Preamble (Charlie)

[Kráma Damascus]

Kráma ordered a dry drink, but he didn't expect every particle of moisture from the cocktail to hit his tongue like ash. He grimaced as he felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth after the first sip. He wasn't sure what would fix the drink to even order a new one, so he suffered through what he could. It was strong; he couldn't chug it like he was 20 without burning through his sinuses.

He looked around the Underground. The usual Knockturn stragglers were bumbling over their same inane conversations—drowning in ale. Kráma didn't know any of the new help behind the bar, and it struck him that the riff raff around him was all he recognized. Natasha was nowhere to be found. He hadn't heard from Charlie in some weeks. Typically when he disappeared, they'd come knocking on his door or appearing at his shop unannounced. The quiet had been a nice reprieve, but now he was curious what had left everyone so unapproachable for the last while. 

The bell just above the door shook and chimed as the door fell open. Kráma's eyes fell down to his glass, and he could just barely make out the oblong reflection of Charlie Davis. He didn't immediately turn to greet him, but he needn't to. It appeared Charlie was headed towards him. Kráma swished his drink in his glass, and then took another unappealing sip. 

[Charlie Davis]

There were few places one could find Kráma Damascus. One was his shop. Another was here at the Underground, Natasha's bar. Charlie had been looking for the man for the last few hours since he found out that the man in question was causing problems for the three of them.

Calmly, Charlie walked into his fiance's bar, finding the man he'd been looking for sitting with his back to the room. Not the smartest move in his own opinion, but he was also paranoid. Especially having too many family members in law enforcement.

Sitting next to Kráma, Charlie crossed his arms on the bar and stared straight ahead, trying to remain calm and give his co-hort the benefit of the doubt before letting loose on the man. Especially in such a public place. He didn't need all of Knockturn fucking Alley to know his business either. "Care to explain why I'm hearing at work that you're on the list for warrants to be executed? And while you're at it, give me a reason to convince my sister to take you off it..."

[Kráma Damascus]

"Not the usual saunter," said one.
"I doubt he's happy to see me," Kráma replied internally to his friend.
"Oh, things are about to get more interesting," said another.

Another sip. Still desecrating the charm of liquor at a time like this: the liquid nearly scraped his tongue on the way through to his throat. Kráma didn't budge when Charlie sat next to him. He didn't even return a smirk or feigned interest in what the wizard had to say.

"The world's full of a lot of noise, lad," Kráma replied. "The ministry has been waiting for a reason to pull me back into Azkaban."

He placed the glass down on the bar, knocking the base against wood with a ringing thud. The Underground still buzzed around them with a hum of mediocre conversation and liquified jubilance. "Whatever the charges are, they must be good if you're so interested," Kráma added coolly.

[Charlie Davis]

Charlie was in no mood for Kráma's attitude tonight. His sister had mentioned a girl getting killed and he'd glanced at Kráma's file on her desk when he was in her office making his weekly appearance. "Given that Pheobe's got your file on her desk and she's talking about a gruesome murder of a girl, my money's on she's probably looking to haul you in for questioning at the very least on that much." His sisters were one thing if not anything. And that one thing they all had was common sense. They didn't jump to conclusions quickly in their jobs, at least Cal and Pheobe didn't.

The bartender came over to stand in Charlie's prerifieral vision, but he waved them off without looking to see who was on duty. No one needed to hear this conversation. The walls had ears here in Knockturn Alley, and the last thing he needed was to be seen or even worse heard discussing ministry business. "At least tell me you didn't have a fucking hand in killing a girl less than twenty-five god damned years old. And a werewolf girl at that. One of my other sister's kids." He had no idea if Callie had found out yet that Spencer Fancourt was dead, but the details Pheobe had given him were gruesome enough he had to make her stop before he lost his lunch all over her chairs.

[Kráma Damascus]

The hardwood of the bar was intriguing, the way the grain spiraled and spread across the board. Kráma watched as rivers of fibers flowed to the edge and fell off. Focusing on that kept the shouting of the voices to a minimum. Or rather, Kráma could stifle the sounds they made--bouncing from corner of his mind to the other. 

Kráma still didn't bother looking in Charlie's direction; what was there to really say? Glasses clanked in the background, and he could have sworn he heard some wizard behind them nearly toppling over from their chair. 

At least there was no chance of someone overhearing them at this moment. 

Kráma sniffed, but it was more of a gesture of disinterest. "What reason might she have for implicating me?" he asked, showing no signs of guilt or innocence in his timbre. Yet, he did confirm one bit: "I can't say I've ever cared to roll around with dogs, mate."