A sucker's dream [Rob]

The day had been long and trying, and it was finally over. ”Thank Merlin for small mercies,” Skyla reflected as she arrived home well past eight o’clock on that Friday night. She was, by turns, exhausted and wired. Part of her wanted to collapse into bed and sleep for days, and the other part wanted to go out. Maybe she would take up Nessa on her offer to attend a fight at Grimli. First, though, Skyla needed a drink or three to wash away her lurking irritation at how crappy her day had been. Drinking alone at home that evening did not appeal to her, and anyway she needed something much stronger than the wine she kept stocked in her kitchen cabinets.

Perhaps it was not the most brilliant idea she’d ever had. Nevertheless, it was the restlessness that refused to abate which caused her to appear just over an hour later at the door of The Stag and Hen. She wore a black dress that was a touch more revealing than her usual outfits, though was still modest by most standards. Her nails were freshly manicured, and her makeup was appropriately demure. She allowed her hair to remain loose, tumbling like a dark river about her shoulders, though of course not a hair was out of place. Even though she did not intend to meet with anyone in particular while at the pub, she was still always careful about her appearance while in public.

It was a little on the early side, yet the pub was doing a roaring trade. As such, it was crowded, and she was lucky to get the last available seat at the bar. Squeezing between the patrons on either side of her, she signaled to the bartender as soon as they made eye contact. “Scotch on the rocks, please,” she ordered, polite yet confident. She never had been one for stereotypically girly drinks, even if she did drink more wine than was probably good for her. The bartender, to her credit, betrayed no hint of surprise that an outwardly feminine, rail-thin young woman would be asking for a drink that was more commonly associated with grizzled old men.

When Skyla’s drink was set before her, there was no hesitation in her movements as she picked up the glass and took a sip. She could feel the burn of the whisky as she swallowed, her nose catching a whiff of the smoky scent of the alcohol. A pleasant warmth settled in her gut as she placed her drink back down on the bar. Yes, this would do very nicely. It was just what she needed in order to unwind from her hectic day.

Shifting slightly in her seat, Skyla began to take notice of the people around her. Pale blue eyes surveyed the crowd with interest, lingering here and there when something or someone caught her attention. People-watching was something of an amateur sport for her. Indeed, it was probably the closest thing to athletics she had ever experienced. A sudden prickling on the back of her neck alerted her that she was being watched. As her gaze landed on the culprit, their eyes locked for a moment. Skyla was unused to attention from strangers, especially men. She boldly returned his stare, simultaneously amused and annoyed by his effrontery. With a smirk and a slight shake of her head, she turned away from him, refocusing on her drink and ignoring him. She was unable, however, to stop the faint flush not entirely attributable to the alcohol from creeping up her cheeks as she took another steadying sip of her drink.

Training had not gone well today.  Rob, for once, was glad the weekend was coming and according him some well-deserved time off.  Despite all of the brightly burning stars that made up his current quidditch teammates, they seemed out of sync.  Rob couldn’t count how many times he had heard Harlan bellowing at them to correct mistakes, and he had silently fumed the entire practice.  An explosion of temper was nothing that the Griffins needed at this moment, when their outlook seemed bleak.  To top it off, he had made several rookie mistakes during practice, letting in a number of goals that he would have normally stopped easily.  Therefore, when he headed out tonight, he did not invite any of his friends along.  Likely, he would just snap at them in his irritation and create even more tension.

Rob’s clothing reflected his mood tonight- black from head to toe.  He was itching to dive deep into a good drink and forget his worries, forget that his stellar quidditch career seemed to be flagging.  When considering his choices for the evening, he decided on The Stag and Hen as the place least likely to cause him to get into a fight or vent his fury on anyone else.  The place was generally packed with customers and the clientele were not of the sort that he usually associated with.

He scored a seat at the bar easily, glaring at others who had moved as if to take the opening.  His gaze made them back down quickly, for it still held an air of his earlier emotions.  Gesturing to the bartender, he ordered a glass of firewhiskey.  Normally, he would have just imbibed a copius amount of the good dark beer that they kept on tap, but at the moment he had a craving for the forceful liquor.  Drinking didn’t really seem to affect him unless he overindulged, but as he started his second glass, he definitely felt the tingle beginning to help numb his turbulent mood.  At that moment, when considering whether or not he actually wanted to continue drowning his feelings, he heard a feminine voice ordering a short distance away.

