HP: Katie Bell - Scene, "Business Deal with Mr. Lupin"

[keylimetruffle]

The smog swirled around within the strands of her hair, which were already making her cross by falling out of her hair ribbon and into her face. Katie Bell always felt this twisting nervousness before the beginning of business transactions, thick and churning with her abdomen, leftover from bulky men with underappreciating and overappreciating eyes who thought her bargaining would wilt like nettles in a pan. Granted, she doubted that the Professor (for, although she addressed the letter as 'Mister,' Katie feared that Remus Lupin would never be anything to her other than a professor) would be the sort; in her crackling memories from younger years, he appeared to her as a kindly, considerate man who valued opinions in the classroom, which was probably why she had defied the odds and thrived for that blip of time within the realm of academia. Still, she was nervous, and the current surroundings did not help. Most of her former clients had invited her to mostly magical sections of places, but the Professor had requested her to come to a gigantic Muggle landmark. There was cursing, weird clothing, the Floo, and dodging strange vehicules (at least, that is what Katie supposed their given names to be) all involved, so she had but barely survived the meeting already.

Still, she was there. Katie was there and she was standing with a green hair ribbon in her hair under a strange, tall tower with smog swirling around her ankles and a stock book in a small satchel in her hand. All she could do, really, was wait and watch the small, strange watch in the palm of her hand tell her what she needed to know. Currently, it was telling her that it was two-fifty, and although it was telling her that there were no calla lilies quite yet, Katie had faith that such telltale blooms were probably weaving through the strangers as she glanced at the clock face with great urgency.

The thick green stem twirled casually in Remus Lupin's fingertips as he walked, searching for Katie Bell with the green ribbon in her hair. Trafalgar Square, in its inherent state of transient flux, was at its afternoon lull ...

Finally, through the rolling banks of smog, he spotted Katie and stepped up next to her with bloom outstretched.

"Ms Bell, I presume?"

"Correct, sir!" Katie said, surprising herself with the cheek she hardly knew she still had. A finger and a possibly entirely irritating grin were both shown then, in the midst of flowers and dirty clouds, as she said, "Ten points for you, then!" Absent-mindedly (and, later, when she would stare at herself in foggy retrospect, perhaps unwisely), she took the flower and used it for the wild gesturing that went along with her deceptively large steps and loud mouth. "If you know my name and are carrying as you promise, I know you to be Mr Lupin. Although," she stage-whispered, "if I was wise, I would ask you a question, but perhaps I'm not." Katie shrugged as she turned on her heel, expecting the older man to follow by proxy. Her voice floated behind her at her normal level then, without pretense for normal volume or care for the gentle needs of eardrums. "After all, businesspeople have no scruples, they say, none at all, and that doesn't even cover what's in their heads."

She digressed though, and she knew it as she wove in between people who seemed not to notice her discomfort in their garments or the way she purposefully held the leather brief in her twisting hands. Katie looked to her side, making sure he followed and making sure that she would either pause or speed up once he decided to choose the cadence of their gait. The key to our success is that the client always knows, love, her mother said over clouds of flour, with her father grunting and banging the stick in agreement, and we only guide them. So, when Katie said, "Sir," it was in a low and only slightly urgent tone, her fingers still writhing, the lily probably starting to become tattered already. "Your letter was, perhaps, a bit... vague. Inconclusive." Her good friends 'bloody' and 'fucking' wanted to visit her tongue, but she bade them still in her chest. "In order for the farm to best serve you, we need to know your particular needs."

Remus smiled, glad for some young wit and vivacity as Katie's statements served to awaken his mind and pique his cautious curiosity. "I suppose then, you and I shall have to go on the basis of trust, alone." A pause. "I'm willing to take the risk."

He followed her swiftly, watching her make her way through the Muggle throng that stared at her with some pretense of the bizarre. For she was walking the wrong way down the thoroughfare. When she finally stopped, he pulled her into a small alcove between a telephone box and a public water fountain.

