It wasn't often that Rudolph was made to feel like a second class citizen he'd always felt loved and accepted (there was the possible exception of Artemis but ever since Apollo had bleached him things had improved somewhat). In the week following the destruction of his home he had seen how ugly the wizarding world could be to those of his particular persuasion.

His first sign was the fact that door knobs seemed to be built solely for the purpose of preventing him from entering homes and establishments. Jasper had instructed him to retrieve his owl and Rudolph had tried, desperately but once his fingers and both elbows has clattered to the ground he had been forced to give up and slink back to the alley. Only to find both men gone. After a series of fretful trips up and down the alley (and one more go at the door) he'd been forced to take up with Pinkie for the night. She'd been quiet companionable until sometime around noon the next day when she rolled over effectively disassembling what was left of him.

He'd had to shout for nine hours before Jasper had appeared at his window and haphazardly put him back together with a careless flick of his wand. The spell had left several bones in mismatched places but at least he was able to walk out of the barn, pat Pinkie in gratitude and enter the house (after Jasper had opened the door for him).

The next indignity had come later that evening when Jasper had made a quick trip into Mungos. Rudolph had pleaded with him to take him along, bringing up the very good points that he would be a comforting sight, and that he could clatter about with more ease if he knew Atlas was alright. Jasper, instead of showing him some well deserved sympathy had instead acted as if he didn't understand a word and flatly informed the skeleton that he wasn't welcome at the hospital.

Since then it had rather been one insult after another but at things were looking up. It was early morning, he'd had a quick trip over to the rubble of SHOP where he had managed to lever the fridge open and get that weeks groceries. It had taken 6 trips to ferry the items back into the house, and then he had had to climb over one of the neighbors fences to wash the soot from himself before he had started to prepare breakfast. Carefully nudging the oven setting up Rudolph reached up and plucked off his head, holding it at the level of the oven door and observing that mornings quiche. Just a few more minutes....

Replacing his head where it belonged he shuffled about completing the tray he had prepared for Jasper's breakfast. It was almost 10:15 he'd have to hurry. Shutting of the timer and popping on the giraffe shaped oven mits he had managed to borrow from Daphne he removed the final part of the masterpiece and laid it on its tray. Checking his elbow joints to make sure nothing untoward would take place he lifted the tray and made the laborious trek up to Jasper's room. Edging the door open he left deposited the tray on the bedside table before nudging the curtains open.

The strange one wasn't here, which was good Rudolph grew tired of the glares he received. Instead it was just Jasper head buried in his pillow with one arm flung out and other tucked up near his chest. “We're all going to die.” Rudolph cooed.

It had been a very long week. Jasper had gotten very little sleep in the days following the attack on SHOP; several unfortunate factors had combined to make his life as irritating as possible. He was forced to spend most of his waking hours, even those usually devoted to gigs and clubs, at St. Mungo's or dealing with the post-holiday rush in his shop. When he finally did get to retreat upstairs things weren't much better. Cal was only around on rare occasions and miserable when he was. He'd spent the night only once in the last week and that barely counted; he'd tossed restlessly until the room turned the murky grey of early dawn, then muttered something ill-tempered about going back to the lab. They hadn't spoken since.

Normally Jasper would have made more of an effort to reconcile, but he had other things on his mind. Atlas was rapidly improving, so he'd finally sent an owl to Mrs. Caedmon, telling her gently that Atlas had had a 'minor accident' but was 'recovering well' and she certainly didn't need to cut her holidays short to come home because Jasper was taking care of everything. He hoped desperately that she would follow his advice. Atlas would be coming home in a few days, and, given the state of SHOP, Jasper suspected he would have a house guest.

In truth, he already did. He'd come home to find a pile of bones that had formed themselves into Rudolph when he flicked his wand. The poor thing had been trying to open his door for something like twenty two hours by that point, and he couldn't exactly go back to SHOP, so Jasper had shepherded him inside and told him to sit quietly in the study chair on his way to bed. He'd awoken the next day to find Rudolph dusting his office. He'd already arranged fresh flowers in most rooms of the house.

Having Rudolph about wasn't so bad in terms of housekeeping. The Christie residence hadn't looked this good since Jasper had hired that OCD maid. (She'd lasted a week until one of his Friday night parties, then suffered a nervous breakdown.) He did an admirable job fluffing Jasper's pillows and making the occasional martini. But he made rather a racket, which was the final reason for Jasper's sleep deprivation. And he constantly begged to (presumably, Jasper wasn't totally fluent in skeleton) visit Atlas, a request that Jasper had to reject every time.

A familiar clattering on the stairs woke Jasper the weekend after New Year's. It was his first day off since the attack and he'd threatened Rudolph with a vat of lime if he woke Jasper before ten. He'd had to take a harder line with the skeleton over the course of the week. At first he'd let him sleep at the foot of the bed (Cal had an absolute fit when he heard that), but he'd woken to find Rudolph cooing and brushing his hair one morning and banished him to a guest room downstairs.

Clatter clatter. Gentle sweep of light across him as the curtains of his bed were pushed back. “We're all going to die.”

"Morning Rudolph."

Rudolph moved his jaw in a way that suggested smiling and offered Jasper a tray bearing a quiche. He'd made one of these every morning since Jasper had expressed a preference. Something he could get quite used to. As he picked up his fork, Rudolph clacked his teeth hopefully.

"Sorry mate, you really can't come to St. Mungo's. But Atlas is coming home soon, yeah?"

Rudolph clacked again, this time in disappointment. He really wasn't too hard to understand, given time.

"Here, sit down." He patted the edge of the bed. Rudolph lost less parts when he wasn't under the stress of standing.

"This quiche is ace. Now, I have to go see Atlas later. Why don't you take Pinkie for a ride? Don't move Cal's notes around again in the study, yeah? It was nice of you to alphabetize them but I think he's going to be really upset."

By which Jasper meant that Cal was probably going to have a minor stroke when he realized all his work was hopelessly disorganized. That was a hurdle to cross later, after he explained that Atlas would be living with them for a while. With him, really. The brief period during which Cal had practically lived there seemed to be, oddly, waning. Jasper wondered if he should feel something about that, but was mostly annoyed that it interrupted the routine of his days.

"Oh, before I go--" Jasper fumbled around the bedside table, coming up with Rudolph's left thumb from the rubble of cigarette packets and discarded ties. "You lost this the other day when you were ironing my sheets I guess."

Morning Rudolph.

The little prince stirred and Rudolph hurried to move the tray into proper position. He had to make sure to present breakfast before it had the chance to get cold, it just wasn't the same at that point. Craning his neck Rudolph examined Jasper's discarded watch 10:02 AM, after 10 as per Jasper's instructions and he had delivered delicious vitals to accompany the morning wake up. This had to mean that some sort of reward had to be in order and Rudolph knew just what he wanted.

Sorry mate, you really can't come to St. Mungo's. But Atlas is coming home soon, yeah?

Shot down again, it was as if all of his efforts had been in vain. But the prospect of Atlas coming back was some amount of comfort. It wasn't that he didn't like Jasper, it was so nice having someone to cook for an clean up after and the other day Jasper had let him go through some of his suits from several seasons ago. Sure he'd had to have bubble wrap taped around his hands and several other potentially pointy and therefore hazardous appendages but one had to make these sacrifices when handling such finery. He was still disappointed though, whichh Jasper seemed to sense as he patted the bed a moment later.

Here, sit down.

Carefully, minding patella and fibula both , Rudolph hobbled onto the bed, shrinking as one of his vertebra broke loose from the others and landed on the duvet. This quiche is ace. Now, I have to go see Atlas later. Why don't you take Pinkie for a ride? Don't move Cal's notes around again in the study, yeah? It was nice of you to alphabetize them but I think he's going to be really upset.

He left off fiddling with the finer points of his spinal column and swung his head back in Jasper's direction. Why would he be angry? The alphabet was simple...everyone knew it although Rudolph had spent a few hours trying to figure out exactly how to file some of the notes that had begun with a bewildering set of symbols that he didn't recognize at all. Those he had simple tossed into one of the drawer in the desk...but apparently that hadn't been the right thing to do either.

Oh, before I go...You lost this the other day when you were ironing my sheets I guess.. Suddenly his thumb was being presented to him. He'd been looking for it all morning! It was actually very difficult to recalibrate the stove and clean out the machinery behind the fridge when only one of your hands was sporting all of its digits. He took the finger back and cradled it for a moment before carefully re looping it into his proper place.

“WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!” He exclaimed, waving the hand in front of Jasper excitedly. He flexed each finger, making certain that they were going to stay on. “We're all going to die.” One hand flung in the direction of the cigarette packs and he shook his head in a disapproving fashion. The discarded ties were also a cause for distress, he'd spent so much time ironing and starching the other day, loosing several of the finer hand bones in the process. This was how he was rewarded?


Rudolph hoped off the bed, rummaging through the room until he came up with the props he needed. One, a st Mungos visitors pass that had been flung haphazardly onto the floor, then a small satchel (he dug through it discarding the notebooks within and then hobbled back over to the bed. Plunking himself down he handed the pass to Jasper, waiting for him to take in and then took a moments pause before wrenching his head off and stuffing it into the bag. In a feat of coordination he then reached both hands out and place the strap of the bag around Jasper's head.

“We're all going to die?” This accompanied by a 'ta dah' gesture. The plan was full proof certainly he would see that. It wasn't that he didn't like Pinkie rides. The noble steed was a great friend and a valiant mount it was just that he was beginning to wonder if these trips to Mungo's weren't just some clever ruse.

Rudolph lit up when Jasper presented him with the finger. It was endearing how simple thing pleased him. Last night Jasper had given him some copper wire for his feet and a three year old tie and he'd bee all but giddy. Between that and the cleaning Jasper would almost have been content to let Rudolph stay forever. He watched as Rudolph rifled through the room for various props, then handed Jasper his head inside Jasper's Mulberry overnight bag. The head made its usual statement while the body did something that resembled jazz hands. Jasper placed some mental reservations on his enthusiasm for Rudolph's continued presence.

He looked down at the bag in his hands. Inside, Rudolph clacked at him pleadingly. Well, it might cheer Atlas up to see the skeleton... He suspected that the St. Mungo's staff couldn't be more angry with him anyway. There had been marked scowling when he'd turned up with the ingredients for a Singapore Sling to cheer Atlas up, and extreme displeasure when he'd parked in the ambulance lane. (In his defense, it had been raining and he was wearing a wool blend and he didn't want to park the Aston near other cars.) He sighed and tossed the head onto a chair across the room.

"Fine. Let me get dressed." He paused on the way to the closet. "Only if you stop touching my hair."

Rudolph had an odd fascination with Jasper's hair. After the first night, during which he'd crept up from his place at the foot of the bed and carefully styled Jasper's hair into a fauxhawk, he'd been banished from the top floor of the house until morning. Now he spent his time diligently waiting for Jasper to nod off in front of the fire; he'd woken on multiple occasions to find Rudolph combing his hair or, on one particularly alarming evening, waiting for a curling iron to heat.

Speaking of hair-- Jasper ducked into the bathroom and ruffled his hair into shape once he'd finished doing up his tie. A quick shave and he scooped up the bag with Rudolph's head inside.

"The rest of you, stay here."

Jasper and 25% of Rudolph arrived at the hospital a few moments later. He didn't trust the skeleton in the car. Bony angles near the handsewn leather interior...They paused in the doorway and Jasper looked into the bag firmly, first checking for tears in the lining.

"You can't say anything until we're in Atlas' room, okay? You'll get chucked in the bin and you'll never see Artemis or Pinkie again."

That seemed to shut Rudolph up effectively, and they made to Atlas' room with no mishaps besides a glare or two from the witch who had confiscated his tequila the other day. She could have done with a shot or two, might have calmed her a bit. Jasper poked his head into the door to find Atlas awake, reading the latest Conspiracy Theorists' Monthly. He tossed the bag onto the end of the bed.

"Cheers, brought you a visitor."

A tense standoff followed, where Rudolph continued to shake his hands jubilantly (ignoring it when his newly replaced thumb popped back off and rolled between Jasper’s mattresses and headboard) while Jasper regarded him levelly across his breakfast. Rudolph didn’t know how long he could sustain in his current activity though. A few more fingers were already coming loose and he really would look like a dunce if he was left simply pin wheeling his wrists about.