“Scotch on the rocks, please.”

That was not the normal order he would have expected from such a gentle-sounding voice.  He cast his eyes around, flitting over a thin woman a few seats over, then back with amusement.  Surely not, he mused, watching her with enjoyment.  Her dress clung in several select places along her body, and he made no attempts to disguise his gaze as he admired her.   Somehow, she seemed to notice his examination, and startling blue eyes flashed up to meet his for a moment, before she smirked and turned away.  Rob decided to pursue the invitation he deemed apparent in the way she blushed after their brief eye contact.

He strode over to her confidently, gesturing to one of the patrons are her side to abandon his seat.  The man was about to protest, but met Rob’s eyes and quickly abandoned his position.  Taking a seat, he rolled his shoulders back, sending a series of cracks down his spine as he relaxed minutely.  The alcohol continued to make his blood run warm, also boosting his spirits as he turned to the woman.  She was beautiful upon closer examination, and Rob signaled the bartender for another glass as he finished off his second drink.

“Well, scotch isn’t exactly something I would have expected you to order, gorgeous,” Rob smirked as he leaned slightly to the woman, attempting to engage her in conversation.  “Then again, who am I to judge?  You could be a seasoned assassin for all I know. “  He received his order and toyed with it, admiring the strong color for a moment before turning back to her.  “I’m Rob. Care for some company on this fine evening?  A woman drinking alone might otherwise attract… dubious men.”  He grinned to show he was joking as he waited for her response.

“Well, scotch isn’t exactly something I would have expected you to order, gorgeous,”

The sound of a man's voice just to her left cut through her thoughts, his thick Scottish accent making her sit up and take notice. It wasn't every day that Skyla found herself in close contact with a Scot, and a highland one at that, if she judged his accent correctly. "I suppose I have a fascination with all things Scottish," she told him, faintly sardonic. His compliment made her a little uncomfortable and instantly suspicious. Was he mocking her or being sincere? Her instinct told her it was the former, but the look he had given her just a moment ago made her doubt that instinct. In the end, did it really even matter? Likely after this little exchange she would never see him again. What harm could possibly come of it?

Deciding to abandon that fruitless line of thought, she turned toward him slightly so as to get a better look at the man who had taken it upon himself to join her, uninvited. Even though he was seated, she could tell that he was tall. The neat, well-matched clothing gracing his frame only hinted at a powerful physique below. His age she pegged as early to mid-thirties, his profession obviously involving something physical. Auror? Hit wizard, perhaps? He cut quite an impressive figure, at any rate. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly feeling a bit dry. It had taken her all of half a minute to size him up. Had he noticed? She hoped not. Skyla nodded her assent at his question of whether he could sit with her, unable to find her voice in that moment.

“A woman drinking alone might otherwise attract… dubious men.”

Normally, she would not have agreed to his company, much less given him the time of day, but this wasn't exactly a normal situation. Skyla had consumed just enough alcohol to dull her senses and allow her to lower her guard and engage with this stranger named Rob. “Like you?” she shot back the first thing to come to mind, arching an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side as she regarded him. Absently, she dragged a slender index finger around the rim of her glass. She looked back up at him, taking in his smile and greenish brown eyes. It could be worse, she reflected. True, she wouldn’t want to come across him alone in a dark alley, but in the confines of a relatively well-lit pub, surrounded by other people, she felt safe enough.

Skyla turned in her seat so that she was fully facing him now. “Nice to meet you, Rob,” she said, her lips twitching into a small smile as she raised her drink to him. “I’m Skyla.” She took another tiny sip of her drink, knowing that she would have to pace herself if she wanted to be able to leave under her own power that evening. There was no way in hell she wanted to depend on the mercy of a stranger to get her safely home. “My mother always told me never to talk to strangers, but for you I think I can make an exception,” she told him, her eyes sparkling with alcohol-fueled amusement. “Tell me, Rob,” she began slowly, his name rolling easily off her tongue. “Do you always make it your mission to save unsuspecting young women - who may, I might add, be season assassins - from ‘dubious men,’ as you call them?” It was a fair question, she thought as she waited for his answer.

