Jalin waited until Alexander was passed out on the couch to start making the potion. He set up the cauldron in the kitchen and (somehow) extracted the anaphrodisiac from the cinnamon. He also stole back his book temporarily so he could read the instructions.

When he was certain Alex was in deep sleep, Jalin got to work.

It must've been 3 am, or 4 am, (or maybe even 5 am) when the potion was finally finished. Jalin was about to collapse from exhaustion, but the thrill of finally having that damn potion kept him awake. He used a simple spell to clean up the cauldron and even ate the remaining liquorice, which gave him the temporary sugar boost he needed. When he'd finally packed everything up, he lined up the bottles full of crimson liquid on the counter.

It was dead quiet, and there was only a single candle lighting the room. With shaking hands (from fear or from anticipation, he couldn't tell) Jalin picked up the first vial and popped the lid open. The book said to only take a sip.

Trembling, he lifted the vial to his lips, and let the smallest amount fall into his mouth. He swallowed it, even though his throat felt so tight...

There was a short moment where he felt like he couldn't breathe, his throat was closing up and the potion pulsed through his veins giving him a temporary sugar high, his brain ran at the speed of light and his vision swirled and lights danced before his eyes. Unable to stand up straight but determined, Jalin closed the lid and gathered the vials - he found a cupboard that he could put a charm on to lock it. Now feeling like he was about to faint, he pushed all bottles to the back of the cupboard and with shaking hands cast Colloportus. With the last of his strength and now feeling a numbing sensation in his lower torso, he stumbled over to the bed and passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Gravity weighed him down. The covers over him felt hot. His legs were numb and his abdomen was, too. He couldn't move, was struggling to breathe. He opened his eyes slightly, even though they felt so heavy...

"...okay, man? You look really distant. Are you sick?"

He felt sick. Feverish. Nauseous. His throat was closing up, it felt so tight...

With all the strength he could muster, Jalin moved his head slightly so he could look up at Alexander without straining his eyes.

"Can you hear me?"

Barely.

"You better not be sick. We're supposed to go look at the crime scene today."

Right, yes... there's the... murder. Murders. Plural.

His thoughts were disorganised. Messy. What the fuck is happening?

"If you're sick I can go by myself. Take notes. Do you want me to do that? Or do you want me to stay?"

He wanted to say "no, I can come" but he couldn't move. He couldn't fucking move. He used all his remaining strength to utter a simple word, "stay". Oh god, his voice sounded so hoarse.

"Okay. I can do that. Are you hot?" Alex felt Jalin's forehead, "Okay, I'll go get a wet rag. A bucket too. Do you think you can eat?"

I don't know.

"Probably not. I'll get you some water and toast though, just in case. You've probably got a fever. I understand. Fevers are hellish."

I don't think... this is a fever.

Alexander left to go grab a rag and a bucket, leaving Jalin to his thoughts. His jumbled up, out of order thoughts. Confusion was not listed on the list of side effects.

He closed his eyes, trying his best to just go back to sleep, but even though he felt exhausted, the sleep just wouldn't come. Something wasn't right, something was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He must have messed up the potion, or something. Maybe he needed to throw the whole unicorn horn in instead of some of it. Maybe he stirred it wrong. Maybe he measured it all wrong.

Alex returned holding a metal bucket and a brown soaking wet rag. He put the bucket down, pushed Jalin onto his back (the sudden movement made him feel woozy, but he couldn't exactly say anything about it) then placed the rag on his forehead. "Okay, I'm going to go write, is that okay? Will you be alright?"

With the wet cloth, he actually felt a bit better. He managed a very small nod.

"Okay. If you need me, I won't be far. I'm just on the couch."

Jalin started to feel a bit better after about an hour. He found he could move his feet and his hands. His arms were gradually coming back to him and it no longer hurt to keep his eyes open. After another hour, he finally fell asleep to the sound of Alexander's quill scratching on the parchment.

When he woke up, it was after midday. Jalin realised with a start that he felt tremendously better. By no means did he feel like he was in perfect condition, but he could move, and he could look around without feeling sick.

He lay there for a few minutes, debating whether he should stay in bed or not. Jalin decided after ten minutes that he would try walking around. If he couldn't, he'd try get more sleep.

He reached out his right leg and poked it out of the covers then he moved his left leg into the same position. With his left arm, he pushed himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. So far so good.

He clutched the corner of the bedside table and used it to push himself off the bed so he was standing. He did get a sudden wave of nausea but it subsided after about 30 seconds.

Next step: walking.

