Tarte Noire Around and About Vertick Alley

Part I - Lavender Blue Dilly Dilly (December 11, 2002)

It's about a week to Christmas and it's bloody freezing in this stupid flat. It was built centuries ago, appears to be immune to heating charms and Ron won't let me light a fire when I'm by myself because last time I set fire to the cat.

I'd like to add that I was drunk at the time and unlikely to repeat such an incident in the near future, but Ron's such an old mother hen and it is his money that pays most of the rent.

What? He's a professional Quidditch player, on top of his day job. He can afford it.

And don't get any ideas about us making a cute couple. In our fifth year we made an insufferably irritating couple and he was the first boy to ever break my heart. Anyway, Ron's gay, came out a year ago, but that's his story, I guess.

And my story, well, I'm suffering the pangs of unrequited love. Again.

Anyway, Zacharias says I ramble too much and I'll never be a good writer because of it. He should know. He's amazing. Except he's completely sick of his job at The Daily Prophet because all he gets to do is make cups of tea and file papers for the sleazy old men who work there.

I work in the new Forensics department at the Ministry of Magic, under the leadership of Kingsley Shacklebolt, an attractive ex-Auror with no social skills and a terrible sense of humour. I'm the lab rat (or lab processor and analyst if you want to call me by my proper title), which is the worst job ever because I'm below about three other people my age who all got promoted from the position at various stages of last year. Hermione Granger is Shacklebolt's right hand woman, in more ways than one. I don't really understand their relationship, except that they're both intelligent and angry. Then there's Padma Patil, twin sister of my best friend who has the luck of being both ridiculously smart and ridiculously beautiful.

Finally, there's Seamus. Seamus Finnegan, the Irish punk who stole my heart when I was seventeen and only returned it a couple of years ago. Seamus who can hold his liquor better than even I can. Seamus, who I traveled through Tuscany with for three months, fucked a few times and decided he was a better friend than lover.

Parvati's here. I can smell her perfume from outside, rich and glitzy. And in her stilettos, she's not exactly the quietest of girls.

I run and open the door. "Darling," she cries and kisses the air beside my cheeks. Last year she discovered that she's part-French and has been doing the Franglaise thing ever since. She's been my best friend since Hogwarts and I wouldn't swap her for anyone.

"How are you, Lav?" she asks, settling down in the only serviceable chair. "Lordie, it's freezing in here."

"Yeah. Ron won't let me light a fire."

"Because you almost roasted poor Mister Darcy?" She asks, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

I sigh. "Yes. He does worry an awful lot."

"It's because of the way he is," Parvati says knowledgably. "They can't help it." Sometimes she's just an idiot. I've given up reasoning with her. I just keep her as far away from Susan as possible.

"Whatever. Anyway, how are the wedding plans going?" Parvati is engaged to Harry Potter. It's all terribly glamorous and exciting.

"Oh, fine." She shakes her head irritably. "I don't want to talk about them."

"Getting cold feet?" I ask, grinning. Parvati has been infatuated with the boy who lived since her first year and nothing much has changed except him returning the favour.

"Yes, actually." I stare at her in disbelief. "Do you think Ron would mind if I lit the fire?" Those sort of cold feet, I think with some relief.

"Probably," I say wryly. "We wouldn't want to let the minion of evil anywhere near fire again."

"I can't understand. He's such a sweet cat." As if on cue, Darcy strolls in. He's big and black and I named him after Mister Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, a film my mother used to watch with me every time I came home for Christmas. Sadly, this Darcy is all sarcasm and unfurled claws and no attractive misunderstood hero. Although he is madly in love with Parvati and leaves fur on all her robes, which I guess is similar to the Darcy and Elizabeth relationship.

"To you maybe," I mutter darkly. He swipes at me. Bastard.

"How's work going?" Parvati asks. She has a genuine interest, stemmed mainly from her love of gossip and finding out the details of high-profile murders.

"It's horrible," I say. "Millicent Bullstrode, you know, from Hogwarts? Well, she turned up dead in a trunk and we've got to work out how she died. Plus, Shacklebolt hates me and loves Hermione."

"Well, fair enough," Parvati says, nodding her head. "I mean, she's the greatest mind that Hogwarts has known for decades and she's working for him."

I'm in the mood for malicious gossip. "No, I mean, really loves her. They've got this funny sort of relationship. Nothing's ever said but you can tell they're shagging."

"That's just weird," Parvati says, screwing up her face. "He's like thirty-five."

"I know!" I agree.

"And how's the Zacharias problem?" she asks.

"Still a problem." I screw up my nose. "He's obviously in love with Ginny, gives me the graphic details of his sex life and keeps telling me that I'm such a good friend."

"Poor baby," Parvati murmurs sympathetically. "That sucks."

"Ah well." I hate talking about him with Parvati. It makes me want to cry and I do enough of that already without spouting tears every time she mentions his name. Somehow Parvati does this to me.

The door slams open and Susan storms in. "Bloody fucking hell," she screams, her dark hair falling loose of its ponytail and her thin arms carrying more books than even Hermione could manage on a good day.

I raise an eyebrow at Parvati. "Someone's not too happy."

"Want to talk about it?" Parvati clucks sympathetically.

"No." Susan slams the door to her bedroom and we can hear her settling down on her bed.

I don't really get Susan. She's a bit strange. A complete livewire. She's training to be an Auror, which is probably what's making her so angry because their exams are early next year and they're supposed to be really tough. Sometimes it makes me glad that I'm just a lab rat.