Rob smirked at the woman’s comment about being fascinated with things of Scottish origin.  He took it at face value despite the tone of her voice; his accent was strong and undeniably betrayed his homeland.  Was it a compliment?  Not necessarily, but he took it as one. At first he was tempted to reply in kind, remarking on how he was fascinated with all things female, but changed his mind upon closer examination of the witch.  She seemed to have a bit more fire in her than his normal conquests, and would probably take his words as an insult.  He was accustomed to many different types of flirting, so Rob decided to try a different approach.

He couldn’t quite place her in any working environment in his mind.  Obviously she wasn’t involved with quidditch, or else he would have heard of her.  Perhaps she did something that provided her with a desk?  Her physique did not lend to those positions that required much physical activity, so not a dragon tamer or auror.  He still admired her slender frame- he was not one to pick women based merely on musculature.  Short, tall, thin, wide; they all had aspects that made them beautiful in one way or another.  He caught her slyly eyeing him in much the same way as he examined her, though not as blatantly, and cracked a grin.  “Please allow me to buy the next round of drinks, to further your fascination,” Rob stated confidently, aware that the statement could either refer to his person or the beverage he was purchasing.   He signaled the bartender quickly for another round without waiting for her answer.

Like him?  Rob chuckled quietly, imagining her reaction if she only knew.  He had walked a lot of dark pathways in his time, although he had stopped himself before tipping over the edge.  If the woman only knew half of what he had seen…she’d probably run away from him without a look back, he mused.  “Dubious doesn’t necessarily mean terrible, I think.  In fact, I think it adds a certain…mystery,” Rob trailed off as his eyes tracked her finger circling her drink.  Even that very slight movement came off as graceful to him.

She had finally turned around and faced him, and he was struck by her expression of amusement.  Raising his glass in turn, he saluted her wit.  The witch- no, Skyla, as she had finally introduced herself, was more than merely pleasant to look upon.  He could feel the rush of a challenge filling him, and Rob never liked to back down without winning.  “Skyla,” he said, turning the word into a hint of a caress, “It suits you perfectly.”  He drained his glass and started on the next , which the bartender had promptly brought.  “I seem to be the exception to the rule, indeed,” he smirked.  “Why not volunteer to escort a beautiful woman?”  He winked at her, continuing, “Even if you are able to protect yourself, I would have jumped at the slightest hint of an issue.”  He wasn’t entirely flirting now, his voice taking on a hint of seriousness.  He had seen too many naïve young women take chances when drinking without abandon.  Skyla did not seem either naïve or too young to not have much experience, but one never knew.  She was indeed, still a stranger.  He tried to identify her age, assuming she was below his.  Not above thirty, probably somewhere in her mid-twenties.

An unexpected shiver raced up her spine as he spoke her name, a frisson of excitement that she had no idea how to interpret. Strictly speaking, Rob wasn’t her type, whatever that meant. Had he not approached her, Skyla would never have given him a second glance. In the grand scheme of things, she valued brains much more highly than brawn, and so far the odds appeared to be against him. On the other hand, she could not deny that he was handsome. His masculine presence mixed with the alcohol was a heady combination. She ever-so-slightly tightened her grip on her drink, focusing on the chilled glass as she inwardly fought to maintain her composure. The burning in her cheeks that had finally started to recede began to come back with a vengeance. Her body and her mind were at war, and she knew which had won this battle.

Beautiful. Rob kept throwing around compliments about her appearance like they were candy, and for the life of her, Skyla couldn’t figure out why. Of course, she knew why he was being so charming. She wasn’t stupid. There was only one reason a man would go to a pub and start talking to random women who happened to be alone. No doubt he, like most men, harbored some kind of hope that she would fall for it. The thing she couldn’t figure out was why he had singled her out to be the recipient of his attention, rather than one of the other glamorous witches she had seen upon entering the pub earlier. There were definitely no shortage of pretty faces in the pub that evening.

