GUYS! Because apparently I'm on a role today, here's ... wait for it ... ANOTHER CHAPTER! What is that? The third update in 24 hours? Now again, its more of a filler chapter (although, s*** does go down, so be prepared) but don't worry there will be more Tellison scenes in the upcoming chapters! Let me know what you think ... I LOVE reading all of your comments!

"Alright, all finished," Ellison said, standing back and admiring her work. The better part of Lestrange's torso was covered in light brown splotches where she had covered his wounds with more Essence of Dittany. Lestrange stood up from the bed, and pulled his shirt back over his head. Turning to the bedside table, she placed the vial of Dittany on the tray, along with the bandaging she had used to wrap up the deepest cut that had yet to heal fully.

"Are you still in the mood for that tea we talked about yesterday?" Lestrange's voice called behind her. She turned around, her eyes falling on the porcelain tea set that had appeared on the coffee table.

"Of course," she smiled, taking a seat in one of the arm chairs positioned around the table. Lestrange poured them each a cup before seating himself in the chair closest to Ellison's. "So, what department do you work in at The Ministry?" She asked, taking a sip from her cup.

"The Department of International Magical Cooperation," Lestrange answered, reclining in his chair.

"Oh ... interesting," she lied. She had heard her father talk about that department, and if what her father had said was true, Lestrange hadn't been lying about the paper pushing.

"If you think things like upholding the international standards for cauldron thickness is interesting, then sure," Lestrange smirked, taking a drink from his cup.

"Okay, maybe it's not the Auror Office but-"

"It's a job," Lestrange finished, raising his teacup in a mock toast.

"Have they not missed you at work?" She asked, arching an eyebrow. "You've been gone for what? Nearly two weeks now?"

"They've been informed of my injuries," he shrugged. "It seems that recovering from a splinching accident takes quite a bit of time," he added with a smirk.

"And they'll believe you?"

"I don't see why they wouldn't," his replied, his smirk widening. "I have the scars to prove it after all."

"Fair enough," Ellison nodded, a small smirk turning up the corners of her own mouth.

"What about you? I don't suppose you've told your family that you quit your job to work with a couple of miscreants," Lestrange asked, changing the subject.

"They know I've been hired under a personal contract..." Ellison trailed off. "And that's about the extent of it."

"Personal contract?" Lestrange cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you have a better name for it?" She countered.

"No ... I suppose not," he chuckled.

"Besides," she shrugged, "They don't pry too much these days ... not since..."

"Your husband's death," Lestrange finished for her, silence filling the room. She nodded in reply, taking another sip from her cup. "I'm sorry..." he added after a moment, leaning forward in his chair.

"It's okay ... it gets easier," she said, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Staying busy helps ... that's why I went back to work in the first place."

"Being a housewife didn't suit you?" Lestrange asked, eyeing her intently now.

"It did when I had a husband who came home every day," she replied before she could stop herself. "Being cooped up in the house after that was only a reminder of what I'd lost." She continued on, speaking freely now. "Besides, with my mum so close and Calla about to start school this September ... I figured now would be as good a time as any to get back out there." She paused, glancing up at Lestrange, who was staring at her, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," she said, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "We're supposed to be having tea and I'm rambling on about my dead husband," she shook her head, sitting her cup down on the edge of the coffee table.

"Don't apologize," Lestrange said, leaning in and touching her arm lightly. "I knew Amos," he continued, giving her arm a light squeeze before releasing it. "He would come into the office from time to time to file a permit, or pick up paperwork for Gringotts. He seemed like a good guy."

"He was," Ellison nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She looked up at Lestrange, who was leaning in closer now. She stared into his eyes trying to read his expression, until she realized his head was moving closer to hers, his lips mere inches from her own.

"Wha-what are you doing?" She stood up, the sound of shattering porcelain filling the room as she knocked her cup to the floor, tea splattering across the hardwood.

"I'm sorry," Lestrange stood up. "I shouldn't have done that..." he took a step towards her, his cheeks drained of all their color now.

"I should go," Ellison said, taking a step back reflexively before turning for the door.

"Ellison wait-" Lestrange called as she jerked the door open, bolting out into the hall. Slamming the door behind her, she rammed into the towering frame of someone. Looking up, her eyes connected with the person's she had ran into ... Avery. How long had he been standing there? Did he see what had happened? Would he tell Tom? She needed to go. Needed to get out of here. Side stepping him, she shouldered past Avery, and descended the stairs two at a time.

"Ellison?" Tom's voice called from behind her, just as she had reached the front door. Gritting her teeth, she exhaled sharply, turning around to face Tom. "Where are you going? What's wrong?" He asked, his eyes scanning over her face.

Of course he knew something was wrong ... a complete stranger could tell something was wrong at the moment. The effects of what had just happened were still plastered across her face, she was sure of it. And despite what Tom said about her being hard to read, she had never been good at hiding her emotions. She couldn't tell him though. There was no telling what Tom would do to Lestrange if he found out ... but it wouldn't be good, that she was certain of. No ... he couldn't know. She would have to make something up ... that was her only option.

"I'm not feeling well..." she lied, placing a hand over her stomach. "I feel like I might be sick."

"Why don't you come lie down," Tom offered, stepping towards her.

"No," she stepped back out of his reach. "I should go home."

"It wasn't a suggestion," Tom countered, closing the distance between them. Placing a hand on her back, he led her down the hall to his bedroom. Turning the knob, he walked them both inside, sitting her down on the bed.

"I really should be getting home-" she argued.

"Why?" Tom cut her off. "You said Calla and Ella were spending the night at your mum and dad's." Walking back towards the door, he turned the knob again, closing it shut. "No ... you'll stay here tonight," he said, his tone one of finality. "And I'll have Beasley bring you something for the stomachache."

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