Charming

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10th January, 1895 — Auror Offices
Something was wrong with him, Nick suspected – he was under some kind of curse. Sometimes he was fine, normal, but other times: his brain or his mouth would not let him say what he wanted to. He was already sick of his own sincerity.

The Auror offices had needed a translator to interrogate a suspect or a witness in Urdu, so had sent for him. Nick had waltzed up and had presently been left to loiter in the Auror offices, waiting for the interrogator to brief him and take him in to translate.

He glanced up when someone entered, not-quite aware that the random chair he had taken had set him in their way. Instead, he’d recognised the Auror as Miss Sandow, and tried (tried being the operative word) for a small, mocking smirk in hello. It didn’t work – all he had done was smile at her, in a friendly way – and his I hope it wasn’t you who called me up here came out instead as a so-expressly-cordial-it-was-almost-earnest, “Auror Sandow! Lovely to see you. You look well.”
/
Ivy needed an Urdu translator for one of her cases, and had spent the last twenty-five minutes trying to wish the translator into being anyone but Blott. Even though she hadn't hated getting stuck with him in the blizzard as much as she'd expected, those had been dire circumstances — she was sure that anyone else would be less annoying.

But instead it was Blott, and he was — smiling at her. Ivy raised an eyebrow at him. He was being friendly. He was never friendly. Was he on drugs?

"Mr. Blott," she said, tone flat, "I suppose you're here for my witness?"
She was being normal, thank Merlin – apparently the infection had not rubbed off on anyone else. Much as I’d like to stay for tea and chat, Nick willed himself to say, coating his tongue in sarcasm. It did not happen. “Yes,” he said instead, amiably. “I’m ever so glad you called for me – I hope I can be of some help.”

He was trying very hard to narrow his eyes at her. Unfortunately, his eyelids refused him even this: instead he kept merely gazing at her, guileless and admiring.
Ivy stared at him, unblinking. She'd experienced some weird things in her life — blood rain, whatever was going on with her sleep or lack thereof — and this was still pretty odd. "Are you well, Mr. Blott?" Ivy asked, tone careful, as if he were slow.
Obviously not, Nick would have said, not not not, but – “Of course!” he said, merrily. “Better than well. How could I not be, getting to see my favourite Auror?”

He felt himself beaming, horribly bright, at her.