Yes, I'm laying odds on tomorrow. So let's start tomorrow tonight.

"Noooo," Barnaby groaned. "No, what is that?"

"It makes you better, mate." Frank replied, frowning as he looked down at Barnaby and at Keiran, who crouched before him. Frank crossed his arms, looking to the ceiling when Barnaby refused again.

Keiran, however, was feeling rather more like a father than he'd wanted to with this stranger. Barnaby was being more childish about this than even Liam was - and Liam despised the taste of this sort of potion. Medicine, bizarrely, seemed to wig his children out. Perhaps because they so rarely needed it and their father so frequently required it. Keiran didn't know. But it did feel rather tedious.

"If I can be frank, Barnaby, it's unlikely that you'll get better without this. Not with how badly you reacted to it," Keiran warned, frowning.

"You can't be frank, you dolt," the other wizard declared. "I already took that one. Stick with Keiran. I'm not sure you're good-looking enough to be a Frank."

"You're lucky, really, that you're necessary for this," Keiran warned, shaking his head.

It was then, almost luckily, that Phaedra showed up. Keiran stood to greet her, more or less, abandoning the pair of idiots at the same time. He frowned slightly, but it was entirely likely that his relief at her arrival was obvious. At least to her. Barnaby was near asleep at that point, and Frank was too amused to really pay attention.

"Longbottom brought home a stray. And he's refusing to take this," Keiran said, holding it out to her with an undeniable level of exasperation. "The poor thing doesn't take well to apparition. And our friend Frank is a git."

"A charming one, obviously," Frank cut in, leaning around Keiran and making the older man flinch.

Shooting Frank a disapproving glare, Keiran shoved him away. "He needs to take it."

Hands up though they were, Frank didn't look particularly sorry. Instead of replying, though - perhaps realizing that Keiran was ready to hex him if he did so - Frank returned to Barnaby's side, peering down at the Muggle. Frank hadn't said anything, mind, because the man of the house, so to speak, hadn't either. Keiran was not foolish enough to believe that she wouldn't figure it out. But then, he didn't have an answer for her when she asked. And she surely would. Keiran himself wanted to.

Why on earth did they need a Muggle for something like this?

But rather than staying to find out, Keiran frowned at Frank, shook his head, and essentially forced the potion into Phaedra's hand before heading off down the hallway. Once he was out of sight, Frank actually relaxed.

"He'll be back in a few. Gone to check on the kids, I wager. Or he's pretending to. Either way, he's not actually wrong. This bloke could use that potion there," Frank gestured towards her hand, "but he's having none of it."

[Refer to that laughing video you sent me for my reaction to this entire thread XD]

Keiran seemed less displeased to see her than usual, which Phaedra was surprised to find was a pleasing development. She wouldn’t have allowed it to affect her either way, but it was nice to glimpse that hope of her day panning out just as well as it had started, and better by far than the ones preceding it.

But there were so many things wrong with the next exchange that it suddenly seemed the day that had begun so promisingly, wasn’t after all. Between the veritable stranger on the couch, Longbottom suddenly and inexplicably being attributed ‘friend’ status, and the really quite tedious display of what said 'friend' probably thought qualified as wit, it wasn’t hard to summon the frown that took over her previously attentive features as her eyes flicked between the two men.

She didn’t even get a chance to ask what they intended to do before Keiran had shoved the potion into her hand and stalked off, vanishing down the hall. For a second, she simply looked after him in half-disbelief, irritation being slow to rise this time, turning back to Frank when he addressed her. Her eyebrows drew together almost imperceptibly.

The kids. Of course. Because he had them. And a wife. Or an ex-wife, at least. A family. A life that wasn’t just manning a bookshop and guarding his father’s library from unwelcome blasts from the past.

Strange, really, that it hit her like such a revelation when the information wasn't new at all.

Phaedra could have laughed if she wasn’t so utterly confounded. She could think of no logical reason for the burden, as she saw it, to be shoved onto her shoulders. Or into her hands, as it were. This stray of Frank’s- muggleborn, halfblood, or perhaps even a squib, judging by the severity of his reaction- was practically on the verge of unconsciousness, and if she wasn’t mistaken, they were expecting her to do something about it? Either Keiran rather unbelievably thought she, of all people, was the right person to handle this absurd situation, or for whatever reason he wanted to see her suffer. Either way, it was almost a little too ridiculous to be happening.

