It had been several weeks since the disastrous early morning fight at Sofia’s house. It had been extra tense and unpleasant for a while. He was used to dealing with feisty Sofia, angry Sofia, even homicidally violent Sofia but not the strange emotionally distant woman that he had just been introduced to. He didn’t know how to respond this woman, and it invariably meant that he caved to whatever whim she was on, or slunk away to nurse the frostbite he was getting off her in private. And he hated every minute of it. The tense atmosphere had recently begun to thaw, but he couldn’t help but notice that every now and then she would fix him with a curiously intense stare. It was as though she were trying to see straight into his soul, and uncover his dirty little secret. Just another unpleasant bit to add to a steadily growing pile.

The charm of Dillan Wentworth had worn off quickly, and he felt progressively uncomfortable in this strange body and even stranger life. At the end of that dreary day he had skived off work early and headed down to Knockturn Alley to search out the little old blind man who had sold him the poly juice potion in the first place. He had searched for hours in vain, the man was nowhere to be found. Perhaps there was a way to undo its effects; maybe he could get his old life back. He couldn’t imagine that could be any worse than things were now. At least then he’d get to see his friends, at least then he’d be free of the ever-present guard of aurors he was currently under. He wanted to steal something so badly his fingers literally itched; alcohol couldn’t even take the edge off any more. He found himself in the evidence locker more than once tempted to pinch a bit of the doxy powder for himself. It was a sad testament to his current state, as he had never been tempted to use the stuff before now. He had avoided it, simply because he was aware of how addictive it could quickly become.

Now he had made it back to Sofia’s flat where they were supposed to be having dinner. In spite of the hours he had wasted searching for his blind apothecary in Knockturn, he still had beat her home. Now that she had been promoted to department head it had become even more impossible to drag her from the office at a reasonable hour. Today however, he hadn’t made any attempt to. He dropped his hat and his coat on ‘his’ chair in the living room and nipped back to the kitchen. The delicious smell of lasagna emanated from the stove, Twinky must have been by earlier. His more constant presence had encouraged her to keep her cupboards better stocked with food, but it was towards the liquor one that he headed that particular afternoon. On the second shelf there was a mostly full bottle of firewhiskey that had been a Christmas present to the aurors that year. Sofia tended to prefer the finer things in life, like champagne. Another thing they didn’t have in common. He poured himself a glass of the stuff and sat down at her kitchen table. The first glass was quickly downed, and a second followed in short order. The stuff barely even affected him anymore this new body already had a higher tolerance than he was used to and his recent attachment to the bottle had done nothing to limit it.

He had just refilled his glass for the third time when he heard the sound of the front door opening. He quickly got up and replaced the bottle in the back of her liquor cabinet, the room swung perilously at the sudden movement. He thanked Merlin that some things still worked as expected. The last glass sat half full on the kitchen table, there was no point in hiding from her the fact that he had been drinking; she would be able to smell it on his breath. But he could avoid mentioning how much. He retook his seat at the table moments before the kitchen door swung open. He looked up as though in surprise.

“Hullo darling. Did you finally get that mess with Sprockworth sorted out? Twinky’s been by.”

There were things to be said for getting a promotion when the relationship was beginning to die, and dying her relationship was. Not that Dillan was contributing to its slow and painful death, nope that was all her own fault. She couldn’t explain it but she couldn’t be what he needed, she couldn’t open up and fight with him the way she had with … She just was treating him the way she had countless others, with the same finely controlled temper that had garnered her the nickname of the ‘ice queen’ at school. She wasn’t trying to be only she was so scared of letting him get close, close enough for her to care what happened to him.

She wasn’t going to admit it to herself or rather she didn’t want to acknowledge it but with each passing day she was being forced to admit it. Dillan Wentworth was no Wendell Darrow. There! Done. Painless. Yet she was still falling in love with Dillan in her own way, no matter how hard she resisted. Having done it once she was able to recognize the signs. She cared what he thought, she was actually trying to stop her self destructive behavior and loosen up around him again. All signs that she did care about the tall dark and rich replacement to her Wendell.

Only there was something off. Now that she had fallen off the lust wagon she was noticing things in Dillan’s story that didn’t make sense. One day he was talking freely about his times at the American Wizarding School he had gone to – the next day there would be some off hand comment about how much he hated Griffindor’s thick headedness in some sort of teasing joke directed at her. Something no Salem boy would know to comment upon.

It was quite frankly very, very suspicious. So suspicious in fact that she didn’t think that she would ever be fully able to open up around him in a manner similar to… well just open up to him enough to bash him over the head with a skillet if she got angry with him instead of treating him like he was some opponent or worse yet her mother!

