Fool of a Yearling!

[Gregory White]

The murmurs behind the pine wood door were too low for the average muggle to hear, but for a wizard with Extendable Ears (or a part goblin with a distinct point to the tips of his own), it wasn't impossible. Gregory didn't quite have his ear pressed to the door, but he was arranging flowers needlessly close as the evening drew on. It was an hour and a half past his shift's end, but a large gathering had arrived earlier that day and hadn't left the closed parlour since.
He'd heard nothing of value, yet, but he began to pick up snippets like '-if Sojourns Ltd. had enough of the gurdyroot powder, we could double their output without spending more on-' and '-told her it was Friday, or nothing. What do I care about the state of her acromantula venom stocks?-'. He was getting closer to answers than he'd ever been during his entire employment.

Gregory tucked an azalea behind a sprig of baby's breath, thinking briefly of the work he'd done, and he felt momentarily sad that he would have to leave. It was only a matter of time before he heard something good enough to send to his father, though, and then there would be questions about who had said what, and he'd need to be long gone.

Two things would become apparent to his employers, eventually. Firstly, his name was not, as he had told them, Gregory Blackmoore, but Gregory Yearling. Secondly, it was a matter of law that had all registered animagi inform their employers of their status as such, and Gregory was certainly not registered. Even if he had been, the Whites were definitely not to know.

The stand of flowers were going through their fifth rotation, and Greg was starting to get desperate, when the tip of his ear twitched at a particularly important comment by some faceless lackey.
"St. Mungo's will get one third of the shipment, and the rest is on to McCarrick's lot. He's the only one who's able to move it quickly enough, but he charges an arm and a leg ... No, I've told them that it's a global shortage, and they're paying double in the meantime, but Mungos are starting to complain about the prices ... Well, who cares about the Head Healer of the whatever-department? He can take it up with McCarrick!". There was a smattering of laughter, and Gregory clenched his fist around a flower stem, crushing it.
Those vile bastards! he thought furiously, releasing the stem and turning on his heel. Those are people's lives they're toying with.

He wondered if the Whites even knew about what their business partners got up to, but of course they'd have to, since their little 'club meeting' was taking place in their very home. He hadn't heard Regius' voice, thank goodness, but there were mentions of Keevan joining the party soon, so it seemed like a good time to make an exit. He'd heard enough, anyway.

Gregory had only taken twelve steps, if that, before the worst situation that could have befell him, did. Bumping directly into an unyielding body, he looked up (and up) into those startling blue eyes and nearly gasped.
"Good evening," said Greg weakly, attempting to sidestep Keevan White. Had he gotten far enough away from the door to look as though he weren't listening?​

 

[Keevan White]

When at last Watson had stopped dribbling on about his personal life, Keevan swerved the topic of conversation onto business. Two hours and a lot of arguing later, the stubborn men had gotten nowhere. "Look, I don't care. It'll have to wait until tomorrow. I've got a conference starting in.. Ten minutes ago," He said nervously, beginning to pace the room as he spotted the time on his hanging wall clock. Keevan was in no mood to justify his latest manoeuvres to the man, regardless of how much trouble he would be in for it. He mumbled hasty words of farewell into the phone before hanging up, cutting him off mid sentence. Most of his communications with other wizards were done via owl, but this conversation had been one of urgency. Keevan scratched at his chin, wondering what on earth he was going to do next. St Mungos, along with a few of the most influential head healers, was latched on to Decado Pharmaceuticals like a leech. They were clutching at straws, really, considering that McCarrick was the man charging them so much for their shipments, but it was a real threat nonetheless. Keevan sighed. He had been doing fine for months, until a moment of greed had spurred him to make further cuts to St Mungos shipment of mistletoe berries. It had been a brash and risky move, and it was coming back to haunt him with malicious strength.

Keevan shrugged on his suit jacket, turning his mobile to silent before slipping it into his pocket. He couldn't leave it in his office, not with all the beady eyed staff roaming the manor. So far, he had not had any unfortunate encounters with them, but he wasn't prepared to take any risks. All of Keevan's most important paperwork was locked up in a filing cabinet, the key to which was on his person at all times. It paid to be cautious, as he was beginning to realise all too well.

