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There were moments in time that I regretted my decisions; not many, mind you, but now and then one would come up, and setting my floo to open calls was one of them. Floo calls from strangers weren’t exactly an easy thing to wake up to. Especially at… Merlin, what time was it? My eyes were blurry and unfocused, reading glasses somehow long discarded in a moment of exhausted clarity, although my foggy, sleep-drunk brain couldn’t remember where and I was barely coordinated enough to actually fish around on the coffee table for my wand before it went silent. Somehow, I located the silver lime and managed to cast a quick Lumos and stumble to the living room to answer before nearly sobbing a ‘hello’ as I tried, desperately, to figure out what the fuck time it was. Then again, the face in the flames took care of that for me. Nearly last call. So it was around one-thirty. The last thing my sleepy brain remembered was glaring at the top of a stack of Parchment on my desk before nearly falling asleep on them… Fuck. Not a whole lot was said, it didn’t need to be, just an address, and I was waving my wand and pushing myself up from the floor, wiping my eyes absently as the room came into something resembling focus, at least as much as it could for me.
My glasses stood out in stark relief against the faded tan of one of the files I had been reviewing. No wonder I crashed. Snagging them, I slid the frames carefully into place as I wandered into the kitchen and quickly set up the coffee maker, a small smile playing at my lips as the rich scent filtered quickly into the air. It was a small thing, granted, a holdover from weekends with my parents, but a necessity at this point. Then again, I was possibly a little too dependent on the beverage. There were worse things. Satisfied that the pot would be both finished brewing and still hot when I got back, I grabbed a hoodie from the closet and shoved my wand in its holster as I shrugged it on over my ratty, stolen Quidditch t-shirt and leggings. Not exactly haute couture, and far from appropriate attire by almost everyone in Wizarding London, but I hadn’t been planning on actually leaving my house at all until I had to be at work Monday morning.
Any lingering sleepiness that was still clinging to the edges of my consciousness dissipated as soon as I stepped out the door. The air was cooler than usual for this time of year and the rain that had been forecast for the weekend was starting early; stinging drops of rain landed on my skin as they fell towards the ground. There wasn’t any accumulation to speak of yet, the pavement didn’t even shine, not really, but that was far from comforting given the clouds and unreasonable chill. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I dropped my head and made a beeline for the nearest apparition point; at least it should be a fast trip.
It was indeed, despite a bumpy landing on the slick streets thanks to the slowly growing storm, and by the time I’d gotten to the bar, the shutters were closed and it was nearly deserted; Perfect. The rain was falling a little heavier; fat, wet drops spattering against everything and making their presence known as they collected in the cracks of the sidewalk.
Seeker's Catch wasn't a dive bar, per se, but it wasn’t exactly high-class either; in other words, it was perfect. The wooden boards creaked beneath my boots and the familiar smell of Firewhiskey and lingering cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, mixing with the music from the same wireless that had been sitting behind the bar since I’d snuck in for the first time. I didn’t come in often anymore, but it was still my first choice on those rare occasions and the last few stragglers were all hazily familiar faces.
The small, raised stage in the far corner still had a smattering of instruments from the band that had played as they loaded out. The bartender, though, was a sight for sore eyes. He’d been around for years and had served both me and my questionable company for our first legal outing when we had all turned eighteen. “Hey there, Sunshine. Fancy seeing you here.” I rolled my eyes at the man with a smile and a shake of my head.
"You keep flattering me, Mitchum, it may pay off one day." The bright grin sent my way belied the man’s grizzled appearance and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. “I will, Sunshine. Stella said you have a standing invite to Sunday dinner, you just have to show up.” The invitation was genuine, as it always was, and I tipped my head in appreciation. The same offer was made every time I came in, and it somehow brought a little brightness to what were, unquestionably, dark nights.
"I’ll think about it, I promise." The words were genuine, they always were, but my smile slipped as I let my gaze wander around the darkened bar before catching sight of a familiar redhead in the corner. “You do that, Sunshine. He’s had a good night, although I was almost afraid he was going to leave on me more than once.” Mitchum slid a wand across the scarred mahogany bar top and I pocketed it with a nod before heading towards the table tucked in a dark corner.
Dim lights glinted off the trio of shot glasses that were scattered across the wooden surface, sticky with sloshed alcohol and sugary syrups, as I slid onto one of the three empty stools that surrounded it, turning my attention to the sole occupant with a sigh that I kept to myself. "Having a good night, Baby Boy?" The nickname went back nearly a decade, having been bestowed on a then baby-faced first year who didn’t look a day over nine. I don't use it nearly as much now, but it still slipped out on rare occasions, or not so much, as it were.
“Pinks!” Charlie’s voice was just this side of too loud, and his arms were quickly around my neck, a sloppy kiss pressed against my cheek. “I’m glad you came. ‘M’havin’ a very good night ” The latter words were slurred and muffled against my shoulder as Charlie squirmed and got comfortable, nearly toppling us both off our stools in the process.
I loved my best friend, I did. And he loved everybody, especially when he was drunk, and he would show everybody that too. His sense of boundaries was fairly loose when he was sober; he was forever touching people, in the most innocent of ways of course, and when he was drunk, that was amplified by nearly a million and he hung and kissed and was just generally handsy, though it rarely resulted in anything negative, aside from a few ill-advised one night stands. Well, that I knew of anyway. Gravity, however, was not his friend when he was like this, and it took everything I had to brace both myself and him on the stools as I shook my head, my arm wrapped tightly around his waist, pink hair fluffed in my eyes.