With all this on mind she pushed open the door to her flat to find him in his chair. She was going to have to get ride of that chair if they broke up – no when they broke up. Always best to keep on the negative side of things so that when they did happen she wouldn’t be to shocked.

“Hullo darling. Did you finally get that mess with Sprockworth sorted out? Twinky’s been by.”

She threw her cloak off and sat down across from him with a sigh, the faint smell of fire whiskey hitting her nose with the succulent aroma of lasagna in the background . Now if she could get him to drink a wee bit more she could get some answers out of him. As department head she shouldn’t indulge… but today maybe she would make the exception. If he was going to open up she might as well too and the only way that was going to happen was with the help of several strong drinks.

“Sort of – Sprockworth is proving to be quite tightlipped.” Like almost every other criminal in my acquaintance and apparently my boyfriend “I might have to go down and interrogate him soon.” Methods that work on criminals won’t work on you sadly.

“Did you eat already or get stuck on cocktails? Mind if I steal a sip by the way?” Without waiting for an answer she took a quick unladylike gulp – Dillan’s glass now closer to half empty than it had been previously – and gave a cough. “That stuff always goes down stronger than you think.” She sputtered before standing to serve the food.

Setting a plate down in front of Dillan she gave him a smile. “ I imagine being American you lot didn’t turn to whiskey that often?”

“Did you eat already or get stuck on cocktails? Mind if I steal a sip by the way?”

He did mind, he was feeling peculiarly possessive of his glass of firewhiskey but he couldn’t exactly say so. She didn’t give him time. Just swooped in and took the glass right out from under him and when she handed it back his slightly fogged brain noted that it was significantly lower than when she had taken it in the first place. He was never going to be properly buzzed if she kept that sort of behavior up.

“That stuff always goes down stronger than you think.” She coughed rising from the table to dish out a bit of lasagna for the two of them. Twinky made quite excellent lasagna, and normally he would have been rather excited at the prospect of its deliciousness. Today however, he wasn’t very hungry. He picked up the thoughtfully provided fork and poked it around his plate, as Sofia took her place next to him.

“ I imagine being American you lot didn’t turn to whiskey that often?”

“My dad always kept a bottle of it somewhere.” He replied with shrug. It was usually in a flask in his pocket—but somehow he didn’t think that would fit with the image of the wealthy business his father was supposed to be. “Alcohol is universal.”

He took a bite of the lasagna, it was as delicious as the smells had promised, if only he felt like eating. Maybe if he could get away early, the old man would be back haunting the streets. The guy was blind after all it wasn’t like it made much difference to him whether it was daylight or not. He couldn’t tell the difference after all. There had to be some sort of antidote to the stuff. Never mind what he would do abut his Dillan persona, he had gotten rid of Wendell easily enough, and he was a real person with friends. A fake person couldn’t be that hard to get rid of. He could easily be called back to the States to care for an ailing relative. Sofia wouldn’t particularly care; she didn’t like Dillan all that much anyway.

He was lost in these sorts of thoughts so much that he didn’t automatically register the fact that Sofia was still speaking to him, until her slightly irked tone cut through his thoughts.

“What? Oh I’m sorry, you were saying?”

His father kept a bottle of it around somewhere? That was the first mention she had had of his father in weeks. Really every member of his family was shroud in a veil of mystery. She had opened up to him and shown him her biggest weakness and family blunder while he refused to tell her little more than the fact that he had parents. Not to get her started on the man’s lack of communication regarding his past life.

“How is your father? You never talk about him.”

Silence.

“He’s doing that well is he? My what a fascinating life he must lead.”

Dillan took a bite of food. He was clearly not paying attention to her.

“Now that you mention it I do recall you mentioning his multiple affairs. I am truly sorry to hear that for your mother’s sake - if I were in her place I would have more than a couple myself.” Still more silence and a brooding look. “In fact at this rate I think I might.” She added, pushing her untouched plate aside, annoyance killing her appetite without any thought to the fact she had been starving since noon.

Some bit of annoyance must have shown in that last comment since he looked up and even made eye contact. And, gasp, he was even speaking now.

“What? Oh I’m sorry, you were saying?”

She gave a strained smile, trying not to let him annoy her further. If he was going to get drunk in her own house she was going to take advantage of it and not flounce off to some other part of the house.

“I was just asking after your parents? How are they? You hardly ever mention them… or actually anything before you started working for the English Ministry of Magic. Don’t you have any wild childhood stories? Edwards told you more than a fair share about me.”

He was going to make an excuse, she knew he was, and true to form he did. “How about we start off small? Like what was school like? It was no Hogwarts I’m sure.”

