{t e l l m e, what will I find?} harlan

Jenkins, she said. Harlan's eyes closed briefly as he tried to recall what the other ministry official at the bar looked like, retain some piece of useful information about them, but instead found himself at a loss. Eyes snapping back open and landing immediately on her, he quirked an eyebrow "That bad, hm?" It was obvious that he wasn't entirely convinced. Harlan was a rational man (most of the time, and almost to a fault) he required examples to make an assessment.

With Ros' stamp of approval, he filled two glasses of what he imagined was a whisky of some variety, the amber-gold sparkling against the bottom of the crystal glasses. He brought hers over to her chair, holding it out to where she had draped herself over the armchair, before taking his own and meandering toward the books once more.

"So who was he?" Harlan wondered out loud. "The not-so-criminal, criminal I mean," He glanced over his shoulder from where he was studying a set of Celtic texts that he couldn't quite make out. The grin on his face crept over his features subtly at first before breaking into a full one. He knew that he shouldn't push her buttons— not after her reaction before— but he couldn't help himself. And, more than anything, he was genuinely curious what the fuss had been about.

"—thank you, though," He added, the grin faltering slightly as a flicker of seriousness darkened his eyes in the dimly ambient lit lighting. It felt a lot like his own family home when he stopped to think about it. "Would've been a press field day..." He gestured to the freshly healed cut on his cheekbone. "Madeline will send her regards, I'm sure" He teased. Roslyn had saved her the trouble.

Jenkins was... quite large, actually. He was broad and gifted with a large frame. He probably would’ve been handsome if he wasn’t quite so, well, portly. It was rude of her to think, really, but he’d be a better Auror if he wasn’t so bloody lazy, half the time. Roslyn was of the type of witch that enjoyed activity and keeping fit. Many of her colleagues were of a different mindset, she knew, which made her extremely judgmental.

That they sat back and were satisfied to let Potter do the heavy lifting, was beyond irksome. Experienced Aurors shouldn’t have been caught with their pants down, sort of speak. Obviously Potter was beyond gifted, and quite a powerful wizard, but that didn’t excuse the DMLE of incompetence and a general lack of follow-through. Things were slowly getting better but it chaffed that it seemed like many a wizard just... had not learnt their lesson.

She couldn’t help but to glance back at Harlan, smiling a little, before responding. “His hearts in the right pace, I think.” Truly the man cared about people. He badgered her about her work-life balance enough for her to know he cared how she was holding up. Most people didn’t really understand her desire to be alone until she found the right person that made it worth it to, well, deal with the entanglements that came with letting someone in that close. Nothing had really been worth that kind of effort, yet. “Some people are just... ineffective.”  she added, sighing. Jenkins had the tendency to badger her about almost everything, which always served to annoy her further.

Ash was, surprisingly, the best person she’d ever gotten saddled with. Not that she’d admit that to the American, or anyone else. She could admit privately that they were too similar for her not to have grown secretly fond.

“We are looking for leads on a ... missing persons case.” she said, softly, feeling rather drained just thinking about it. “She’s a young girl. Last spotted going into Knockturn.” she elaborated, lips curling into an unhappy frown. “The Investigation office recently got a tip, about someone that was supposedly spotted with her.” More like the man had dragged her down, and then she’d disappeared. “We put out his description and the law enforcement patrol called in today, that they’d seen someone who matched the description causing a scene. So we came.” she said shrugging. Most of the wizards that had surrounded the scene earlier were actually part of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, not necessarily specialized Aurors.

“I was... worried you’d gotten into something serious.” she said hesitantly, biting her lip as she glanced up, twiddling with the glass that had been handed to her. Scottish whiskey really did hit the spot, sometimes. “You’re welcome. Can’t have you upsetting your publicist. She has enough to deal with you on a regular basis.” she said, smiling around the rim of her glass. Her eyes flickered back up towards his cut, the same feeling of worry, pooling in her gut before she spoke. “Are you sure you’re alright?” she asked quietly, her expression finally showing how worried she really had been, still was l, really. It was difficult for her to be openly vulnerable, especially when out on official business. In the comfort of her childhood home, though, in her own little safe space she was able to let go of some of that.

He hadn't expected the entire backstory about her partner— Jenkins, was it?— but it was entertaining nonetheless. The bloke's heart was in the right place. At least Ros said so. And she was nothing shy of a tough critic. "I'd imagine..." Harlan commented over the lip of his drink before taking a sip, the other free hand still running over the spine of the book he'd just been studying before looking back at her.