Phaedra would be the first to admit she didn’t have the best bedside manner. By ‘not the best’, what’s meant is she didn’t have much of one at all, because sickness was something she very firmly avoided. For good reason, too. They didn’t honestly expect her to nurse this stranger back to health, did they?

Evidently, they were equally- if not more- incompetent than she tended to be in such situations.

She raised her eyebrows at Frank, studied him silently for a second, concluded that reasoning with him would be more of a headache than dealing with his sickly friend, and sighed. A quick sniff of the bottle and a peek at its contents immediately drew up a mental list of both the brand of potion itself and the ingredients, and she noted that it was a rather decent one. Unsurprisingly, though, she couldn’t help thinking that it could still be improved.

But Phaedra held in that remark and simply moved over to the couch. She peered down at Barnaby before sinking somewhat hesitantly by his side, keeping a comfortable few inches of distance between them. When she spoke, it was softly, with unnerving calmness and the faintest trace of well-feigned sympathy.

“I’m sure these kind gentlemen didn’t mention this to you- and I don’t mean to alarm you at all- but apparition sickness can sometimes prove fatal. And you’re looking awfully green. I’d take my chances with this potion, if I were you. But it’s completely up to you, of course. You’re probably an authority on this sort of thing, if you’re so confident of your survival…”

Eyebrow raised, voice firm, and the bottle held out with certainty. She figured if he was stupid enough to apparate knowing he would react so badly to it then refuse the help offered, and obviously unaccustomed enough to magic that he did react that badly in the first place, this little lie wouldn’t be so unbelievable. But really, if he wasn't a muggleborn, had his family not gotten him used to it in his younger years? Just another reason breeding was just as important as blood when it came to magical folk, she thought.

Turning away from Barnaby for a second, she looked over her shoulder at Frank, shooting him an unimpressed look.

“You didn’t think to floo instead?”

Unfortunate though he looked and dreadful as he felt, Barnaby was somehow able to focus on the woman and what she was saying. Whoever she was, that is. Was she involved in whatever Frank had been talking about? Magic?

Maybe it was just that this woman was frightening. Barnaby couldn't decide if she was that way on purpose, particularly with his head swimming like it was. Still, he had a point, didn't she? Although he eyed the liquid warily, he reached for it. He had just tipped it back into his throat when she spoke again, this time to Frank.

Coughing, Barnaby clutched at his shirt as if it would somehow make him stop choking. "I have the flu?"

Frank rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No, you dolt. You aren't sick." Then, turning to Phaedra, he tried to explain. "We didn't exactly have time. My best mate abandoned me when I mentioned magic and this guy had seen too much," he shrugged. He was going to continue when he was cut off by Keiran's return.

Or, well, Kelly's entrance. Keiran followed soon after, looking amused though slightly apologetic. The little blonde went straight for Frank, hands moving in a grabbing motion. Two and a half, nearly, and she was already moving much too quickly for Keiran's liking. He did frown when she sought out Frank, but not genuinely.

"Napping wasn't her idea of fun, today," he explained with a shrug as Frank shot him a questioning look. Still, the younger man reached down to pick her up, completely unaware of whether or not Phaedra had reacted to his story.

Frank just smirked. "Maybe," he said, cuddling her into his side, "she just realized I was here."

"I forgot you'd even seen her," Keiran said unapologetically.  Then, it was time to check in on Barnaby. Ah, good. Less green. But the Muggle looked thoroughly confused, and he felt it, too.

"So I don't have the flu?"

Keiran didn't know what to say to that. For someone who grew up with a pretend Muggle, he hadn't heard that one before. "The what? The floo?" He asked, squinting slightly as he looked at Phaedra out of the corner of his eye and gestured vaguely towards the fireplace.

Phaedra was startled enough by the entrance of the little girl that her reaction to his explanation was delayed, her attention curiously taken by the child who in turn seemed inexplicably taken with Frank.

