My job wasn't especially glamorous. No corner office on the 47th floor for me, no lackeys tripping over themselves to butter my morning muffin, (even in a non-sexual way.) Nor was it something that I particularly enjoyed, although that probably goes without saying as I assume no one really enjoys accounting work. But as the old and depressingly apathetic saying goes, it paid the bills, and the schedule was uncommonly flexible especially for financial work, mostly I think due to the fact that my employer was rarely there himself, busy as he was with the ponies and an endless parade of blondes. As long as my work was finished, it mattered little what hours I chose to spend in the office.

"Shannon," Mrs. Cleary called on Friday from the adjoining cubicle, craning her neck so that her eyes just barely appeared over the partition to zero in on me. "Have you finished the audit for last month yet?"

I linked my fingers and stretched my hands over my hand, leaning back in my chair before answering. "Yes," I said with a groan. I'd been sitting at my desk for so long I was now wondering how I'd manage living out the rest of my days with my office chair fused to my ass. "Sent the results to Simon last night."

"So I'll expect to see them in a fortnight then, lovely," she responded with a nicely exaggerated roll of her eyes. "Any plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing exciting, no."

She pushed her chair round the corner to see me properly, giving me a pleading and what was probably intended as a playfully saucy look that instead came off as slightly maniacal.

"Come on, darling, give me something! You know this old married bint loves living vicariously through you. No date with some handsome, strapping young man? No new neighbor whose pipes just so happen to burst while he's taking a shower so that he has to run starkers down the hall to you for assistance?" Her eyes focused on something far away that only she could see and I watched in amusement until her attention slowly returned to me.

Though she was only 42, Mrs. Cleary had crammed enough romance novels into her brain to last the rest of her life. She was also under the (magically assisted) impression that I was 25, so her interest in my sex life wasn't quite as inappropriate as it might have been had she known my true age. And I did so love to wind her up. At this point the woman must have surely thought that I was a one-woman orgy…err, not that that's technically possible but you get the point. Unfortunately, most of my bawdiest (and best) tales came out of my own bizarre and decidedly indecent mind.

"Well, I've not had a night out since my New Year's Eve disaster," I said, standing to stretch my back more effectively. "And this weekend I've a friend staying with me who's rather the prudish type, so I doubt there'll be shenanigans in any form till she's gone."

"What about that bloke who saved you on New Year's, eh?" she quipped for only the 59th time that week. She seemed to have built up a white knight type of backstory for Black and was relishing in expanding it however her own hormone-riddled mind saw fit. Really we're all teenagers at heart, aren't we? "He certainly does sound dishy. What does he do?"

"Cop," I supplied automatically. It was the closest thing to his actual job that I could offer.

"And a uniform as well…" she sighed and lapsed into silence, no doubt diving headfirst (ha!) into a daydream involving a 6'10", ruggedly handsome, impressively built, and impossibly well-endowed Sirius Black, though she had only my rough physical description of him to go by.

I turned back to the paperwork in front of me with a grin, but today I had little extra time for chitchat. There was no friend visiting as I'd claimed, and come to think of it I couldn't name any friends of mine who'd be considered the 'prudish type' so it wouldn't have mattered anyway. In fact they all commiserated quite sincerely with my current nun-like state, (9 months, 1 day,) and would have been quite happy to help remedy the situation by tarting me up and prancing out to visit the local college dude haunts.

No, instead my valuable time and attention for the weekend would be focused solely on my first patrol, where I'd be helping to guard the home of a Ministry official who, with an underwhelming blood status or professional clout, had stuck her neck out a little too far in denouncing her own employer's lack of response to Death Eater activity, particularly in the protection of Muggleborns. She'd caused enough trouble to warrant worry over possible targeting from the evildoing scummy lot, but the Ministry, kindly sort that they were, had declined to provide official protection. Thus our fearless and bearded leader had stepped in to offer what meager resources the Order had.

"Yes, well," I said, bringing myself back to the present. "Not that he did much saving, mind. He basically described my explosive shitting/upchucking status and that was that. And anyway, I haven't seen him since that night, so it doesn't matter much either way."

"Then who was your New Year's kiss?" Mrs. Cleary asked dreamily, half her attention still taken by swarthy shirtless men.

"A girl named Lily," I said, bending my head back over my work. "Our third of the night, come to think of it."

"Oooh dear!" she exclaimed, finally focusing back on me with a smile. "You kids are quite open-minded these days!"

I grinned and kept working, deciding not to explain that the first kiss came about as a result of my extreme euphoria at having been rid of a potentially life-ending parasite, the second when Lily was so pissed that she mistook me for James, and the third because she suddenly recalled her husband's abhorrent earlier behavior and decided it rendered him unworthy of a stroke-of-midnight kiss. Mrs. Cleary's imaginings would certainly be more scandalous and I didn't want to divest her of them.