The topic of conversation turned serious as she divulged more about the criminal they were after (the very one they'd subsequently falsely identified in a bar squabble). There was something tugging at his chest at the detail of the case that emerged, something he hadn't been prepared to deal with and somewhere between anger and sadness. Clearing his throat, Harlan turned away from the bookshelf and toward Roslyn.

"Not him, he was too drunk to know left from right," His face had gone darker than before as he half-sat on the arm of the chair opposite to where she was laid out over her own. Harlan was torn between wanting desperately to alleviate her worry and lingering in his own anger brewing. It was obvious to him why he never followed in his father or his brother's footsteps— he was much too quick-tempered for their field of work.

When she asked again if he was alright, Harlan was thankful for any excuse to lighten the mood, his face breaking into an amused grin. "Look, I'm fine," He leaned forward, elbows on knees as if to show her more closely. "Though, if that was the guy, he'd have had a lot more to deal with than what he got..." Harlan mused, the smile dropping briefly. And clearly, he wasn't joking, then.

"Are you alright?" Harlan turned the question on her, suddenly softer than before.

Jenkins truly wasn’t a bad bloke, she just personally thought his priorities were a bit skewed. But, then, he could probably say the same about her. She just had trouble tolerating his close-mindedness sometimes. And his bloody nagging. And his laziness. Well, she supposed her list was rather long wasn’t it?

She hadn’t really meant to go on about the case. She sometimes forgot that a lot of people tended to want to forget about the general unpleasantness that occurred in the wizarding world. Most witches and wizards had a bit of a disconnect between peace and war. For most there wasn’t really an in between and most just didn’t pay attention to the fact that all dark lords needed to start somewhere. Most of the time dark wizards started small and then worked their way up to truly cruel and twisted things. She hadn’t become desensitized so much as used to what extremes some were willing to go. Marked Death Eaters, loyal to the cause still, lurked and still attempted to further the cause in some way.

Some dark magic users just really enjoyed inflicting pain and anguish, the targets really didn’t matter. She felt guilty as she took in Harlan’s reaction, recognizing the moment for what it was. So many people would rather ... not face the reality she lived everyday. They just couldn’t understand why she did it. In the end it all came down to wanting to really help those that couldn’t protect themselves. And, if she failed to protect them, then the least she could do was mete out justice.

“He didn’t seem particularly dangerous.” She agreed. He didn’t have that ... edge to him. What a bloody waste of time and resources. She glanced back up at Harlan, surprised and pleased, by his reaction. It was difficult to explain but she did agree with him. A fond smile made her lips curl up. “Those sort of men don’t have a pleasant time being questioned.” she admitted, her eyes holding his gaze, as the meaning of her words hung in the air. She did inspect his cheek a bit closer, though, leaning in a bit to study his face. “Mm. Well you’re not in danger of marring that pretty face of yours, at least.” she’d meant the words to sound more teasing than they turned out.

“Yes.” she added, sighing, as she took another drink of her whiskey. Her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass for a moment before speaking. “Just tired, I think. These kind of investigations really take it out of me sometimes, you know? I refuse to stop until it’s done but when it’s been this long it’s... difficult to imagine a positive outcome.” She said quietly, gazing at the fireplace, and refusing to meet Harlan’s eyes. It felt a lot like failure, even though she knew, the damage had probably been done long before she’d even gotten the missing persons report. The girl was a war orphan, poor, and considered high risk. It didn’t make things any easier. Just sadder.

That pretty face of his, Ros said. It was a phrase Harlan was accustomed to in the realm of his profession— Merlin, it seemed to be the first thing most people could think of when trying to insult him— but he didn't dwell on it then, as he hadn't before. Besides, he knew she meant it good-naturedly enough. What a vain thing to even consider, he mused as he turned up his chin a fraction further for her to inspect any injuries sustained.

"You're certain?" He teased. "It's insured for a pretty coin, this one," Harlan let out a laugh despite the dark turn in their conversation. It was a welcomed reprieve from thinking about the depravity that was still out there in the world— a heavy burden to shoulder. It was no surprise that Roslyn was high-strung at the best of times. If the shoe were on the other foot, he would have well lost his mind a thousand times over.

