I’m into you. You don’t need to make me think you’re smooth or suave or never drop a drink down you from time to time,” she told him slowly. “Okay?” She hadn’t responded to what he said.
Joe turned red again, though he was already chuckling to himself before replying with a low "okay". He had taken the non-answer to be 'no' and didn't want to follow up, so he merely returned to fumbling around with the handle of his beer mug. "Shall we order some food, then?"
Betty gave him a look, one that he might come to know as her incredulous look, like she couldn’t quite believe he’d dropped the idea quite so quickly. Incredulity turned to amusement, she laughed softly and shook her head. “I think we’ve seen all of this place that we need to.”
That perked his interest and he glanced back at Betty, with a curious look. "Yeah? Want to leave?" He smirked a bit, but didn't want to be pushy, either.
Betty picked up her glass of wine, took one last generous sip and then turned her attention back to Joe. “Let’s get you some new trousers.”
---
"Dumbledore's dead." Joe stated the fact, with the most noncommittal expression he could manage. He didn't know how else he was supposed to react, but he knew that things were going to change, and change very fast.
He leaned his head back against the headboard and groaned quietly to himself, letting the morning's paper drop on his lap. There was nothing else he could add to the topic that Betty wasn't thinking about, either, he knew.
She looked up from the o-mail that she was composing on her phone, peered over at the page he’d been reading. Betty had spent a time in her career as part of the paper that had discredited Dumbledore, talked at length about how he was losing his mind and couldn’t be trusted when everyone writing those words had believed otherwise. She uncurled her legs from where she was sat atop his bed, looking as though she was going to get up for a moment. Betty paused, put her phone down and looked to Joe.
“He’s the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of, wasn’t he?” Betty asked, watching him closely.
"So the rumour goes."
Joe closed his eyes, letting the thoughts in his head swirl around, as though he could somehow get a grip on the thoughts if he could tune it everything else. But no, his thoughts were running amok just as usual. He frowned for a moment, and opened his eyes again, glancing at Betty.
"What do you think happens now?" Joe asked, trying not to sound too accusatory. It wasn't Betty's fault that her place of work had been so anti-Dumbledore recently.
Hesitant to let someone in on her thoughts, unsure if she wanted to confide in another person, Betty shrugged her shoulders. “Positions of power, likely. They’ll go for the Ministry, your department if not the actual seat of Minister itself.” She steepled her fingers slowly, as though she were trying to anticipate their moves. “Or attack us from the outside. One or the other.”
Betty dropped her hands and reached to brush his shoulder with her fingers. “What do you think?”
Joe didn't reply right away, mostly because he couldn't think of an eloquent answer that was equivalent to 'completely fucked', so instead, he stared back at her, though his mind was peppered with all kinds of thoughts.
Finally, he drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. "You're right. Positions of power will shift, but to what extent and with what force? I can't begin to fathom that."
He chewed on his lips, grimacing slightly at the thought of what it must be like as a student at Hogwarts in that moment, and shuddered after a moment. "I need to write to my sister later," he added, as an afterthought.
Betty placed her hand properly on his shoulder. “I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything at work,” she told him softly. There wasn’t anything she could think of that would make him feel better, despite her willingness to try and banish his worries. There was no bright side of this.
She leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I wish I could tell you we’re anything less than completely fucked by whatever comes next,” she said, that wry sense of humour emerging in her words. “But I think we just have to take whatever comes and do our best against it.”
Joe couldn't help but smile at that, because of course they would be on the same wavelength for even this. "At least we both agree that we are completely fucked," he mumbled, turning his head slightly so their lips met momentarily.
"Are you scared, Bets?" Joe asked, gulping away the lump that had formed in his throat.
There were so many cautionary tales that she could tell him; stories she’d heard of journalists murdered in the First War, the way she’d had to write the Ministry agenda before You-Know-Who’s return had been confirmed. But she was scared, and too scared to tell him just how much that unnerved her. Even with someone that she cared about. So she nodded, silent in her fear.