Not today though. Millicent wasn't exactly killed by Avada Kedavra. Or to be more precise, someone with a great deal of skill with a scalpel (or a precise incision charm, which is less likely than you might think statistically) managed to cut her into bits and carve the dark mark on her stomach. I've got a day off but I'll be analysing blood and fluid samples over the next few days and I can't say I'm really looking forward to it.

"Anyway, I'd better go," Parvati says, enveloping me in a hug. "Stay strong, sweetie. Love you."

"You too darling."

And with a whirl of perfume and cashmere robes, she's gone. Another bridal fitting perhaps or maybe to finish her column for the week. She works at Witch Weekly, writing a column about being in your twenties, and loves it. But she always puts it off until the last minute.

I debate asking Susan if she can light a fire but, judging by her present mood, I'm guessing the answer will be no. She's mental, that one.

There's a banging at the window. An owl. And Seamus', given that it's wearing a sparkly pink collar. He does like his pets to be noticeable, that boy.

Lav,

Lab meet up at The Leaky Cauldron, room six. Be there at seven for drinks and a talk through the case.

Seamus

Excellent. It may not be the flashest pub around but it does a good, cheap firewhiskey and chairs are comfortable.

*

I'm late, as usual. They've all come to expect it. It's probably why I haven't been allowed on the field. You can't be late on the job.

"Late again?" Tom says, rolling his eyes. "I sent a firewhiskey up for you."

"Thanks Tom. You rock," I say, rushing up the stairs.

I burst through the doors. "Sorry, the cat ate my boots and I had to get them transfigured."

"Pathetic excuse, Brown," Shacklebolt says, scowling. "How long will it be until you desist using your cat as an alibi?"

"Until you get rid of me probably, sir," I reply. Hermione puts a warning hand on my arm, which annoys me. I know exactly how far I can go.

"Well, sit down. Get your drink."

"Don't mind if I do." I sprawl into the nearest available chair, poking my tongue out at Seamus, who is looking very amused, and waving to Padma, who rolls her eyes at me.

The firewhiskey burns pleasantly and I waggle my eyebrows at Seamus. It's a game we play: Who can drink the most alcohol before Shacklebolt notices that we're drunk? He usually wins but I can sometimes trick him into making an ass of himself.

We're so mature.

By my third drink, I'm not listening to what Shacklebolt's saying. This is a blessing in disguise because he's discussing the Bullstrode case, which is neither pleasant nor particularly thrilling this late at night. Sometimes what I do scares me and I just want out, but there's no way to go but forward in the Ministry.

"This work shows chilling similarities to that of the murder of Theodore Nott earlier in the year," Hermione is saying.

"I think we have a serial killer on our hands and he's after the children of Death Eaters," Shacklebolt continues. Seamus jerks. "How much have you had to drink, Finnegan?" he asks.

I grin at him. Beat you, I mouth.

Fuck you, he mouths back.

Gladly.

"If you're quite finished ..." Shacklebolt says, glaring at the two of us. I don't really think he wants to lead a team where he's the oldest member by about fifteen years. And fair enough. I would never want to try and tell Seamus or myself what to do.

Padma coughs. "Seamus and I found flecks of silver paint in the carpets at Bullstrode's apartment. We've sent them through to Lavender to analyse."

"Awesome," I say, groaning at the thought of going into work tomorrow.

"Anything to add, Seamus?" she asks. Seamus jerks again. He has been staring at Padma in adoration. The boy is completely in love and she is utterly clueless to it.

"Uh, no. I don't think so."

"Finnegan's mind appears to be befuddled with Firewhiskey," Shacklebolt says meanly. Seamus droops like a dead plant. Befuddled with Firewhiskey? Befuddled with love. "Well, if there's nothing else shall this meeting adjourn?"

"Sure," I say. "See you all tomorrow, bright and early!"

Seamus looks balefully at me. "You're too cheerful, Brownie."

"It's the thought of seeing you again, love," I reply. "You're just such a charmer."

I see Hermione touch Shacklebolt's arm, just the lightest of touches, and whisper into his ear. A smile grazes across his dark face.

I apparate back to the flat.

Susan's door is ominously shut, Ron appears to be out and there are all sorts of moans and giggles coming from Zacharias' room. I suppose we should be thankful that Ginny has her own flat that they use more often than not but it'd be nice to not hear the object of my affections at it with another girl in the room next to mine.

I thump on the door. "Get a room."

Silence. Then, "We've got one," says Zacharias, an amused drawl permeating the living area.

"Well it's clearly not soundproof, judging by what I can hear."

"Sorry Lav," Ginny calls out.

"At least your girlfriend has the decency to apologise, dickhead," I yell out at Zacharias.

"Such an endearing nickname." Zacharias pokes his head around the corner, blond curls rumpled and bare chest coated in fine sandy hairs.

"Suck my cock, Smith," I reply. When all else fails, using crude phrases will work a charm on Zacharias. He doesn't use them himself, but he certainly appreciates them.

"Why Lavender, I thought you'd never ask." He smirks. "Sorry mate. Ginny'll get going now."

"Thanks. I've got an early day tomorrow and Seamus made me drink."

"That bastard."

"I know."

"See you in the morning, love," he says, and he's gone back to Ginny. I hear muffled goodbyes and a faint pop. She's gone.

I sigh and move into my room. I'm so tired that I fall asleep with my clothes on.

I dream about sex.