The rest of the day passed as most days at the office did and I finished my work up some time around dinner as my stomach began growling at me with barely concealed menace. I often considered it its own master and I tried crooning reassurances at it to no avail. Late as I was though, I forced myself and my angry tummy to pass the lovely-smelling restaurants, (this Ministry broad better be damn grateful,) and turned on my heel, thinking of the site of my weekend mission; the residence of a Mrs. Shu, et al.

I'd been to the place 3 days prior to scout the best vantage points, weakest areas, and most likely points of attack, but now that it was dark the quaintly isolated stone country house stood ominously isolated, a dark gray smudge against a solid black background. The single streetlight that should have illuminated the dirt road and at least a bit of the front yard had been broken out, likely, (and hopefully,) by an Order member.

Several months ago, Dumbledore and Moody together had arranged an Order meeting to address the matter of general protective spells for dwellings, and every single one of them outside of the Fidelius, (rendered useless in this specific situation since Mrs. Shu's muggle husband ran his psychiatry practice out of their back office, qualifying the house as a public space and not eligible for the charm,) would be employed at Mrs. Shu's home.

Although the Ministry had all but cut ties with her, she'd proved invaluable to the Order, providing information on individuals within said Ministry who'd turned, others who'd been Imperiused, and those still loyal to the cause. She also had an unfortunate habit of not being able to shut her bloody yap to the Prophet, either about Voldemort and his lackeys or the Ministry's pathetic efforts to stop them, leaving her, (and us,) in the predicament in which we currently found ourselves.

I'd always considered myself a tough bird, a hardboiled take-no-nonsense Jane. And one who's clearly seen too many '20's gangster movies. The point is, I was confident that I could handle myself in most situations and with the (albeit abbreviated) training from Moody, the thought of my first venture into 'field work' as it were hadn't given me pause as I'd volunteered in the well-lit, cheery kitchen at Order headquarters. Now though, as I approached the darkened house, I could almost admit to a certain amount of trepidation.

A single glowing orange circle of light marked Mrs. Shu's current location on her front porch as she smoked a cigarette and held vigil over her front yard. I raised a hand to hail her, hoping she'd recognize me as friend before hexing my bollocks off. She tipped her head in acknowledgement and said nothing as I approached.

"All quiet on the western front?"

"Mmm," she hummed vaguely, one corner of her mouth pulling back into an odd sort of half-grimace, and continued in a low voice, "Maddox is around back." She took a long draft, the cherry glowing glaringly bright in the oppressive dark.

"You shouldn't do that," I said, gesturing to her fag. "One shoddy concealment charm and your position's given away."

She snorted humorlessly and squinted directly up at me at me for the first time, taking in everything from my outfit, (black from head to toe-can't be too careful) to the earnest expression I wore.

"How old are you?"

I sniffed and tensed, raising my chin a fraction. "I hardly think it matters. I'm fully-"

"It matters," she cut across me in a solemn voice that instantly silenced me, before turning her eyes back to the yard.

Despite the fact that I had obviously been dismissed, I regarded her for a moment longer before coming to the fairly obvious conclusion that I'd get no decent conversation tonight, (and no gratitude apparently-hmmph!) so I turned to make my way to my post, chosen and shown to me when I was last here by none other than Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody himself.

The first time I'd met the legendary Auror I'd been apprehensive to say the least. His reputation preceded him, and though most claimed he was fair enough, everyone to a man loudly and vociferously advised caution when dealing with him. "No funny business," an older man told me after the meeting in which Dumbledore had informed us that Moody would be, in essence, his second. "He'll take nothing from no one, and that means you too, missy, young as you are."

I had no response to this; mostly because I was stifling laughter at the way the man had turned his whole face to the side to regard me out of one alarmingly widened eye. That paired with his ruffling, thick white mustache and he was practically his own caricature. His words rang ominously in my head though when I was finally introduced to the non-funny-business-taker, and, predictably, I proceeded to make an ass of myself.

"Hello Mr. Moody. Hey, what has twelve arms, twelve legs, and twelve eyes? Twelve pirates!"

He said nothing, but his magical and normal eyes both stared at me directly and silently. Silently, obviously. I was pretty certain even the magical one couldn't speak.

"Newest recruit," he barked eventually.

It wasn't a question and I knew it; he was well aware of my identity as exhaustive background checks were performed on all of us before we were even approached about the Order of the Phoenix. I nodded exuberantly all the same, a smile plastered to my face and a trickle of sweat running between my shoulder blades.

"Shannon Duffy at your service, my liege," and god help me, I bent at the middle, one foot stuck jauntily in front of me, and took a bow in front of him. Honestly, if I wasn't killed by the other side I was apparently trying to assure it'd be friendly fire.

After a beat or two in which I wasn't certain I wouldn't be struck down where I stood, (still bowed,) I peered back up into the mass of tangled scars and I was sure for at least a nanosecond, I saw what almost passed for a smile.