"Me too," he replied, his hand reaching for hers, giving it a firm squeeze. "But you'll be okay. I know you will. You're way too badass to not pull through."
“Says my badass Hitwizard boyfriend,” she said softly, leaning in for a kiss. Her worries could wait, and his faith in her bolstered her confidence.
Joe kissed her back, letting one arm wrap around her, as he pulled her towards him. "I'm serious, though. And even if you're scared, you shouldn't be afraid to do what you think is right, okay? Promise me that."
She couldn’t promise anything, not truly. Betty closed her eyes and leaned into his embrace. “I’ll try.”
---
24th October. It’d be the day that Betty would remember for a long time, until all the awful articles blurred into one terrible mess of shame. She couldn’t bring herself to publicly refute what she wrote, and sometimes not even privately. She’d tried to joke about it, using quotes from known Death Eaters to subtly discredit her own work. This time it had hit too close to home, but she hadn’t considered the consequences enough. This time she’d written some nonsense rubbishing the department her friends worked for.
She’d gone by Joe’s apartment before their scheduled date, and she was sat on his sofa lazily throwing a tennis ball back and forth across the room for his dog. Maybe he hadn’t bothered to read it, or maybe he’d believe her when she said she didn’t mean it.
Joe stepped through the door a bit later than he normally would have, and was surprised to see that he would apparently not be alone. "Betty!" he exclaimed, before he was being attacked by Drogon, who was excited to see his human around after a long day. "What are you doing here?"
He'd read that article. He had even hexted her to say he didn't feel like going on their date because of his headache (even though he wasn't in the mood because he was low key pissed).
She watched Drogon run towards Joe and smiled across at him. “We have a dinner reservation,” she reminded him, assuming that for some reason he’d forgotten. “How was your day?” She was unnaturally cheerful, somewhat in denial. “Here boy,” she cooed at the dog, ready to give him a belly rub.
"Long," he replied curtly, setting his bag down on the table, and shrugging his coat off. A few moments later, he added, "Have a headache. I sent you a message about canceling our reservation."
Joe raised a hand to rub his eyes as he stifled a yawn. "I kind of want to turn in early tonight."
“Sorry, I haven’t touched my phone today,” Betty apologised, her attention on the dog as she stroked his ears. Something about Joe seemed off, and Betty was almost too scared to ask.
Unable to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach any longer, she looked up at him. Time to address the elephant in the room. “You know I don’t mean a word of it, Joe.”
Joe's eyes darted over to Betty and he kept a neutral expression on his face as he examined her. Did he know that? He wasn't so sure. He cleared his throat, and headed to the kitchen, without saying a word. He opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and took several gulps before returning to the living room.
"I'm not here to tell you how to do your job, but —," he paused, inhaling sharply. "What are you playing at?"
The belly rubs stopped, and Betty couldn’t look at the dog who was wondering where all the attention had gone. “I’m playing — playing at keeping my job, Joe.” Her paranoia and fears seemed too stupid to say, not when her voice was shaking like it was. “I’m playing at having money to live, for my mother, at doing what I can to stay afloat.” That was all she thought that she could do.
Maybe in a logical point of view, Joe could understand, in theory, but — "That's not good enough, Betty," he blurted out. He might have taken it back if he thought it was wrong to say, but despite the straightforwardness, Joe meant it.
“What, like you’re any different? Working for Yaxley?” Betty asked him, standing up and closing the distance between them. “Please don’t kid yourself, you’re just as fucked as I am.” Snapping at him was easy. She folded her arms and glared at him.
"Oh, am I the one spewing out bullshit to the general public and interviewing Death Eaters?" Joe snapped back. "Fuck, my memory's been terrible, in that case!"
“Fine.” Betty said abruptly, reaching to pick up her bag. “If that’s how you see it.” Without a second look at the dog by her ankles, or Joe and his water. She couldn’t bring herself to have this argument, and it was easier to just never have it. She went towards the door without another word.