Fine. Let me get dressed. Huzzah! Victory! He lifted both arms in a homage to Rocky and his victory over the improbably steep set of stairs as Jasper weight left the bed. The bag rolled alarmingly to one side and his poor skull would have been tipped out, likely rolled under the bed and never be heard from again had the rest of his body not moved so swiftly to save him. Safely cradled in his own lap Rudolph had an excellent view of the room and the closet Jasper was rapidly disappearing into. Only if you stop touching my hair.

Then he was gone and Rudolph was left to pout. He didn’t see why Jasper had taken so much offense. The Mohawk had looked amazing and if only he hadn’t woken up from that impromptu nap on the sofa. The Pompadour he’d had planned would have gone so well with his bone structure. Atlas was a much deeper sleeper than Jasper and Rudolph often had time to get his supplies, practice his craft and then wet down and comb out his creation and be back at the foot of the bed before Atlas’ disturbingly jelly fish shaped alarm clock had the time to go off.

Jasper was another case; he seemed to sleep in strange stunted little cycles commonly interrupted by owls, the random appearance of odd gazelle looking women, deliverymen. It was never enough preparation time to get what he needed to get done. Instead he usually found his attempts rebuked and himself banished to some ill used area of the house.

Jasper reappeared, fully dressed, hands catching along the knot on his tie as he stepped into the bathroom. A few more deft exercises that Rudolph found he missed not at all and then Jasper was scooping up the bag, jarring his skull around in its vast space. The rest of you, stay here. His bodily half sat obediently , giving a little wave as the two of them descended. They arrived at Mungos after a short trip in the car. Rudolph had requested to be lifted from the bag and sat down on the dashboard. But Jasper had acted as if he didn’t hear him and so he had spent what could have been a very interesting ride starring at the tag in the bag. At least he had the care instructions memorized should anything need to be done with it.

Jasper opened the flap and Rudolph scuttled back as best he could. You can't say anything until we're in Atlas' room, okay? You'll get chucked in the bin and you'll never see Artemis or Pinkie again. The threat was not idle, he knew that much. As they walked through the halls he observed the goings on as best he could and clamped down whenever he felt the urge to greet someone. Once, when Jasper was checking in and receiving a rather scathing (and undeserved) look from the nurse, he resisted the urge to hiss.
Then they were threw a door and after a brief flight he thunked down onto to something soft. Destination met then. He hadn’t been given permission to speak yet however and so remained burrowed in the leather.

There were certain indications Atlas had learned to determine just what was going on around him. If someone was dying there was usually a flurry of movement and then hushed voices. If the nurses were preparing to do battle with him in order to get him to take him pain killers there was a calm where they would trickle into the room slowly, each pretending to cater to a different task. If Jasper was in the area there was usually blessed silence as they all descended upon the nursing station to mark his passing and sometimes perform body searches.

They claimed to hate it but Atlas suspected that the fact that it look 7 of them to search one skinny wizard was proof enough to the contrary. He turned the page his magazine, scrutinizing a large circle that had been found near Scotland. The farmer claimed the aliens had also absconded with his cows but Atlas could clearly make out the work of human feet in its creation. The cows must have been an unrelated extraterrestrial incident.

Dimly he heard the clack of Jasper’s boots on the floor, he’d passed inspection with remarkable speed that day…He didn’t have time for a greeting before Jasper had unslung something from his shoulder and deposited it on the coverlet.

Cheers, brought you a visitor.

The bag made a hallowed thud against the brace that had replaced the cast on one leg, a very recognizable thud. Beaming in spite of himself Atlas let the journal fall and carefully extracted Rudolph’s skull from the bag. “How did you get him in?” Rudolph clacked his jaw merrily. Both he and Jasper had been resolute in agreeing that he should be kept out but it would appear Rudolph’s oddly charming antics had won the day. He set the head carefully at his side, running his fingers along the dome.

“The nurses are on high alert for you. I think some of them are still under the impression your some sort of terrorist….or pirate if we account for the rum running.” He waved toward a pamphlet on the side table. “That’s for you, they think you might need some sort of counseling. I tried to tell them they were just repressed but I don’t think they value my opinions too highly. Not since I punched that one at least. Which was purely an accident mind you.”

He went back to inspecting Rudolph as Jasper took a seat. “He hasn’t been much trouble as he?”

The reunion of boy and skeleton would have been a touching moment, akin to that old Muggle television show about the collie and the idiot kid who was always getting trapped in caves and sinkholes, if it had been slightly less macabre. There was something a bit disconcerting about Rudolph clicking his teeth happily next to Atlas. But the other man seemed pleased with the surprise. Jasper pulled the door shut to ward off undue spying from the Nazi nurses then slouched into the now-familiar chair near the window.

“The nurses are on high alert for you. I think some of them are still under the impression your some sort of terrorist….or pirate if we account for the rum running.”

"Oh! Speaking of--"

Jasper reached down and undid his cufflinks, which were in the shape of tiny bottles today. A tap of his wand turned them into full sized bottles, and he offered one to Atlas. Mythos, the relatively obscure Greek beer they had frequently enjoyed after many a punishing day of nearly being drowned by Helena on her sailboat. He dug into the pocket of the bag that had until recently contained Rudolph and tossed Atlas a bottle opener. It was getting harder and harder to smuggle things in; the nurses seemed to take a morbid pleasure in thwarting his attempts to cheer Atlas up. Or maybe they just enjoyed making him undress in an auxiliary room so that they could ostensibly check for contraband. Jasper found this oddly uninteresting. Nurses had too much contact with germs and a penchant for rubber shoes that he could never accept.

“That’s for you, they think you might need some sort of counseling. I tried to tell them they were just repressed but I don’t think they value my opinions too highly. Not since I punched that one at least. Which was purely an accident mind you.”

"I wouldn't blame you if it had been on purpose." Jasper picked up the pamphlet, read the first lines of the cover page ("Sex and Healthy Relationships: Developing Meaning with your Life Partner") and transfigured it into a cigarette. He glanced around before lighting it with the end of his wand.

"You haven't got an oxygen tank in here or anything, have you?"

Atlas shook his head, patting Rudolph's shiny cranium absently.

“He hasn’t been much trouble as he?”

"Not at all. You'll notice that I had him bleached and varnished this weekend. And he makes a delicious quiche. Do you let him style your hair?"

Jasper leaned back in his chair, taking a drag of his cigarette, chilled beer in his free hand. Patients would really recover so much faster if they were just allowed to relax like this. Atlas looked loads better; his injuries had been mending rapidly over the past week and one of the less spiteful nurses had told Jasper, as he smoothed the creases out of his jacket after search number forty nine, that Atlas would be ready to leave in a few days. He'd had to think then about where Atlas was going home to. It would be better if his mother never knew how badly he'd been injured, they both agreed, but he couldn't go back to the charred ruins of SHOP.

"How're you feeling today? The nurse who looks like she's only sucking on a lime seventy percent of the time told me you'd be ready to get out of here soon. D'you want to come stay with me while you sort out things with your house?" He shot a bemused look at Rudolph. 'You'll have to promise not to try and give me pin curls while I'm napping, yeah?"

At the mention of activities usually reserved for the likes of Sir Frances Drake and his cohorts Jasper straightened in his seat. His wrists flicked outwards and as he carefully undid his cuffs Atlas caught sight of the rather unique shape they were holding that morning. Once his sleeves were perfectly rolled up so as to avoid any untoward harm Jasper tapped the tiny objects with his wand and lo and behold, Mythos. Atlas hadn’t seen Jasper forced to resort to that particular trick in ages. Years of smuggling nearly everything imaginable (including but not limited to an entire family of squid and an armoire that spoke in tongues) had seen Jasper coming up with multiple and innovative ways to get things through checkpoints. The nurses of St. Mungos however had proved themselves to be much more resilient watchdogs then any of their former professors or students and Atlas had been concerned that he might have been loosing his touch. Those thoughts were banished as he inspected the bottle. First he wondered how Jasper had managed to find the stuff and then he marveled at the fact that he’d managed to keep it cold.

Jasper rummaged in the knapsack that he had produced Rudolph from and Atlas glanced up from the bottle, wondering what else he might have hidden in the thing along with the skeleton. He caught the bottle opener Jasper had offered him with minimal fumbling and managed not to drop it even as his newly whole fingers twinged at their sudden call to duty. Rearranging his grip on the thing he managed to get it into position and widget the cap off with an extremely satisfying pop. Brining the bottle to his lips he took a few measured sips, offering the opener to Jasper as he did so.

The man seemed otherwise occupied with the pamphlet that had been left to it and was reading it over with a look that could best be described as dubious. A moment later Jasper made how he felt about being given advice abundantly clear when he tapped his wand against the thing and a moment later was holding a perfectly rolled cigarette. Once he had confirmed there was no readily explosive item in the room along with them he glanced around (in a manner very reminiscent of an expression of sheepishness Atlas hadn’t seen since Jasper had first taken up the habit).

He took a measured drag, exhaling with practiced ease before sparring a glance down at Rudolph. Not at all. You'll notice that I had him bleached and varnished this weekend. And he makes a delicious quiche. Do you let him style your hair?.

Rudolph sort of vibrated next to him; Atlas dug his fingers in underneath the jaw and lifted him to eyelevel for inspection. It looked as if he’d been given the spa treatment but the mention of hair care stuck Atlas as being a tad odd. Setting the skeleton back down and taking another sip of his beer savoring the flavor before answering. “Not…that I know of. Although he did ask for the full hair care kit from the Sinistra’s for Christmas. I indulged him, I know he doesn’t have hair per say but I don’t want him to get a complex. Or to feel as if he’s different from everyone else. I think it makes him feel more secure. But he doesn’t really take much interest in my hair.” Atlas ran a hand threw it himself, it was getting longer, almost to the point where he’d have to do something with it.

There were a few moments of comfortable silence between the two of them only interrupted by the scuttle of croc-clad feet in the hallway. Atlas didn’t like crocs…they seemed to him to be the half-life of a shoe, a cursed life and more clog than shoe. He didn’t really care how comfortable they were, every time he saw them he had flashbacks to Shirley in that movie where she had played a Dutch cherub complete with pig tails and clogs. Nothing good could come of those things.

How’re you feeling today? The nurse who looks like she's only sucking on a lime seventy percent of the time told me you'd be ready to get out of here soon. D'you want to come stay with me while you sort out things with your house? You'll have to promise not to try and give me pin curls while I'm napping, yeah?

Rudolph rolled on his current position and let out a forlorn but sincere, “We’re all going to die.” And Atlas had a moment to wonder about just how Jasper’s week had been progressing. Leaning back against the pillows Atlas considered the question.

“Considerably better I’d say. They even let me get up last night to shave…I don’t trust those women with razors. Tattoo is almost gone,” He turned his head and ran one beer cooled finger over what was now the very faint mark on his cheek. “I considered keeping it, but people tell me it might not have been a politically correct marking.” The heavy bandaging still covering the arm the Dilabo had snacked on and the bulge beneath the blankets over one leg spoke for themselves really.

“I think that nurses name is Verity actually….Helga is the one you have to worry about. Face like a bag full of frogs. It’s,” He almost said ‘very kind’ and then realized how stupid that would have sounded. He didn’t need to use social platitudes with Jasper they had moved well beyond those. “I can’t intrude on you Jasper. Calixtus would have kittens if he saw me and rightfully so. I'm exploring options, though they seem to be quiet limited though."

"...he doesn’t really take much interest in my hair.”

Atlas touched his hair absently. Jasper suspected that this was untrue, and Atlas just took less interest in his appearance than he did. Unless Atlas had been sporting a new look with various sections at the back of his head crimped for the past few months on purpose. Then there had been that odd night when Jasper had woken Atlas to tell him that the lobster bandits were in the alley again and Atlas had appeared at the door with a Morrissey-esque quiff...

“Considerably better I’d say. They even let me get up last night to shave…I don’t trust those women with razors. Tattoo is almost gone."

Jasper peered in at Atlas' cheek, which looked virtually normal again. He'd not been allowed to shave with a straight razor, Jasper could tell. It took more effort, and was significantly more dangerous, but the results were markedly superior. And anyway, Cary Grant would never have shaved with an inferior razor and he'd ended up with Grace Kelly. Jasper considered this enough motivation to risk slitting his own throat on a daily basis.

“I think that nurses name is Verity actually….Helga is the one you have to worry about. Face like a bag full of frogs."