Starting the route from his office to the conference room, Keevan steeled himself for the meeting ahead. He trusted his colleagues and brothers with his life, and was confident that they would find a way to deflect the situation somehow. As he approached the ornate double doors behind which his men sat, Keevan almost dismissed the man he had bumped into without a second thought. He sidestepped, unintentionally blocking the man's way, but the moment of delay was enough for what was going on to register in Keevan's head. "Gregory?" He thought aloud, continuing to block the gardener's way. That's right - Regius had recently employed him to arrange the flowers inside the manor as well as tend to the gardens outside. But it had just gone seven thirty; why was he still working? And more importantly, why was he working so close to the conference room? In an instant, Keevan grabbed the gardener by the back of his shirt and dragged him into the nearest vacant room. The meeting could wait. This was of far greater importance. "What did you hear?" Keevan demanded, getting straight to the point as he forcefully released the man into a chair, hoping that the wizard was not carrying a wand.

Godmodding approved

 

[Gregory White]

In the empty room with just him and a furious Keevan as occupants, Gregory's eyes couldn't help but dart to the door every few moments. So far, nothing truly terrifying had occurred, but his heart was beating manically like he'd just completed a marathon.

Don't endanger yourself, he repeated his Father's words in his head. Don't use any information against him, don't tell him anything else about you. This was disastrous. It was just typical that he'd had to get closer in order to find out something useful, and in doing so, blow his 'cover' so to speak. It was really the simplest job. Learn about the Whites, attempt to figure out how they were screwing St. Mungo's out of medicine, cut and run like it's nobody's business. I can't even get that right, thought Greg helplessly.

His feet had skidded across the floor when he was dragged into what appeared to be a newly decorated tea room. There was nothing but a wide window, closed to the dark expanses of the garden, some bookshelves and a set of soft-backed chairs with tables. Gregory was dumped unceremoniously into the closest settee which he gripped the arms of tightly with both hands. His face was pale, but he was the master of himself, and he would not give.
"I don't know what you mean, Sir," said Gregory as calmly as he could. He held up his sap-sticky hands, palms-up. "I was merely attending to the flowers as usual when time got away. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"
Gregory Yearling was an appalling liar, but necessity drove him to give it the best shot he possibly could. If worse came to worse, he was sure he was stronger than his employer, but the man had height and anger on his side, where as Greg only had his fear to drive him.​

 

[Keevan White]

The moment the gardener opened his mouth to protest, Keevan knew he was lying. The man was concealing his fear to the best of his ability, but Keevan saw through it like a pane of glass. What was the best way to approach this situation? Keevan was flaming with anger, primarily at himself for allowing Regius to hire the staff. He knew his brother couldn't be entrusted with such an important job. Regius simply didn't have the same eye for spotting dubious characters that he did. None of that was important now, however, and whilst he would be sure to grill his brother for his ignorant mistake later on, at the current time he had a more important matter to attend to. Keevan, trembling with a mixture of fear and fury, paced up and down the north side of the room, careful not to stray too far from the door. He could tell Gregory was not going to cooperate. Not without a little extra encouragement, so to speak. Whilst Keevan had a powerful adrenaline rush on his side, he was considerably less muscular than his opponent, and without a wand there was little he could do. Besides, with his colleagues in a room just down the hall, it would have been far to risky to pull out his wand and stun him there and then. Keevan was going to have to go for the more tactful approach.