Did she seem like an easy target? Skyla pondered that question as she finished off her first drink, setting the glass now filled only with half-melted ice cubes back onto the bar. The second was waiting for her, thanks to his generosity and foresight. She certainly didn’t think she was. She had always roundly rejected the helpless, giggling woman stereotype. Did he think getting her drunk would make her want to leave with him? He was very smooth and obviously practiced in this sort of casual banter between men and women, while this was almost entirely new territory for her. Still, she could not ignore the fact that she was starting to enjoy herself, much to her pleasant surprise. Reminding herself that she could leave and put an end to this interview at any time helped - for the time being, at least - to quell any lingering misgivings she may have had.

“Even if you are able to protect yourself, I would have jumped at the slightest hint of an issue.”


“That’s very noble of you to offer protection to women even when it is not expected or looked for,” she commented, a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she watched him. Her gaze was challenging and direct. “Were you a Gryffindor?” she asked before she could stop herself. Skyla noted the subtle shift in his tone and wondered at it. If she had been in the midst of an altercation, no doubt she would appreciate help from whoever chose to give it, but since she was not, his presumption irked her. People who didn’t know her tended to underestimate her based on her outward appearance, which was incredibly frustrating. They couldn’t fathom that a young witch could know what she was about. Nothing pleased her more than being able to prove those people wrong in every way possible.

It was time to change the subject. “Where in Scotland are you from?” Skyla asked, looking at him curiously. If she was going to continue talking to this near-perfect stranger, she at least wanted to know a little more about him. She held back from offering any guesses about the city of his birth, not wanting to presume in the same manner that had annoyed her earlier.

Waving away her slight against his offer of protection, he focused instead on her observation.  Gryffindor was his former house, of course, and Rob smirked at Skyla.  “I don’t really think a Hufflepuff would volunteer to aid anyone in danger, the tossers.”  He ignored the fact that loyalty, a major trait in the aforementioned house, could drive people to great things.  Rob had simply not met many people from that house that had distinguished themselves in any major way.  Each of the other three founders had much greater deeds to their name in his opinion, even Slytherin.  He didn’t admit this last to anyone, as nearly all of the darkest deeds he had seen were performed by members of the house.  Therefore, he had built a prejudice of sorts against anyone hailing from it, regardless of the logical implications.  “Yes, I was in Gryffindor,” he said simply, resisting the urge to make a further comment on the subject sarcastically.  Saying that information was obvious wouldn’t exactly encourage endearment.

On second thought, he squinted slightly and looked back up at Skyla, considering.  The way she had asked him about his former house plainly stated she was not from the same.  He couldn’t exactly picture her with the Hufflepuffs, especially since she came here alone.  Those women tended to travel around in packs for some reason, as he had learned with much chagrin.  Getting one alone was almost impossible, let alone getting one separated long enough to bring home to his flat.  That left two options.  Surely not Slytherin, he wouldn’t be attracted to someone like that.  He decided for the last option, remembering her witty responses and cutting use of sarcasm.  “I’m assuming you were…a Ravenclaw?” 

Rob paused, suddenly unsure of himself for the first time this evening.  He attempted to control his facial features, though his eyes widened minutely.  If he had been wrong, he had either insulted her former house or she would automatically become intolerable to him.  He continued on heedlessly, answering her next question hastily, noting that while he had been otherwise distracted she had started on her second drink.  Rob didn’t usually ply a woman with liquor when attempting to take her home, seeing as a drunken encounter usually left neither party satisfied.  He was approving of the fact that Skyla seemed to be taking her time, and also that she had gotten through a glass of scotch without any noticeable differences in the way she was acting.  This was excellent, seeing as he felt she wouldn’t be nearly as amusing with her banter if she consumed too much.

