Miss Fisher’s / Rivers of London, Miss Fisher and Nightingale, however you see their interactions ending up: Miss Fisher is a practitioner who Nightingale meets during his travels as a young man in the Foreign Service. (asking you to write because I just realized you’re into Miss Fisher’s and she would make such a badass wizard!)

leupagus:

“And who are we meeting again?” Dottie asked, looking around. Russell Square looked like one of the fancier bits of London, but she couldn’t really say much about that – in the three days since they’d landed, she’d had to fight off a troll, a jenny-green-teeth, and a leprechaun. And that last one had been at the Palace. 

“We’re meeting the one wizard who has never been unduly alarmed by my breasts, Dot,” said Miss Fisher, marching up the stone steps and rapping smartly on the knocker. There was just enough light from the lamps on the street for Dottie to be able to read the inscription above the door, in Latin: Knowledge Is Power. In spite of the warm night, she shivered.

The door opened and a solemn little face peered out at them. Miss Fisher smiled brightly. “You must be Molly!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand. The maid looked at it dubiously. “I’ve heard so much about you from Thomas. I’m Phryne Fisher, and I was hoping to see him? I was told he’s made a rare appearance here at the Home Office.”

At the mention of Mr. Nightingale’s, then her own name, the maid looked progressively less dubious; she didn’t say anything, but she did step out of the way and hold the door open. Miss Fisher traipsed in and Dottie followed her, trying to keep her distance from Molly – though she couldn’t have said why.

Inside was brightly-lit and warm, with a gramaphone playing in a nearby room and the sound of men laughing. Dottie was reminded somewhat of the house of ill repute that her sister worked in, though this was obviously a nicer set of velvet. Still, she felt tense the moment she crossed the threshold, as though there was something brushing at the back of her neck.

Miss Fisher noticed, and leaned over to whisper, “Wards, my dear. The most powerful ones in England – and the Folly needs them, believe me.”

Dottie was about to ask what for when a man’s voice called down from the stairway. “Miss Fisher?”

“Thomas!” Miss Fisher said, hopping up the stairs and embracing a familiar-looking man in his thirties, wearing a crotcheted waistcoat and a pair of glasses. He accepted her kiss on his cheek with the bemused affection that Dottie recognized from almost everyone who’d known Miss Fisher for more than five minutes. “So glad to see the rumors were true – you are here.”

“I’m instantly put on guard,” Mr. Nightingale said, before catching sight of Dottie. “Good evening, Miss Williams. Good to see you again.”

Dottie frowned, then felt her heart drop down to her toes. “It was you under the bridge last night,” she realized, dismayed.

“Quite,” Mr. Nightingale confirmed. “Nathaniel sends his apologies, by the by. He didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Consorting with trolls? You haven’t changed a bit, Thomas,” Miss Fisher sighed.

“Nor, I’m pleased to note, have you.”