In response to the gardener's feeble lies, Keevan let out a string of Spanish words that he had come to be very familiar with. Utterly unimpressed by his poor alibi, he kicked over a nearby chair with such force that it took to the air for a moment. Keevan knew that he wasn't going to hurt the man, but he could still use his anger to intimidate him. After all, Gregory didn't know that he wasn't going to touch him, and Keevan looked incredibly frightening when he was angry. "Don't give me that rubbish," He growled, ignoring the throbbing pain in his toe where it had come into contact with the chair. With each word the man spoke, a spray of spit left his mouth. "You've never worked overtime in your life!" Keevan kept a close eye on his staff's records. How could he not have noticed anything suspicious about Gregory? He hesitated, trying to recall the man's surname. Gregory Blackmond.. Blackborn.. something like that. If he had had any reason to doubt the legitimacy of his claims, he would have fired the man on the spot. He supposed his brother wasn't entirely to blame for this mistake, since he too had overlooked it. "Who are you? Who sent you here?" He yelled, staring straight into the eyes of the enemy. Was this man a spy sent from St Mungos? Was McCarrick in on this? As useful as he was, he didn't trust that man one bit. If only Keevan had had some Veritaserum, his job would have been a whole lot easier.

 

[Gregory White]

Keevan kicked over the other chair that Greg wasn't sitting on, and he flinched as if struck. He hadn't thought that the man was truly dangerous, but it was starting to look like he'd been wrong about many things. He was wrong to have come here, wrong to have stayed late in the manor, wrong to have lied to Keevan and pretended he was innocent, wrong, wrong, wrong, and he was going to pay for it.
The man's voice was terrifyingly deep and low. Any other time, and he might have even found it attractive, but the thrills it sent through him were not at all pleasant in any way. Gregory had not let go of the settee arms since he was thrown into the room, for fear of the trembling in his hands traveling to the rest of his body.
He opened his mouth almost in indignation at being accused of never working overtime, but that wasn't really the issue, was it? The man seemed to hesitate as if trying to recall his name, and Greg sunk deeper into the chair trying to make himself smaller. It wasn't difficult, being somewhere between five-four and five-six in height as he was, but a mouse wouldn't have been small enough right now.

Keevan stared him straight in the eyes and demanded to know who he was and who had sent him here. Despite his fear, wild dogs couldn't have pulled either snippet from him. He had something to protect that was more precious than his own skin, at this point. Who knows what he'll do if he hears my Father's name? thought Gregory, swallowing and trying to collect himself. Surely, surely he wouldn't hurt him.
"My name is Gregory," he told Keevan, trying to breathe slowly. What to reveal, what not to reveal? "I ... I don't wish you ill. I'm trying to ..." What? What was he trying to do? "I'm just trying to find out where my missing stock is from St. Mungo's in Scotland!". A half truth, close enough, there, keep to the narrative ...
"I thought if I could talk to some of the distributors, they could help me, but they're in a meeting so I just ..." Stop hesitating! "Didn't want to disturb them. Or you. Either, both." Please. Please be enough. ​

 

[Keevan White]

The weight of Greg's lies fell to the ground like a ton of bricks. Did he really expect Keevan to believe that he had come here on his own accord, working as a gardener for two months just to have a friendly chat with his colleagues? Keevan wanted some proper answers, and he wanted them now. He began to pace again, his rage multiplying by the second. What the heck was he going to do? If Gregory wouldn't cough up some real answers soon, Keevan was going to be in big trouble. He could only imagine what the consequences of his actions would be. Tallying up his crimes in his head, Keevan started to panic. No! The man was going to talk, and Keevan was going to find a way to get it out of him if it was the last thing he did. Azkaban was not a place for the faint of heart, and beneath his thick skin, Keevan was not quite the resilient man he appeared to be. By the time he was released, his sanity would be long gone. If he was released at all. If McCarrick had anything to do with this, he was seriously going to pay. He wouldn't have put it past the man to tip St Mungos off about Decado. That bastard was greedier than Keevan. He'd do anything for a pay rise.

In a fit of panic and rage, Keevan slammed his fist against the wall so hard his eyes almost started to water. He couldn't call Gregory's bull**** outright, even if that was what he wanted to do. "You'd better not be lying to me, Blackmoore," Keevan snarled, suddenly remembering the man's surname. "If that's even your name," He added as an afterthought, wondering exactly how much of Gregory's resume had been fabricated. If everything he'd written on it was a complete lie, how was Keevan going to get any leverage against him? The man was fast running out of options. It was quickly dawning on him that if he wanted to make it out of this with his reputation (and sanity) in tact, he was going to have to use threats. "Because if I find out you are.. Well, I've got two dozen men in a room down there, every single one of which has the power to find out who you are and track down your family," He warned, pointing a quivering finger in Gregory's direction. "And don't make me explain what they'll do to them once they find them." They were empty threats, really. His men probably did have the resources to track this Blackmoore fellow and his family down, but he had no intention of asking them to do so. They were working under Keevan's orders, and without his strict instruction would not be allowed to take action. Still, it didn't hurt to try using his family as a way to get him to fess up.