In another situation Phaedra might have asked after her name, even offered a kind greeting to the young girl who at first glance resembled not her father but her absent mother, presumably. But with the child evidently happily settled and more important matters to attend to, her attention was quickly diverted back to the predicament at hand.

If it were possible to look more unamused than she already was, Phaedra was managing it very well. To her credit, she didn’t jump up or dart away once she realised who- or what- she was sharing the couch with. She didn’t move at all, the subtle stiffening of her joints the only sign of shock for those perceptive enough to catch it.

Of course he was a muggle. Of course.

This was what happened when you put your lot in with blood traitors. The next thing you knew you were rubbing shoulders- literally- with strange muggles that had no clue what they’d gotten into, no place anywhere near your world- certainly not anywhere near your vault- and were sitting there looking awfully...pitiful.

And not just standard non-magical-existence pitiful. But honestly rather quite pathetic in the way of small, sickly children or particularly miserable house elves.

Actually, house elves were a very fitting comparison.

Keiran’s question seemed to be directed at her and she raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him as if to confirm that he was asking her, of all people, what this muggle was babbling about. The silent censure was clear. But if she opened her mouth to say as much, she feared a lot more would come out than simply a response.

Instead, it was Frank she addressed again, completely ignoring Barnaby and keeping a tight rein on the modulation of her voice, not wanting to startle the little girl or start an actual argument within minutes of setting foot in the house.

“If I'm not mistaken, there are Obliviators trained to deal with these very situations. I'm afraid I don't quite understand why you felt the need to spirit the muggle away to begin with. Kidnapping stray muggles isn’t particularly good assurance of your alleged discretion- is it, Mr. Longbottom?”

Her tone was quite calm, considering. She could go on. Of course she could. Instead she settled for a particularly cutting look in Frank’s direction and an arched brow, one that spoke more of her disapproval than the complete confusion at his irrational behaviour and- as she saw it- shockingly flawed logic. Was this what heroes did, these days? Steal muggles off the streets and give them apparition sickness?

(Actually, she hoped that was all it was. The alternative was too preposterous to even consider.)

"Oh, yes," Frank agreed sincerely, if dramatically. "They showed up right before I left with Barnaby, here."

Keiran lifted his eyes to the ceiling, wondering how long it would take for people to start looking for Frank if they'd recognized him. Who was leading the team, anyway? Hugo? Probably not. He'd been busy. Keiran didn't know any others, so he couldn't even guess what that piece of information meant.

"However," Frank continued, taking into account that she had questioned his ability to keep everything under the radar. "My friend, a lawyer for the Ministry, was there as well. She left before I did, but she'll cover for us."

"Mai?" Keiran asked, skeptical.

This brought a frown to Frank's face. Keiran had reason not to trust Mai, but Frank did not. "She won't do anything to me. If we need it, she'll protect us."

"Alright," the headmaster returned, "so then what, exactly, is the point of bringing a Muggle here?"

"I'm confused," Barnaby offered weakly, looking afraid to talk over Keiran.

"I'm sure you are, mate. I'll explain in a minute," Frank told him. He sat down in a chair off to the side, then turned to Phaedra. "Barnaby works in museums. Muggle ones, granted." Barnaby frowned, uncertain. "You may have heard of this fancy little thing called the D-W-N. It's all based on Muggle technology, like television and cameras. And who, do you think, knows about security cameras?"

"You think the goblins are using Muggle technology."

It wasn't a question. It was a bland, unimpressed assumption.

"No. They have magic of their own, we all know that. But now that they can make it safer, why would they refuse? They don't need aurors, they don't need to share their secrets with the Ministry, now. They have even more of an excuse not to if they keep their security measures run by goblins but also have some backup plans."

If they had cameras, showing up could cause problems. Frank knew that. If things got too bad, they might think to check and see the faces and come after them. But if Barnaby got there before things went wrong, and Keiran and Eric - who, really, he should have mentioned by now - could ensure that the goblins didn't remember, there would be no point in worrying.

"We've just got to teach him about magic before we go. Otherwise he'll do something mad. Right, Barnaby?"

"What?"

