1

The pizzeria door was padlocked when they got to work. A large note was taped to it. It read:

CLOSED

Out of Business

Thank you, customers, for your patronage!

"Thank you, customers?" quoted Beth, outraged. "Customers? What about your fucking employees? You owe us two weeks' pay! You couldn't even tell us you were closing?" But of course, her shouted "you" referred to the owner, who wasn't there and couldn't hear her.

Beth was just about to punch her fist into the wall when she heard laughter behind her. She spun around to glare at her coworker, well, former coworker as of today. "What's so funny?" she demanded, but he couldn't answer. She was about to tell him off, because he was laughing and he was there, but it occurred to her that she didn't really know him, and he appeared, at the moment, to have totally cracked, so antagonizing him further might be dangerous. She watched him laughing for a while, until he seemed to completely run out of energy and collapsed to his knees on the sidewalk, his hands over his face as if trying to stifle his laughter.

Through his laughter, he muttered something that sounded sort of like, "I can't even make it in the muggle world," which didn't make any sense, since "muggle" wasn't a word. He must have said "fucking" instead.

His breakdown had a calming effect on Beth. Someone had to be calm in this situation, so it would be her. She unclenched her fist, denying her wall-punching urge. "John," she said firmly. "It's going to be OK," as if saying it would make it so.

He seemed willing to accept this. He pulled a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. He looked up at her as if expecting her to next provide a solution to this problem.

Beth hadn't planned this far ahead, but she'd be damned if she was going to let that show. "We can get different jobs," she said. "He'd better give me a good reference, and as your supervisor I'll give you a great one of course. How long are you OK for? I know you just got hired two weeks ago, so I suppose you don't have much saved, and tomorrow's the first of December. Do you have enough for your rent?"

John finished wiping his face, folded his handkerchief neatly, put it back in his pocket, stood up, and brushed off his knees. He seemed embarrassed by his outburst. "Please don't trouble yourself on my account," he said in that oddly old-fashioned way he had. "You worked here much longer than I, so I'm sure this is more of a shock to you."

"So you can cover your rent?" Beth persisted, for other people's problems were suddenly much more interesting than her own.

"I'm fine," he said. "It's been a pleasure working with you. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. I do apologize for bringing my bad luck with me. It tends to spill over to those unfortunate enough to be near me. I won't trouble you with it again." He turned abruptly on his heel and walked away.

Was it wrong to take comfort in the fact that someone was worse off than her? She chased after him and grabbed his shoulder. He spun to face her again, batting her hand away. "Stay away from me, Beth," he said with an odd empty calmness. "I'm dangerous. I ruin everything I touch."

Now was her turn to laugh. "It's just a job, John. You don't have to get all dramatic about it. And you're a very good worker, I'm sure you can get another one, no problem. You just need to look at things rationally. So, you do have your next month's rent?"

"I don't pay rent," he muttered sullenly. "I've been sleeping in the park."

Beth blinked as she digested this information. He didn't smell homeless. He did look a bit shabby, though.

"I've been cleaning up in the men's room at work," he explained, noticing her confused sniff. "I just put the Closed for Cleaning sign up and enjoyed the luxury of my own private spa."

"And you still had time to get the restrooms the cleanest I've ever seen them," she said. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble getting another job, there are always toilets that need scrubbing."

This praise didn't seem to cheer him. "You're too kind," he said. "The toilets will have to scrub themselves from now on. I won't trouble anyone in this world with my bad luck again."

Beth grabbed him before he could walk away again. "We might be unemployed, but I'm still your supervisor," she said sternly. "Here's the plan. We will buy a newspaper. We will look through the want ads for jobs. You will use my phone to call about jobs. You will sleep on my couch and use my shower so you look presentable for interviews. You will cease this pathetic self-pitying claptrap about not troubling this world with your bad luck."

He seemed to make an effort to sort himself out. He stretched out of his slouch and looked up at the sky, his pale throat arching from the collar of his thin jacket, too light for the cold. Then he stood with more confidence, like a man who wasn't having a breakdown. "Yes boss," he said. "But I need to pay you rent. I'm not going to accept free space in someone else's flat ever again."

"It's fine."

"It wasn't fine. It was a disaster."

"What happened?"

John thought. "You're right, though, if I want a job, it'll really help to have a phone and an address. I have literally nothing now, but I'll pay you back and move out as soon as I can."

Beth bought a newspaper at a newsstand. John took a scrap of paper and a pencil out of his pocket and wrote down the price of the newspaper as Beth stared at him. "You're going to do that about bus fare, too, aren't you?"