 

[Gregory White]

With all that clattering and banging, Gregory completely lost his bottle and started to shake for real. The safety of the settee suddenly became confining and he leapt to his feet, the fight or flight response making him jitter from foot to foot. Keevan was stalking back and forth like a jungle cat and the lion in his chest wanted to square up with him and snarl back, but doing that one would turn the situation from disastrous to cataclysmic.
Calm, calm, calm, thought Greg with every beat of his heart. He doesn't believe you, but he still knows nothing. You hold all the cards, you and you alone-

His heart skittered like his feet had on the plush blue carpet. No. Not Father. Not the girls, not Simon. Not Mother!

Between the two of them, the worst mistake of the night was Keevan's when he threatened the safety of Gregory's loved ones. Never in his life, before that moment, had he felt such a pure and unbridled rage. It was like hitting the throttle on a formula one car: zero to a hundred in less than a second.
Gregory morphed, literally. The hair on his head fountained back and the world exploded into white. The short, mild part-goblin man leapt over every obstacle between him and his challenger, and two-hundred and fifty kilograms of white lion hit Keevan paws-first and sent them both careening into the bookshelves. Old tomes were dropping, something glass broke and crunched under the other wizard's back.

'Huff, huff, huff.'

Huge panting breaths bathed the face of the businessman. I could crush him, thought Gregory, feeling almost detached from his feline self. I could extend my claws, dig into his chest and claw out the bones and insides. He would never even reach the door.

All the weight and fur disappeared the moment Greg got a hold of himself. He collapsed forward onto Keevan, leaning heavily into his body before rolling off and onto his back, breath heaving as he stared at the ceiling. This is probably the worst thing that could have happened, he thought numbly.
Silence, except for the fluttering of pages. There was a cold breeze blowing over him, and he tilted his head to look out of the broken tea room window. One of the side tables had been thrown clear through the floor-length glass and taken out the south-west corner. There were tiny cuts on his face from the clear slivers littering the ground. Gregory turned his head to the right, then, and looked at Keevan blankly.​

 

[Keevan White]

Before Keevan had even had a chance to register the unprecedented wrath on Gregory's face, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of a colossal white lion. A white lion, which, as it happened, was careering towards him, hurtling over tables and chairs in its steadfast mission to attack the man who had threatened his family. It reached him in a matter of milliseconds, despite the fact Keevan felt as though he had been glued to the spot for an eternity. He opened his mouth to yell in sheer terror, but the sound got jammed in his throat. As the lion's gigantic paws collided with his chest, he felt the rest of the air in his lungs being knocked out of him. The force was enough to send the two of them crashing straight into a bookshelf, with Keevan's back taking the majority of the blow. He felt a sharp crunch, followed by a warm stickiness trickling down his spine, but with a two hundred and fifty kilo lion towering over him, this was the least of his concerns. There was a moment of hesitation as the lion's eyes bored into his, as though contemplating whether or not to show mercy on the man. Keevan's whole body shook violently with fear, the colour from his face draining as he choked for air under the lion's weight. He fumbled to his right, searching blindly for a shard of broken glass to thrust into the lion's side, but just as he found one, Keevan felt the pressure release from on top of him.