(( occ: ga! I froze up and couldn’t think and rather than make you wait longer and longer for a post you get this nonsense ))

Answering questions about his past was the hardest part about creating a new persona. He didn’t like to commit to things in case he forgot and said the opposite later. It could lead to the awkwardest questions, and no doubt destroy his carefully planned persona. And despite his current desire to dispose of Dillan Wentworth and resume his normal life, he also realized that no good could come of getting himself caught by an angry auror in the process. So whenever the conversation steered towards himself, he usually tried to misdirect it.

”I was just asking after your parents? How are they? You hardly ever mention them… or actually anything before you started working for the English Ministry of Magic. Don’t you have any wild childhood stories? Edward’s told you more than a fair share about me.”

He shrugged uneasily taking another bite of lasagna. “There’s not a whole lot to say, we Wentworths are a rather boring lot.”

But Sofia was not inclined to be put off yet again. To be fair that had been dating for a rather considerable amount of time, for him to not have so much as mentioned his “life before England.” It was only to be expected that sooner or later she was going to demand answers. But a thoroughly depressed and quite buzzed was probably not the best state for him to be answering questions in.

”How about we start off small? Like what was school like? It was no Hogwarts I’m sure.”

An excellent question! Too bad Wendell knew next to nothing about the Salem Institute from which he supposedly graduated.

“Well, I uh—went to the Salem Institute in Massachusetts. I believe it’s a bit smaller than your Hogwarts? We were just the students from the northeastern states. There are some others across the country…one in California, Kansas, and Louisiana. I uh…played Quodpot. Quidditch isn’t as popular in the States.”

He stumbled along, trying not to commit too much detail about the school. He wasn't an expert on Quodpot by any means, but he figured he knew the basic rules if she decided to quiz him on it. That was more than he knew about the rest of the American education system.

He played Quodpot? That was oddly exciting. She had always wanted to learn how to play the American version of Quidditch – there was something about exploding balls that was oddly satisfying, so long as they didn’t explode in her arms. Granted there had to be some sort of tick that would allow her to figure out right when things were about to go boom.

“Quodpot! I’ve always wanted to learn how to play. You must teach me Dillan. This weekend if neither of us have any work. I can even get my brothers to help. I think Edward knows a bit about the game. Then you can reenact your glory days.”

Was she imagining it or did Dillan look horrified? It had to be the fire whisky rushing to her head since no man ever looked horrified when they were talking about their favorite sport. Maybe he was just worried about impressing her – or he didn’t know how to play…

Her eyes narrowed a smidgen as she poured them both another glass. “ You Americans are funny putting schools in Kansas and Louisianna – I though those places were rather close?”

She gave a shrug while mentally making note to look up all the American Wizarding Schools. “So after Salem you went onto the Auror school yeah? Or did you take a break?”

“Oh and mother was saying something about how your father was a renowned art collector – think you could help me personalize some of these rooms? Make them more me?” Her mother had actually said that according to the ‘good book’ Dillan came from a family of garden lovers. Who would have known such a thing about the Wentworth family other than her mother?

Dammit! What kind of girl actually wanted to learn a new sport? Didn’t they normally prefer boring things like shopping and the ballet? Of course he would manage to find the one girl who had an active interest in obscure American sports! Here he was thinking he was going to turn her off of the conversation by bringing up Quodpot and instead he had just volunteered himself to teach her the game. He finished off his glass of firewhiskey, and refilled it having at this point lost count on what number he was at. Perhaps passing out over his lasagna wouldn’t be such a terrible option at this point.

“That—sounds great. Can’t wait.” He took a giant gulp of his whiskey.

”You Americans are funny putting schools in Kansas and Louisiana- I thought those places were rather close?”

“Um- well.” He didn’t know anything about American geography, but he was pretty sure he had heard about wizarding schools in those places. Louisiana had all the voodoo stuff. And that green girl was from Kansas right? Or maybe that had been one of the movies Atlas had been watching to research Shirley. He couldn’t really remember all of those stupid states sounded alike.

“I don’t really know actually. I never thought about it before.” He finally replied with a shrug. She seemed to accept it as an American oddity. Something that had saved him several times in the past.

”So after Salem you went onto the Auror school yeah? Or did you take a break?”

What was this an interrogation?

“Straight in.”

“Oh and mother was saying something about how your father was a renowned art collector – think you could help me personalize some of these rooms? Make them more me?”

“Your mother knows my father?” Was that a slight note of hysteria in his voice! Quickly, more firewhiskey! It calms the nerves. “He hasn’t been to London in ages. I can’t imagine how.”

It wasn’t as if she knew that he wasn’t really Dillan Wentworth. If she did then they wouldn’t be having this conversation, she’d have thrown him in jail already. Would it really be worse to spend the next 15-20 years of his life in prison? There was free food and housing, the dementors weren’t there anymore. It was guarded by regular witches and wizards so it couldn’t be all that unpleasant. It would be boring to be sure but Jasper might smuggle him doxy powder and he could sell it to the other inmates. He could make a small fortune catering to all the prison junkies. By the time he got out he’d be wealthy! Prison could be great! Maybe he should just confess all and start his new career towards riches and glory! Yeah!