He nodded solemnly. "I won't accept charity. I will pay you back."

"Whatever. Come on, let's go to the bus stop and I'll show you my flat. I'm afraid it's not really tidy enough for visitors at the moment, but I'm sure it's better than the park in December."

"I'll clean it," he said. "Not that I'm saying it's dirty, I just mean I'll do my share of chores."

"I know you can clean," she said. "But that's not why I'm making this offer. You were worrying me with that talk of not troubling this world anymore. I mean. Not like I really know you or anything, but that's not right. Do you want to call a friend? You can use my phone."

He shook his head. Then he got out his scrap of paper and pencil stub again to write down the bus fare.

—-

"Like I said, it's not much," she said as she unlocked the door.

"You have a cat," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have mentioned. Are you allergic?"

"No, it's just that cats don't like me."

"You're more of a dog person, are you?"

There was a long pause, then, "I hate dogs. But cats hate me, generally."

"Oh, Marmalade's a real sweetheart, she likes everyone," said Beth, as her formerly sweet cat stared at her visitor, arched her back, bristled her fur, bared her teeth, extended her claws, and made a snarling hiss Beth had never heard before. "Um."

John and Marmalade had a staring contest for nearly a minute. Marmalade finally started trembling, then bolted to the bedroom.

"Sorry," said John. "I should just go."

Beth grabbed his arm again and looked him in the eye. "You are a human being," she said. He looked away. "Look at me. I said look at me. You are more important than a cat. Marmalade will just have to deal with you being here. Here's the couch. Sorry, I guess it's kind of short. Anyway, I'll get some bedding for you."

"Thank you," he said. "Just leave it folded, I'll make my bed at night and give you your couch back in the morning."

"Make yourself at home," she said. "Kitchen, bathroom, living room. Bedroom's mine of course."

"Of course," he said. "I wouldn't want to disturb Marmalade. I'll go freshen up," and he went into the bathroom.

Beth hurriedly did what tidying she could, although it wasn't too bad. Then she opened the newspaper on the kitchen table and got some pens, red and blue, for circling ads. She chose the red one.

John was out of the bathroom in a few minutes, looking slightly less scruffy.

"Sorry, the litter box was due for a cleaning," she said.

"Don't worry, I did it while I was in there," he said.

"You didn't have to do that," she said.

"I did, actually. So, what jobs do we have here?" He sat in the other chair and picked up the blue pen.

They were startled from their reading by a tapping on the window. An owl was tapping on the glass!

John looked from the owl to Beth. "Do you often get owls here?" he asked. When she shook her head, wide-eyed, he said, "Then I suppose that's for me," embarrassed. "Could you please just pretend this isn't happening?" He got up to open the window. The owl flapped in and perched on the back of his chair. As John took a roll of paper off its leg, he said, "I suppose you don't have any owl treats. I wonder if it would like cat food. May I?" He picked up Marmalade's food dish and put it on the table in front of the owl, which looked at it skeptically, then sampled a piece of kibble. Apparently pleased, it chowed down as John unrolled the paper and read it. He rerolled the paper and tucked it into his pocket. Then he grabbed the pad of paper on the table and poised his pen over it. Before he wrote, he looked at Beth nervously. "I don't want to impose further upon your hospitality," he said. "Nor to I want to postpone my job hunt, which is of course essential. But this is a rather time-sensitive matter. My old flat, well, the flat were I stayed until Halloween, has finally been officially cleared for re-entry. I'll be able to take my belongings back. Of course, since no one's paying rent there now, who knows what will happen if I leave it there until tomorrow. The landlord will just chuck it out or sell it or something. So I have to go get my stuff now if I'm going to get it at all."

"What?" didn't seem like an adequate response to this, but it was all she had.

John looked at the owl, which was still happily eating. He brought it Marmalade's water dish too, first filling it with fresh water from the tap. Then he sat down and took a deep breath.

"For the last three years," he started, "I've been living with a friend in his flat. Well, I was away a lot, but when I was in town I stayed with that friend. Well, I thought he was a friend. He got arrested the day after Halloween. Our flat, his flat really, was seized by law enforcement that day. They've been searching it for evidence and contraband and such for the last month, supposedly, although I don't see how it could take them that long, it's not like we had that much stuff. I shouldn't complain. They must have been busy. Anyway, I never officially lived there, my name wasn't on the lease, and frankly I don't want to be associated with him or his flat anymore, but an acquaintance of mine in law enforcement knows I used to live there, and he very kindly sent me this note to say that today I'll have an opportunity to get my stuff without anyone noticing. So. It's not a lot of stuff, really. I'm sure I could fit it all in my school trunk. It would fit here, it would be like a table by the couch, you could rest drinks on it."