"Your farm is a private supplier, yes? I could order quantities of dittany and alconite without much -- if any -- legal interference?"

A great freedom of the wizarding world which Katie had taken for granted was the fact that one was, frankly, allowed to walk wherever they pleased. As such, she hadn't noticed her gross mistake until the Professor's swift arm managed to yank her from the front of one of those disgusting machines and into a smaller, quieter place that involved water, a tellamaphone, and no vehicules. In her relief, she slumped onto the fountain's edge.

"Ringing Tree's a family-owned and operated business first and foremost, Mr Lupin," she said not unkindly, hands folded in her lap and a most serious look upon her face. "We have no government contracts, unless any of our current clients have decided to consolidate to the Ministry proper -- in which case, I'm not entirely sure about what we're to do with that, but that is another topic entirely." A topic that, if one were to take cue from her upflung hands, was something that Katie would probably have gone on to elabroate in great length if she found herself to be in the proper company. But she composed herself quickly, if not easily, a solid expression on her face. It was neutral and pleasant, at any rate; an attempt to be reassuring.

"That is to say, Mr Lupin, that Ringing Tree operates on the bias of money only, which sounds callous, I suppose, but I rather fancy it democratic. The real question, of course, is what variety you wish to ask for -- we've thirteen of dittany and seventeen of aconite in our stores, but I gather you're in this for potion making." Katie's eyes were probing in her query. "Yes?"

"I require -- " he leaned in precariously, as though he could not even trust the bricks and mortar hemming them in -- "the particular variety in either plant that will make for a potent Wolfsbane potion."

The secrecy he maintained was, he supposed, laughable and slightly ironic for of course Katie would have been made more than aware of his condition but his abrupt exit from Hogwarts in her Fourth Year. Nevertheless it felt like decorum to say it in the way that he did.

"You see -- with the way things are -- I don't know that I would trust any corporation to brew a Wolfsbane without putting things in it that shouldn't be there. So I have thus elected to make my own."

For a vague, breathless moment, Katie Bell found herself to be quite the fool. It had been some time since her fourth year, of course, really, but the sudden to-do of the Professor's departure suddenly rang clear in her mind, wholly and entirely sharp due to the distinct injustice that she had found it to be. But still, even if she had known, she would have been required to ask, at any rate; a small consolation, of course, but she had great need of it. So, Katie chose to purposefully open her brief, eyes focused on the large folio that came from within its leathery confines, so that she could spread it in her lap.

"Of course," Katie managed, the words chalky. "Then again, I would gather that manufacturers would be trying to pull it off too, yeah? They'll eventually be doing that, I would reckon, so... yes." Her words were vague as she flipped through the large pages, pressed leaves hardly visible in her haste. Eventually, Katie's thin hand lingered between two sections, cradling the bookmarked vellum with great care. It was then that she looked straight into Lupin's eyes, a steely act that betrayed a certain amount of war flint and dogged earnestness. "I would suggest Crimean hardy for the dittany, and Russian blue-vein for the aconite. Both are industry standard and," her voice a little lighter, "recently harvested. Both are a summer variety of the crop, and we've a right big-arsed load of it."

A bit of a frown suddenly tugged on her lip as Katie realised what she had said, but quickly stared at the page instead. Perhaps if she didn't acknowledge, the Professor wouldn't either?

" ... and being that there are quite a lot of us that don't exactly enjoy transforming into great, hairy brutes with convenient cases of dementia, it hurts every single way that you can think of it." He smiled slightly. It was meant to be half of a joke. Though the situation, he thought, was hardly joke-worthy or even the slightest bit of pleasurable.

He hated involving her in his affairs. It could endanger her, her family, her farm ...

"Crimean hardy and Russian blue-vein it is. I'll take enough for, perhaps, six months worth of potion. Do you deliver? Are you discreet?"