Using the wall as a grip, he turned and took one step. His knees were wobbling but they weren't about to give out. He took another step. Then he let go of the wall and took another step.

Jalin considered this a success. He began to walk slowly towards the couch, where Alexander was unsurprisingly still writing like he was running out of time. Sometimes Jalin wondered if he was.

"Did you still want to go look at the crime scene?" Jalin asked. His voice was still hoarse.

Alex jumped. He turned around the face the ex-lawyer, "You're awake!" he exclaimed.

"I am."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"That's good. That's great."

"So did you still want to go?"

"To the crime scene?"

Jalin nodded.

Alexander seemed to ponder the question for a moment. He stared out the window.

"Well... I would like to but you still look unwell and I don't want to leave you here and you don't look nearly well enough to come with me and-"

"It's a yes or no question. I can come with you, Alexander... I assure you I feel quite alright."

Alex sighed. "Okay. Okay. You can come with me, I suppose. If you ever want to leave tell me. I trust you've seen the newspaper clippings?"

Shit. "No, I haven't..."

Alex sighed again. "You're in for a shock then. Try not to faint when you see the scene. I'm not joking when I say that. If you feel like you're going to pass or vomit or something tell me so we can come back here."

Alexander was being so caring, however, Jalin wasn't getting any butterflies in his stomach. There was no feeling in his chest. He didn't feel the blood rushing to his face (and other places) and his heart wasn't beating any faster. In fact, it felt rather slow.

The potion worked.

It fucking worked. It did what it was supposed to. Jalin hadn't mixed it wrong at all, what he experienced that morning were the fucking side-effects. Minor paralysis my ass. I couldn't move at all!

"Okay," Jalin agreed, "Should we get lunch afterwards then?"

"Probably a good idea."

Alexander really wasn't joking. As soon as they began to approach the scene (which was in a back alley) there was an immediate burnt corpse stench hanging in the air. Jalin scrunched up his nose.

There was a sheet covering the body, but it didn't hide the scorch marks on the surrounding pavement. Alex stepped forward to presumably get a proper look at the body but a tall bald officer put out an arm to stop him. "Do you have the right to be here, kid?"

"Kid?" Alex scoffed, "I'm in my thirties! And yes, I do. I'm an attorney."

Jalin stepped forward as well, "I'm with him..."

"Prosecutor?" the officer questioned.

"Defense," Alexander replied.

The officer sighed. "Well if you need any help I'll be over there," he gestured to a pile of papers on the ground just five feet away. "Be quick, alright? I don't even think Defenses are allowed to investigate the scene."

Alex looked at Jalin, "Is that true? What about Prosecutors?"

"We- well, Prosecutors are allowed to if they so desire. But Defenses aren't supposed to."

"That's stupid..."

Alexander bent down to pull off the sheet covering the body. Jalin decided to stand back a bit.

Alexander really wasn't joking.

Nothing could have prepared Jalin for what he saw. He'd seen some nasty shit but never in his life had he seen something like that. He couldn't even begin to describe it.

After about two seconds, Alex threw the sheet back over the corpse, looking as pale as cauliflower. "Ok-ay," he croaked, "Why don't we just look for other evidence. We won't find anything on that."

Jalin nodded in agreement, feeling light-headed. "Try find a wallet, that could have a name sewn or written inside. Try to find some names in general. They're very important. Could be potential witnesses that you can question before the trial so you know what the Prosecutor will say."

"You can do that? The law firm I worked at before didn't let Defenses question the witnesses before the fact."

"Yeah, well, we- they do stuff differently," Jalin said with a salty undertone. He didn't notice until after the fact that he'd said it that way at all.

"Obviously."

Alexander stepped away from the body and began to walk around, paying close attention to the ground while also running his fingers along the walls, presumably searching for any sort of liquid or other substances. Jalin started to do the same, only further into the alleyway. He walked around in circles for five minutes before he found something that looked like a wallet poking out from under a stack of barrels. He bent down to pick it up then held it up to show Alex.

"Alexander! I found a wallet."

The lawyer walked over to Jalin, holding something of his own. "These identification papers might belong to it."

"You found identification papers?"

"They're a bit wet, but yes."

"What does it say?"

"Well the ink is smudged but I can see the last name quite clearly. It says..."

Alex suddenly went pale.

"Jefferson."

Thomas was not in the mood, goddamnit, Mary. He just wanted to rest and wait for the damned migraine to disappear. But his daughter simply wouldn't stop bothering him.

"Sally!" he hollered, his own voice making his head twinge.