[My French is SO rusty, but I think it says what it should. Apparently Phae isn't taking this as badly as we thought she would. (Also, spot the pun! )]

It should have alarmed her, Phaedra supposed, that Keiran was evidently feeling just as skeptical about this whole thing as she was. But actually, it was a small consolation that one of the three men at least had retained some sanity, and she wasn't alone in her misgivings. She wasn't at all assured by Frank's rather too flippant manner. But she trusted Keiran's judgement and he was still calm enough, so she just studied the younger man quietly for a chip in his confidence, or some telling sign of uncertainty. She found none.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the DWN. Like most of Wizarding Britain, I'd imagine." The tone wasn't at all sharp- a little stiff, if anything. If she'd been at all invested in his opinion it might have been offended. It wasn't that Phaedra wasn't used to being patronised- the sort of society she'd been brought up in dictated that she was more familiar with being talked down to by arrogant, assured men than she'd have liked- but she didn't want to be written off as nothing more than a pretty face in this endeavour. Too much was at stake for her to simply sit back and act the clueless damsel while Longbottom ran around taking risks like he was the only one with any semblance of intelligence in the room.

Obviously, this was another of the curveballs life had gotten so fond of throwing at her recently. But instead of dodging it, or furiously trying to deflect it as she usually did, this time she just stood there and meekly accepted it.

No, of course she didn’t.

She wasn't going to stubbornly deny reality and it seemed to her that she had little choice in the matter, given Longbottom’s pig-headed confidence and assuming that their host would back his friend over herself, considering how spectacularly she’d failed to endear herself to him on the last two occasions. She'd have to put up or shut up, as it were. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t do it on her own terms.

The muggle's accent, when he spoke, suddenly struck a note of familiarity. She froze. It was a belated realisation, not having heard that particular lilt in years, and his was masked with a less refined English than Martine's- but there it was all the same. French.

It was a split-second decision but she turned to Barnaby, ignoring their company and addressing him directly. And yes- part of it was the urge to have them feel just as thrown as she did. Not that she’d ever actually admit to such a petty impulse.

“Vous etes francais, oui? Alors, vous avez de bon sens, bien sur, contrairement a cet imbecile. Vous etes au mauvais endroit. Ce n'est pas votre monde et vous ne devriez pas être ici. Mais si voulez-vous rester, vous devez vous ressaisir et faire ce qu'on vous dit. Pas de théâtralité et de discrétion totale. Si vous ne pouvez pas, quittez maintenant et vous ne vous souviendrez de rien. Dans les deux cas, il n'y a pas de retour en arrière. Comprenez vous?"*

She spoke brusquely but concisely, her tone brooking no argument. But despite herself, even though she had no reason to offer a foolish muggle any reassurance, she added a little more gently:

"Pensez à nous comme... les fae, si vous voulez. Vous connaissez les contes, oui? La Bête du Gévaudan, La Gargouille, La Dame Blanche... Tous réels. La règle est la même. Si vous êtes sage, vous serez en sécurité."**

That was as much as he was going to get from her. A little familiarisation, perhaps bringing their world closer to home. There was no use leaving him to flounder at the mercy of Frank and Keiran, who were a lot worse at this Introduction to Magic thing than they ought to have been, all things considered. It really was saying a lot, if a Rosier had been more help so far than two so-called muggle-loving heroes. Even to herself, it was strange.

He was a muggle, sure. But she’d thought Bridget Hayes was one for the better part of six years and she’d still been perfectly civil. The muggle was out of place, no doubt, completely undesirable company. And there were so many risks and problems with his involvement they couldn’t even all be broached at once. But if he proved to have backbone, and if indeed he could be as helpful as Frank alleged… she supposed she could deal with it.

Hoping that would keep the muggle satisfied and quiet enough for now (and not without a small dose of satisfaction herself), she leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, arms folding beneath her chest, fixing Frank with a scrutinising gaze. This time, she tried to keep her tone lighter than before, certain nothing else he had up his sleeve would be as harebrained as what had just passed.

"Any other surprises you'd like to spring on us, Mr. Longbottom? Or can we finish the magic act and get down to business?"

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