"Figure that, sir!" Katie said with a genuine laugh in her voice and a certain amount of sauciness in her eyes. "And here, I always thought that our society placed such romance in the bloody notion, myself! Oh well," she said lightly, rummaging through the folio for a bit of parchment and a quill, "I guess that if you're really not into hideously painful transformations, I suppose I can help you out, yeah?" A little part of her hoped, of course, that she was allowed to play with the ruse; it wouldn't do to insult a customer, of course, much less a minor hero from childhood who needed assistance, really, and most desperately.

"I'll be needing to know the amount, of course, per kilo," she noted conversationally, chewing on the end of the quill. Katie sounded a bit ashamed as she added, "I've not really much, er, knowledge with ingredient ratios with Wolfsbane. I've... not much of a hand for potions, really," or many things, but Katie figured that her friends, much less acquaintences, needed little knowledge of insecurities and secret embarrassments. Still, the OWL nagged at her slightly, niggling in her stomach. "That's how we sell things, really, is by the weight of the commodity."

Suddenly, she placed her quill down, looking somewhat urgent. "Is there anything else you'll be needing?" Katie wondered if the you sounded plural enough, and she hoped against hope that it did, despite the fact that she might be inquiring towards too much.

"Twenty kilos per, I should think ..." The Wolfsbane potion was drunk nights leading to, during and post transformation. It was a healing balm that he had become all too reliant upon. And with a child on the way ...

"I'll let you in on a secret," and he grins, letting one hand rest on his shoulder. "I know few who are. Those that do excel at Potions are typically asocial and sparsely pigmented. The ability is not something to mourn."

Her sudden urgency piqued his interest and though Remus considered himself to be a discerning man, he found it hard to often discover the hidden meanings in Katie's words. What did he know?

Her name was on the list during the Muggleborn "Inquisition". She was Harry's friend, there was the opal necklace, she'd been ... and he remembers Angelina. "Well. Being that -- " his tone lowers dramatically -- "as it may -- you're better off -- being uninvolved."

"Twenty kilos per... okay then, and..." Katie's calculations were quick upon the parchment. "Okay, then, here's a rough estimate. That alright?" She held it up to him then, in that moment in which a hand was placed and a bit of a joke exchanged, and Katie laughed then, warm and hearty. "Oi, you'll have to pardon me for saying so, sir, but you forgot greasy. They've a penchant for being a wee bit greasy, too. Haven't the foggiest as to why, though. Perhaps it's the cauldronwork?"

But the laughter died a bit, really, as the stilted groundwork for the Professor's refusal was made. It was a typical plea, of course, and it was familiar to Katie's ears. But she closed her eyes, and for a moment she saw sunny fields with a laughing ginger or sudden snippets of quick footwork and easy singing on cobalt tile, and it was enough for Katie to take a step back and let her fidgeting hands steel themselves for being so bloody fucking bold.

"Sir, sorry to say this, I am, but you'll have to take it as it is." The flint was up again in her eyes, and her jaw was set. "I've a niece, you see. Five. She's cute, really, but she's precocious. Impressionable. She's at a point where she won't just do something or think something or say something just because the family does, you know? She's finding out about that big, grown-up world, and fancy what a place she has, Professor." Katie, by this point, did not mind that she probably said this with irony thick in her voice or that he preferred to not be referred to as such; there was meaning in her words that were lacing through her white-knuckled fists that grabbed at her jumper edge and tugged at frayed hems.

"Listen, sir," and now the tone was deadly a bit, trying to fight against crescendo but failing dearly, "when you've a child who asks what it means for her elders to be crying from fear, or you've a child who asks how to steal magic, or you've a child who cries at night because she thinks she might be taken in from the scary magic-snatchers that don't even bloody fucking exist, or you've a child who asks what 'Mudblood' means, or you've a child who starts to wonder if there is nothing as good and as whole as having blood that is only and entirely filled of magic, and you see that she might, maybe, just possibly be on the brink between bigotry and being the good, bloody fucking honest person she is? I'm sorry," and it took every bit of her person to not shout at the top of her lungs and shove him back for every time she was told to keep her fucking hide safe, "but I think the moment that children have to ask those things is the very fucking moment I become involved."