The slave appeared at the door in ten seconds. "Yes, sir?"

"Take Mary outside, will you?"

"Of course, sir. Mary, come along. Your father is trying to rest."

The girl finally left, and Thomas was able to rest his head. His hair had been tied up so he wasn't lying on it and irritating his skin, but it being pulled back like that hurt his scalp. He appreciated the sentiment, Sally, but no thanks. He ended up letting it down. Thomas could never understand how Lafayette dealt with it all the time.

He heard the door open again.

"Mary..."

"Sir?"

Oh. Sally had returned.

"Sally, what do you want?"

"I was wondering if you needed anything. A drink of water, perhaps?"

Thomas rolled over in his bed and looked up at the girl. "I'm afraid a glass of water won't help me."

"Why is that, sir?"

He gestured towards the bed, "Sit."

She sat.

"I saw something, Sally."

"What did you see, sir?"

He hesitated for a moment. She's just a little girl. But she was also a slave.

"I witnessed a murder."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them.

"Was this while you were in Los Angeles, sir?"

"Yes. I was walking by an alleyway and I heard fighting. I walked over to go investigate - curiosity killed the cat - and suddenly the shorter of the two men there pulled his wand on me, and I think he was about to use the killing curse. But he changed his mind. He turned with such swift movement and uttered some sort of curse, and..."

He couldn't go on. Whatever happened to that man was unexplainable. It hurt, it physically hurt to think about.

"Sir?"

Thomas shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands. "I'd rather not continue."

"Of course, sir." The dark skinned woman dipped her head.

"However," Thomas gave a small smirk, "You'll help me relieve such tradgety, would you not?"

The woman hesitated, her dark eyes pointed towards the floor, "If that is what you wish, sir."

Thomas took her hand, leading her away from the room and into his chambers.

Not more than at least an hour later, Sally exited Thomas' room, if you could call the overly decorated room such a simplistic word.

For a few minutes, Thomas sat on a red, velvet like textured seat; the stained sheets that had once been tucked nicely on his bed, clean, had been ripped of the mattress and taken away with Sally when she had left.

The only piece of clothing the man wore was a plain, although crinkled shirt. Sighing, the man stood, unfolding a pair of black pants and slipping them on with ease unexpected of someone his status - although he was rich, Thomas was not a man of laziness.

As he left the room, Thomas picked up his pink tainted coat, slipping his arms through the sleeves as he walked past slaves cleaning the household.

A maid of some sorts rushed towards Thomas, diverting her dark eyes away from his own before speaking, "What do you need, sir?"

"A carriage," the man curtly replied, turning his eyes to look at the large hills and faint silhouettes of town that lay out in front of him, "I'll be riding to Port Conway."

"Of course," the woman scurried off as Thomas made a hand gesture of dismissal, running as swiftly as she could to the stables, where carriages, horses and the stable boy who managed said horses were.

Within perhaps half an hour, barely bearing the aching pain in his legs, Thomas was about to retire back inside before being met with the sight of a black carriage, lead by magnificent horses controlled by a large man who hunched over the reins.

Thomas waited for a slave to open the carriage door for him; stepping up the large distance between the ground and said carriage, Thomas entered, seating himself inside and closing the door before knocking his knuckles against its side, signalling the driver.

With an abrupt although not unsettling jolt, the carriage rolled forward, beginning its' journey which would no doubt make Thomas loose his mind from the wait, the things I do for my friends, he smirked.

After an enternity of rolling hills and the stuffy interior of the carriage, it had arrived at the wanted destination.

Thomas independently stepped outside the vehicle and waved at the driver, another signal telling him to return within an hour.

As the carriage set off to drag itself off the property, Thomas scaled the small stairs that led to the front of his companion's home, walking confidently towards the front door as he raised his knuckles to tap the large door.

In response a butler opened the large doors, greeting the familiar face of Thomas that he had seen often when he came to visit James Madison.

Without a word, the man smiled and lead the pink draped man to James' chambers, as Thomas liked to call them, oh so fancily.

Abruptly, Thomas barged in through the doors, dancing in an almost feminine way as he made his way over to his companion.

Thrusting his right arm into the air and left around around his torso, right leg pointed towards his friend, he smirked, "Olé!"

In response to his friend's actions, Madison gave him a blank stare, eyes diverting to a spilled ink bottle that lay on his desk, slowly staining whatever form of writing he had been constructing.

"Thomas," he greeted, lips pressed in a firm line with eyes, unimpressed.