"Yeah, that’s what Mitchum said. Now as much as I love being here and nearly falling on the floor, what do you say we head to my place, huh? The spare room is made up and I’ve got a pot of coffee on." It was a speech I had made a variation on many times before, and tonight was no exception. Lifting his head slowly from my shoulder, Charlie met my eyes and my heart sank just a little; his blue eyes, usually so sharp and clear, were glazed and he stumbled over his words, slurring them even more heavily than usual before he pressed his face back against my neck.
“You’re too good to me, Pinks.” I knew a lot of people would probably agree with him, but I didn’t, I couldn’t, and my smile was sad as I turned just enough to press a kiss to his soft, messy hair.
"Not at all true, Baby Boy, and you know it. Now come on, let’s start heading home, huh? It’s starting to get wet out there." Charlie blinked and looked around for a moment in the darkness, although what exactly was going on behind his eyes remained a mystery as we both slid off our stools, miraculously managing to keep our footing. Even standing still, I was fairly certain that I held more of Charlie’s weight than he did, and he still swayed slightly on unsteady feet. Fuck.
I gave a cursory glance at the table, noting the scraps of parchment that sat on it, black ink long smudged with droplets of spilled liquor and water that had carelessly splashed over the sides of glasses. I didn’t bother retrieving them as Mitchum’s earlier words echoed through my mind absently; they weren’t worth it.
Blowing out a heavy breath, I adjusted Charlie’s arm over my shoulders in a vain attempt to maybe make walking a bit easier. It didn’t work. His feet were heavy, black shoes scuffing against the worn floorboards as we made our way toward the door. It was an unusually difficult task as Charlie managed to stop and talk to half of the patrons left in the bar. They didn’t object, especially the women. Then again, they didn’t have an extra eleven stone of drunk weight to support.
After the fifth table, I'd very nearly had it, and as my friend tried to stop, once again, I grabbed hold of his belt and pulled to keep him moving. The stunt could have gone either way, but it seemed the fates were smiling on me, and rather than smashing face-first into the floor, Charlie just laughed and stumbled over his feet the last few steps to the door. We paused for just a second, shouting goodnights to Mitchum as I pulled my wand from its holster and we headed out into the night.
The rain had picked up exponentially since I had pulled up and was coming down in cold sheets, a fact that delighted my very, very drunk friend as we made our way through the streets. There was a look of sheer delight on his face, as though the rain was a novelty and I envied, for just a moment, that blissful unawareness, but then I remembered what caused it and, well, nope.
“Dance with me, Pinks.” It wasn’t a request so much as a command, complete with surprisingly steady hands guiding me into a weird, very wet, and drunken approximation of a waltz; it was surprisingly graceful, all things considered. I was able, somehow, to steer us in the general direction of the apparition point and get my very giggly dance partner tucked against my side.
Charlie sang under his breath as we inched towards our destination, shoes slick against wet stone; singing was not one of his many talents but he did seem to love it.
Despite the snail’s pace, the walk was far better than it could have been; the rolling thunder and endless flashes of lightning joined forces with the rain and late hour to keep people off the streets.
Although we both stumbled after landing, the pull and slight sick sensation from Apparating seemed to not affect my companion.
Getting into my house was a well-rehearsed dance, a testament to the number of times we had done it over the years, with Charlie counting every step. Why, I had no clue, but it worked for him. It was only once we were finally, finally inside, cold rainwater pooling on the floor, that I let out the breath I had been unconsciously holding since we got out of the bar; the hard part was over.
Dropping his wand on the table, I herded Charlie towards the downstairs guest room. It was his anyway, more or less and I shoved a pair of pajama pants and an old shirt in his hands before guiding him to the bathroom.
"Alright, get changed. I’ll have coffee for you when you get out okay?" Always agreeable, Charlie somehow juggled his clothing and mussed my hair at the same time.
“Kay. Whatever you say, Pinks.” His gait was a bit wobbly but steady enough that I didn’t fear for his safety as I sprinted up the stairs to doff my dripping wet clothes, trading them for a pair of cozy flannels that had been stolen long ago from the man downstairs and twisting my wet, tangled hair into a slightly less tangled braid.
The exhaustion was bone deep and I leveled a glare at the coffee pot as I slipped it back in place, giving both of the mugs that sat on the counter a stir and gazing absently at the clouds of cream that whirled around. My attention was only broken as Charlie shuffled into the living room, still humming under his breath, and collapsed on the couch.
Gathering both mugs as well as a bottle of water and some Dreamless Sleep, I settled beside him offering the vial and water first.
He took them quickly before greedily grabbing his mug and wrapping pale hands around the warm porcelain and taking the first sip. His sigh was almost obscene and I couldn’t hide my smile as I sipped at my beverage as he opened his eyes to gaze into the mug as though it held the secrets of the universe in its caffeinated depths. The quiet stretched on, punctuated by the storm outside as we both finished our beverages, resting the empty mugs between the piles of papers.
Charlie stretched, squirming to rest his still-damp head on my leg. This ritual had been the same almost as long as I had known him and I smiled despite myself, running my fingers through damp hair. He pressed into my touch like a cat, eager for affection and it kind of broke my heart a little bit as his eyes drifted shut, his voice thick with both alcohol and impending sleep.
“You know I love you, right Pinks?” The words were ones I had heard before, more times than I could count, but they still stung just a little, somehow.
"I know, Baby Boy. I know. Sleep now, okay? The affirmative reply was muffled against my leg and I stifled my yawn, moving just enough to get comfortable as I relaxed, the sounds of the storm raging outside mixing with Charlie’s soft, even breathing combining to lull me into a dreamless sleep, no potion necessary.