This required a response, but she'd got a bit stuck on the word "arrested." She tried to make sense of what he'd just said. "So, you want to bring your stuff here?"

"Yes."

"Of course. Especially if you have better interview clothes."

"I have clothes that I haven't been wearing for a month straight, which is bound to be an improvement." He wrote a note and tied it to the owl's leg. It seemed full of cat food by now, and content. John smiled as he ran his fingers through the owl's feathers. The owl closed its eyes and leaned into his hand in pleasure. Apparently in addition to cat people and dog people, there were also owl people. "Please take this note straight back to Alastor Moody," he told the owl. "Thank you." He opened the window, and the owl flew away.

John refilled Marmalade's water and food dishes and returned them to the floor. Then he got out his scrap of paper and pencil again and jotted down a note. "I'll reimburse you for the cat food too of course. We'll work this out later. I'll be back in a few hours. Oh. Um. Please don't tell anyone about the owl. No good would come of it. They'd think you mad, or worse, believe you." And he was gone.

Beth couldn't quite concentrate on reading job ads after that, but it was embarrassing how much cleaner the bathroom was.

—-

Sure enough, a few hours later, there was a buzz on the intercom, then a knock on the door. Beth, Marmalade weaving around her ankles, opened the door with some trepidation.

Marmalade had no qualms about bolting for the bedroom as soon as she saw their visitors, but Beth's socialization inhibited her from reacting the same way, as much as she wanted to. There was John, wearing a warmer-looking coat, with a battered brown trunk, as expected. She hadn't expected a second man, burly and grizzled, with an eyepatch, a wooden leg, and a face with even worse scars than John's. He gripped a stout walking stick in his beefy hand. He had a beautiful trunk with him, black with silver trim, with the unfortunate monogram S.O.B. in silver letters.

"Beth," said John. "Allow me to introduce Alastor Moody. He very kindly offered to help me move my things. Alastor, this is Beth Smyth. She most graciously offered me a place to stay."

Alastor looked in at Beth's flat and spoke to John with disbelief. "You really would rather stay here than at my place?"

"Well," said John. He didn't have a response to that.

"Come in," said Beth.

"Thank you," said John as they did. "Anyway, Beth, I'm terribly sorry, but Alastor insisted on me taking two trunks worth of stuff, both Sirius's and my own. He assures me that it's all been thoroughly inspected, and contains no contraband."

"Probably not much of real value either," apologized Alastor. "Inspectors tend to pocket that stuff I'm afraid, when they know no one will call them on it. There's no way Black's getting out of prison alive, and his family disowned him years ago, so essentially no one owns this stuff now. The inspectors basically just looted your place."

"Shouldn't it go towards reparations for the victims' families?" asked John. "Perhaps it should be auctioned off, and the money distributed—"

Alastor laughed. "Considering the number of victims and the number of surviving family members we'd have to track down? Feel free to do all that work yourself."

John sighed. "Those inspectors even took my chocolate stash."

"Well of course," said Alastor. "You always have the good stuff. The hazelnut ones were particularly good."

John turned from Alastor to Beth. "The trunks could be like end tables," he said. "One on either side of the couch. Or like a coffee table in front, however you like. I'm very sorry to take up so much space, I'll sell all of Sirius's stuff as fast as possible. The trunk itself is worth something at least."

"It's fine," she said. "Would you like some tea?" for after positioning the trunks, Alastor seemed to be in no rush to go. He prowled around the living room as if searching it for contraband, valuables, or chocolate.

"Tea would be lovely," said John. "I brought some, and my tea set. I'll make it." He got said items from his brown trunk and took them to the kitchen.

Alastor fixed his one-eyed gaze on Beth. "How well do you know, what did he tell you his name was, John?" he asked.

"Hardly at all, really," she said. "We worked at the same place for two weeks. I was his supervisor, so I know he's a really hard worker. We both lost our jobs today when the place closed, so we're job hunting together. It hit him hard. I think he's had a run of really bad luck."

"That he has," said Alastor darkly. "He's a good man. He deserves better than this."

Beth wondered if he meant her flat.

John returned in a surprisingly short time with a pretty tray of tea things, which he set on his battered brown trunk. "John is my real middle name," he said firmly to Alastor. "Lots of people go by their middle names. There's nothing deceptive about it." Then he went back to the kitchen for one of the two chairs so they could all sit down. He served the tea to all and sat down to drink his, briefly looking as content as the owl.