With one long, rasping gasp, Keevan's lungs filled themselves with air. He coughed and convulsed, unable to move except to replenish his oxygen supply. His heart banged furiously inside his chest as he stared at his perpetrator, his fear finally motivating him to scramble to his feet. With no wand and his muscles trembling weakly, Keevan was completely defenceless. Regardless, he grabbed the nearest metal chair and held it legs-first toward Gregory, who was sitting amongst the mess of broken glass and fluttering pages. "You.. You..!" He croaked, unable to find the words as he panted almost as heavily as a lion himself. He shook the chair, trying to make sense of the jumbled thoughts in his head, but it was all he could do not to pass out. Suddenly, a clear thought came to him, and he felt a mixture of fear and revenge fill him. "You're an animagus!" He exclaimed, stating the obvious, but what he was really getting at was that nowhere on Gregory's resume had he stated being one. The man would have laughed if he hadn't been so darn terrified. All he had to do now was work out which one of them was in a bigger pile of crap.

 

[Gregory White]

There were chair legs in his face, and Greg looked at Keevan for a long moment before slowly and purposefully getting to his feet. He made his movements open and direct, lest either of them trigger each other into a full blown brawl. The businessman looked just as stunned as Greg felt, if not more. He could smell blood; his own and, worryingly, the blood of Keevan White. Had he stuck out his claws during the leap? His eyes sought the source of the blood and a few drops pattered onto the carpet behind the chair-wielding wizard. The bookcase, though Gregory numbly.
Wherever he'd touched the floor was starting to sting and smart. The world was flickering in snapshots of time; Greg looked at his hands and the little pieces of glass embedded into them; his left cheek hurt where he'd turned it into the carpet to look; the back of his arms were scratched with splinters of bookcase.

In short, everything was effed.

Keevan's words managed to shock him out of his time-warp. Gregory flinched when the man exploded out the obvious, but worst confirmation of current events. Yes, he was an animagus, and it was a crime just to conceal it from an employer, let alone be one, unregistered as he was. This was the definition of an impasse.

Gregory put his hands at his sides.
"I am." he responded quietly, looking at Keevan and the chair between them. "And you are scamming St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries out of millions of galleons of supplies and medicine," said the animagus darkly. Now they were on level ground. Keevan knew what he knew, and he also had a secret of Greg's own. Whatever pathetic lies he'd tried to conjure up before were discarded; there was no coming back from this one.
"So what are you going to do?". Something was broiling in the pit of his stomach, and he realised that he was still murderously angry. "What do you think-" he barked suddenly, "-You are going to do with that pathetic thing?" said Greg, indicating to the chair held-aloft. "And me? My family?".
Gregory leveled a bloody finger at Keevan. "You can't do anything! Neither of us can!" His chest was beginning to heave again with his rage. "So make a move!"​

 

[Keevan White]

Not for the first time that evening, Keevan was stunned into silence. Besides the tinkling of glass as a breeze swept through the broken window, all that could be heard was the man's shallow, gasping breaths. The shock of being pounced on by a fully grown lion was bad enough, but Gregory had just gone and added more fuel to the flames by pointing out that there was nothing either the men could do. When he was fairly confident Gregory would not be turning back into his lion form any time soon, Keevan placed the chair down carefully beside him, not taking his icy blue eyes off the man for a second. His invitation to make a move had a strange effect on Keevan, shattering the anger that had been coursing through him as quickly as the glass bookshelf. He lifted his hands, his expression solemn. Gregory had been listening in on his colleagues' conversation in the conference room, and he knew exactly what Decado Pharmaceuticals was up to. "I am," He responded quietly, unable to deny Greg's accusations. There was little point in hiding what he was up to, since the man had already heard it for himself. A memory charm would have worked a treat. Keevan made a mental note never to leave his office without his wand again.

Slowly, Keevan began to walk in a semicircle around the animagus, ignoring the piercing pain in his back where shards of glass had embedded themselves into his spine. Both men could go to Azkaban for their crimes. So what were they to do now? "Clearly, we are at an impasse," Keevan began calmly, pulling a splinter of glass out of his hand. "I don't wish to see my reputation perish, and it would be an awful shame if the Ministry happened upon your little.." Keevan paused, a smile appearing on his face as he found the right words. "Circus act," He taunted merrily, clenching his bloody fists around the back of the chair to conceal the fact they were shaking. Ridiculing a man whose animagus was a lion was not the smartest of moves, but Keevan was fairly certain Greg wouldn't want to get himself into even more trouble by doing him serious harm. As a flittering thought, Keevan wondered how the meeting was going without him. His men were going to have their work cut out for them once they heard about this. Could he even tell them? Keevan still didn't know who this man was, or who had sent him here, but he highly doubted he was going to get out of this with his freedom unscathed. "So," He said quickly, his tone changing from mildly amused to deadly serious. "Since you're so smart, what do you suggest?"