Harlan would have loved to give her a hard time for the pseudo-compliment, but instead leaned into the question he posed— was she alright? What a loaded one, too, on second thought. Either way, the sentimental feeling whirring about his chest was uncomfortable at best. Nurturing wasn't his best quality. "I don't," He said plainly in response to Ros' rhetorical, you know, clasping his hands around his drink in his lap facing her.

He opened his mouth to say something, but paused, allowing a moment to think. "I don't know how you do it..." He commented, taking a drink to alleviate whatever was going on with him before continuing. "I really don't," There was something more succinct he wanted to say but he was caught in watching the way that she pulled the blanket over her torso, her own personal sense of security.

The problem with people getting within grabbing distance was that... they got within grabbing distance. She knew it was rude to just ... get all tactile which was why she’d been resisting the urge to inspect his face. She’d already prodded once tonight and that was the maximum quota she allowed herself.

Those impulsive urges were even harder to temper down when he presented his previously described pretty face for bloody inspection like that. Her eyes focused on his throat in a moment of absolute weakness, before they flickered up to his face. She couldn’t even help herself at this point. The temptation to make sure he was truly alright had been fought and lost, and she resigned herself to knowing that she was about to breach propriety entirely. “Let me see, then.” she asked, voice soft, as she secured her half empty glass on the floor. Her blanket pooled on her lap as she scooted forward slowly.

“It better be insured. It would truly be a shame if you marred it in any permanent way.” she murmured, as her hand came up to cup the side of his face. Her fingertips brushed lightly against his cheek, searching, before they were finally satisfied. He really did seem unharmed.

Her gaze flickered up towards his eyes as he spoke. I really don’t. She bit her lip, slowly letting go of his face before she found words again. “Sometimes I don’t, either.” she said, a gusty sigh leaving her, at her murmured confession. She appreciated that his response wasn’t a typical reaction. He’d weighed her words for what they were and understood her meaning. Even so he was sincere in not knowing, unlike quite a few people who liked to pretend they did.

It was refreshing.

“You really don’t think it’s seen worse?” Harlan was verging on being offended, but there was little he could do about it with her hand on his jaw as it was. There was a brief moment that his eyes blinked closed involuntarily as a result of his nails on the sensitive bit of skin where his ear met his cheekbone. A breath of air soon followed, starting at the back of his throat and forcing itself from his nose and half-parted mouth.

Truthfully, the game of quidditch had done far worse damage than any drunken bar fly— criminal or not.

Where her hand had been felt cold as Roslyn pulled eventually pulled away, and he found himself leaning forward ever so slightly. It was a familiar feeling— hands on him, the look in her eye as her teeth pulled her lip back in thought— albeit a dangerous, and self-inflicted one, of course. The deep greys of his eyes, bright from a lamp somewhere over her shoulder, narrowed on Ros as she sat back once more, a sigh soon following.

“At least what you’re doing is making a difference,” Harlan thought out loud. By no means was he trying to make her feel better for the sake of it— that wasn’t in his nature— he genuinely meant it. Selfishly, perhaps. All he was doing was playing a fucking sport and making entirely too much money to be justified. In comparison so closely, it felt like more of a sham than not. Immediately, though, he was aware of teetering on a pity party.

A chill struck him and brought him back to reality, and Harlan shivered in return. “Can I have a bit of that?” The change of pace was nice, but the lingering seriousness of their conversation was unshakable, even as he tucked his feet under her safely blanketed legs, a grin pulling at his mouth.

A small breathless laugh made it out of her mouth and her brain sent a little warning that they were quite close. He was right, though, and she found it sort of funny that she was worried about a small cut when professionals tried to smash him to bits on a regular basis. She supposed her love of Quidditch blinded her a bit to the dangers. She didn't even think to consider that Harlan could be the type to get his face (and consequently the rest of him) into actual danger otherwise. Very hypocritical of her, really, considering the things she got herself into.

Her thoughts sort of collapsed on themselves when she noticed Harlan's eyes slipping closed and her gaze was forcibly dragged down to stare at his lips. "If you have its hardly noticeable. You still retain a stupidly handsome face." sometimes she really wished she had better control of some of the things she said. Honestly like she needed to highlight how attractive he was anymore than she already had.

