[1953 or 54. One of those years]

"What about Cornelius?"

"No."

"Malakai?"

"No."

Rosier thought for a moment. "Oh, I know! Salazar."

"Fuck off, Rosier. I am not naming my son Salazar."

"Well, you could always go with Sebastian."

Avery gave him an annoyed look. "You want me to name my kid after you?"

"It's an option!"

The pub was unusually busy, and they could barely hear themselves over the din. They sat and drank for a while until Orion Black showed up, setting his mug on the table and greeting them politely in his usual annoyingly proper, posh way.

Rosier looked at Avery.

"No," Avery muttered, "I'm not naming him Orion, either."

Black raised a particularly smug eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"He's trying to come up with a decent name for the baby," Rosier told him.

"Ah, names. They're always simple in my family."

Rosier rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but at some point you would think you'd run out of stars."

"Then we just do the junior thing."

"The what?" Avery asked with interest.

"You know, 'junior,' 'the third,' 'the fourth…'"

"Vincent Avery Junior," Rosier said, trying it out. "Yeah, that sounds painful."

"No more painful than Sebastian," Avery muttered resentfully.

The door to the pub opened and a cloud of cigarette smoke entered, followed by an exhausted-looking Lestrange. He did his usual paranoid scan of the room before joining them.

"Hello, Lestrange," Rosier greeted. "We were just discussing-"

"Why am I here?"

"-baby names, so if you have any ideas…"

Lestrange put his cigarette out on the table. "I was told to meet you here at eleven. So, why am I here?"

They all looked at each other. "Er… Boss's orders," Rosier said quickly. "We don't know why we're here either."

He seemed to buy it. "Right. Drinks, then."

"He's going to be furious when he finds out we're just here to socialize," Avery muttered as he watched Lestrange accost the bartender.

"He'll get over it."

Black frowned. "Until Nott gets here."

"Black," Rosier snapped, "why would you be an idiot and invite Nott? No one likes him."

"I like him."

"Well, that's wonderful. And when will you two be getting married?"

"Speaking of weddings," said Avery, "I sent an invitation to the Boss. For mine. Do you think he'll come?"

"No," Rosier answered immediately. "You're lucky he remembers you exist half the time. Does he even know your first name?"

"Boss knows all our names," Lestrange said, appearing beside them and passing out pints. "Knows everything about us. Strategic like that."

"And after your wedding," Rosier said to Black, "we can have the Lestrange-Riddle wedding. How nice."

"Piss off, Rosier, I'm only telling it like it is."

"Lestrange," said Avery, looking hopeful, "do you think the Boss will show up to my wedding?"

He blinked stupidly. "I'm not sure what you want me to say here."

Avery sighed.

Rosier set down his glass and gave Lestrange an odd look. "Wait. Lestrange, what is your name? First name, I mean."

"You know what my name is."

They all looked at each other. "No," said Avery. "We don't."

He smiled. "Good. Better that way. I don't trust any of you."

"Cheers, friend," said Black.

Avery sighed again. "Anyway, I sent him an invitation. I mean, it's not like it's a party or a ball or something. It's my wedding. Surely he won't miss-"

"John!" Rosier said suddenly.

"What?"

He pointed at Lestrange. "Your name is John."

"No, you arsehole, it's not," Lestrange growled. "I ain't some disgusting Muggle."

"And it's on a weekend," Avery said loudly, trying to get them back on track, "so he wouldn't have to miss work-"

"Harold."

"My name is not bloody Harold."

"I'll figure it out."

Avery slammed his mug on the table. "Are you two even listening to me?"

"Constantine."

Lestrange snorted. "Who the fuck would name their kid Constantine?"

Rosier resumed his drinking. "It's all the Boss's fault. He always insisted on calling us by our surnames. Speaking of, I don't even know why you want him at your wedding at all, Avery."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, considering it's the pureblood event of the season…"

Avery made a "tsk" sound. "Most of the people there won't know him. And the ones that do know better than to say anything."

"But what's the point? It's not like he's your friend."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he isn't." He slapped Lestrange on the arm. "Tell him I'm right, Hephaestus."

Lestrange's eye had begun to twitch. "Stop trying to guess my fucking name before I curse you."

Nott showed up at that moment, already half-drunk, throwing the door open and spotting them immediately. "Friends!" he shouted, every face in the pub turning to stare at him.

Everyone except Black sighed as Nott made his way clumsily across the room. He was smiling like an idiot.

"I want to kill him," Lestrange muttered. "Let me kill him."

"No, you arse," said Black. "Leave him alone."

"Come on. Just let me kill him. I'll do it out in the alley so you don't have to watch."

"Hello, Maurice," Rosier said loudly, eyeing Nott's very Muggle leather jacket with intense dislike.

"What are we talking about? What did I miss?"

"Nothing and nothing," Lestrange mumbled.

Avery glared at him. "Cheers, mate. I'm happy you think my wedding is so unimportant."

"It's a wedding. Who cares about weddings?"

"Lestrange," said Nott in his obnoxiously friendly voice, "isn't your family famous for its elaborate and carefully planned weddings?"

Lestrange stared at him for a moment. "Yes, Nott, in the same way your family is famous for shagging accountants."

Nott's smile faltered somewhat. "Now, now, my family has never intermingled with Muggles. At least, I don't think they have."

"Right. Where'd you get that jacket? I'm pretty sure they don't sell those at Gladrags."

"It was a gift."

"Anyway," said Rosier, turning back to Avery, "the point is that there's no way the Boss is going to show up to your wedding. Bastard probably won't even-" He stopped abruptly and was staring at the entrance with a look of mingled surprise and horror.