Drogon barked and Joe didn't bother stopping Betty or following her. They both knew where the other stood now.
---
The last time Joe had been in that particular bar, he had managed to make a fool of himself and had beer spills all over his clothes. It wasn't too difficult to think about that incident as he snaked his way around the crowd to find his company for the evening.
"Braith, waite! I knew my Bets were well-placed when I said I'd be here on time." Joe grinned stupidly before sitting down next to her. "One drink and one drink only."
Cautiously, a little wary still despite the communication from the last few days, Betty waved at him as he approached and made space for him to sit with her. It had been a few months now, more than enough cooling off time after the fight that had ended everything between them.
“Just one drink,” she agreed. But before trying to order one, she cleared her throat and fished a sheet of paper from the folder placed in front of her. It was the obituary she’d written for that day, the real one. The one where she spoke about Morgan Robards and how terrible his murder was, how he’d been an example to his family and community and how his daughter had been hurt for her beliefs. How his son had to carry on after all of this.
Betty passed it to Joe. “It’ll never see publication, but I wanted to show you this anyway.”
Joe read the paper in silence, half-thrown, and looked at her once he'd finished. "Gawain deserves to read this," he informed her, though both of them knew it wasn't going to happen. Still, Joe had to try. "It's good work."
He slid the paper back to her, and pursed his lips. Joe studied Betty, it having been several months since he had seen her in the flesh. It almost seemed like she was reeling under all the stress, but he wasn't entirely sure. He cleared his throat, and his attention diverted. "How've you been?"
She placed the paper carefully back into her folder, holding onto it carefully. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “How about you?” It didn’t really cover things, but she felt good about this meeting. She felt hopeful, for perhaps the first time in a while.
"The same," Joe replied, with a shrug. "I don't know whether that's good or bad, in all honesty." At least he was still alive, he supposed, but that was too dark for a one-drink conversation. "I guess it depends on the day." He snorted loudly, attracting the attention of people nearby. He shrugged at them, as though that would explain everything and he glanced back at Betty. "How's your mum?"
Betty shrugged off the question, but she smiled as he snorted. There was something odd and endearing about him still. “How’s Drogon?”
"Fierce. As. Fuck." Joe grinned this time, throwing back to their moment on the journals from earlier. "And definitely not cute." A moment later, he fished for his phone from his coat pocket, going through pictures to find the perfect one to show Betty. "See? He's won that battle against the couch cushion. He isn't to be fucked with."
“He’s adorable,” she insisted, looking at the pictures intently. “The cutest, and maybe fierce too.” She smiled softly. “You’ll have to send me some pictures. I miss him a lot.”
Joe kept staring at his phone, and a few seconds later, he responded. "He misses you, too."
Betty nudged him gently in the ribs with her elbow, trying to draw his attention away from the phone. It was difficult to know if he was talking about the dog or himself, but something about his tone made Betty feel bolder. “Well. If he needs me. I’m still here.”
Joe shifted his gaze from his phone to Betty and he managed a smile before giving her a brief nod. "I'll be sure to pass on the message. And I'm sure he'd say the same to you, too. I don't think he's that fond of my belly rubs."
“Maybe I can drop by sometime to give him one,” Betty joked quietly. She looked around the place, distracted for a moment. “Look, Joe — I’m sorry. I don’t really know how to say it, I just am.”
"You did what you thought you had to do. Who am I to judge, when I'm doing something similar?" Joe gulped and looked away, sitting up straighter. "I'm also sorry. I snapped and that article was piss-poor timing."
She pushed her hair out of her face, sighing slowly before looking at him. “Let’s keep talking, okay?” Betty asked him. “I don’t always like to talk about things, but I want to try.” She touched his shoulder gently. “I want to be better with this, and not just go along with things because I’m too scared to say no.”
"You did promise you would try," Joe reminded her, from a conversation he wasn't even sure that she would remember. "So, try. And talk. I'll listen."