“Your mother knows my father?”

Was that hysteria in his voice? And was he drowning fire whiskey? Worst yet why wasn't he correcting her. Didn't he know what his farther did for a living? She would personally be affronted if someone had the gaul to suggest that her father was anything other than an auror to be respected at the highest degree. Yet here Dillan was denying his gardening roots, and she knew he knew how to garden. Her mother had informed Sofia that since Dillan had reportedly won first in the Junior Wizarding Herbologist  competition for five years running in his youth (as reported in her devilish little book of pure bloods) it would be best to get him something garden related. The fact that Dillan didn't ever mention this passion was starting to become a bit concerting. It was almost as if he wasn't really him.

“He hasn’t been to London in ages. I can’t imagine how.”

She was not gaping. For all she knew that was true. But was he honestly questioning Robards connections? As if her mother didn't get around. She was quite sure an owl already had been sent to Mr. Wentworth inquiring about if he would want to do the flowers personally for the wedding or if she could use her favorite florist.

"Dillan, its my mother we are talking about of course she knows him. They are probably blossoming pen pals with a shared interest in plants or some other sort of silly thing."

She glanced up at him through veiled lids, wondering if he would laugh at the notion of his father and plants or admit to being a budding gardener just like his father.

"I've always hated working out doors with the dirt. How about you? Mother seems to think it good for the skin, while I absolutely hate anything she adores."

Another look another bite. Was he going to come out with it or was she going to have to drag it out of him.

Riches and glory! Riches and glory! Riches and glory! And Firewhiskey! [...] Okay--maybe no firewhiskey. Or lasagne. That would be a shame he really liked those two things. And there might be lice. No one really liked lice. Perhaps going to prison wasn't such an excellent plan after all...

In a more sober state of mind he probably would have realized that she was driving at something. But since he was beginning to have trouble distinguishing which one of her was the real one, discerning the subtlties of body language and intonation were completely beyond him.

"Dillan, it's my mother we are talking about of course she knows him. They are probably blossoming pen pals with a shared interest in plants or some other sort of silly thing."

Double Sofia seemed doubly threatening when she spoke about such terrifying things as Mrs. Robards being acquainted with the real Mr. Wentworth Sr. If she was in contact with him then it was only a matter of time before she discovered that the real Dillan Wentworth was not in England at all.

"I've always hated working out doors with the dirt. How about you? Mother seems to think it good for the skin, while I absolutely hate anything she adores."

"No. I never really enjoyed yardwork either. I always end up with sunburn." Whenever his parents had forced him outside to mow the lawn or help plant flowers in his youth he always came out of it with sunburn. Herbology had been one of the dullest subjects at Hogwarts, rivaling (in his opinion at any rate) the History of Magic. At least in History of Magic you could always take a nap, in Herbology you were constantly being bitten and stung by hideous plants.

"Though one time I accidentally set a fanged geranium on my mate Will-- uh Wilbur."

Something was not right, or someone.

Had Dillan been less drunk or Sofia more so, this entire situation would have had a much happier ending than the direction it was heading. But alas for the epic struggle between criminal and auror there was to be no easy route, for a certain brunette’s interests had been peaked. However not enough for her to deliberately sabotage what they currently had. She like Dillan to much to do that. These inappropriate feelings were going to get her into trouble but till she had absolute proof that Dillan just had forgotten his father’s profession in the mists of a fire whisky induced haze she wouldn’t and couldn’t do anything.

Not yet.

"Though one time I accidentally set a fanged geranium on my mate Will-- uh Wilbur."

Nothing was wrong with that statement except for his backtracking that and it directly contradicted some of the fun facts her mother had passed on. Such as Dillan Wentworth had had a rather remarkable garden that he planned parties around. Her mother’s sources were rarely off. Unlike hers… well actually seeing as her main one was dead Sofia was going to have to add find new mole to her list of objects to obtain.

“A fanged geranium? Really?” She tried to sound interested in the plant when all she wanted was to ask when he had lost interest in plants and what was this Wilbur’s surname. Maybe questioning him would provide some more information to the mystery that was Dillan.

Dillan nodded before downing another glass, which Sofia thought to be an excellent idea. Downing more whiskey to turn off the brain and stop the thoughts, a lovely idea but she had a better one that would send her off to bed as well.

“Careful there dear.” She murmured, leaning into him and giving his ear a quick kiss before making a trail of them to his lips. “I’m sure we can find some seeds that you would find enjoyable to sow.” She breathed, mouth hovering just above his, all the while kicking herself for using a very Wendell like line in terms of corniness.