“It may be a tiring life,” he responded to her snide comment, “but any life is better than no life.” Nigel’s formative years had been spent in paranoia, convinced by his older brother that their mother was going to kill him like she had killed his father. That turned out to be not true, any part of it, but someone with Nigel’s personality could do with a healthy dose of paranoia. It had served him well, and he was still not dead, so he would continue to carry on like he had always done. “How do you expect to avoid trouble, if you don’t look out for it? I have to see the trouble in everyone’s path, because no one I know will do it for themselves.” That was what Nigel did. He had about four backup plans in place for the day that he got a call from America informing him that Emma was in jail. He had an account in Gringotts for Jules, when she inevitably lost her job the same day that her loser boyfriend chucked her out. Whenever he spent time with Nat, he carried an Instant-Sober potion, in case of emergencies where he might need a clear-headed larger friend.

Perching himself on the corner of his desk, he watched her bluster, noting her face as he mentioned the She-Demon. Despite what she said, it was clear that some of his information was getting through to her. When she crumpled the papers and put them in his teacup, he didn’t flinch. He merely pulled his wand out of his pocket, and three flicks later, the papers were un-crumpled, un-teastained, and in front of her again. Another flick cleaned his teacup so that the white porcelain gleamed. “My dear, don’t let my appearance fool you. I am a businessman. I never do anything I do not want to do. I have plenty of other charities I can support if I feel the urge to pity someone. I do not want to pity you, Mrs. Warwick. I don’t want a reason to pity you. Of course, that is entirely up to you.” Nigel shrugged. 

“I do not think you are stupid, madam, and even if I did, I would not allow my personal feelings to interfere with my business. If, as you say, you intend to continue your singing career, I suggest you adopt a similar policy.” His expression was placid and undisturbed. He was having a difficult time keeping a smirk off his face; he did very much enjoy ruffling people. It was one of his favourite pastimes. For someone who was always on the lookout for trouble, he did spend a lot of his time tempting fate. That was partially why he was drawn to friends who were bigger than him, or in the case of Will, plain aggressive. They were protection. “I had intended to offer you the position at this meeting.” He gestured to the paperwork that had already been drawn up. “The interview was more of a formality. And I admit to having some curiosity. As you know—or, I suppose, as you will soon find out—your husband is not exactly forthcoming with information. Not even to old friends.”