Helga. Emphasis on the syllable that sounded like her native underworld. Jasper knew precisely the one Atlas was talking about, even though he'd neglected to add that the frogs had been run over by a truck before going into the bag. Helga seemed to take almost giddy pleasure from thwarting Jasper's attempts to bring a bit of life and fun into the hospital. He suspected that if he brought in a kitten to cheer Atlas up she would stomp on it (just as she'd done with his bag of martini ingredients). He leaned back and took a leisurely drag on his cigarette, pleased that when he'd asked at the desk, he'd received the report that Helga was off duty until tonight. Ah, freedom.

“I can’t intrude on you Jasper. Calixtus would have kittens if he saw me and rightfully so. I'm exploring options, though they seem to be quiet limited though."

Jasper sighed. All these years and Atlas couldn't accept a simple favor. He was perfectly happy to ask Jasper for all sorts of bizarre things ('Jas, can you watch the moose while I'm at the 16th Annual Freemason's Investigation Assembly? Jas, have you got any gypsy moth larvae? Eight weeks old only, please.') But offer something attainable and it was summarily rejected. Jasper had always suspected that had something to do with their families. Not jealousy, precisely. But allowing Jasper to help in some solid way reinforced that they weren't really equals in a lot of wizarding eyes; Jasper would always be the pureblood, the one with money and connections. He remembered one of their first months at Hogwarts; Atlas had clumsily knocked a vial of a rather expensive potions ingredient off his desk and Jasper had flippantly offered a replacement, receiving a rather chilly, hesitant "No, thanks." It had taken him a few years to understand why.

"Atlas, I'm not letting you live in the alley until we do something about your house. And I know for a fact you don't want to stay with your mother and be forced to ingest ten gallons of soup and a wheatgrass smoothie every day.

"As for Cal, he's barely been around lately so you don't have to worry, and anyway it would be amusing and biologically noteworthy if he managed to have kittens." Jasper inserted a brief eye roll here, to emphasize that Cal had been acting more mental than usual in the past week. "If he does turn up I'll just, lock you two in separate rooms or something, I don't know. You lot have got to get over your problems anyway."

He took a sip of beer, hand picking at the label absently now that he'd finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the pamphlet that had been hiding under the first. ("Responsible Drinking Habits.")

"Come on, it'll be like Hogwarts again. But without that annoying twat Harold Pfinker complaining every time I had a bird over or you wanted to turn his bed into a terrarium for your carnivorous kumquat grove."

The expression that Jasper leveled at him from his chair was one that was entirely familiar. It wasn’t one that came up an awful lot of the time but Atlas was possessive of a special gift, one known to few that was capable of luring it out. He was one of the people who could and did on occasion say no to Jasper Christie. It was a nice mixture of confusion mixed with a dash of exasperation and it brought all sort of miniscule lines to the other mans face that otherwise never made an appearance. Sometimes he wondered how many times he’d missed them when he wasn’t looking, or before he’d been able to really classify the emotion.

Atlas, He started, ever patient and persistent. I'm not letting you live in the alley until we do something about your house. And I know for a fact you don't want to stay with your mother and be forced to ingest ten gallons of soup and a wheatgrass smoothie every day.

The statement bore some weight and Atlas therefore gave it due consideration. As a child his mother hadn’t particularly cared about what had befallen him. When a normal parent would have warned their child something was hot his mother had simply set up circumstances by which he would learn himself and then proceeded to set up a circumstance in which he would also learn how to treat mild to severe burns. Her only real rule had been, ‘no throwing sand’ and the reasons for that were still largely shrouded in secrecy. Yes it was abrasive and unpleasant and it never came out of your socks but if one had a sandbox sooner or later sand would be thrown.

He remembered that version of his mother but he also knew the other half. The one that never let him leave his bed if he was sit and instead sat with him, cuddling him when he was still small and then when he was too large and unruly for that just sat running her hand through his hair. That wouldn’t have been so unpleasant but the constant demands to take whatever was handed to him and down copious (and in truth near lethal) amounts of vitamin tonics and some Muggle thing called V8 would have been enough to drive him mad in quick order.

As for Cal, he's barely been around lately so you don't have to worry, and anyway it would be amusing and biologically noteworthy if he managed to have kittens. Also a valid point in favor of Jasper’s proposal. Here the expression shifted for the brief moment but Atlas didn’t have this one on file. If he does turn up I'll just, lock you two in separate rooms or something, I don't know. You lot have got to get over your problems anyway.

Atlas had given that matter a great amount of consideration since his arrival at the hospital and slow climb through pain medication and sedation back into full awareness. Even with so much time he had been unable to come up with an actual way to ‘get over it’. Apologies seemed a bit….lacking but were certainly bolstered by his new status as a gimp. The only really satisfying solution he had produced had been his own death, which he supposed would have been sufficient for Calixtus but left him in a rather cold and dark place.

Come on, it'll be like Hogwarts again. But without that annoying twat Harold Pfinker complaining every time I had a bird over or you wanted to turn his bed into a terrarium for your carnivorous kumquat grove.

There it was, the height of his offer. A few parts avoiding one over protective mother, dash of reassurance against unpleasant run ins with a victim of torture, and final invoke the good old school days while at the same time brining up the plus of it being like school minus the horrible bits.

“A rather solid argument, as always.” Another measured sip from his beer, which he then set down carefully on the bedside table. “And it would of course be preferable to hang around with and hopefully more of those,” A nod toward the bottle. “Than with my mother starring and wondering where she might have gone wrong.”

He wanted to ask about Calixtus but it just didn’t seem his right and Jasper already had him near clinging onto him, the added prying into his personal life was not something else he needed. “You’ve made yourself horribly available to my whims. I suppose I could take advantage of you a little bit longer if it’s not an imposition. At the very least I can offer Rudolph in a housekeeping capacity.” The skeleton’s jaw dropped open then closed at the mention of its name but stayed quiet.

His eyes trained on the end of Jasper’s stubbed put cigarette and he snatched up the pamphlet, brushing the ash off and giving it to his friend. “Be an insufferable show off and transfigure another one of those for me?” He hadn’t smoked in years…not really since he’d met Helena and she hadn’t been fond of the habit. Right at the moment though it would be nice to have something to do with his hands. And he didn't want to talk about what had happened before, with Cal or about any of it really but he felt that sooner or later something would have to be said on the subject. In the end he decided on later.

“Harold was a complete waster. I looked him up a few months back in a fit or boredom. He lives in Cardiff now, three children, dog, some sort of fish wife I think….suddenly makes being stuck in here look vastly preferable. Your sure this is alright Jasper?”

“You’ve made yourself horribly available to my whims. I suppose I could take advantage of you a little bit longer if it’s not an imposition. At the very least I can offer Rudolph in a housekeeping capacity.”

"It's really fine. I'll take you up on Rudolph though, my house has never looked so clean."

This was true. He'd come downstairs the other day to find Rudolph hand waxing all his wood furniture, having already steamed the carpets and cleaned out the fridge. (The last wasn't a very intensive task, since Jasper's fridge usually had nothing but alcohol, olives, and some permutation of chocolate.)It was sometimes alarming when Rudolph made his bed and left a bone or two behind, but the end result outweighed the problems. Jasper began to understand why Atlas had kept Rudolph around for all this time, although it did make him wonder why SHOP was still such a mess.

“Be an insufferable show off and transfigure another one of those for me?”

Jasper was surprised; Atlas had never really been a smoker, even a casual one like Jasper. He had to be under a massive amount of stress. Or this was just an act of silent rebellion against the nursing regime outside. In either case, Jasper wasn't one to deny vice to anyone, so he simply rolled his eyes at Atlas' criticism and transfigured the pamphlet, offering a light with the end of his wand.

“Harold was a complete waster. I looked him up a few months back in a fit or boredom. He lives in Cardiff now, three children, dog, some sort of fish wife I think….suddenly makes being stuck in here look vastly preferable. Your sure this is alright Jasper?”

Jasper smiled rather maliciously. Harold Pfinker had been nothing but a problem for the two of them all through Hogwarts. Always whining when Jasper insisted he turn off his lights while studying so that he could get his recommended hours of sleep during the afternoon when things were quiet because most people were at classes. Constantly telling the prefect when Jasper and Wendell replaced his mattress with boxes of contraband firewhiskey. (He just didn't seem to understand that Jasper couldn't very well do the same with his bed when Sasha Ackerton was coming over.) Once he'd thrown Atlas' rare Namibian grapefruit tree out the window just because it bit his ear. Harold certainly deserved the eternal punishment of Wales.

"It's totally fine with me. My house is huge, and I'm barely home anyway. Rudolph can help take care of you until you can get around on your own, which doesn't seem very far off. Plus if you're there you'll be able to oversee what's going on at SHOP.

"Come on, it'll be ace. I'll make you some rubbish archaic cocktails and we can make holiday cards for Harold with the Aston and those FHM models I'm having over this weekend."

There was a certain degree of hesitation when Atlas made his request before Jasper, bemused expression in place, reached forward and snatched up the pamphlet. He spared it one last glance and then, displaying no interest in learning anything about venereal diseases and their cousins blindness and death, made short work of it. He handed off the finished product and without missing a beat offered the end of his wand as a lighter.

Normally Jasper would have made a great flare about it but it would appear that his lighter had decided to sit this trip out. Just as well, Atlas was under the impression the small and impossible to use thing was some sort of heirloom and had it bee discovered by the nursing gestapo Jasper would have been forced to view its public execution. For a moment he just held the thing carefully pinched between pointer and middle finger watching the smoke curl and feeling very much like a teenager sneaking around behind the prefects back.

At the mention of dear Harold Jasper's face morphed into something akin to that green Seuss character, before his heart grew the written three sizes. He might have imagined it but sometimes when Pfinker was brought up in conversation Atlas thought that maybe he could see Jasper's hair picking up in the space above his ears, forming into two perfect horns. It really wasn't their fault that the man had made himself so throughly unlikeable. Merlin knew they had both tried. Atlas could understand being a bit perturbed when Jasper had claimed his clothes chest to hold the overflow of his wardrobe. But Jasper had judiciously given him a few square feet and that was more than the other one had received.

He'd wasted about a third of his cigarette before he thought to actually bring it to his lips. The first drag made him cough uncomfortably but the second went down smooth enough. “Filthy habit.” He commented absently as a thank you. A glance down confirmed that Rudolph felt the same way but without Atlas' brand of good humor. One couldn't really be sure but had a knack for knowing when he was displeased about something. He ground his teeth for one thing and seemed to be in the process of doing it right at that moment. Atlas offered him the cigarette, nearly putting a scorch mark in the sheets in the process of doing so. “We're all going to die.” He huffed to the both of them. Atlas' only answer to take another drawn out drag before finishing that off with another wonderful swig.

Come on, it'll be ace. I'll make you some rubbish archaic cocktails and we can make holiday cards for Harold with the Aston and those FHM models I'm having over this weekend.

It was something that they had done on occasion after leaving school. Usually after they had gotten rather gloriously drunk, or after another bid to buy the shop had fallen through for Jasper, or Atlas had been traumatized by one happening or another. On those occasions the address of one Harold Pfinker was produced from some oft unused part of Jasper's desk, along with some card materials and the fun began. It was nice, imagining him in Wales and therefore certainly more miserable than the two of them were at present. It had been sometime since there had been an event to warrant a spree of cards to their dear school chum.

“What is happening with SHOP? I hope Will hasn't had some squad picking over things....could get messy if they set up some of the security measures. Although considering, it would seem those weren't as sound as I at once thought. You realized you just put cocktails on the table, that would be including but not limited to the Moscow mule and its compatriots?”

“Alright then Jasper.” He nodded tightly. “You've convinced me and thank you. This is an almost unseen amount of selflessness from you. And Professor Higby said you would never make any progress in the area of personal growth.” A sound from the hallway made both of them freeze and without really being aware of it Atlas took a last hasty drag before stubbing out the cigarette on the tray laden with the medication he was refusing to take. Jasper made quick work of the bottles, placing both under the bed and letting the blanket fall to cover them.

A second later one of the nurses pocked her head in, hawk eyes going first to Atlas then to Jasper, then to the small cloud of smoke that hadn't dissipated. “Spontaneous combustion.” Atlas supplied lamely, shifting to cover Rudolph. There was one more spared glance, that obviously communicated how full of s-t she thought the pair of them were before she closed the door again.

“Its like a gulag in here. They have 'quiet time'. A time specially designated to being quiet, and a nap time, and a lights out. It's maddening. I half expect one of them to show up with a juice box and some crackers and a video tape of those weird muggle creatures with the tellies in their tummies. Snootranglers or something I think they're called.”

“Might have been more pleasant if they had just managed to finish me off. Though I'm loosing hope that they'll come back. They'd have a time getting through Helga anyway.”

