Disclaimer: Inception does not belong to me. Harry Potter does not belong to me. Copyright infringement is not intended.
Warning: I have mild dyslexia and dyscalculia. There may be small grammatical errors and large mathematical ones.
Summary: A friend helps Ariadne cope. "You are waiting on a train…" Fem!Harry.
"The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose." –Antonio, in The Merchant of Venice (William Shakespeare)
"Are you ever going to date?" Ariadne asked.
"Probably not," June admitted. "Both of my old guy friends married their girlfriends, secondary school sweethearts. Nev was the only one I could ever see myself with, and even that was iffy."
"At least go to a bar," Ariadne scoffed.
"And be the lonely single, get bloody pissed and wake up in a strange bed? No thank you, Aria; tried that. I'm better at bashing men than being with them."
"And hitting them. You have a great left hook," she said rather unhelpfully.
"Okay, we've got a kid who's a headcase. She's torturing people in her mind, won't see a psychiatrist and keeps talking about it."
"Name? I'll see what I can do on my end."
"I just literally shot a man in Reno."
"I'm halfway between amused and impressed," Juniper admitted.
"…Wizarding England," Ariadne explained.
"Well, they were in a war in '97. Don't forget that; they'll be jumpy. Read Wizards for Muggleborns, Hermione Granger. And who hired you, Draco Malfoy? I'll give him a call if you want."
"Astoria Malfoy, actually."
"Ariadne, are you talking about the job?" she heard.
"She knows the client. Anyway, June, that would be great."
"Good that it's Astoria; I get along better with her than Draco. Actually, send Scorpius an auntie's love."
"You were in the wizarding war, weren't you?" Ariadne asked, endlessly curious.
"Yup. Bad times, won't talk about them. Go be a wonderful whatever you are," Juniper smiled. "And have a good time, luv."
"Wait, so you've been talking to this Juniper Evans for years?"
"I don't give her details, Arthur," she sighed. "She thinks I'm a spy or a thief. Hell, she's killed people, probably in that wizarding war. She's both a friend and my therapist."
"Wow; think she'd take Arthur?" Eames asked.
"Probably," Ariadne shrugged. "It's not like cold-blooded murder is a big deal to her; why would this be? She goes after rapists. But no, I haven't told her about dream-sharing. Why would I? She doesn't need to know the details."
"Fine," Arthur sighed. "And no, Eames, I am not seeing a therapist."
"Maybe we should recommend Dom," Ariadne mused.
"So my friend is trying to profile a U.S. Senator."
"Does he have a loveless marriage?"
"Hold on; let me ask." After a minute, "Yes."
"So the wife will be bitching to her friends; that's your in. Unless your friend is a blue-eyed blonde bombshell. They both probably have affairs."
"I'm going to quote you on that."
"Good luck Aria," June laughed.
"So, we've been invited to a dinner party and my friend needs a plus one."
"Is this one of those swanky things? I'm ignoring the hope in your voice."
"Unfortunately, yes," Ariadne sighed. "But you'd get to meet my coworkers!"
"Fine," June sighed, resigned. "Date and time."
"Thank you!" Ariadne squealed.
"June, this is Eames, our… profiler."
"And small time actor," Eames cut in.
"I think I recognize you," June frowned. "Bristol, Drudwen Theatre, The Merchant of Venice 'round '99?"
"Good eye, luv," Eames blinked. "Yes."
"Well, I'm Juniper Evans; call me June," she smiled. "You're a wonderful actor, I have to admit, but the rest of the cast sucked."
"Which was why I stayed small-time," Eames smirked. "Shall we?" he offered his arm.
"We shall," she took it. "Am I supposed to pretend that I don't know Ariadne?" Juniper murmured softly.
"You can catch up when we share a table," Eames assured.
For all the world, they looked like two lovers murmuring sweet nothings.
"That man? The one who's pretending to be her husband? I would have been her Maid of Honor, so I need to know his name."
"Arthur. They're going by Callahan right now."
"So, darling, the music has started. Let us dance," he said more casually.
"Right you are, luv," June smiled.
"Well you're a Devil," she laughed as they got into the limo. "You'd cite Scripture for your purpose, I think."
"Thank you," Eames smirked.
"You did make it fun," June admitted. "Listen, I don't usually do this, but here's my number, luv," she scribbled it on a small pad of paper she kept in her purse. "I'm in France if you want to look me up, otherwise stateside or Vienna. Well, Ariadne knows where to find me, really. The phone's untraceable."
"Thank you, darling," Eames blinked. "I wasn't expecting that."
"You're a fun date," she shrugged. "I wouldn't mind some sex and conversation. In that order or otherwise, really. Just try not to drag me on your jobs again, please. I hate this sort of uppity shite."
"You're not the only one," Eames commiserated, sighing.
"And tell that Arthur to get rid of the stick up his arse; it's bloody annoying."
"I'll tell him you said that," Eames' lips twitched.
"No, Arthur, that's a direct quote. She actually said that."
"She would," Ariadne chuckled. "Though I'm actually surprised it wasn't more vulgar."
"Can't really afford to be vulgar in a dress like that, luv," Eames smirked.
"I'm between jobs; we going to meet up?"
"Works for me," Ariadne shrugged.
"Listen, I have a seminar in ten minutes. Call you later?" June said hurriedly.
"Here; I've got the perfect dress for you," June said, rifling through her closet.
It was a large closet, basically for the clothes she never wore.
It was a Cinderella-style ball gown in off-white with delicate copper stitches in runic arrays. Ariadne recognized some of the runes, but not the combination.
"This is amazing. Protection?"
"And luck," June agreed.
"Well, whatever the case, it's beautiful."
"Yes, and I have something to accent it."
The jewelry box on a shelf in the closet she never used was opened.
"Oh, wow," Ariadne said softly. It was a pearl necklace and bracelet with dangling pearl earrings set in copper to match the dress.
"I had these made for a Ministry Post-War Ball that I never attended. I'm not much for that sort of thing, as you know. But they should fit you perfectly."
"Thank you, June," Ariadne said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Show up in jeans," June smirked.