 

[Gregory White]

"Circus act," repeated Greg flatly. He sighed when Keevan set the chair down and ran his hand through his hair, which dropped small wooden slivers to the floor. He did not at all appreciate the other man beginning his pacing again, which was too like stalking and made him want to (again) make a show in his lion form. Gregory's anger was rarely seen, but it blew away quickly as the tension lowered a little. His rage would help him win a fight, but it would not help them eke out out a decent plan for dealing with this situation.

His eyes followed Keevan's movements, not missing him take the glass out of his hand. They were both injured, it seemed, though not sorely. It occurred to the animagus to offer a sign of peace, and approached Keevan with measured steps. He fully expected him to shy away, but reached out and took the other wizard's palm gently and began whipping out a glass shards quickly, holding it up for the businessman to see. It glinted between them, and Gregory set in to removing the rest. He did not look at him while he worked, but spoke to the floor. If he looked at Keevan, he might turn to fury again.
"It would be a shame, certainly. We might even share a cell for a while, until the time came when you only had the bars to speak to," said Gregory, frowning and swiping away the blood that belonged to both of them. His hands were blistered from recent work, but fundamentally soft. They had held nothing except the hands of small children and friends for many years before the last few months. He took out the last of the debris, then stepped back and sucked at the cuts on his own palms.

"I didn't come here to be your enemy," Greg told Keevan, licking at his hands (although he imagined paws) without thinking. He shook his head at himself and stopped. "I'm not a spy, or even a contractor. I'm just the son of someone who cares about St. Mungo's." Gregory glared at Keevan, then. He'd done something foolish by revealing his transfigured form, but the real villain was the man whose neglect and outright cruelty endangered them both, especially the people relying on his company's 'products'.
Greg folded his arms across his chest. In their 'game of tennis', he'd hit the ball into Keevan's court and could only wait for a return or a fault.
"Whatever you say has to be to our mutual satisfaction, because I have no ideas and we both have something to lose," he told him.​

 

[Keevan White]

As Gregory approached, it took Keevan every ounce of courage he had not to spring back in fear. After his last display, Keevan wasn't sure how much he trusted Gregory not to return to his lion form. The pride that Keevan had felt when he'd carefully picked those words was replaced with an inexplicable guilt as Gregory began pulling splinters of glass from his hand, his soft fingers brushing against his palm. What was this? Some kind of apology? Startled, Keevan allowed him to continue for a moment, before a scuffling noise outside the door brought him sharply to his senses. "What.. What do you think you're doing?" He faltered, snatching his hand away, but he couldn't bring himself to speak in the stern tone he had used previously. However strange the man's kindness, it seemed to be a peace offering, and the men were in far too sticky a situation to stay angry with each other any longer. After all, they had both broken the law. If they weren't careful, it would only be a matter of time before one of them slipped information to a third party. Suddenly, an idea came to him. It was a long shot, but it would certainly buy them time.

Keevan listened as Greg began licking his hands. Hesitantly, he pulled a handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket and took Gregory's wrist, wrapping it around the worst of his cuts and securing it with a knot. "If what you're saying is true-" Which Keevan believed it was, "-Then I see no alternative. Until we reach a more permenant agreement, you'll remain under my close supervision as the White family's gardener," Keevan began, stating it as a fact rather than a suggestion. Somebody needed to take the upper hand, and at this point Keevan couldn't risk that role falling onto Gregory. There was far too much at stake to leave the decision making to a man who couldn't even spy on a conference without getting caught. "It's not ideal, but I'm sure you'll agree that neither of us can risk the alternative. If you want to send a letter home, you'll have to run it past me, first." This part was important. He couldn't risk Gregory sending messages to his family in code. Keevan assured himself that if Greg chose to write one, the letter would be thoroughly inspected before he allowed him to send it. "Obviously, should you wish to add any of your own clauses to this agreement, I'll be happy to take them into account," He added quietly.