Atlas brightened at the mention of holiday cards. The last ones on the yacht in the Mediterranean had been rather genius. Jasper sort of wished he'd kept that thing, but he'd found that he just didn't look good in a captain's hat from most angles. Natasha and Martina would make great additions to the new set. He sipped his drink with a contented smile, envisioning all the fun they would have. Rudolph could even style Atlas' hair and take the pictures, if he could keep his fingers on.

“What is happening with SHOP? I hope Will hasn't had some squad picking over things...You realized you just put cocktails on the table, that would be including but not limited to the Moscow mule and its compatriots?”

Jasper had, in fact, been spending a good deal of time hovering at SHOP. Less since he'd gotten Will to take on some hovering duties and steer the Ministry employees away from areas that contained potentially sensitive material. Will had muttered something about "hindering the investigation," but in the end he'd smiled faintly, rolled his eyes, and told Jasper that it would be taken care of. As always.

"Will says the investigation will be over by tomorrow evening. Obviously it's been...extensive, so I haven't been able to organize much in the way of reconstruction. I thought you'd like to be there for that anyway, yeah?"

He knew Atlas would agree with this. His specifications for SHOP were incredibly particular. Jasper had once restacked a few coasters while waiting for Atlas to finish a spell, and had been subsequently barred from the living room for months. Not that he could sort out how Atlas knew he'd been responsible; the lobster bandits were forever moving or appropriating things. His friend sighed, shoulders sagging with a mix of resignation and relief. Jasper hoped Atlas would let him take on at least some of the details of the reconstruction at first; he'd made remarkable improvements but still looked a bit...grey. Plus it couldn't be good for him to see SHOP in its current state, even if Rudolph had been hovering about with a dustpan waiting for opportune moments to clean up.

“Alright then Jasper.” He nodded tightly. “You've convinced me and thank you. This is an almost unseen amount of selflessness from you. And Professor Higby said you would never make any progress in the area of personal growth.”

Jasper wanted to respond, but Nurse Goering or whatever her name was chose the moment to terrorize them and he had to busy himself shoving the contraband beers under the bed while Atlas nearly torched them both getting rid of the cigarette. Her mission to inflict moderate levels of annoyance completed, she stalked down the hall to bring a little bit of misery to other patients. Jasper sighed and retrieved their drinks. Atlas glared at the door, eyebrows knitted together in a look he'd reserved at Hogwarts for when Harold insisted on being allowed into the room to collect his books on a fortnightly basis.

“Its like a gulag in here. They have 'quiet time'. A time specially designated to being quiet, and a nap time, and a lights out. It's maddening."

Jasper thought quiet time sounded nice, compared to being terrorized by a skeleton while trying to get an hour or two of sleep, but he didn't think Atlas would see the light. He made an appropriately horrified face as Atlas continued. He spent another half an hour in the room, made more pleasant when they realized that he could transfigure hospital issue orange juice into more beer.

The next day found Jasper giving Helga and the other members of the SS a flip smile as he helped Atlas into the Aston, Rudolph struggling along with Atlas' overnight bag behind them. The skeleton miraculously had almost all his limbs when he dropped the bag off in Jasper's downstairs guest room, the one that had a window facing the Muggle frontage of Jasper's house in Holland Park. He'd thought it best to avoid direct contact with SHOP until Atlas had a Mint Julep or two in his system. Helga had insisted there be no alcohol consumption for two weeks. She hadn't seemed to appreciate the fact that Atlas, Jasper, and Rudolph had cackled at her as they drove away.

Jasper fixed Atlas with a stern look as he plopped down on the edge of the bed.

"You can only request one drink a day. And if I find any lobster bandits you're chucked, I don't care if you've got nowhere else to go, they scuffed my driving moccasins once.

"Now--" Purposeful squint of the eyes-- "should we go the tuxedo or smoking jacket route for the cards?"

The transition from the stagnant recycled air of the hospital to the filtered and faintly leathery smelling interior of Jasper’s Aston Martin went far more smoothly than Atlas would have thought considering the parties involved. Rudolph, who Jasper had informed him was not allowed near the posh and immaculate fine leather of the seats and dash of the vehicle had been charmed down to a manageable size for the ride. Except his head that is, which Atlas had held at window level for the goodbye cackle and then the duration of the relatively short trip home.

He’d known about the car for some time but seeing as it occupied the space of Jasper’s house that existed in a strictly Muggle space he’d never actually seen it. There could have been a few reasons for that, most of them highly logical. Jasper wouldn’t really have use for an automobile in the alley, where it was crammed and there would have been a significant chance of scratches. There was also nowhere to store it in the alley. Additionally Jasper, much like a peacock, did many things for the sheer purpose of impressing those around him who were looking (and one of the only things Jasper and he unfaltering agreed upon was that ‘they’ were always watching). Wizards and witches, at least the majority of them wouldn’t really look twice at a car and so it lived in Muggle London where it would be recognized as what it was and worshipped, as it deserved.

Atlas, for his part didn’t really see what the fuss was about. Every time Jasper jiggled the handle thing between there was a rumbling beneath the seats that never seemed to stay constant. Then there was the fact that years of watching Bond movies with Jasper had given Atlas certain expectations of the famed Aston martin. Including but of course not limited to the ability to spew vats of oil onto the roadway behind them, deploy harpoons and other projectiles, rocket boosters, pull women toward it with the power of a few thousand Teslas, and last but most important communicate with one M. Atlas had always found her voice to be so soothing.

Jasper has allowed him to fiddle with the odd looking box that should have been his clear path to the commander of the entire British SIS for a few short minutes. In that time Atlas made it change several different colors and glow oddly, as well as emit several blared Queen songs before Jasper had spelled the thing into silence. Rudolph who seemed to have been enjoying the concert gave a reproachful “We’re all going to die.” before settling back in.

Their arrival at Jasper’s house, the part of it across from a rather well kept park was another first. Atlas gave Jasper a look as he was helped from the Aston but didn’t comment on Jasper’s choice to avoid the alley. Just as well though, he wasn’t really sure he was up to having a look just yet. At least not until The Ministry’s investigation was over. Jasper, who seemed to have the exact same thought ushered him through the halls and finally to one of the guest bedrooms. There was a little basket at the foot of the bed that Atlas could only imagine was meant for Rudolph, as evidenced by the few lost toes in its basin. Seating himself carefully he decided to leave off exploring the rest of the spacious area until later.

He’d only been able to take a few bounces on the soft mattresses before Jasper fixed him with his teaching face. You can only request one drink a day. And if I find any lobster bandits you're chucked, I don't care if you've got nowhere else to go, they scuffed my driving moccasins once. Atlas nodded hesitantly. He was sure the bandits had survived. Years of extermination attempts had proven how hardy they were but this was Jasper’s house and he had saved his life not all that long ago.

Now should we go the tuxedo or smoking jacket route for the cards?

Now this, was truly an important decision to be made. Almost as important as that time when Jasper had decided he needed to make up some business cards for himself. They’d spent weeks finding just he right shade of eggshell. There was an elegant formula to the construction of a Harold card. The simplest summary was as follows. There was a sliding scale of numbers ranging roughly from one to a hundred. Each of them assigned a number score to their current mood and then after putting it through a series of rigorous but thankfully naturally intuitive formulas they would determine just what needed to be sent to Harold in order to begin a healing process which would be sufficient to alleviate either of their hard times.

Considering his new homelessness, possibly permanent disfigurement, and Jasper’s now completely off kilter sleep schedule it was going to have to be a dozy. With that in mind the thoughtful reply was, “Smoking jackets.” This was partly because they presented a certain gradure that was no doubt unobtainable in Wales and would also do some work in hiding both the brace and the other incidental bandages. Both of these things would have detracted from the message they were trying to send. “I think that this year we should be going for an old time Vanderbilt feel. Something classic but with a bit of….” He searched for a buzzword, something Apollo might say when he had his moments of brilliance. “Shiny.”

Atlas, perched on the edge of the bed like a bandaged gargoyle, creased his forehead in thought. This was a very important decision, after all. Making the wrong choice would mean the assurance that Harold wasn't burning with the maximum possible level of jealousy. Jasper had always had his doubts about the Happy Hanukkah greeting they'd sent last winter, in the wake of a cancelled Libertines reunion (part 31) on Jasper's part, and the death of a particularly beloved bandit for Atlas. After great deliberation, they'd decided on the classic Mediterranean yacht party with various models and actresses. It had seemed a good idea at the time, and Jasper did love Crete, but both he and Atlas had later expressed concern. Harold didn't especially like the ocean, he had always expressed a preference for firewhiskey over vintage champagne, Atlas' hand tailored silk tie and pocket square had looked slightly off-trend after eight months...they might have only made him miserable for three weeks or so. Such failure would not be accepted again.

“Smoking jackets.” Atlas finally pronounced, voice tinged with due gravity. “I think that this year we should be going for an old time Vanderbilt feel. Something classic but with a bit of….” He paused contemplatively. “Shiny.”

Shiny was, indeed, what Jasper hoped to portray in their greetings to Harold. Obviously there were other things to portray as well (unattainable wealth, the happiness that Harold would never feel as he languished in Llandudno, how there would never be a model in Wales, ever), but mainly he and Atlas felt that it was key to express the glamorous glitter of life that could have been Harold's after Hogwarts had he not been such an insufferable arse. Every champagne cocktail, every internationally known model, every perfectly tailored Armani jacket, was a reminder of a time that Harold had dared to breathe while Jasper was trying to sleep, or ruffled the leaves of Atlas' newest floral friends. Jasper decided he would think of this card in particular as a cheerful reminder of the time Harold had moved one of his shirts (so it had been on Harold's bed, he needed extra storage more than Harold needed rest). The creasing had been irreversible.

"Here, budge up--"

Jasper sat down on the edge of the bed next to Atlas. This was going to take serious thought. It was going to be very, very hard to top their triumphant Happy May Day card from two years ago, when they'd managed to capture Atlas's triumphant win at a Monaco poker tournament, Jasper and all thirteen models from last year's Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar (August had been twins) cheering him on. The back had been a shot of all fifteen of them the next day, relaxing on the terrace of the house in the Riviera that had been part of Atlas' winnings.

As Jasper sat, chin in hands in thought, Rudolph attempted to clack forward stealthily, comb in hand. Jasper's eyes shot up disapprovingly.

"Don't even think about it. Go make us some martinis, yeah, and get the box out of the second drawer in my office desk."

Over the years, they'd amassed a rather remarkable collection of card making supplies. Jasper's favorites were the little pairs of scissors that cut paper edges into interesting patterns. Atlas said the lobster bandits had brought them back after an extended disappearance into Muggle London. Looking a bit crestfallen, Rudolph clattered away, comb still in hand.

"Won't bloody leave my hair alone. I woke up looking like Morrissey during the Queen Is Dead tour the other day."

Atlas didn't seem to find this as disturbing as he should have, so Jasper pressed on.

"So, Vanderbilt. Armani Privé has a new line of smoking jackets out made of silk that costs over six hundred quid a square inch. I'm thinking we need some kind of grandiose fireplace. We could go to the house in Scotland or just pop round the Savoy, they've got an ace one in the penthouse. Which do you think would make Harold cry more bitterly?"

Here, budge up—

Atlas obliged, slowing inching his way to the left on the duvet to make enough room for Jasper to plunk himself down next to him. His friend’s brows were knitted together in a way that he seldom allowed, mostly due to the fact that if the expression were to be there long enough often enough it might cause a crease in the skin. To the best of Atlas’ knowledge Jasper didn’t like creasing in anything; save a perfect one in certain pairs of pants for certain seasons made within a certain time frame. It was all rather complicated and rather than spend a great deal of time memorizing all of the ins and outs of creases vs no creases Atlas had settled with the knowledge that creases on skin were bad.

The crease deepened as Jasper leaned forward, hands coming up as his chin came down before the two groups met in a reenactment of The Thinking Man. For his part Atlas settled back on the bed and commenced gently tapping his cast against the baseboard, wrecking his brain for the perfect set up. Before he’d been able to consider the problem to its furthest extent Jasper’s head shot up, eyes narrowing. For a moment Atlas thought he might have thought of something ace, and was preparing to commend him on his speed but then he noticed Rudolph, halted in the doorway, one hand out as if in defense and other holding a comb behind his back. It was a rather poor decision on his part, seeing as the neon green offending object was still clearly visible between two ribs and part of a spine.

Don't even think about it. Go make us some martinis, yeah, and get the box out of the second drawer in my office desk.

