WHO: Demeter Wiggleswade & John Dawlish WHAT: Check-in WHEN: 3rd April WHERE:[Redacted] WARNINGS: None
There was always some part of Demeter that'd circle back around to work, long before she'd been demoted and the Auror office disbanded. Even when meeting up on a social occasion she'd be thinking of work, perhaps even have a few files with her, or some unhealthy combination of both. It was a habit that she'd get away with in some company but not in others, but despite the guilt she felt for being painfully fixated on her job she'd still be unable to resist the urge to indulge that very fixation. It was oddly easier now to justify this to herself, that the things she focused on were all the ones that'd be frowned upon at the DMLE. Helping this fugitive was much better than hunting him. It came down to a simple question of what she thought was right and wrong.
Sat at a small table towards the back of the Muggle café she'd picked to meet in (not the most respectable of establishments, but the Knockturn upbringing in her meant that she always felt at home in somewhere a little shiftier), she was silently pouring over a set of maps. Pencil in hand, she'd already plotted out the route she'd reported back to her boss as the one that Dawlish had supposedly taken. Tracking had been one of her favourite parts of being an Auror, and to use her skills to fake a trail was a challenge she was all too willing to take on.
Things had been too quiet, and Demeter still felt that nervous kind of anticipation as she worked through the map to identify places that'd be particularly inhospitable should Yaxley choose to investigate for himself. She leaned over the table to gaze at the top half of the map, only sitting up and sweeping her curls out of her face as she noticed someone approach.
Demeter smiled up at John, the sort of half-smile that was pleased to see him but still eternally preoccupied with questions and theories and thoughts. “I've got some supplies,” she told him, motioning to a bag sat in one of the empty chairs at her table.
Under some glamours, John looked unrecognizable to anyone that wouldn’t have known him on a personal level. His hair was longer, his nose wider, his lips thinner, his eyes wider, his skin darker, his stature taller, his body stouter (as much as he hated to do this particular one). He slipped into the seat opposite of Demeter, his face slightly hidden by the baseball hat he had picked up earlier, and when he spoke, John’s voice was deeper than it had ever been in the past.
“How’s the office?” he asked, tapping his fingers against the table restlessly. “How’s Yaxley?”
“Nice nose,” Demeter said evenly. She quirked a brow briefly, and then spread the palms of her hands out across the map without looking at her work. “Nearly caught me out,” she told him, even though it wasn’t entirely true.
“Office was practically destroyed, shame that none of you could finish off the job that Savage started. Yaxley hasn’t sounded off at any of us just yet, so we’re all keeping busy.” Demeter mentally ran off the happenings of the last few days. “Another dead Phoenix, body displayed at a Purist art exhibition of all things,” disgust was audible in her words. “Williamson in hospital. Bell’s disappeared. You’ve disappeared.” Demeter glanced up at him.
“Never a dull moment at the DMLE,” John remarked, hiding a brief chuckle. His eyes scanned over the map, and he drew in a breath. “No Winternet sightings or anything of the kind of me, yeah?” His thoughts briefly fell on Helene, and her tendency to be the teenager that she was, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure with his former colleague.
And then: “Want to report me dead? Though I suppose Yaxley will want to see a body.”
“No Winternet that I know of. People tend to disregard how useful it can be. But you should probably keep off it.” Demeter paused. “And I shan’t report you dead, don’t you dare.” Stubborn for a moment, and she picked up her hands to steeple her fingers slowly. “I’d say that everyone’s more preoccupied with a bigger missing name. Sorry to say, but the Head of the Muggleborn Registration Commission just about beats you in importance.”
Demeter picked up her cup of tea, taking a gentle sip from it to give him just enough time to react to the bit of information that she found most interesting. Vigilantes and suspected vigilantes going missing was one thing, but a Ministry stooge and supporter was quite another.
“Right, I knew that. Umbridge still hasn’t turned up then?” John seemed skeptical, wondering where that foul woman could have gone without a trace. It was obvious to point fingers at the Order, but perhaps he ought to be careful at the moment, since they had been helping him.
He nodded and finally added, “I’m offended that Yaxley doesn’t care about me.” The briefest of smiles followed.
“Not a word of her. Surely if she was dead they’d have paraded her around as martyr, and if someone had her then they’d have made some kind of demand by now.” It was Demeter’s favourite mystery of the moment, something she couldn’t quite let go of yet.
She caught the smile, returned it with one of her own as she placed her teacup back down. “Fuck Yaxley.” A familiar refrain. “Anyway, I brought you something else that might come in useful.”
“Maybe they’ve realised Umbridge isn’t worth making demands.”
A beat, and then John’s interest perked. He glanced at his former colleague, head tilted at an angle. “What is it?” he inquired, conspicuously checking his watch to keep time. He had told his father he’d back back within an hour and while there was still plenty of time, he was concerned all the same.
Demeter pushed the map aside carefully to show him a second map underneath it, a little smaller but otherwise identical. “If I get a genuine tip from someone who's seen you, I can't necessarily make that tip disappear. This one’s protean charmed to mine, so if I plot something that isn't your little Northern Ireland jaunt then that's the securest warning I can give you without resorting to something on a wider network. The subtlest, too,” she traced the pencil line that had perfectly copied onto the second one. “I know you'll be okay at keeping hidden, but — you know. Worst case scenario.” Grim words, nonetheless accompanied by an encouraging smile.
John nodded, impressed by the map, though his expression otherwise remained unchanged. He held out his hand, and finally caught Demeter’s eyes. “I can’t thank you enough for all of this. Truly.” The knots in his stomach tightened and he felt extreme gratitude towards the woman sitting across from him. He sighed, half-relieved and half-gravely concerned.
“Are you sure it’s no trouble on your end to maintain?”
“When you’ve got a reputation for being impeccable about records, who’ll notice one more?” Demeter couldn’t help feeling a little proud, and it showed in her smile. She folded the smaller map up and placed it in his outstretched hand.
“It’d be an honour.” She assured him.
John smiled, carefully pocketing the map. He’d be using that more than he probably cared to admit, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
He exhaled, as his nose twitched. It was nearly time to redo his glamours if he was going to keep it up. “Oh,” he grabbed a napkin, and a pen that’d been left behind by a previous patron, and scribbled down his new cell phone number. “For emergencies,” he stated, tucking it below the open map.
Demeter nodded curtly. “Stay safe,” she reminded him. Not that he needed the reminder, but more reassurance for herself. She slid the napkin closer to herself before folding it carefully in half and then half again. “I’ll try check in when I can, but we’re quite thin on the ground now.” The remains of the Auror office were seemingly scattered to the four winds, with only the small few of them left in the Ministry itself.
He laughed, just a bit, before nodding. Slowly rising to his feet, John patted Demeter on the shoulder. “Try not to be the next one to leave.” He gave her a brief nod, before making his way to the exit.