The afro bearing man dropped his pose, raising an eyebrow although a smirk still evident on his face, "Awe, James, I though you would be a tad more excited to see me."

"You made me spill a bottle of ink," the man shot back, a smile playing on his lips.

"If that's what you're worried about, no big deal!" Thomas waved off, "I'll give you another when I come around next time!"

"You better." James narrowed his eyes, pouting in a childish manner before erupting into a loud laughter accompanied by Thomas.

The pink clad man peered at the desk, now ink stained and most likely difficult to clean, "Oh?" Thomas' dark irises caught sight of the now black and soggy piece of parchment James had been scribbling on, "Oh no!" he cried, pressing the back of his hand against Madison's forehead, "James, I think you're catching a case of Hamilton-itus! There'd be no other reason why you'd get such a large quill!" He exaggerated, pointing at an, indeed, large quill that now too, was stained with ink.

James snorted, tugging on a bell near his desk as he lead Thomas to a pair of seats, gesturing for him to sit as the same butler who let the man in appeared at the door, asking for gained enterance before asking what James had needed of him.

"Get someone to clean the desk." James pointed at said ink stained desk, "Also, some tea as well. Thomas must be thirsty after his journey." James gave Thomas a small smile, "Is Earl Grey fine, Thomas?"

"Of course," he replied, a smirk still planted on his features.

James nodded at his butler who proceeded to remove the parchment, quill and empty ink bottle from the table before likely leaving to dispose of them, returning with tea, Thomas hoped. He was indeed quite thirsty.

"Well, Thomas? I haven't seen you since you resigned from your post as Secretary of State!" But you have. "How are things with you? Why did you resign in the first place? Could have left me with something to work with, at least!"

Thomas laughed. "Things have been going... okay I suppose. Unfortunately, I can't disclose as to why I resigned from Secretary of State," the man winked, "secret stuff, ya'know? Ah, and apologies, I didn't realise I left you so short handed."

"The apology is appreciated," James sighed, leaning back in his chair, "Your job is harder than I thought. The new Secretary of Treasury's a great debater as well, not as amazing as Hamilton, though." James peered at the ceiling for a moment before facing Thomas, "Do you know what happened to him?"

Thomas thought of when he saw Alexander at MUCASA, sneering at such a memory, he replied, "No, I don't. It isn't like him to suddenly leave like that, though." Thomas placed a pensive facade over his features, "He had such a good relationship with Washington as well."

"Too bad." James shrugged, "He was good at what he did, you ought to admit that."

"I suppose."

"Awe, you a sore loser, Thomas?" Madison teased, smirking at his friend.

"Not at all." Thomas replied coldy, diverting his eyes from his friend and pouting.

"Sure, Thomas, sure."

Silence enveloped the pair for a few uncounted minutes; disrupted only when a tap of the door disrupted it.

"Come in," Madison called boredly as he stared plainly at a painting.

Thomas expected the butler from earlier to enter, carrying in their tea. However, he wasn't so lucky as he watched as a pair of male slaves walk in, silently lifting up the ink stained desk before soundlessly exiting the room, as if they were never there.

Madison blinked, staring at the closed door.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas' dark irises caught a glimpse of a grandfather clock, the same one that he had seen a week before, and the week before that.

Peering at the clockwork, Thomas caught sight of the time, abruptly, the man jolted up, swiftly unsheathing his wand from the sleeve of his coat.

Madison barely let out an audible cry of surprise before he was cut off by Thomas' quiet voice, his wand pointed at the man.

"Obliviate."

Madison's eyes almost immediately rolled back into his head as a flash of blue light poured through the room, gone as soon as it came.

Thomas bit his lip, grateful for the time he had been able to spend with his friend, if only a small amount.

"I am truly sorry, old friend," he spoke softly, although he acknowledged James couldn't hear him, a mild form of hope told him he would try, at least.

The man wished for more time to be given to him; he wished he were able to talk to James more.

It was incredibly lonely in the wizarding world. Friends: none. Practically.

Thomas sighed, exiting the room as he soundlessly closed the door, walking, head hung low as he stuffed his hands in its coat pockets, hunching over. Such posture would have been punished had his parents seen it.

He smiled.

Bitterly.

The graceful taps of well trained feet entered Thomas' ears, the pink clad man raised his blank eyes to see the unnamed butler pass by him.

It almost seemed as if time slowed. Thomas peered through he corner of his eyes to the passing man, eyes narrowing before he turned them forward, walking unshakeably as he continued on his way out.

I'll visit you soon, my friend.