Rudolph took a mincing step forward, as if to stage a charge on Jasper’s hair but decided better of it a moment later and carefully turned to make his way out of the room and retrieve the objects Jasper has asked for. As he made his way down the hall Atlas was able to see how he had accomplished the feat of sneaking up on the two of them. His legs and the more break prone areas of his anatomy had been coated in a very thin layer of bubble wrap. Aside from a few pops he was mostly silent.

Won't bloody leave my hair alone. I woke up looking like Morrissey during the Queen Is Dead tour the other day.

Here, he supposed he should have offered some apology for the skeleton, or at least acted as if he had some sympathy for Jasper’s plight. Instead though Atlas cocked his head in Jasper’s direction and assumed the same facial expression that one was typically expected to have on when complimenting the aesthetic beauty of a newborn babe. He almost added a coo to it, but suspected that could end up very badly and so managed to school his expression back to something more normal as Jasper pressed on.

So, Vanderbilt. Armani Privé has a new line of smoking jackets out made of silk that costs over six hundred quid a square inch. I'm thinking we need some kind of grandiose fireplace. We could go to the house in Scotland or just pop round the Savoy, they've got an ace one in the penthouse. Which do you think would make Harold cry more bitterly?

Gingerly moving off of the bed, flailing for a moment before he located the cane he’d left leaning on the nightstand, Atlas began a slow hobbling pace back and forth in front of Jasper. Thinking. “Are the smoking jackets monogrammed?” Jasper’s stare, which seemed to communicate that sometimes he thought Atlas was a particularly mentally challenged child answered that question. “Right so…..Scotland or the Savoy. Your talking about the fireplace in the great hall? The one big enough to fit a small family in? Its certainly big enough, do you think Mervin could clean up enough to look like a butler? He’d need coat tails; I don’t know how the Commies feel about those. You’d have to ask him, I don’t understand a word he says.”

“You could throw a few family heirlooms in that way was well. Do you still have that Ruby? The one the looks like a sheep?” There were a few clacks from somewhere in the house. “Have you ever thought about letting Level 2 search your office? Just to see the looks on their faces when they opened those drawers and found a complete scrap booking set?”

Atlas shifted slowly. This was a situation in which pacing was warranted, and practically a necessity, even if one had use of only half his limbs. Jasper eyed his cane, which was made of practical, hospital-issue steel tubing and bits of rubber. That was never going to do for their card; he would have to come up with something mahogany, preferably the top would be the gold plated head of a fearsome animal with precious stones for eyes. A sword inside would be ideal.

“Are the smoking jackets monogrammed?”

Jasper looked at him sharply, somewhat dubious, as he often was, about the longevity of their friendship if Atlas kept asking dense questions like that. Did non-monogrammed smoking jackets even exist? Jasper suspected that they had a magical power that caused them to sprout the owner's initials upon wearing. Atlas, conditioned to Jasper's expressions of disbelief after prolonged exposure, continued without waiting for a reply.

“Right so…..Scotland or the Savoy. Your talking about the fireplace in the great hall? The one big enough to fit a small family in? Its certainly big enough, do you think Mervin could clean up enough to look like a butler? He’d need coat tails; I don’t know how the Commies feel about those. You’d have to ask him, I don’t understand a word he says.”

Jasper had been attempting for years to train Atlas to understand another facial expression that communicated "Mervin is not a communist, he's just a moderately daft old Scottish man," but his efforts had so far been wasted. He wondered if it might have been wiser to sway Sergei toward Communist sympathies during the early development of his character, but the imperial guard uniform was just so much more fashion forward. He considered making the well-worn point that Mervin had never displayed any signs that he was at all a filthy Communist sympathizer, but recalled that last time Atlas had concluded that existing was enough. Instead he just waved Atlas on wearily.

“You could throw a few family heirlooms in that way was well. Do you still have that Ruby? The one the looks like a sheep?” A clatter announced that Rudolph had returned, bearing a large cardboard box that usually resided in the bottom drawer of Jasper's little-used desk. He thrust it at Jasper with a self-satisfied jaw clack. “Have you ever thought about letting Level 2 search your office? Just to see the looks on their faces when they opened those drawers and found a complete scrap booking set?”

Accepting the box, Jasper raised a contemplative eyebrow.

"I hadn't, actually. It would be genius, but I think Astbury would have an aneurism on the spot and it would be messy. The carpet in there is well nice, I stole it from this old manor house in Luxemborg."

He opened the box and pulled out a small plastic contraption, holding it up for Atlas' inspection. "Check this out, I nicked it from Apollo last week. He was using it to cut out new stars for the vest of his Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars/late Victorian Parisian metro driver costume for the Little Boots gig last week. I thought it would add that nice homey touch to our work."

Jasper personally thought it was the best thing he'd seen since Atlas had come across glitter glue on a foray to Muggle London last year. That had, they agreed, really pushed the greeting from amazingly to spectacularly devastating. He considered Atlas' suggestions about the fireplace in Scotland then had a better idea.

"I think you're right about the visual appeal of the fireplace at the house, but I honestly can't be arsed to apparate there and I don't think you're in any state to either. But I think--"

He handed the box back to Rudolph and the skeleton and Atlas trailed behind him as he returned to the study, where he slouched onto the couch facing the fireplace, wand poised in thought.

"If we just--" He flicked his wand and the fireplace stone changed, becoming rougher and more medieval, somehow. The hearth grew in size and the flames rose accordingly. Another flick grouped some high-backed armchairs attractively, and another Accioed a portrait of a beloved Christie hound from the Scotland house, which placed itself slightly to the left of the fireplace.

"Does it look similar enough? I think that ruby is in my bedroom somewhere, Rudolph pop up and have a look, won't you? We can ask We-- Dillan to be the butler, maybe. Harold grew up in Ottery St. Catchpole, didn't he? He won't know anything about Batman."

Cradling the box to his chest Jasper glanced down at its rather sparkling reflective edges, appearing to be giving Atlas’ question some thought. I hadn't, actually.. This was truly shocking to Atlas, that Jasper wouldn’t have once considered that this would cause a team of Aurors a small aneurism. Atsbury had always been a particularly delightful target of Jasper’s. For a time since graduation there had a been a void. Harold was gone and with him the ability to watch Jasper tear away at someone’s sanity, bit my bit, everyday. That was until Ben Atsbury had caught wind that one Mr. Christie might be partaking in slightly less than wholesome business practices and strolled into their lives.

More swaggered really, wand out, several threats spilling from his mouth. It was then that Jasper had found a new target and oh the times they had had. There was that Christmas season where Jasper had taken up the guise of one Saint Nicholas and descended upon the children’s wing at St Mungos (daily prophet photographer in tow) laden with gifts for all. He had invited the head Auror to partake in the festivities, as a rather dower looking elf, to watch just what loads of money from his ‘very legitimate’ business ventures could buy. Then there had been the time he had gotten wind of a Ministry Raid a few days early, by the time Atsbury and his lackeys had arrived Jasper had been ready. A full tea service and 4 course lunch later the bewildered Auror had blustered back to level 2, none the wiser of the rather black market beagle transaction Wendell had been running out of the back room the whole time.

Ahh sweet memories…. It would be genius, but I think Astbury would have an aneurism on the spot and it would be messy. The carpet in there is well nice, I stole it from this old manor house in Luxemborg.

Now it was Atlas’ turn to raise a brow, in disapproval rather than the thoughtful contemplation previously occupying Jasper’s face. Luxemburg had always made Atlas uncomfortable. It was barely a place really, more of a strange strip, speaking a garble of languages and trying to hock tea towels. So many tea towels. Besides the fact there was their name to consider, Luxembourgers….He shuddered as a chill wound its way up and down his spine. He’d have to keep an eye on that carpet.

Jasper adjusted his grip on the box, tucking on arm under to support it while he tripped the lock open with his free hand. A few strays flecks of glitter drifted downward to land on the floor as Jasper rummaged, coming up with a small, distinctly blue plastic contraption a moment later. Check this out, A new addition then. Atlas crept closer. I nicked it from Apollo last week. He was using it to cut out new stars for the vest of his Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars/late Victorian Parisian metro driver costume for the Little Boots gig last week. I thought it would add that nice homey touch to our work.

85% of the statement was filtered, as soon as Apollo was identified as the origin of the item in question Atlas mind switched to a slightly different frequency. He didn’t know who this Ziggy was, but it was clear why Apollo might be taking fashion advice from him. Stardust was the cousin of glitter after all. He also wasn’t exactly clear on just why a small pair of boots might be giving any kind of concert but Jasper and Apollo both were rather particular about their boots; only the most talented would have made the cut. Sometimes he hazarded to ask Jasper about whatever he and Apollo had been up to the last Saturday night, but his questions about just why on earth someone would pay to see not just a horror but The Horrors were always answered the same way. A disparaging look and a heavy sigh before being followed with a refusal for a Sour of the amaretto variety or any other.

Atlas investigated the small contraption; the base bit appeared to be a star, surrounded by a plastic ring. It was simple and elegant and beautiful. This was an amazing addition to their arsenal, nearly as good as those stickers in the shape of various pasta noodles that Rudolph had discovered last Easter. They’d accented the stale peep basket they had sent Harold perfectly.

I think you're right about the visual appeal of the fireplace at the house, but I honestly can't be arsed to apparate there and I don't think you're in any state to either. But I think-

A moment later Atlas was hobbling down the hall after the jewler, whos wand was already out, tapping restlessly against his leg. Once they had reached the study and Jasper was in his proper upright slouched position he flicked his wand and the fireplace made a series of rather attractive shifts. The painting nearly clocked Atlas in the back of head, he was only able to avoid it because of the yapping the animal made from the confines of its frame. Surveying the scene Jasper had made it looked every bit the regal Scottish Manor home, minus of course one communist sympathizer. Much better all around really.

Jasper leaned forward to survey what he had wrought and then sent Rudolph clattering back out of the room. Atlas nodded his approval of the job and then glanced over eyes narrowing as Jasper slipped over Dillan’s name. Odd. “W” in conjunction with an “E” really sounded not at all like any sort of name one would construct using a “D” sound. Though it was very possible that in the heat of the moment and the excitement over a Harold letter after so long without one that Jasper’s mind was wandering a bit.

“How is Batman doing? I heard both the Joker and the Riddler had recently escaped Arkham. Nasty business that, he should be more careful about his secret identity, and a level 2 employee? Really its rather cliché….”

Harold grew up in Ottery St. Catchpole, didn't he? He won't know anything about Batman.

Atlas turned, distracted away from running his hand along the newly created ornate marble mantle piece and looked back at Jasper. Ottery St. Catchpole was an area that Jasper and himself had been able to bond over as a child. Not in the usual sense where two people bonded over a place they were mutual from, it was much the opposite really. The attachment had grown from the fact that not only did neither of them hail from there but that for some time it was a place neither believed actually existed. Atlas still wasn’t really sure anyway.

“No, I doubt a place like that really had a lot of literature on hand. And we’re not counting Marvin the Mad Muggle…..” Seating himself in one of the arm chairs he wiggled, testing the cushions and the weight. “And I don’think Talkies have reached Wales yet. Definitely not Technicolor, would frighten them horribly I’d think.”

“With that thought in mind I think we should invest in one of those stereoscopic mildly holographic photo developing techniques. Could give the locals a real scare, especially if we installed a projector to go along with it. Maybe it could have a singing delivery man…”

Lifting the cane he leaned forward and nudged the box of card stock over so that it was within reach. Carefully reaching in he extracted some of the bits and baubles from the trove. I think scented card stock might be the way to go about things in this case. A few of these smell like ladies of the night…this lavender one is quiet nice.” He left off sniffing it a moment later. “But not really what we’re looking for. What do you think our glitter to paper percentage should be this go round?”

“How is Batman doing? I heard both the Joker and the Riddler had recently escaped Arkham. Nasty business that, he should be more careful about his secret identity, and a level 2 employee? Really its rather cliché….”

Jasper listened with a kind of blinking disinterest that had been honed over long years of hearing to Atlas reference things that he had absolutely no knowledge of. He could have paid attention, perhaps even asked questions and then feigned interest in the expanded information, but he'd adopted the philosophy at a young age that he should reserve most of the space in his brain for A: new smuggling plans, B: the locations of London's most exclusive boutiques, C: the complete track listing of every album sold in Rough Trade since 1987, and D: models' phone numbers. Plus, once you got into listening to Atlas you were one step away from wearing a tinfoil hat and communicating with the Zetas via laser. His conversation, much like the 'music' of Tool, was best kept to a dull, distant murmur.

