Chapter Three: Three Men and a Yankee

Madam Swainbrooke's kitchen was warm and loud.

The warmth came from the heaping bowls of steaming bread, savory stew, and mouthwatering plum pie lining the dining-room table, all of which were the doing of the landlady. The volume could be ascribed to the American tenant, Johnny Peasegood, and the three new buddies he had brought home.

Percy hung his cloak beside the door and advanced into a personal nightmare.

The four young men swarmed the dining room table, telling four stories simultaneously with extravagant gestures and animated demonstration. They seemed to take up the entire room. Madam Swainbrooke forced her massive form between them, filling the table with food and slapping away their hands with admirable dexterity. In short, it was bedlam. It reminded Percy of home.

Just when he was thinking of slipping back out the door and getting a sandwich, Johnny spotted him.

"Percy!"

Johnny Peasegood was four years older than Percy with a tendency to act four years younger. His good looks, cheery demeanor and vast personal fortune had made him an instant hit in the nightclub set. He hustled over to Percy and dragged him into the kitchen, gesturing unnecessarily at the assembled throng.

"We've got dinner guests, see! Just met 'em today!" He pointed them out in turn. "This is Max, Benny and Orville -- gosh, sorry, Max, Orville and Benny -- guys, this is my flatmate Percy, he's a regular stick in the mud but listen, he knows the Minister of Magic."

Instantly Percy was swarmed with hand-clasps and good humor.

"Minister of Magic, you say! Hobnobber, are you?"

"Regular aristocrat."

"Filthy rich, of course, you can tell by the glasses."

Percy flushed brilliantly. Mother Swainbrooke fought her way through the melee, grabbed Percy by the shoulders, and propelled him toward the dinner table, bellowing, "There now, you lot leave 'im be, he's had a long day at the Ministry." She literally forced Percy into his seat and heaped his plate with food before turning on the jostling young men. "And you lot! Be seated all of ye, or the kitchen's closed and you'll need to find your eatin's elsewhere."

There was a scramble to be seated. The landlady wasted no time dishing out heaping plates to each one, even as they quibbled over who had whose silverware. The fare was met with a cheer and then a few moments of thoroughly unexpected silence as they tucked in.

"Goodness, ye can eat sure as ye can talk," Mother Swainbrooke said appreciatively, busily refilling the bread bowl. "Where ye found these starvin' wolves, Johnny, I couldn't guess."

"I met 'em in the park," Johnny said exuberantly. "You're not allowed to play Quodpot -- can't imagine why -- or even Quidditch, though who knows why you'd want to --" The lads made it clear what they thought of his preference in sports. "So they taught me cricket all afternoon. Cricket, can you believe it? I mean, how British."

"Cheerio," said Max, digging into the stew heartily.

"Tallyho," Orville agreed.

Benny might have echoed the sentiment but his mouth was stuffed with bread and butter.

Mother Swainbrooke bustled by and gave Johnny a cheerful box on the ear. "Too much a tourist, this one," she said. "He wants 'is British games, British meals --"

"British women ..." added Benny, stealing Max's iced tea.

"Better death than a life without love," opined Johnny rakishly, and his mates heartily agreed. "Isn't that right, Percy?"

"For those who lack the constitution," said Percy, fighting to maintain a dignity that was being attacked on every side. He slammed his spoon onto Orville's hand, which had been snaking perilously close to Percy's slice of plum pie.

Johnny's friends kept up their jolly banter and joie de vivre throughout the meal. By the end of it they had Madam Swainbrooke crying with laughter, to the point where she sat at the table chortling while they washed the dishes, sending soap and china flying across the room as each one tried to outdo the others' housework spells (none of which were, in Percy's opinion, even up to scratch.)

By then Percy had had enough. "I'm going out," he told the room in general.

Madam Swainbrooke paused to wipe her mirthful tears. "Oh, I do hope it's with that young lady of yours. Sure, she deserves more of your time."

"Young lady?" cried Johnny. "You dog, Percy!"

"It's work-related," said Percy through his teeth.

The living room roared.

"He's got a date with the Minister!"

"Too-ra-loo, Percy, bring us back some champagne."

"And women!"

Percy fled the scene and slammed the door behind him.

***

Perkins met him at the door, looking aggravated.

"You're early."

"I risked life and limb to get here," said Percy dryly. "Johnny Peasegood had company."

"So have I," Perkins said, lowering his voice. Percy looked past him into the living room to see an elderly woman fussily arranging her long wool skirt, wrinkled cheeks tinged slightly pink.

"Oh." Percy faltered. "Shall I --"

"No point in it now," grumbled Perkins. He waved Percy inside and shut the door behind him. "Arabella, it's that 'nice young man' from the Potter trial. Percy, you've met Arabella Figg."

Arabella Figg smiled up at Percy. "Of course." She frowned suddenly. "Do you need my testimony again?"

"No, you did fine," Percy told her reassuringly, "but I have come on business, I'm afraid; the Minister has a few questions for the Muggle Artifacts office and requested their answers before tomorrow morning."

Perkins looked suitably worried. Percy patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, sir, they're quite simple. I'm afraid this will take some time, though, madam," he said to Arabella, who nodded and stood.

"Not another word. I'll see you tomorrow, Chester," she said sweetly, and pecked him on the cheek. She picked up her carpet bag as she left.

Percy watched the door close before turning back to Perkins with his eyebrows raised. "My my. 'Entertaining someone for dinner', are we?"

"Yessir," said Perkins proudly, straightening his lapel. "Someone who's mad over me, don't mind telling you. It's because I still have all my hair," he confided, patting down the fluffy white cloud surrounding his head.

Percy didn't care to think about Perkin's amorous endeavors. "That is entirely your business," he said. "Do you have that map?"

Perkins snorted disdainfully and pressed the center of a flower carved onto the side of his dining-room table. A concealed drawer sprang out, filled with scrolls and scraps of parchment of all colors. He plucked a large folded map from the drawer and tossed it over to Percy, who caught it and spread it open so that it took up the whole table.

"Look at you," Perkins snorted, prowling around discontentedly. "Hunched over a bit of paper!"

"Bethnal Green," Percy muttered to himself, making a dot somewhere above the river Thames. "Wimbledon ..."

"Back in my days with the Aurors, it was all legwork! Apparating from town to town, taking interviews from folks who thought they were crazy, dressing up in that ridiculous Muggle fashion every single day --"

"Progress," said Percy, with a smile calculated to infuriate.

Perkins scowled. "No background, that's the problem these days. No bloody notion of the way things used to be done. Just 'Get me a book and a wand,' whiz-bang, problem solved." He threw himself into the chair across from Percy and leaned over the map. "What the devil are you doing?"

"It's an epidemic," said Percy, carefully drawing lines between the three towns. "Behind every epidemic --" He carefully positioned a compass and drew a circle connecting them. "-- there's a virus."

He put his finger in the center of the triangle.

"And I think he lives right about here."

~~~~~~~~~~
Perkins' absolutely perfect first name was thought up by my lovely and underappreciated beta-reader, Geisbrecht. You can find her work here on Fanfiction.net.