The last person they ever expected to see had just walked in, and he was surveying the room with narrowed eyes, searching for them, a hint of annoyance already making itself at home on his face.

"Well, shit," said Avery.

"You invited him here?" Rosier hissed as they watched the Boss approaching their table like an oncoming storm of unpleasant awkwardness.

"I didn't think he'd come!" Avery hissed back. "He never shows up to these things! Good lord. Well, I guess now I can ask him about the wedding."

"This better be important," said the Boss, scanning the room carefully.

Avery shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I thought it was vital for us to meet so that we can-"

"We're here to drink," Lestrange interrupted.

"Fair enough," Boss said with a shrug before making his way over to the bar.

"You got lucky," Rosier whispered to Avery.

"Is it just me," said Black, "or is it odd that he's perfectly alright with being here for no reason?"

"Man wants a drink," Lestrange reasoned. "Nothing wrong with that."

"No," said Rosier, "it's odd."

The Boss returned with an unusually large firewhiskey in his hand.

"And… and how have you been?" Avery asked, watching him carefully.

"Well, I just spent the entire day repairing my classroom after a student had decided that blowing things up was a wonderful defense tactic. So, brilliant."

"Right…"

"I thought you loved teaching," said Lestrange.

"It's not really something one can enjoy. It's more like a refined sort of torture."

"I had a relative who worked at Hogwarts," said Black. "He loved it dearly, from what I remember."

"Yes, I've met Phineas. He once told me dying was the best thing that had ever happened to him because it meant he would never have to talk to another student."

"Oh," Black said, sounding quite deflated.

"So, what did I miss?" Boss asked, downing most of his drink at once in a very un-Boss-like way.

"Avery wants to know if you're going to his wedding," Rosier blurted.

He stared at Avery in confusion. "You're getting married?"

Lestrange laughed loudly.

"We were also talking about baby names," Avery said, hoping to change the subject. "Arinella likes 'Winston…'"

Lestrange snorted. "Bloody hell. You ought to just name him John Smith and get him a job at a Muggle bank."

"Piss off, Lestrange. Her grandfather's name was Winston."

"Oh, that's right. Winston Pucey, the oddball. My father used to complain about him. A bit too keen on Muggle women."

"Do please be sure to stand up during the ceremony and mention that to everyone. I'm sure Arinella would appreciate it."

"Winston Avery," Rosier said, testing the words. "Winston… Avery. Lestrange is right. He'll be an accountant."

"Fuck you."

"I think it sounds nice," said Nott, whom most of them had forgotten was there.

"You would," Lestrange spat.

Avery shrugged. "What about… Stephen?"

Everyone at the table snorted.

"There was this man I knew growing up," said the Boss, "a vicar at the church."

Nott tilted his head in confusion. "What's a vic-"

"Shut up, Nott," Lestrange hissed.

"I remember distinctly," Boss continued. "He was this awful, disgustingly mundane sort of Muggle and everyone hated him. He had a tendency to make anything and everything sound boring. And he was horribly unintelligent."

Avery frowned. "Why-"

"His name was Stephen."

Lestrange was laughing so hard he was gripping his chest in pain.

"I hate you all," Avery declared. "You know what? I don't care. I like it. I'm going with Stephen."

"Well, I'm relieved we managed to accomplish something of note in this unbelievably useless meeting," said the Boss, setting down his empty glass and eyeing Rosier's unfinished whiskey.

"'Stephen,'" Lestrange laughed, shaking his head. "God."

Avery stood suddenly and pointed his wand in Lestrange's face. "Shut up, you fucking wanker. No one asked you."

"Go ahead," Lestrange chuckled, still smiling, "attack me in front of the Boss. Bet he'll love that."

Avery glanced at the Boss, who shrugged. "I stopped listening a while ago."

"Go on then," said Lestrange, standing up and pulling out a very large knife.

Avery shook his head. "Some pureblood you are. Can't even use your wand to defend yourself."

"Oh, I thought this was kinder, since I know you can't hit the broad side of a barn with a curse."

Avery threw his wand away and launched himself at Lestrange with the force of a bull. They both ended up on the floor, fists flying, the rest of the pub watching with mild interest.

"Are you going to finish that?" Boss asked Rosier, pointing at his half-drunk whiskey. He seemed to take no notice of the violent brawl occurring beside them.

"Er- no."

"Well," Black sighed, "this is incredibly uninteresting. I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. Nott, care to join me?"

They left hurriedly, almost as if they could not get out fast enough.

Rosier narrowed his eyes as he watched Nott and Black leaving. "I wonder about those two."

"I don't," said the Boss.

It was another ten minutes before the men had finally tired themselves out. Lestrange was sporting a black eye, while Avery had a broken nose, a bleeding lip, and a large lump on his forehead.

"Still going with Stephen?" Rosier asked.

"Yes," Avery responded defiantly. "Stephen Avery. The decision is made."

"Who's Stephen Avery?" asked the Boss.

"Never mind."

"Right. Well, I have a frankly offensive amount of homework to grade-"

Lestrange snorted.

"I'm sorry," Boss spat, "do you think that's amusing? You try playing babysitter to obnoxious, idiotic children for most of the year without killing them all."

"Maybe you could just kill a few. You know, every once in a while. As a stress reliever."

"And how am I supposed to do that with Dumbledore breathing down my neck every second of every day?"

"Good point."

They both stood up and made to leave.

"WAIT!" Rosier said loudly, almost yelling. "Boss, before you go – what's Lestrange's first name?"

Lestrange glared at Rosier with intense hatred. "The Boss does not give out private information like a common fool," he said.

The Boss looked at Rosier, then Lestrange, then Rosier again. "He's right," he said. "That's private information."

Lestrange nodded at him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Constantine."

Rosier nearly died laughing.