Distance needed to happen before she did something regrettable. Like lean forward and see if his lips were as soft as they looked. Merlin but she was being tested everywhere she went lately, wasn't she? It would be funny, since her own mother couldn't find anyone she found appealing, if it weren't setting her nerves on fire. Even his bloody eyes looked amazing in the dim light. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks, disarmed, at his earnest words. "Thanks. I do try my best." she said, only a little bit embarrassed, but knowing there wasn't really another answer than to show her own appreciation for his words.

"Yea alright." she acquiesced, a fond look on her face, as she took in his grin. It was a good look on him. At least she didn't have to worry about cold feet, what with him clad in socks. She worried he really was cold, though, as he shivered. Her gaze flickered towards the large velvet loveseat, an offer at the tip of her tongue, before she pushed the thought back. Harlan didn't strike her as the type to be comfortable sharing space like that on a couch, though she wanted to offer. She knew from experience it was comfortable, soft, and she could share her blanket properly. She shied away from offering, though, knowing she would be putting herself in even closer proximity to temptation.

What was she even thinking about? It was like her brain was coming out scrambled. Only now she was thinking about warm snuggles. She blamed it on Harlan, really, what with him tucking his feet under her like that. It made her have thoughts. "Erm, are you still cold?" she asked, gnawing on her bottom lip, as she waited for a response. 


 

Harlan wasn't sure in the moment where he was expecting the conversation to go when he'd asked for a bit of the blanket. Wrapped securely over her and very much in its place on the armchair she was sprawled across there was no real feasible way that they could share it— not from where he was at least. He tugged at the corner nearest in some attempt to satiate the question on his mind, eyes narrowing on Roslyn.

In the warm light of the room, she seemed softer than he had seen her before. Harlan reminded himself that he hadn't really seen her all that much, and most of those times she had been on the defense so to speak. It was a welcomed change of pace to see her just be.

"A bit," He shrugged, adjusting slightly from where he half sat on the arm of his own chair, adjacent to her. There was a brief moment of pause as he watched the way that her teethe took in her bottom lip thought— bad idea— before he cleared his throat with a hum-like noise from deep in his chest. "Hmm," He pursed his lips through an indignant laugh. Surely, she had to know what she was doing.

"I think I'll survive..." He added, not entirely convinced.

Roslyn was very much starting to dislike the quiet, at least when it came about around Harlan. She'd much rather babble about things that were inconsequential instead of focusing on the particular shape and shade of his eyes. The way his lips curved or the little crinkles and creases that formed a long his face that made her wonder what he was thinking. She felt silly for finding him so interesting on top of finding him, well, beautiful really. It had been a long time since she'd been in the type of circumstance this ideal. Despite it she still fought her reaction best she could, though she was miserably tense now, the weight of her expectant thoughts crushing.

She watched him watch her, a thrill of something unnamable but familiar, in his gaze. Her gaze dropped down to the line of his throat as he made a rather appealing sound, before her own gaze swept up to his eyes. Hers were heated, more green than blue in the firelight, as she held herself perfectly still. "Will you?" she murmured, distracted, as thoughts collapsed within themselves. She wasn't entirely sure how they'd even gotten here. She knew better than to get involved with people who didn't share the same wants she did, though it was difficult to pin-point what it was she wanted truly. She was resistant to everything because, she figured, if someone wanted her badly they'd get past that. It wasn't fair, of course, but she knew her heart was a soft target.

Whatever this was, couldn't end well could it? Did it matter, though, when she couldn't get past the desire to lean forward and capture that smart mouth of his?

No matter how she liked to deny it, Roslyn definitely had a type.

There was a palpable shift in the air, as if they'd moved into some other dimension— one that existed entirely outside the realm of their reality. From what he had known of Roslyn, which was admittedly little, he knew that they knocked heads. Both stubborn, sarcastic, and entirely closed off. But that night, in that library, there was an openness that he hadn't seen from her before. He could sense a vulnerability that, despite his best efforts, seemed to be rubbing off on him.

"I think so," Harlan answered what he imagined was her rhetorical question— would he survive? The initial statement had been rhetorical, anyway. His voice was firm in juxtaposition to her murmur, assured in what he was thinking even if the question was still lingering in his mind. And it had nothing to do with the chill in the room.

His eyes narrowed on her briefly before standing up. The transition was easy from where he'd been half leaned against the arm of the chair adjacent to Ros, and before he knew it he was standing in front of her, still sprawled across her own chair. There was something that had pulled him in his chest, daring him to get closer. Harlan suspected it was something in the tone of her voice and the way that she was looking at him that edged him forward.