"What's this about you job hunting?" Alastor barked at John. His dainty teacup looked absurd in his massive, scarred hands. "You know you have a job in my department any time you want it. And a guest room in my house, too. What the hell are you doing here?"

John's enjoyment of his tea vanished. "I just... I can't. I need a break. I need to be away for a while. At least until the festivities have died down." He put his tea down on his trunk, got up, and walked away to look out the window.

Beth didn't understand why John suddenly ducked, but his motivation became clear when Alastor's heavy wooden staff swung through the space John's head had occupied a moment before. Alastor had gotten up to attack John faster than Beth could see.

John's drop to the floor flowed smoothly into a sweep of his leg, knocking Alastor's legs, both the regular and the wooden, out from under him. Alastor fell heavily forward onto the floor where John had been a moment ago, but John had already rolled away and sprung to his feet, wrenching the staff out of Alastor's hands as he did so. He swung it at Alastor's head as he lay on the floor, slowing it only at the very last moment to tap him lightly. "Boop," John said as the staff touched Alastor's grizzled hair. "You're dead."

"Boop?" complained Alastor as he rolled to face John, although his scarred face was twisted into a lopsided grin. "Skull smashing does not go boop. It's not bad enough that you beat me every time, you have to humiliate me too?"

"You humiliate yourself every time you challenge me," said John. "Give up. I mean it. I'm tired of this game."

"I'll get you one of these days," said Alastor as John helped him up and handed his staff back to him. "Your talents are wasted here. We could really use you in my department."

John reclaimed his tea and sat down again. "Maybe I'm tired of being used," he said quietly after a sip. "Now if you will excuse us, we have some job hunting to do."

"Well, let me know if you change your mind," grumbled Alastor. "Nice meeting you," he added, with the barest glance at Beth as he left.

John looked at Beth. "More tea?" he asked.

She shook her head.

He poured some more for himself, and clearly tried to reclaim the enjoyment of it he'd felt before, but didn't quite manage.

Beth tried to find her voice. "That man. Alastor. Does he really work for the government?"

"Yes," said John. He shrugged, acknowledging the absurdity of this claim. "Not your government of course," he admitted.

She waited, but no more information was forthcoming. "There's a lot you're not telling me," she said.

"Obviously."

"So will you tell me?"

"No point. If you know too much, the Obliviators will come by to erase your memories. They aren't always as skillful as they should be. They sometimes erase too much. I'll do my best not to show or tell you anything they'd need to erase."

Beth did not find this reassuring.

John drank his tea. "The important thing is, I'm quite done with all that, so I'll be doing my best to live like one of you for the indefinite future. My first month was not a success, I'll admit. But I'm game to try. I very much appreciate your help."

"Can I ask more questions?"

"You just did, so yes. Sorry. Ask away. I won't give you any answers you're not allowed to know."

"Am I in danger because you're here?"

Answering this apparently required a refill of his teacup. "Well. You were actually in danger before, you just didn't know it. There's been a war going on here for several years. Whenever one of us harms one of you, our Obliviators do their best to erase all evidence of the crime. They make up some believable excuse like saying it was a gas explosion or something. Crimes of this sort have been happening rather a lot recently. I might be able to stop that from happening to people in my immediate vicinity. I've had some success with this in the past. That's why Alastor wants to hire me. That's what his department does, fight crime." He shrugged. "On the other hand, Alastor isn't the only person familiar with my reputation for thwarting criminals. The criminals have caught on as well. It's possible they'd choose to target you just to bother me. I'm sorry, I should have told you that from the beginning. Before you kick me out immediately, I will say that things have changed quite a lot in the last month. On Halloween..." His trembling hands put the teacup down before he spilled it. "Despite the efforts of a traitor in our own ranks, the leader of a very powerful terrorist group was killed. His followers are disorganized and discouraged, fleeing and hiding rather than attacking. The war is essentially over, except for some tidying up. Alastor's department is very busy tracking down and capturing the remnants of that organization. He wants my help with that."

"But you've had enough fighting." Beth drank some more of her tea. It was excellent tea, much better than the teabags she usually used.

"I never enjoyed fighting," he said. "But it had to be done, and I happen to be good at it. My friends and I were in an unofficial, well, I guess you might call it a guerrilla group. I like to think we were less corrupt than the official group Alastor's in, although there's some overlap in membership. The organization of which I was a member, well, one could say it's no longer active, as most of the members are dead, and it's no longer recruiting new ones. Alastor's department had a similar casualty rate, and is desperate for replacements. They're recruiting quite actively as you saw."