"At any rate," she said cooly, "I understand if you've not interest because of the quality of the product. That's honest, at least, and I can appreciate that. But," and Katie meant it with every bit of her soul, "I'm no fucking pussy, sir. That's a fact."

"High quality product, Katie, is why I excercise caution -- " he squeezes her shoulder ever so gently. "Even if you're not a fucking pussy. I value you."

"I am about to have a child, in fact," he said very softly, running the tips of his fingers through his hair as he took his admonition from Katie with quietude and good grace. "It's because of that fact that I too fight to keep my family safe. Just like your niece, I am sure, who loves you because she asks you those questions." He paused to take a deep breath.

" ... so I understand. I would even, were I able, accept you as co-member. Right now. But we're more underground every day. There is a lot of hiding right now, a lot of covert ... running away. If you want to do something, hide a Muggleborn."

He smiled. "And that price is fair. I accept."

The sharp line that her mind drew from 'value' to 'George Weasley' meant that there was no barking laughter and gleeful clapping from hearing a former professor say 'fucking pussy' that would've normally broken Katie's fitful, indignant rant in favour of low-brow humour. It was a stony thought that inhabited her heart, instead, solid and twisting, and a hand went to her mouth as her thoughts raced along that line, little associations balancing like trapeze artists. Had whoever decided to invite George (and Fred, she added half-heartedly, and Fred) spoken to him about his value? Had there been thought of it when he was on that strange, vague mission that he wouldn't talk about that ended up costing him bloody body parts? Ears turned into arms turned into lungs turned into brains in Katie's mind's eye, splattered and bloody, and before she knew it, the smallest of choked sobs came out between her fingers. To her self-control's credit, it was at the least an only child, but it still existed thinly in the air.

In yet another act of her body's betrayal, Katie's eye were wet a bit as she looked up at Lupin, an apologetic frown appearing as her hand dropped to gesture vaguely. "It's," she managed, "difficult, loving people in war, isn't it? A real battle, but the enemy likes it hard, I reckon, because it makes it easier to win if we stop. But," and her hand moved to pat the Professor's comforting hand, silent thanksgiving to go along with her verbal, "thank you for saying I can manage something, especially if it means that someone can keep on from losing another they're fond of. I don't mind a whit about being a member, as it were, not a bloody bit. It's just that... you need tools, you know?" Her hands went back to trying to express themselves with movement as she spoke, morphing with her murky expressions and dark gaze. "You need to know that you're not being the person that just stood back and stared. My parents didn't raise me like that, you know?" Katie felt as if a thousand swallows weren't about to rid herself of the choking feeling, but she still gulped in vain. "My parents didn't raise me to bite my tongue and say shite."

Suddenly, though, the girl's face grew a bit sunnier; a show of a happier subject change. "Brilliant, though, on the family, sir. Congratulations for you and the missus! Or, um, companion!" Katie suddenly exclaimed, looking mollified. "There's nothing wrong with the wee babes out of wedlock, of course! You just seem to be the sort of bloke, sir, who'd insist on wedding a woman before knocking her up. Ah!" Now, Katie looked properly as if she was primed and ready to place her shoe in her mouth. "I mean-- oh, bother."

Remus felt, somewhere inside of his own grief-soaked memories, that he knew where Katie was coming from. That surviving was sometimes - all the time - the hardest task of all. He made a comforting noise in the back of his throat and did her the service of ignoring her vague little tears. He could feel her pride well up through his hand and warm the sinews in his shoulder.

"Keep your ears and your eyes open, Katie Bell. There's a whole world out there that's waiting for someone that can manage something. The Order is here with you, for you, around you. As long as we've got each other -- our friends -- we're never alone." His voice lowered and his eyes shown in something like amused pride. "And furthermore, I'd induct you right here had I the power or clout within such a prestigious group. Etcetera. But you show yourself trustworthy, my young friend ..."