From where Ros was propped up her face was treacherously close to where his hand landed at his side. Before he knew it his thumb was tracing the side of her cheek, subtly at first to test the water. It moved then to her jaw to turn her face upward, to him. Then a crack from the fireplace—

The Floo. Harlan took his hand to himself and ran it through his hair, distancing himself immediately and catching a breath.

She was so focused on studying his face she was slowly loosing track of what they were even talking about. At this point words were just, well, words. The context had shifted somewhere between her staring at his mouth and the thrum of her heartbeat in her throat. Her eyes tracked his movement as the rest of her kept perfectly still - like being poised over the ledge of something. She glanced up, eyes wide and lips parted, before she felt the ghost of sensation along her cheek. Her face warmed, pink blooming along the heated skin of her cheek like spilled ink on paper.

She dipped her head back a bit ,invitingly, before leaning forward into his hand. He was too far, she decided, as her eyelashes fluttered closed. She should’ve known she’d be putty the second he touched her. (Merlin but she hadn’t been expecting him to be so... she couldn’t explain it.) She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him from under her lashes, as she moved her head to brush her lips across his wrist like the flutter of butterfly wings. It was light, barely any contact at all, but the invitation was clear. At least it was until he jumped away like someone had cursed him. She blinked, disoriented, before turning sad sea foam eyes on the wizard before her.

Her gaze flickered towards the floo a second later, embarrassed, when she realized she hadn’t even heard the initial crackle. Merlin but this was the worse possible time for Jenkins to decide to do his bloody job.

Bloody pillock.

She groaned audibly, sinking further into her seat, and covering her heated face into the arm of the chair before murmuring a weak and garbled. “Bloody hell Jenkins.” Just when she’d decided to give in to temptation reality decided she could not have nice things. 

Harlan watched expectantly as the flame burst into a familiar emerald green color to reveal the unpleasant shape of her colleague. What was his bloody name again? He couldn't be bothered with trying to recall, and had hardly noticed when Roslyn confirmed it out loud. The tall man stood upright and brushed himself off, eyeing them more suspiciously than Harlan cared for. His own narrowed in return, arms folding over his chest out of habit.

Positioned between the two of them, and a safe distance from where he had nearly just—

At the thought, he felt his heartbeat more intensely and he cast a sideways glance at Roslyn who seemed to be trying to sink into the couch to avoid the encounter. "Hi." Harlan offered, nodding to the man.

"Catch your murderer?" He knew he ought to not be testing his boundaries given the circumstances, but what-his-name had really thrown a spanner into his plans, and that never ended well when it came to Harlan. He was very much a man of intent, and once his mind was made up it was nearly impossible to steer him in a different direction. Headstrong to the point of detriment, he had heard before.

"Thanks for patching me up, Roslyn," He nodded to the woman, providing a reason for his being there at all in the process. "I should get going," He pulled out his wand and summoned his shoes from the foyer. Harlan was certain that he didn't care to stick around there much longer anyway, not with her partner lingering anyway.

fin

She really needed to collect herself. Her brain just didn’t know what reaction to focus on at the moment. She felt both disappointment and annoyance. Once her heart rate had settled down she glanced back up, features smoothing over. “Spectacular timing, as ever, Jenkins.” she muttered, preferring not to glance at Harlan just yet. Not that Jenkins wanted to stay quiet. Apparently he couldn’t resist baiting Harlan with a quip about being in the hunt still. Pillock.

“You’re welcome.” she finally managed, sounding a bit wistful, as she finally made eye contact. She gamely ignored the self-satisfied look Jenkins was sporting in favor of shooting Harlan a smile. She felt a bit cheated just then, though perhaps it was for the best. “Yea alright.” she said as she stood up, straightening out her shoulders and shooting Jenkins a bit of a glare. Time to work, she supposed, though she’d thought for a moment that her evening would have a very different sort of ending. She strode forward, swallowing up the distance a bit before hovering.

Part of her wanted to reach out again, but she stamped down the urge. Her face was a stuck in a complicated expression of regret and wistfulness before she shot Harlan a smile. No harm done then, she supposed. “Take care of yourself Harlan. I hope you have a pleasant evening.” She murmured, lips curving into a smile, as she said her farewell.

{fin}