From that moment on, we were the best of friends. Saturday morning would find us cozied up together in the back of Florean Fortescue's shop, sharing the latest gossip and debating who was the hunkiest of all the hunks in the Auror ranks. Then we'd skip out the door, counting and chanting in Yiddish for some reason, and into the distance to make our dreams come true.

I might be embellishing, but I did often have fully fleshed-out daydreams of this sort quite often, (I was Laverne, obviously.) Apparently it must have given me a vacant sort of expression, because when I'd come out of one of these reveries, I'd often find Moody studying me with a certain amount of concern, likely for my sanity. Which is just fine, thanks for asking.

In fact I had to shake myself out of one of these daydreams while I was supposed to be patrolling Mrs. Shu's home. (This one had involved a hilarious incident where I spilled soup all over Moody in front of the bloke he fancied. Moody had been furious with me, sure that I'd ruined his chances, until his handsome suitor had proclaimed his love despite Moody's current soup-sodden state. Then we laughed, but more importantly, we learned a valuable lesson.)

It was a quiet night and nearing daybreak. Despite my valiant efforts at CONSTANT VIGILENCE, I was powerless to hold my own attention for more than 30 seconds. While I couldn't exactly say that I'd been hoping for some climactic shoot-em-up, I certainly hadn't anticipated the hours of boredom that came with patrol duty. Mrs. Shu had retired to get some sleep about halfway through the night, so I'd been left without even her disdainful presence. I met Maddox periodically as we moved about the property to scan for disturbances, but we said nothing, gesturing only with head nods to show that nothing had changed.

By the time my replacement arrived, I was ready to jump out of my skin. I'd been there for twelve hours without food or entertainment of any sort. Only my own thoughts for company, and I think we can all agree that's a terrifying notion, (see above.) So when a figure appeared in the front yard and called the correct password, I was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Before I could bound off though, I recognized the friendly face of James Potter.

"We meet again," he said amiably.

"We do," I agreed. "Lily ever forgive you for that whole magic show thing?"

"Ha! She did the same gag at a bar we went to a couple of nights later. She'll complain, but she likes to make a spectacle of herself, that one."

I smiled, thinking of the time in third year when Lily had told off Potter and Black in a rather earsplitting screech for doing something disgusting to the juice pitcher. Maybe he was right.

"I guess opposites attract after all," I said mordantly. "I'll leave you to it." With a mumbled goodbye from James as he took up my previous position, I apparated to a blind alley next to my apartment building.

Climbing the steps of the familiar brownstone, I could feel the lack of sleep immediately creep upon me. I'd done a satisfactory job in staying awake through my patrol. I'd call it satisfactory anyway, I only fell asleep twice, and who are you to judge? Anyway, it was catching up with me now. I pictured my lumpy, pillow-covered twin bed and suddenly the three flights of stairs felt like an unbeatable mountain. I made it two more steps and then collapsed where I was. I reached for my wand and thought of pasta before a large, glistening white mare appeared and bounded off up the stairs. A second later, a return message in the form of a snowy badger. When it opened its mouth, it spoke in the voice of my roommate, Christian.

"No. You're an absolute cow and there's no way I could possibly carry you up three flights. Maybe if you hadn't eaten ALL the spaghetti Bolognese on Thursday night I could manage. But I'm sure you're much too fat now."

I groaned loudly, hoping he could hear me three flights above and realize how much PAIN I was in, and sent another message in his general direction. I didn't have long to wait.

"UGH," said the badger. "You're lucky that you have a strapping young gent for a roommate. This will most certainly count as my workout for the day."

Christian himself appeared at the nearest landing soon enough, (soon enough that I wasn't dead, that is. Sure felt like he took his time,) and I smiled blearily at him, holding my arms out so he could haul me the rest of the way.

He rolled his eyes at me. "Oh no, sister. I'm not doing all the work." He pulled one of my arms over his broad shoulders, (he really was a strapping young gent,) and heaved me to my feet with an EXTREMELY rude, "Lord! How much do you weigh?!" (8 stones, thank you very much. At that point, Christian started laughing so hard that he dropped me right onto my tailbone and couldn't help me up again for several minutes. I never figured out what was so funny.)

We managed the rest of the stairs with much grunting and groaning on both of our parts, and when Christian kicked open our door he dropped me unceremoniously into a heap on the carpet.

"I think I threw out my back," he gasped, bending over and heaving in breaths. "Seriously. I must have blown three or four disks. My lumbar's broken. Core, you have to start an exercise regime tomorrow, how can one person be so heavy?!"

"I…..resent…..that….." I said, completely not out of breath, and most decidedly not overly heavy at all. I decided to forgive his obvious error though, on account that he had actually helped me quite a lot, and two, now I was in my apartment. I lay flat on my back on the floor, regarding the ceiling and trying to decide whether sleep or food was calling louder at the moment. In the end, both won out and Christian stood over me, (having recovered somewhat, his back apparently not shattered,) and dropped chips into my open mouth until I fell asleep where I was.