They shared a vindictive smirk over Ottery St. Catchpole. It was an added bonus to their continued torture that Harold seemed consigned by the gods to live in the most dreadful parts of the United Kingdom. As a child, Jasper couldn't name a place worse than Ottery St. Catchpole; it was only when Wendell told him of Wales that he understood the true horrors of the world. Atlas, who had struggled to accept only the moderate misery of OSC (as they eventually dubbed it, as though it was too horrible to have its full name spoken), had denied the existence of Wales until they were two years out of Hogwarts, when Jasper had bought him a book of Welsh postcards so that they could tack them around their respective homes as constant reminders of Harold's much-deserved punishment for seven years of oxygen thievery and stubborn existence.

“And I don’t think Talkies have reached Wales yet. Definitely not Technicolor, would frighten them horribly I’d think.”

Atlas settled himself into an armchair, casting dubious glances at the carpet as though it would suddenly wind around his ankles and strangle him like a handmade wool python. Much like the Mervyn argument, Jasper had long since given up trying to convince his friend that Luxembourg was a simple and wonderful land whose people had laundered a great deal of money for Jasper. It was a conflict in which there were no winners, much like day two of a cricket match.

“With that thought in mind I think we should invest in one of those stereoscopic mildly holographic photo developing techniques. Could give the locals a real scare, especially if we installed a projector to go along with it. Maybe it could have a singing delivery man…”

"That's genius!" Atlas, for all his shortcomings, really did have a remarkable creativity for this kind of thing. "Maybe Apollo will deliver it if I give him some leftover glitter glue and strawberry bootlaces. He can sing some Klaxons if I give him the rhinestone keyboard I got him for his birthday early."

Harold had once commented that Klaxons sounded like "a pack of particularly shrill cats dying at the hands of aliens." Jasper had proceeded to demonstrate what that would actually sound like. Every night. For three months. At a decibel level just above that of an ascending fighter jet. Using a speaker embedded in Harold's pillow and some well placed Muffilatos.

Atlas shuffled the box onto his lap and dug through enthusiastically, Jasper still scrutinizing the atrocious cane. He tugged it from Atlas' hand as the other man held up several pieces of heavy paper for consideration.

"I think scented card stock might be the way to go about things in this case. A few of these smell like ladies of the night…this lavender one is quiet nice.” He left off sniffing it a moment later. “But not really what we’re looking for. What do you think our glitter to paper percentage should be this go round?”

Jasper, lips pressed together in concentration as he attempted to make the cane look somewhat presentable, was briefly silent. Medical grade plastic seemed remarkably resistant to transfiguration; probably the nurses' last attempt to thwart any sort of fun. Some determined prodding with his wand turned it into a respectable walking stick of deeply polished wood. He considered asking Atlas what sort of animal he'd like for the head, but knew the response would be something utterly inappropriate like 'hedgehog,' so he made the executive decision for a leopard. When you pressed its left eye (made of a flawless emerald), a narrow fencing foil flicked from the other end of the stick. He demonstrated once then handed it over to Atlas.

"Don't stab anything unless it's a lobster bandit or Harold." He leaned back again in his seat, scanning the paper scattered over Atlas' knees. "I'm thinking we need a high glitter percentage; statistics suggest that its presence is directly proportional to Harold's instances of solitary late night drinking and looking out over fields of sheep and weeping bitterly. We want those numbers high. Maybe a nice three to one?"

He gestured at the lavender paper that Atlas had rejected and inhaled. "That is rather okay, isn't it? I was thinking we might send Harold's wife a card as well. A normal one, without limericks about how Wales makes you want to die on the back cover. You'll never believe it, I did some research and she's actually human."

He Accioed a photo from his desk of a rather pretty young woman that had been a year below them in Hogwarts and passed it to Atlas. It had taken Jasper a rather long time to justify the fact that Harold had an attractive wife, but he eventually realized that she might be the one thing preventing Harold from actually hurling himself off a cliff and killing all their fun as usual. Then, true to form, he began to see other opportunities.

"I thought," Jasper said, best facetiously kind voice in place as he absentmindedly doodled on a sheet of stationery in gold glitter, eyebrows edging up slightly, "in light of how infrequently Harold gets vacations from the coal mine, she might like to pop round to London and tell me how he's getting on."

He paused and considered the paper in his hand. "Red or blue for the border, d'you think?"

Jasper seemed to be in one of his dubious moods. The kinds he tended to get in after something that should have been simple (say running contraband from point A in Hogwarts to point B) became very complicated (say Apollo didn't like point B because it was out of season or too near Artemis, or Atlas hadn't liked it because it bore a resemblance too close to that of Fort Ticondaroga, or Wendell had seen something female and vagely attractive over in point Q somewhere) and ended in disaster. Sometimes he managed to get himself into one of his dismissive fugues completely on his own. It was times like this when one had to dig into their reserve and pull something to re gain attention, or capture it in the first place. With this in mind Atlas had made the suggestion of the singing delivery man.

True to form Jasper lit up, That's genius! Maybe Apollo will deliver it if I give him some leftover glitter glue and strawberry bootlaces. Atlas could see no less than 14 possible problems with using Apollo in any kind of currier capacity. Many of them harkening back to the aforementioned issues of good old point A, B and all the shiny objects and distractions that came between. Of course if Jasper somehow managed to rig the keyboard he had mentioned on a fishing pole, or some sort of elaborate pulley system.......Jasper had relieved him of his cane.

Occupying himself with the card stock Atlas hardly noticed Jasper carefully concentrating and reforming the object. It was a commonplace occurrence at this point. Sometime around their third year, when Jasper had discovered how obscenely talented he was at tranfiguration, Atlas had started to discover little collectables and odd brick-a-brack all over the room. In the early stages they had been largely unrecognizable, a gargoyle with its head sunk in, a small disco ball that hadn't quite made the magical journey from Harold's glasses into its new more spherical form with grace. It had, in fact, taken several months (months spent collecting all of said grotesque and studying them for any signs of Shirley's involvement) before he deduced that Jasper was the originator. Well, not deduced so much as simply observed and since then he had taken to laying bait for his friend. A small porcelain turtle here, a hideous paper weight there, then all one had to do was sit back and see what Jasper would absentmindedly come up with.

He seemed to be paying the construction of Atlas cane a bit more conscious mind. A tiny muscle near Jasper's temple twitched and the plastic gave way to finely polished and by the looks of it very sturdy wood. That alone would have been more than satisfactory but this was the torture of Harold and steps had to be taken to ensure the maximum effect. As such what was still a gnarled and unruly handle at the top of the object twisted further until the head of a great cat protruded in its place. Paper forgotten Atlas observed closely as Jasper lifted the cane to eye level, inspecting his handy work before raising his index finger and poking one of the cat's eyes with a rather deliberate stabbing motion. The fencing saber that fell from the chamber was as elegant and refined as the rest of Jasper's handiwork. Wrapped up as he was in the demonstration he almost missed when Jasper tossed the cane in his direction. The sudden movement made him wince but Jasper didn't seem to have taken notice as he instructed Atlas on the cane's use.

Now he was on to more important matters, "I'm thinking we need a high glitter percentage; statistics suggest that its presence is directly proportional to Harold's instances of solitary late night drinking and looking out over fields of sheep and weeping bitterly. We want those numbers high. Maybe a nice three to one?

Three to one? They were going to need some more embossing glitter then....it looked as if they were in woeful supply following their Cinco De Mayo card from three years ago. They had discovered stamps and embossing guns on the same day and immediately thought to send Harold some sort of greeting. The only issue had arrisen when they had realized that there weren't really any iminent holidays on the horizon that might warrent a card. Disheartened Atlas had suggested tacos, which drew only looks of pity and disgust from Jasper until Atlas had assured him he wouldn't actually be required to consume a taco and could just have two for tuesday Margaritas instead. That was when they had discovered the 5th of May and the wonderful opportunity it had presented them. The card had been guineas but Atlas hoped Jasper didn't intend to use green in the color scheme of this card.

Delving into the deeper reaches of the box Atlas began to find their little used glitter stock and a healthy supply of confetti, most of it shaped like small welsh sheep. Ah Saint Davids Day, that had been a good card. I was thinking we might send Harold's wife a card as well. Jasper's tone was coy, some would have said 'innocent' but the term had ceased to be one Atlas could equate to his friend the afternoon he had first been informed about how Jasper was planning to salvage his terribly low Divination grades. Atlas raised an eyebrow slowly. You'll never believe it, I did some research and she's actually human.

Atlas supposed that was nice for Harold but it did leave him with a vague feeling of disappointment. Waving goodbye to the painstaking mental construction he had created to determine what exactly Harold's sheep human hybrid children must look like, Atlas resigned himself to allowing for a new mental image of the person who had graciously acquiesced to being Harold's law fully bound partner. It was strange that she would be human, to have agreed to such a thing Atlas really would have thought you'd have to be incapable of normal human brain processes.

Jasper handed him an accioed photo, as if he knew that Atlas wouldn't be satisfied until there was solid proof. She was rather pretty and after a moment of study Atlas realized that he knew her. The photo, which after jasper's calling it research had convinced Atlas that he had hired someone to loom in the couples shrubs, was from one of the Hogwarts Alumni letters. They were published every few months, wedding announcements, requests for donations from the school govenors, and sometimes pieces about particularly talented and successful alumni. Atlas' mother still had the issue that had come out right after Jasper had opened his shop, framed and above the family mantle piece.

I thought, And before he said anything more Atlas knew where he was going, in light of how infrequently Harold gets vacations from the coal mine, she might like to pop round to London and tell me how he's getting on. When Atlas looked up from the photo and over to Jasper he was busying himself with the task at hand. A pen between each finger, carefully concentrating. Red of blue for the border, d'you think?

"Blue." Atlas answered, barely skipping a beat. He dug into the box and tossed Jasper a few other shades. "You might want to got for a less subdued shade though. I suspect brighter colors will do a better job of comparing our two places of habitations. That navy your holding might blend in too well with the rest of the areas drab color scheme. Are we going to need the embossing gun?" He held the object up, the cord coiling and trailing at their feet.

"This visit your proposing...would I be correct in my assumption that this lovely young woman might be staying at the Chatuea De Christie? Really Jasper...." he paused as a coil of dazzling yellow ribbon caught his eye, "Well I wouldn't say that I thought you above such tactics, but I did think that I distinctly remembered you informing me that you had retired the Divination method." Next would come some quaint statement concerning Atlas and his cute little feelings about human sexuality. "That having been said I think I recall she was quiet fond of green and...." He searched his brain, "Honeysuckle. We have to have some of that somewhere..." More rummaging. "And who doesn't like emeralds."

"The cane is commendable, craftsmanship is solid. Which shall we start on first then? The wife's will need some calligraphy..." Snatching up a piece of scrap he carefully extracted a fountain pen, grey ink, but it would do for practice. "Something long and elegant, everything she lacks in wales." he held up his work for Jasper, a perfect imitation of Madame DePompadours loopy handwriting, he'd learned it to forge documents but had decided later that the writing of Abraham Lincoln was better suited to fake tax records. "Thoughts?"

Atlas looked crestfallen when he discovered that Harold's wife was neither hideously disfigured or a ewe, but he recovered at the chance to use glitter pens. In their card making endeavors, Atlas was often the creative brains of the operation, but Jasper was the one who executed the construction of the card. He had the eye for detail that made them so exquisitely mean, but Atlas had a spontaneous creativity that suggested a certain joie de vivre eternally out of Harold's coal-dust-covered grasp.

"Blue. You might want to got for a less subdued shade though. I suspect brighter colors will do a better job of comparing our two places of habitations. That navy your holding might blend in too well with the rest of the areas drab color scheme. Are we going to need the embossing gun?"

He offered Jasper some options, then held up the referenced tool. Jasper, having selected a cheerful periwinkle the color the sunny skies Harold would never see in Llandudno, grinned.

"We always need the embossing gun."

That wasn't strictly true, the two of them had survived until age twenty five without the embossing gun, but Jasper now considered that time of his life an empty husk, devoid of any real joy. The embossing gun, which Atlas had discovered on a journey in Muggle London for some extra smiley face stickers for their annual Boxing Day card. With a few tweaks from Jasper, the embossing gun had become their favorite stationer's accessory. They were especially proud of the stamp that Jasper had transfigured last Guy Fawkes day, which showed the two of them tossing Galleons into the air as they strolled down the main street of Monaco with the top twenty Miss Universe contestants.

