of few words | artie

July 2004

Having knocked twice on Tommy's council flat, the sound of a dog yipping in the next apartment had put Madelyn off a third attempt. Maybe she was early, and if Madelyn had bothered to wear a watch, she might have realized that before she'd committed to climbing the stairs of his tenement. She had considered heading back to Frida's to use her employee discount on a drink, but that seemed like a lot of work. So, instead, Madelyn had leaned her back against the wall beside his door. The material of her windbreaker crinkled against the plaster as she slid down.

Madelyn was careful to sit on the backs of her trainers and not the floor as she reached the ground. Growing up in a hole-in-the-wall sort of tenement building, Madelyn knew better than to sit on the floor in shared spaces. Having no sense of how long Tommy might be, Madelyn had pulled a book from her bag. She was two sentences from finishing another chapter of the true-crime book she'd borrowed from Anto when she heard footsteps climbing the wooden hills. Ignoring her better judgment, Madelyn refused to look up until she had finished the end of the chapter. She folded the corner as she did and looked up, expecting to see Tommy at the door, keys in hand.

Only it wasn't him.

Brown eyes searched the face of the mountain of a man who'd stopped in front of Tommy's door. "You're… not Tommy," she began, very astute, and shoved her book into her bag. It took a moment, but eventually, Madelyn shuffled to stand up from the ground, and the similarities and differences began to show through. Her eyes traced the shape of the wizard's jaw – a shape she recognized quickly – and the pieces started to fall into place. For what felt like all her life, well, at least the last eleven years of it, Madelyn had been hearing stories about Artie Harrison. And it was strange to be standing in front of him suddenly. Especially considering she'd thought he was still in Azkaban.

"I'm Madelyn," she said, tucking a curl behind her ear and staring just a little bit too long. "I'm waiting for Tommy," Story of her life.

@Artie Harrison

Artie pushed his hair back off his forehead as he started up the stairs, before he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. He had just been to Hogsmeade, seeing about a legitimate job (which he was told he could start whenever) and now he needed to do some more coordinating for a less legal job— he hadn’t exactly been rehabilitated in Azkaban. But he was going to be more careful this time, at least.

There was a girl on the landing, crouching next to the door to his flat. Artie kept his hands in his pockets, but he wrapped one hand around his wand because what the fuck was she up to. He stood there, just past the top step, waiting for her to look up from her book. But she continued reading, crouching next to his door. Reading.

She looked up, finally, and Artie raised his eyebrows. “Not Tommy,” he confirmed helpfully. He almost started to relax—she wasn’t here for him, she wasn’t from the Ministry for some post-Azkaban thing—but he was still on edge. Tommy was having people over? Artie thought they had an agreement about not doing that, mostly because he thought he was leading by example, never having people over.

His eyebrows inched up further, half expecting her to leave now that she had finally stood up, but she continued standing there, staring. She said her name was Madelyn— oh, okay. That was a familiar name, and if he thought about it long enough, she might have resembled the girl his first-year brother had befriended. That was a little better than Tommy inviting over any women he might meet, but then did that mean he and Madelyn— “You’re waiting for Tommy,” repeated, still puzzling out what the ‘situation’ was here. Whatever it was, it felt rude to go in and leave her out here to continue waiting. And if she was important to Tommy— Fuck it. “Can wait inside, if you want.”

Madelyn resisted the urge to ask if Azkaban had turned Artie into a parrot and smiled at him instead. “Aye,” she agreed when he repeated her for a second time, but the warmness lingered on her face. Of all the things Tommy had told them about his big brother, not one of them had been bad. And even though she likely knew very little about him, Madelyn felt like she had already met Artie through his brother’s eyes. She knew how important he was to Tommy and that he had been a significant influence. (And likely the reason Tommy saw fit to turn the nob all the way up any time Bruce Springsteen was on the radio.)

She also knew he’d been in prison the last few years, and maybe that should have made her more suspicious, but Madelyn erred on the side of not judging him without all the information. Unfortunately, they lived in a world that systematically incarcerated impoverished citizens and allowed the wealthy to walk free. She imagined it was the system that had put him at a disadvantage and not that he’d deserved his sentence. Madelyn knew better than to ask for more details right out of the gate and that her opinions on this matter were not required.