"Who would want to join something with a high casualty rate?" asked Beth rhetorically.

"I would, actually," said John, annoying Beth, who'd thought she was following. "It's a job that needs to be done, and I can't think of a better use for my life. In the interest of full disclosure, there's one more thing you should know before deciding if you want to help me or not. I'm trying to think of a way to tell you that doesn't violate the Statute of Secrecy. This is something that Alastor doesn't know. If he did, he'd definitely stop nagging me with his job offer. His department doesn't employ just anyone. They have very strict requirements, and do a thorough background check of all applicants. I wouldn't pass. I have one huge disqualification for the job he wants me to take, and if I told him what it is, he wouldn't just stop nagging me, he'd, well, have to sort of arrest me. I don't know if he would, since he's not exactly a stickler for following the rules, but I don't want to risk it. Thus we're trapped in this stalemate where I have to keep saying no to a job I want."

John's hands were steady enough to hold his teacup again. "So, my one reference, who claims I'm a good man undeserving of my recent luck, doesn't actually know me well enough to have given me that reference. You know, the more I think about this, the more I realize that you definitely should not take me in. Tea always helps me think more clearly." He looked at the two trunks. "I'd rather sleep in the park than be Alastor's live-in martial arts teacher slash punching bag, but now I have actual stuff to stash somewhere. I know. I'll ask Frank and Alice to store these for me. They're not the closest of friends, but they're still alive, which counts for something. I wouldn't impose on them for crash space, and they've been so busy with their baby recently that we've lost touch, but I'm sure they wouldn't begrudge a bit of storage space." He looked at Beth. "I don't actually need a phone to get a job, I can show up in person like I did when I saw that help wanted sign at the pizzeria. Employers can't all be that unreliable, can they? Are you done with your tea?"

This conversation was putting Beth in danger of whiplash. "What? Oh. Yes. I'm done. Thank you, it was delicious. What brand was that?"

"Sorry, I don't think you can get it here." John took the tea set back to the kitchen. In a surprisingly short time, he brought it back, clean and dry, and packed it into his trunk again with steady, careful hands. "There's something about drinking tea that makes me feel human again." He locked his trunk and put the key in his pocket. He turned to her. "I would like to apologize for my most inappropriate outburst this morning. I— I have no excuse at all. I truly do not wish to impose upon your kindness. Now, it will take me two trips, but I'll get these trunks out of here today, and if fortune smiles upon you, you'll never see me again."

"Wait. What? You're leaving?"

"I'm finally thinking clearly. I can't believe I was seriously considering imposing on you. You don't even know me. I don't really know you."

"You're still not thinking clearly. I mean, you've been sleeping in a park for a month, which can't have been very restful. Now instead of just being sleep-deprived, you're sleep-deprived and caffeinated."

"Even when I'm well-rested, well-fed, and full of tea, I apparently have terrible taste in flatmates. I can't tell a friend from a mass-murderer."

"Is there any way I can show you which one I am?"

"Well, murdering me would be a pretty clear indication. Although I am a challenge. Alastor tries it every time he sees me and he hasn't managed it yet." He looked at the two trunks. "I need to contact Frank and Alice, I don't want to just show up on their doorstep. I could— I'll just nip into the kitchen and close the door, and you won't pay attention to how I send the message so there won't be anything to erase from your memory later."

"You've got some super secret spy phone, eh?"

"Something like that, yes. To be honest, there's much to be said for ordinary phones, but Frank and Alice don't have one."

"John, stop. Just stop. This morning you were a hard-working pizzeria employee and now you're this international man of mystery."

"Not international. I'm just Welsh. Although we moved a lot when I was a child, it was all in the UK."

"Are you supposed to be on some sort of medication? This story isn't even internally consistent."

John laughed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. It would be easier for you to think me mad. I'm just a man with a talent for scrubbing toilets, some peculiar delusions, and an acquaintance who's odd by anyone's standards."

The room was suddenly full of a brilliant silver light as a ram galloped out of nothingness to face John. It appeared to be made of glowing silver, yet moved like a living animal, pawing at the dingy grey carpet and tossing its head, heavy with huge, rough, curling horns. It opened its mouth and spoke in Alastor's gruff voice. "We need you. Frank and Alice didn't check in, and they're not replying to me. Meet us at the apparition point by their house." Then the silver ram vanished.

"Fuck," said John. He gave an apologetic glance to Beth. "See you later, I hope." Then he vanished as well, making a loud cracking noise as he popped out of existence.