Jasper, happily outlining the card in attractive geometric patterns, looked up to find Atlas considering him seriously.

"This visit your proposing...would I be correct in my assumption that this lovely young woman might be staying at the Chatuea De Christie? Really Jasper...."

His disapproval waned momentarily as a bright yellow strand of ribbon unraveled from the box on his lap. That would make a really nice addition to the wife's card... They both looked up at the same time, blinking away the distraction. Jasper continued outlining, awaiting the barrage of morality that was undoubtedly on its way. He'd had years of experience dealing with this.

"Well I wouldn't say that I thought you above such tactics, but I did think that I distinctly remembered you informing me that you had retired the Divination method." Jasper rolled his eyes and sighed. At least Atlas had stopped outrightly accusing him of being a rentboy. That had only taken about six years. And really, he'd needed an EE in Divination and Wendell had assured him it would be easy, but Jasper didn't like tea or thinking before 3 PM. What else was he supposed to do? "That having been said I think I recall she was quiet fond of green and...Honeysuckle. We have to have some of that somewhere..."

Atlas dove into the box and returned with an attractive shade of card stock. Jasper nodded in approval.

"And who doesn't like emeralds."

"An inspired choice." He put the card aside and dug through his pockets for some spare pebbles. There were usually a few floating around, left over from collection excursions into the back garden. He came up with a small handful and set about prodding them into an emerald bracelet as Atlas continued, twirling the cane through his fingers to examine it more closely.

"Which shall we start on first then? The wife's will need some calligraphy...Something long and elegant, everything she lacks in Wales."

"That looks ace, she'll love it. I mean, as long as she hasn't forgotten how to read...so many years away from civilization. Hopefully one of her neighbors will have come from the old country recently enough to help her out."

He finished the bracelet off with a gold clasp and offered it to Atlas for consideration. "What d'you think? Does it need something else? Diamonds? We can decide when the card is finished, yeah?"

Picking up Harold's card again, he resumed embellishing as Atlas took up the pen again, awaiting dictation.

"Right, here goes. My dear--what's her name?" He referenced the photo briefly. "Agnes. How...sad. Poor thing.

"My dear Agnes, I'm sure you've seen the cards that Harold receives periodically from his old roommates, and it occurred to Atlas and I that we've been horribly negligent in not sending our greetings on to his lovely wife as well. I know how difficult it is for Harold to get vacation time, but I thought you might enjoy a weekend getaway at my home in London. I'd love to hear how my dear old friend is getting on in the mines and show you the very best of what London has to offer. Plus I do have a terrible lot of space in my house, which is above my jewelry shop. I'm afraid it would be just the two of us for the weekend as Atlas has an aversion to designer shopping, Michelin star restaurants, and exclusive clubs, but we'll certainly enjoy ourselves, won't we?

"Please consider the enclosed bracelet a token of my certainty that I'll be seeing you in London soon. Do make sure to show it to Harold."

Jasper paused, chin resting on his hand, then gave a satisfied nod. "Here, let me sign it. You don't think it needs anything else?"

Jasper seemed to be completely nonchalant about Atlas' moral objections to what was obviously a scheme to seduce Harold's wife. Years ago Atlas supposed he would have been more offended, perhaps bordering on outrage. He'd spent a good deal of his time in school lecturing Jasper on morality. All he had to show for it were years of wasted oxygen and a good deal of carbon monoxide. That and through ignoring him Jasper had been able to more or less perfect the combination eye roll and heavy put upon sigh that he was now employing in response to Atlas.

As it was now, with years of eye rolls and sighs wearing him down Atlas decided to just leave off the issue. He wasn't one for infidelity by any means but the poor woman had chosen Harold, Harold who liked to go to bed at seven PM, Harold who had reported poor Gilda (Atlas first home made chemical thrower) to the prefect and earned Atlas a week in detention, Harold who had once tripped over a bean that Wendell had dropped in the 4th floor corridor and managed to break both ankles.

Someone who would have sworn to that kind of life had to be one of three types of people, a simpleton of the saddest and most pitiful kind, a masochist, or a saint. Thinking about it he supposed that none of those three would be particularly dangerous to the general population if brought to London. If they were the Saint then an expensive lavish weekend with Jasper might be the reward that they needed upon this earth to keep them going. If they were the Simpleton, they would find London to be even more exciting, more bright and vibrant, maybe even overwhelming, but they would love every moment of it.

The only real problem Jasper might run into would be if Agnes turned out to be the masochist. In which case he doubted she would except Jasper's invitation in the first place. Preferring to remain squatting in whatever mud hut they no doubt inhabited, mending bones every time Harold found a pebble or a small scrap of something in his path to trip on.

Rather than continue in his completely useless venture of warning Jasper off running about with another man's wife, Atlas made the suggestion of emeralds which Jasper seemed to be much more receptive towards. A moment later wand in one hand and pebbles in the other Jasper was working the objects into something resembling a piece of jewelery. For a moment Atlas watched mesmerized by the way the dull stones went glassy and then sparkly, morphing into perfect cuts.

What d'you think? Does it need something else? Diamonds? Atlas looked up from his inspection of the bracelet. He'd never really been good at jewelery. He didn't know what cuts and shapes and colors looked well together, how they should be placed. So he just let his mouth hang ajar for a moment, his silence did the trick and Jasper moved on. We can decide when the card is finished, yeah?

Atlas nodded, not quiet wanting to say aloud that Jasper knew best. In this case the phrase was actually true but it was rather the principal of the thing. Again silence was the trick as Jasper took up his pen again and re-commenced filing out the border of Harold's card. A few moments of embellishment and then Jasper left off, setting the pen down carefully and then lounging back against the couch. One arm propped his head up while the other lilted back and fourth through the air. All they needed was a corgi and a half eaten box of bon bons and Jasper would have been the picture of aristocracy. Or Sophia Robards mother....

It wasn't the first time that Jasper had assumed the position as it were and Atlas knew exactly what was expected of him. Plucking up a pen from the box in a pleasing shade of green he placed it against the paper, waited. Right, here goes. My dead---whatss her name? As Jasper unfolded himself long enough to snatch up the photo and glance at the caption beneath it Atlas, sighing in frustration, discarded the first piece of paper (which now began with My Dear Whatshername) and readied another.

This time he managed to copy things down correctly. Making sure to add the proper masculine elegance to the 'l's and 'j's. As his voice faded away Jasper shifted in his seat, the hand that hand been cutting lazy arcs through the air now came to rest beneath his chin. That didn't last long as a moment later Jasper sprang forward, fingers flexing toward himself as he requested the card. Here, let me sign it. Atlas handed it over, careful not to smudge the ink and then offered the pen to Jasper. You think it needs anything else?

Atlas leaned forward and extended a hand, waiting for Jasper to place it into his palm before reading over the letter, inspecting the signature and the lightly embossed vines at the header and footer. “It needs a seal....you have to have some somewhere don't you? And a spring of honey suckle, possibly with sugar cane.” He looked up to find Jasper blinking at him. “You use then as a garnish in mojitos...And how do you intend to send the bracelet? Attach the letter to some sort of box...and I think that we should send the two of them together, just to guarantee she won't spirit the token or your esteem or your invitation away before Harold's able to see them. Should we write him a letter as well?”

Lifting the a new pen and paper he shrugged at Jasper.

Letter signed and penmanship duly admired, Jasper turned the card back over. He had always wondered where Atlas learned calligraphy, but he was afraid to ask. Sometimes elaborations on Atlas' past were more alarming than they were informative. He was still trying to forget the four hour lecture he'd received about the staging of the Apollo missions when he'd asked Atlas how he knew so much about screen printing, and he still wasn't sure he'd ever gotten a solid answer.

“It needs a seal....you have to have some somewhere don't you?"

Jasper did, of course. He rarely used it, since a great deal of his correspondence was better off untraceable. The seal was a family one, something in Latin about fidelity and honor. The center had a tree of some sort inside. Jasper imagined, based on these clues, that Ye Olde Christies had been intensely boring people. He Accioed the steal from his bedroom and tried to remember if he had any sealing wax in the house. There was a red candle on the mantle, that would have to do. He stood and retrieved it, lighting it with his wand as Atlas continued.

"And a spring of honey suckle, possibly with sugar cane.” Jasper turned in confusion, candle in hand. “You use then as a garnish in mojitos...And how do you intend to send the bracelet? Attach the letter to some sort of box...and I think that we should send the two of them together, just to guarantee she won't spirit the token or your esteem or your invitation away before Harold's able to see them. Should we write him a letter as well?”

"First of all," Jasper said as he carefully dripped a pool of wax onto the envelope's edge, "I'm not making you a bloody mojito."

The past weeks had been a veritable purgatory of bespoke drinks. Jasper's kitchen, usually pristine, was full of maraschino cherries and fruit liqueurs and sprigs of...things. It was deeply unsettling. Jasper sighed as he pressed and held the seal for a few seconds before pulling it away carefully, thinking of all the alcohol that had been needlessly sullied. He waved his wand over the envelope and inhaled. Honeysuckle, perfect. How was that her favorite scent anyhow? Were there even flowers in Wales?

"I'll get a box from the shop to send it. Might be best if we put both letters underneath the bracelet and addressed the whole thing to Harold, then he can't miss it." He paused contemplatively. "Harold's not allergic to honeysuckle, is he?" Atlas shook his head. "Shame."

Atlas was poised with pen in hand once more but he was looking a bit worn, circles under his eyes and shoulders sagging. They were going to have to hold out on the pictures until he looked less like he was going to keel over at any moment. Harold might identify with that.

"As for the letter to Harold, just the usual, yeah? How extravagantly wealthy and happy we are, that sort of thing. Feel free to mention the Aston, we can follow up with photos on that American holiday we always send cards for-- President's Day? We'll do the pictures for this one tomorrow I think, I'm not happy with the current smoking jacket selection."

Atlas cast a dubious look up at Jasper before he commenced writing again. It was an expression he'd seen frequently at Hogwarts.

"Mate, think of it as a favor for the poor girl. She lives in Wales with Harold, a weekend here might be the bright spot she needs to get through another few decades of drudgery." He smiled. "It's practically charity."

Jasper was standing at the mantel, back to Atlas, shoulders hunched in a way that either indicated concentration or a vampire hunched and ready to go for it's next meal, dripping candle wax onto the envelop. Concentration then. Armed with the knowledge that Jasper would have a hell of a time getting red candle wax out of the pristine shirt he was wearing decided to leave off of further harassment and recommenced looking through the box for the pen that screamed, letter to harold. He found the gel pens and discarded them, remembering the disaster that had been the aborted Columbus Day card of two years ago. Jasper had mourned the death of his shirt with a designer name longer than Atlas' great great grandmother for days. Atlas was surprised the pens were still here and hadn't been transfigured into toilet paper and left in a public restroom in Camden. He stuffed them back down into the box in favor of a traditional fountain pen.

First of all, Atlas paused in the process of refilling the ink vile to glance at Jasper who's back was still firmly to him. I'm not making you a bloody mojito.

Well, it had been worth a shot. He finished refilling at the same time Jasper turned around, blowing on the seal carefully. I'll get a box from the shop to send it. Might be best if we put both letters underneath the bracelet and addressed the whole thing to Harold, then he can't miss it. Harold's not allergic to honeysuckle, is he? Atlas commenced his mental rundown of allergens. He called quickly that Harold was allergic to bees and that in the event that a bee was present and stung him he would have had only a few more minutes of complaining to live. After the two of them had learned that fact Atlas had given serious consideration to bee keeping being his next hobby of choice. It had, sadly, never come to pass. The hives would have been massive, certainly larger than the space Harold himself occupied much to Jasper's chagrin. That and he would have had to train every bee single handedly, if even one stung Jasper there would have been a biblical reckoning from his mother.

He also recalled that he had been allergic to wheat, unfortunate but in no way related to honeysuckle and so he was forced to shake his head 'no'. Jasper's face fell. Shame.

It was actually, maybe he just had seasonal allergies. Atlas was sure that it was at least possible to add some ragweed microbes to the paper. What else was magic good for? Looking up he was ready to suggest it to Jasper but stopped talking when he noticed Jasper looking at him. Surveying really. They're eyes met for a moment and then Jasper turned and began pacing back and forth along the fireplace, his hands waving and gesturing in front of him as he went. As for the letter to Harold, just the usual, yeah? How extravagantly wealthy and happy we are, that sort of thing. Feel free to mention the Aston, we can follow up with photos on that American holiday we always send cards for----President's Day? We'll do the pictures for this one tomorrow I think, I'm not happy with the current smoking jacket selection.