He cut off at the mention of Tonks, baby and wedlock. There was something clouding the dark recesses of his eyes; he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and managed to smile his thanks. "I understand completely. No need, Katie, no need."

For Katie, a girl whose experience with praise from non-related grown-ups was almost exclusively linked to her prowess on the Quidditch pitch, being told that she was considered trustworthy (for, as far as she was concerned and aware of, merely stating opinion and doing her job) was enough for a small flush to spread to her cheeks. She shrugged then, a sheepish and dismissive move on her part, and offered a matching smile that flirted with being a grin. "Well, I reckon I can manage that, sir. If nothing else, you know how to get through to me by owl, and it seems like everyone has a bloody journal, even if the little blighters seem so easily misplaced." At the mention of 'misplaced,' Katie's mouth made a slightly sour twist, but it was gone in a blip, even though her internal monologue was occupied for far longer. "Although, I'd assume that kind of stuff'd be bloody stupid to use, but farm life means you watch for a lot of things in the lull of the day. I'll try my best--"

But then, Katie's face suddenly filled with a bit of a shock, as if electricity had shot up her spine and lit up her eyes in recognition of something long-forgotten. "Bugger, I almost forgot! Um, sir, you were wondering about transport, and here, I went off and didn't say a word." She shook her head, silently admonishing, as if slightly amused at herself for being scatterbrained and spotty. "We usually don't have people who are particularly concerned about who knows about their product, but we worked through one war and we'll work through another. We usually ship in ordinary brown paper packaging, twined, so the contents are not especially obvious, I would think. We can use multiple owl routing, if you'd prefer, or if you've a preferred courier...? The choice is up to you, although if you decide upon services, I regret that it may be up to you to cover the costs of transport." Katie did look truly contrite at this; she knew that the commodities she was offering were not the cheapest, but living upon the land was hardly profitable. "The mode is entirely of your choosing, so long as you let us know beforehand."

Remus smiled quite simply, lifting his shoulder with a vague inclination to just let Katie talk. She did fill the hollow spaces of his own discourse so nicely ...

"The regular way should be fine, I think. No need attracting undue attention or causing a great deal of personal strife. They're just plants."

There is a slight pause before his next statement -- he leaned in and placed his hand heavily upon her shoulder. "I think you know what a patronus is. If one comes and speaks to you, Katie, and you recognise the voice, do not be afraid to follow its orders. Especially if it takes the form of a lynx or a crow."

The moment passed quickly enough and he wiped the grave expression from his eyes. One accentuation of his smile said it all. "Otherwise, I'll be taking my leave."

"Alright, then!" and Katie sounded pleased as she started to place forgotten items into the discarded folio, as if she had just conducted the most common-place of business deals with great satisfaction. "Consider this a closed deal. After you've sent the coin, we'll post the supplies posthaste, and so on. Of course, we being a honest lot, we refund if the plants don't perform up to satisfaction and you can prove that it is due to the product instead of improper use, blah blah." Katie spoke of this as if it were standard instead of, quite possibly, the exception -- complete with a decidedly bored expression and superfluous waving of the hand, as if she had a great desire for her statement to finish tumbling off her lips quicker than it was.

It was with this same nonchalance that Katie said, with a cheeky but small smile, "I'll be looking for wee gray animals that talk like ghosts, then, sir. I'd fancy that I'd be able to spot one, I think. I've had a few tutors on the subject," and suddenly her memory was filled with gold coin, "but I think it was you that introduced me to the subject? Something about Professor Lockhart being, oh," and there was the bored voice that was so dry it was arid and the vaguely waving hand again, "an inept and feeble-minded example of a man, but that was my family's view on the entire thing."

At that, she gave a final step back from the general sphere of physical space that Remus Lupin had been inhabiting and gave a small wave. Katie chirped out a bizarrely cheerful, "Tra!" before she, with the slightest of shrewd eyes, made sure that the Muggles wouldn't see her pop out of existence, a small snap between being a corporeal girl and a puff of nothing.