Artie made an offer before she could overthink further about any of it, and Madelyn nodded. “Alright, thanks,” With her book safely back inside her bag, Madelyn waited for him to unlock the door and followed Artie inside. She’d been to Tommy’s (Artie’s?) flat enough times that it felt familiar, but it was inherently different now. Not just because of the obvious reasons (Tommy wasn’t here and Artie was) but also because it was considerably cleaner. She noted the lack of cider bottles piling up on the floor. Madelyn suspected this was the older wizard’s doing, and it made her feel less comfortable here, in his space. She considered sitting on the sofa, leaning against the wall, or maybe a chair at the table, but instead, she stood awkwardly just inside the doorway. Should she try to keep their conversation (?) going? Should she be quiet and go back to reading her book?

“Place looks bostin, a lot cleaner,” For the moment, Madelyn settled vaguely in the middle by saying something he could easily ignore. She fidgetted with the strap of her bag over her chest and stared in his general direction. As much as she wanted to jump right into asking him more questions than was probably polite, Madelyn refrained. "You mind if I sit?"

Madelyn agreed to waiting inside, so Artie nodded, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door (two deadbolts) and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her follow him in, closing the door behind her. He stood there for a second before he moved again, walking a few steps farther into the small flat. The sofa--being regularly slept on again--looked a little unkempt, but that was only because Tommy had left after Artie-- any mess in the flat was the fault of the younger Harrison.

And she knew that, it seemed. “Aye,” he said, dipping his chin in another small nod. “I cleaned it.” He had a very small to-do list, but cleaning had certainly been on it (along with get a ‘real’ job and visit his assigned parole auror, which was impossible to say quickly; it was an easy choice, which one to do first).

She was fidgety, and so was he, drumming his fingers on his thigh, returning her stare. “No,” he said, almost too quickly, attempting to fill the silence. “Go ahead.” She had probably been here before--must have been, with her comment on the cleanliness--and it was a weird feeling to reckon with, but one he had been having all week: feeling like a stranger in his own flat. But it was a very inopportune moment to have an existential crisis, so he cut that the fuck out.

“Wanna cuppa?” Artie flipped the kettle on anyway, then opened the fridge out of habit, not looking for anything in particular. “Tommy’s got ciders,” he added, turning to look over his shoulder as he shut the fridge. He turned the rest of the way, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. “Did Tommy say when he’d be back?” Because Artie had no idea.

Laughing quietly at Artie’s response to the new level of cleanliness in the flat, Madelyn realized too late that he might not have meant it as a joke. It was obvious that someone had cleaned, but she wondered if she had laughed too quickly at what was supposed to be a serious reaction. It was not as if Tommy was an absolute slob, but he was nowhere near as tidy as Anto. Feeling as if she could laugh again, and for no reason Madelyn's brown eyes slid past Artie and to the counter. She had become used to the tower of dishes that surrounded the surface and waited for their day in the suds.

Moving further into the flat, the strap of her bag mussed up her curls as Madelyn lifted it over her shoulder. She let the bag fall on the floor next to the sofa, and it made about as much noise as it should have stuffed with a book, and Merlin knew what else. "A cuppa is fine," Madelyn answered him and sat down on the sofa. She'd probably have a cider later, or maybe they'd head to the pub, but tea sounded better right now. "Thanks," Scooting backward, Mady pressed her back against the sofa cushions but kept her head turned toward him.

Tommy and Artie looked alike, Madelyn noted, but there were differences too. Artie looked like he was fitter, but Tommy was taller. And the way Artie's hands hadn't stopped moving reminded Mady of Tommy, but the older brother used far less words. Not that she could blame him, despite the connection they were essentially strangers.

The conversation returned to the Tommy-of-it-all, and Madelyn glanced around for a clock. "Round four," she replied, realizing she was not early at all, and turning back to Artie. "Said he was doing a favor for a mate,"