Atlas raised an eyebrow at what, to him, sounded like a flippant and quickly composed excuse. You could tell with Jasper but only after years of observation. There was no hesitancy in his voice, he was too well trained for that; it was instead the tightening of his lips and the slightest halt in the motion of his hands. Rather than pushing or trying to get Jasper to change his mind Atlas found himself grateful. He was scrawling the letter out to Harold, morphing his own handwriting back to its usual blocked lettering. Eloquently detailing the purchase of the the Aston Martin, the latest rare artifact that had passed from Atlas' hands to those of a collector, he passed over some of the less savory details, mostly the ones concerning his new found homelessness and instead added a small subsection involving his new found interest in the 'lovely' nurses of St. Mungo's. The letters were beginning to blur around the edges but Atlas ignored it, pausing to rub at his eyes, before blinking owlishly at Jasper who looked less than pleased about the scrutiny.

Mate, think of it as a favor for the poor girl. She lives in Wales with Harold, a weekend here might be the bright spot she needs to get through another few decades of drudgery. It's practically charity.

A wry smile crossed his face. "Doesn't hurt that she's well fit I suppose? What do you think a girl like her would even think was fun. The cinema is out, its too technologically advanced for her, you don't want to cause some kind of aneurism before you even get to evening cocktails. Concerts might be out as well, all those lights and loud music, it'd be so different from the lutes and soft fiddles of the Welsh countryside."

With those thoughts in mind he added a few more embellishments to the note still open in front of him. "You don't think she could be a plant do you? Maybe thats not the real Agnes at all, just someone your mother hired to look like her. She'd know that you couldn't resist the opportunity to make Harold miserable, the real Agnes could be gone and replaced by this sleeper agent." His hand shook slightly as he wrote but he finished off the last sentence reading, 'Missing you as always, a pity it requires so many shots to visit Wales these days.', he blew on the ink and passed the letter off to Jasper for approval. "Just something to think about. Be careful about."

Atlas' face folded back into its default expression of skepticism. Jasper should have known better than to use the word charity, that was an obvious tipoff for ulterior motives. The only time he did charity work was when he had the opportunity to enrage Astbury by appearing as a model citizen. He was particularly fond of the time he'd invited Astbury to help him cut the ribbon at the opening of the Christie ward in the St. Mungo's children's wing. The Auror had been forced to attend, of course. Jasper kept a picture of him holding the giant novelty scissors, face screwed up like he'd just done a few shots of lemon juice.

"Doesn't hurt that she's well fit I suppose?

Jasper grinned back. "Never hurts."

"What do you think a girl like her would even think was fun...?

Jasper hadn't considered the many dangers of exposing the simple folk to his lifestyle. Even for him, sending Harold's wife back in a catatonic state seemed a bit mean. Sure, he'd once moved all Harold's clothes to the bottom of the owlery when Harold left some eraser bits on the floor too near Jasper's shoes, but there was a difference between that and actually being cruel.

He glanced down at the final touches Atlas was putting on their card. Looking splendid, as always. The other man paused, chewing on the end of his pen contemplatively. Nothing good could come of that expression. Jasper steeled himself.

"You don't think she could be a plant do you? Maybe thats not the real Agnes at all, just someone your mother hired to look like her. She'd know that you couldn't resist the opportunity to make Harold miserable, the real Agnes could be gone and replaced by this sleeper agent."

Atlas looked at him with genuine concern. While Mrs. Christie had been known, especially as Jasper progressed toward "old age," to use more and more devious tactics, he didn't think she'd escalated to plans quite that elaborate. He hoped. No, this was certainly a figment of Atlas' imagination. Jasper had, admittedly, fostered a fear of Eres Christie in his friend over the years, just to provide an added threat that kept Atlas safely away from his clothes and girlfriends. Sure, now Atlas thought that Mrs. Christie is always watching, and perhaps that certain events from The Exorcist were inspired by (a toned down version of) what had happened when someone had stepped on Jasper's toe as a child, but that was a small price to pay for the security of his ties.

"Just something to think about. Be careful about." Atlas said as he handed over the card for final approval. Those sentences had concluded many a warning over the years. "I heard that the top of Big Ben is unstable and will someday come crashing down, impaling hundreds of people on its spire." "Sometimes mangoes have rabid parakeets inside them where the pit should be." "If you wear a scarf on October fourth it will get caught in the wheel of a tram and strangle you."

Jasper nodded toward the card. "It looks genius. As for Agnes, you might be right about going out in London. I don't want her to feel overwhelmed and--God forbid-- go home and tell Harold she prefers Wales. We'll just have to stay in." He shot Atlas the merry grin of someone about to make someone else supremely uncomfortable. "I don't think she's a plant rogue agent, but I'll do some very close observation just to be sure."

He put the card on the coffee table to dry and lit a celebratory cigarette as he sat back down. "On that note, if you happen to see Cal heading over here that weekend, send Rudolph or something to head him off." Sigh of annoyance over Cal's increasingly erratic behavior. "Not that he's been around here much anyhow in the couple of weeks, you'll be pleased to hear."

We'll just have to stay in. One of the fingers on Atlas' hand twitched uncomfortably and a split second later his foot followed with a similar response. With concerted effort he kept his foot firmly on the ground but it was a losing battle with his hand which snaked its way up to the back oh his neck. It was a nervous uncomfortable reaction which he had tried in vain to train himself out of for years. Jasper had a natural talent for invoking it in him, and as soon as the words registered with a mental image of what 'staying in' entailed Atlas skin crawled. He scratched determinedly all the while doing his utmost to ignore the exceedingly please expression coloring his friends face. Atlas was of the opinion that making him uncomfortable should have brought the other man the level of pleasure it did, not because of the Schadenfreude of the whole thing but rather because it was lamentably easy to do. At least with enough observation.

I don't think she's a plant rogue agent, but I'll do some very close observation just do be sure. Atlas wasn't looking at Jasper, preoccupied as he was with singing 'The Quiet Song' in his head at ever increasing decibel levels, but he would bet that Jasper might have winked at the tail end of that comment. He must have winked, it was the perfect topper but Atlas wasn't going to look until he was sure it wouldn't inspire more muscle spasms on his part. He'd have to remember to set up one or two security measures before Agnes arrived. Just to be safe.

A flurry of finely timed movement made Atlas glance back up in time to see a flash of light off Jasper's lighter as it was returned to his pocket. Jasper's right hand held the cigarette loosely between two fingers while his other adjusted his tie, brushed back his hair and then finally with no more chores to attend to settled on the arm. Jasper never really stopped moving, he idled. On that note, There was a moment where Atlas falsely hoped Jasper might take him up on his offer to outfit Jasper with a personal set of security charms. Sure they hadn't worked so well on the test rats but those had seemed to have remarkably high blood pressure, he was sure that exploding didn't always have to be the outcome. Atlas was fully prepared to offer his expertise on the subject when.... If you happen to see Cal heading over here that weekend, send Rudolph or something to head him off. The cigarette came up to his lips as Jasper inhaled and then sighed in a manner suggesting frustration. Atlas said nothing.

Not that he'd been around here much anyhow in the couple of weeks, you'll be pleased to hear.

Through the smoke Jasper looked over at him but Atlas couldn't really read his face. Swallowing he considered how he might go about giving a response to that. He had thought a great deal about what kind of apology would be sufficient and when he had come up with nothing suitable. So he hadn't said anything. He was still deeply ashamed over what had happened and perhaps the only thing he remembered clearly from lying on the pavement outside of SHOP was that maybe he was being punished somehow for his pervious actions.

"Jasper." Pause. Recollect. Make coherent. So many thought terminating cliches to use, 'i was wrong', 'i didn't mean it', 'i wasn't in my right mind', and none of them particularly useful or appropriate. "I'm a horrible person." He concluded.

Jasper inhaled and let the smoke float quietly through his sinuses before exhaling slowly, head sinking into the leather of the chair. There was a moment during which Atlas stared at him curiously through the exhaled coil of smoke, eyes narrowing. That face made him uncomfortable; it was too close to the interrogation face. Normally a question like, "Jas, have you been communicating with the citizens of Mars?" He steeled himself, but Atlas' face turned suddenly serious. It was an expression that had been getting a lot more milage since the demise of SHOP. Jasper found himself disappointed; he thought the card making process would keep Atlas cheerful for at least a few hours.

"Jasper." Atlas frowned, started to say something and stopped. "I'm a horrible person."

Another drag on his cigarette gave Jasper time to think. He felt like an idiot for bringing up Cal. It was going to have to be mentioned eventually, but perhaps he should have held off a bit longer. He thought it would have been clear to Atlas that all was forgiven in the face recent events, but the lingering guilt was understandable. Atlas' actions had been so out of character, as had Jasper's response. The only other time they'd not been on speaking terms, in over a decade of friendship, had been the time Atlas had used one of Jasper's tie pins to secure a dried insect to a bit of styrofoam, and that had lasted only 48 hours.

Jasper looked across the room at the familiar sight of Atlas on the other side of the mantle, and was surprised that he wasn't angry in the slightest. He thought back to the confrontation in Atlas' basement at New Year's, and now it seemed eons ago. Particularly in the face of Cal's increasingly strange and annoying behavior, Jasper couldn't find it in himself to chastise his friend anymore.

"Mate, I didn't bring up Cal because I wanted an apology." He inhaled again and noticed that his cigarette was nearly burned down to his fingertips, so he stubbed it out and lit another immediately. "If anything I intended it as a hint that you didn't need to feel bad about it. Neither of you behaved very well, and Cal is fine now. Or--whatever. His normal self. Like the tie pin, I've decided to let it go."

It had to come up sooner or later, it was a common thing for humans to fight with one another, for friends to fight, family even more. But those were usually about little things, someone had taken your bicycle, someone was late for something, a person had dropped the ball on completely a heist, or a smuggling run; all of these scenarios were things Atlas had some experience in. All of these were scenarios he knew how to deal with. Although he had searched he hadn't been able to find a single example to meet his own anywhere and therefore found himself at a loss on how to go about mending it. In the end he had had to accept that there really were no set permitters for mending a relationship with a childhood friend after kidnapping and torture on your part and uncharacteristic yelling and physical retaliation on their part.

Jasper's blow to Atlas' stomach, expertly delivered for someone who liked doing their own physical work as much as Pete Doherty liked a house empty of cats, had smarted for days afterwards and driven home just had bad the situation had been. Jasper took another drag, the light from the end of the cigarette illuminating his face.

Watching him now it was difficult for Atlas to morph Jasper's slack, calmly blank expression, into the face he had seen that night. When he spoke up Jasper's eyes narrowed and Atlas wondered if he had failed the test somehow. He'd watched people say the wrong things to Jasper all his life, Harold had been the first and the word that had damned him for all seven years had been a firm and simple "no", the same for Artemis, William Robards because he had stood in the way of what Jasper had dubbed 'progress' and Robards had dubbed as 'dubious undertakings', after school there had been Manuel, the french goods dealer who had raised ire for not being able to differentiate between bands with a London and a Sheffield sound.

During the early years of their friendship Atlas had wondered what his words would be. 'Maybe we're being a little harsh on Harold', 'Artemis isn't so bad.', 'Is it possible to be both a ginger and a good person?'. It was something he hadn't thought about in years and now that he was he sincerely hoped that they wouldn't be, 'I'm a horrible person.' as true as the statement was it wasn't at all what he would have hoped for.

"Mate, I didn't bring up Cal because I wanted an apology." Atlas chin, which had been resting against the curve of his chest lifted as Jasper went through the mechanical process of lighting another cigarette. "If anything I intended it as a hint that you didn't need to feel bad about it. Neither of you behaved very well, and Cal is fine now. Or--whatever. His normal self. Like the tie pin, I've decided to let it go."

He'd forgotten the pin.... "You....," He replayed the words, looked for hints of irony or cruelty. "You have?" His voice had squeaked up into a slightly higher register and suddenly he deflated, letting go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I hadn't considered that as a remote possibility."

He thought to the monogrammed trunk and the first time he'd met Jasper the anxiety of all of his completely wrong expectations of the Christie families only son. "You're remarkable sometimes. I thought I was screwed actually...." He glanced up at Jasper," When i figured out you were you and not death, but. Thank you, for more than I can articulate." Plucking up the card he ran a hand over the edge, mildly uncomfortable as he always was in situations not completely dictated by logic and reason. "The tie pin wasn't that special was it? It didn't look like much...."