Lightning Strikes But Once

How gullible do I look? Don't answer that.
Wednesday, August 16th -- Evening

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It had taken a day or two, but Bill had figured out what it was about Fletcher's coin that was setting off Griphook's internal alarms. The residual magic on the gold was not wizard in origin, it was Fae.

The next question was how did Fletcher end up with a Fae tainted coin, much less a bag full of them. Luckily, Fletcher had been kind enough to leave his contact information with Griphook and when Bill had shown up at his room he had been most cooperative about coming along.

Bill hadn't even had to use the angry face.

Owls had been sent out to interested parties, asking them to meet at Hogwarts. He knocked on the door to Remus' quarters, one hand firmly on Fletcher's arm.

Goblins. The whole lot are bloody wankers, they are.
Monday, August 14th -- Afternoon

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Dung stared at the goblin behind the counter, dumbfounded. He had a bag full of gold coins that had been carefully hidden until he was sure no one would connect his sudden windfall with the wishing well, scamming just enough to get by until he could risk spending the galleons. The longer he'd kept the bag hidden under his mattress, the more convinced he'd become that someone - some thief - would take it, which is why he wanted to deposit it in the vaults of Gringott's.

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Disappearance of former colleague baffles officials
Friday, July 14 ~ Night

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The search for a missing former Unspeakable continued today, with the authorities reporting no progress in the investigation.

Buford Croaker, a well-respected former official for the Department of Mysteries, first was reported missing nearly two weeks ago.

John McMathis, Auror, at today's press conference:

"In the course of his long and distinguished career, Mr. Croaker was instrumental in helping to apprehend many a dangerous criminal. As well, his investigations into certain Mysteries continued on a freelance basis. Suffice to say, there are a number of leads for us to follow and we will continue to do so."

Authorities initially became suspicious when Croaker, 60, failed to meet former colleagues for a lunch on July 3. A search of his flat revealed no sign of foul play, and McMathis stated there has been no activity in the missing man's bank accounts.

Paul Smythe, Unspeakable:

"Frankly, we're beginning to fear the worst. Croaker has no real family that could have called him away for an emergency, he didn't like to travel ... I don't like to think it, there are some bad folk out there, and they don't care for ol' Buford."

This has been Horace Knickerbocker, reporting from the Ministry of Magic. Now back to you in the studio.

In the Pale Moonlight
Thursday, June 29th -- Near Midnight

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Dung was justifiably uneasy. He was not looking forward to sending this owl, and part of him rather hoped the missive would get lost and never be answered.

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He included a small vial filled with silver sludge, one of the memories that Croaker had pulled out of his head and that Miss Daphne had been so disgusted to see.

Dance with the Devil
Thursday, June 29th -- Evening

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The end of his cigar was stubbed out against the brick of Daphne's building. She had been hesitant to agree to let him meet her at her flat for their dinner but Croaker had poured on the charm, using his former job as proof of his trustworthiness. To London for dinner, a stroll through the streets and then back to her place for a night cap, he thought with a cunning smile. Little Miss Daphne won't have a clue what hit her.

She was waiting at the door when he knocked and laughed self-consciously. Eager thing.

Croaker enjoyed wrapping his arm around Daphne's waist to Apparate them.

A wishing well of butterfly tears
Wednesday, June 21st -- Very, Very Early Morning

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Dung had been skulking waiting in the shadows most of the night. Every time he began to creep out of his alley of choice, some drunken weirdo wearing a silly looking hat and clunky boots would stumble by.

He'd wandered past the 'Sticks more than once to see what all the fuss was about and those people... Sickos, the whole lot o' them. Playing their kinky pirate dress-up games. In public no less.

Didn't even get an invite. I even have a stuffed parrot. Could have shown them how a real pirate dresses, they all got the look completely wrong.

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Double, Double, Toil and Trouble
Thursday, June 8th ~*~ Afternoon

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The book was very carefully propped up out of the way on her kitchen counter. Its pages were tattered and yellowed, and Daphne was treating it with the utmost of care. It had belonged to her father, and his grandmother before him; names carefully inscribed inside the front cover going back several generations.

She brushed a lock of hair from her cheek and double checked the instructions handwritten on the page, her finger hovering just above the words to guide her.

Daphne had just picked up a razor sharp knife and turned to the glass jar containing a live newt when there was a whisper soft knock at her front door, quickly followed by two more and silence. She rolled her eyes and crossed the flat to open the door just as one final rap, louder than the first three, ran out.

"Seriously, Mister Fletcher."

What's this whole world comin' to
Things just ain't the same
Any time the hunter gets captured by the game

Friday, May 19th -- Evening

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Fletcher was proving difficult to track. Finding the thief's name had been relatively easy, Croaker still had contacts at the ministry who owed him favors. Narrowing down which scrawny malcontent had made off with his belongings had taken only a few visits to the petty theft and "ill-thought out" scams division.

Actually getting his hands on Fletcher was another matter entirely.

Croaker pushed his plate away and leaned back in his seat to light his cigar. He ignored the pointed glare of the women at the table next to him and, when some blonde waif came to tell him the restaurant was a non-smoking establishment he simply raised a brow and continued to enjoy his after dinner cigar.

Back to the matter at hand: Fletcher. I've followed him this far, he'll show himself at some point and then I'll have him.

Dude looks like a lady.
Thursday, May 11th ~*~ Early Evening

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At first Daphne had done her best not to stare at the - woman? - person sitting at one of her corner tables. She knew that not everyone was fortunate enough to be born with good genes and that some people looked - different. After all, no matter how much she'd tried to drop the extra weight, those pesky pounds continued to cling to her hips and chest and many people found that distasteful so who was she to judge?

But something about this woman kept drawing her gaze over and over.

Finally it hit her. That woman wasn't a woman.

Transvestite? Nothing wrong with that really, but I've known one or two and they always took such pains with their appearance. This is just... familiar?

The cheekbones were the key. Daphne's temper went through the roof.

With a determined tilt to her chin, she approached the lady's table. "Excuse me, miss?"

Every move you make, every breath you take, I'll be watching you.
Saturday, April 28th ~*~ Afternoon

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The lunch crowd was finally starting to thin out and Daphne was all smiles. Business was doing well, even counting the monthly anonymous donations to the war orphans the restaurant was beginning to run steadily in the black.

She stopped to check on a couple who had arrived during the lunch rush. They seemed young and in that slightly awkward stage of new love and Daphne couldn't help but bring them something special she'd made the day before while thinking of Harry, complements of the house of course. Judging from the way they were gazing at each other by the time they were finished, the chocolate tart had served its purpose. More importantly they also left a large tip for their waitress and promised to return soon.