 

[Gregory White]

Gregory was highly uncomfortable with Keevan taking his wrist, but he allowed it as the other wizard had showed him a modicum of trust in him when he took out the glass. A vague hope for a resolution began to fill him. They were finally being reasonable; could they negotiate their way out of each other's pockets? His hopes died quickly as soon as Keevan began to speak.
He wanted to collapse back into a chair but found he couldn't move. Stay here? With this man, and such terrible secrets between them? There was no better alternative, Greg understood, but he didn't have to like it and the thought of staying here for even a minute longer was making him feel ill.
"I ... understand that we've not much of a choice," he said shakily, not trusting himself to speak louder than a whisper. "But you have to agree that this gives you a lot of power, and you have a lot more to lose than I do." A thought occurred to Gregory, and he felt mean enough to exploit it. He lifted his voice a little to tell Keevan "You have family to think about with your business, right? I only take care of myself, so if I go to Azkaban then it's only on me."

He took Keevan's suggestion of clauses very seriously. There was no way that he was staying in this house and this man's care without some indication of the problems White was causing being fixed. After all, thought Gregory, This is his fault. If he wasn't screwing those people over, or dealing with shady people, I wouldn't even be here.

"One month," declared Greg suddenly. He'd wrapped his arms around his chest as he was feeling rather exposed, but his voice was now steady. "That should be more than enough time to find a solution for us both. You-" he said fiercely at Keevan "-Need to fix this. There's no reason for me to be here unless I can be sure that St. Mungo's is properly taken care of. I don't care if I have to put my neck out and go to the Aurors. You fix this!" Gregory told Keevan, and this was his fact, and not a suggestion.
By now, all the adrenaline had drained out of him and he was feeling light-headed and sick. He took a heavy breath and leaned his hip on the closest non-broken table. He had no more left to give on the subject. Gregory was here to stay, it seemed.​

 

[Keevan White]

An audible sigh of relief escaped the man's slightly parted lips when Gregory began to agree, however it was quickly cut short. At the mention of family, Keevan lowered his piercing gaze to the floor, picturing the severity of the consequences for his brothers should he be sent to Azkaban. A sickening feeling settled in his abdomen, twisting around his guts like a boa constrictor. They were currently feeling secure in the knowledge that whilst Keevan was making a few extra bucks here and there, Decado Pharmaceuticals was primarily a legitimate business. It had been a necessity for Keevan to keep it this way, since his brothers were bound to quit their jobs if they knew what the company was really up to. Involuntarily clenching his fists, Keevan stepped back. Quite frankly, he didn't trust himself no to punch the man in the face. His real anger, however, didn't lie with the man before him. In fact, it had been lucky for Keevan that he'd caught him in the first place. The man Keevan would have been happy to see knocked out was Greg's meddling, godforsaken Father. Don't shoot the messenger, he thought as his fists relaxed.

The snake in Keevan's stomach was beginning to writhe. One month? He was supposed to fix this mess and find a solution for the men in a month? That was nowhere near long enough. Not if he wanted to resolve the situation with a little money in the bank. The only way to fix his mistakes in such a short space of time was to start giving St Mungos their proper shipments. "Fine," He growled, seeing no use in protesting against the man's clauses. There was too much at stake to be fussy. "I'll have it sorted in a month. There'll be no need to go to the Aurors, I'll fix it. But if I find that you've left these grounds for even a millisecond, the deal's off. You got that?" He snarled, itching to leave so that he could attend the conference before it finished. Despite the whole situation, Keevan felt an odd level of trust in the man - and not just because he would likely go straight to Azkaban for being an unregistered animagus if he told anyone about Keevan's business manoeuvres. He headed to the door, gripping the handle to leave. As an afterthought, he turned around, pointing a bloodied finger at Gregory. "I've got my eye on you," He said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Then, he pulled open the tea room door and marched down the hall, leaving Gregory in a gust of fluttering pages.

---

END.​