“Aberdeen, and yourself?  Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?” he queried politely.  He didn’t really wish to go further into the subject than that, as it brought up too many memories of his childhood. He had been a much different person when he was a lad.  A distraction aptly arrived in the form of one of the waitresses, who set down a full martini glass with a murmured explanation and a note.  Rob raised one eyebrow at the forwardness of the note, and the drink- which had been bought for him. The note was short and simple, written in a girlish hand.  If you would like some more attractive company, I’m in the corner.  He glanced over his shoulder to see a leggy blonde saluting him with her own martini glass, and Rob shook his head slightly.  First, she wasn’t entirely his type; and secondly, and possibly more important, the woman obviously wasn’t very observant in his choice of beverage.  He hadn’t had a martini since the first time he had tasted one, and promptly spat it out.  The bar made their martinis with gin here, but even the excellent quality of the liquor didn’t compare with his own drink this evenin.  Skyla seemed a much better prospect, both in her attitude and looks.

Suddenly inspired, he handed the note to Skyla, stifling a chuckle.  Her reaction would do more than anything he could say to reveal more of her person.

"Wrong. Guess again," Skyla said in response to Rob’s guess that her former house was Ravenclaw. She could not fault him for his guess. It was a common enough error, in her experience. She did not look, talk, or act like a typical Slytherin, and indeed the Hat had almost placed her in Ravenclaw. Occasionally she wondered what life might have been like had she not ended up in Slytherin. The competitive nature of Slytherins could be overbearing and overwhelming at times, and it was not until she was made Prefect in her fifth year that she felt any sense of belonging or fitting in with her peers. The fact that he was a Gryffindor was only mildly irritating, her house prejudices having worn down with each passing year.

Skyla took the first sip of her second drink, feeling the familiar, wonderful rush that let her know she was buzzed. An Englishwoman and a Scotsman walk into a pub... It sounded like the beginning of a joke in which she was the punchline. “I’m from Chester,” she replied, belatedly realizing that she should not have brought up this subject. She did not want to have to talk about her family, from whom she was estranged, but as chance would have it, they were interrupted by a waitress depositing a martini and what appeared to be a note in front of Rob. What on earth…?

Rob handed her the napkin, and she took it in her confusion. As she read what was written on the scrap of paper, a shadow flickered in her eyes, gone so quickly that it would have been easy to miss. Skyla was used to slurs about her appearance, having received them often as a student. Time and maturity had dulled the sting of such slights, though they still hurt even now. Peering over his shoulder, her gaze fell upon the blonde witch several tables away, her red lips twisted into a self-satisfied smile. Skyla wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with the note he had received. Why did he show it to her? Was it some kind of test? She was much too well-mannered to get up and make a scene, and besides, she wasn’t about to get into a fight over a strange man, especially one who was a former Gryffindor. Last time she checked, England was a free country and there was nothing stopping him from leaving at any time.

Her tipsiness helped her remain calm in the face of the obvious insult she had just been handed. She laid the napkin back down onto the bar. That blonde bitch picked the wrong witch to cross, she thought grimly even as she outwardly appeared unmoved. The ends of her mouth curved upward into a small smile. Picking up the martini glass, she carefully raised it to her lips and took a sip. Almost immediately, she realized she had made a mistake. Scotch, she could handle, but gin, she was learning, was absolutely foul. She swallowed the offensive drink, unable to stop her face from twisting in disgust at the taste. Merlin, people actually enjoyed this? Skyla coughed, briefly, giving herself a second to recover herself before extending the arm holding the martini away from her. Throwing a look toward the corner to make sure the blonde was watching, she tipped the glass to the side, watching dispassionately as the clear liquid began to flow toward the floor. When the glass was empty, she placed it on the bar and pulled out her wand, a neat “Evanesco” clearing away the mess before she pocketed her wand again. She did not want the unfortunate employees of the pub to have to clear away her mess, nor did she want to get thrown out for her rude behavior.

The aftertaste of the gin was heavy in her mouth as she retrieved the napkin from the bar. She leaned toward him, her left hand pressing the napkin into the palm of his hand while her right closed his fingers around the paper object. "I was a Slytherin," she said finally, allowing her hands to drop into her lap. With a smirk, she reached for her drink once more, raising it to her lips as she took a cleansing sip of her scotch. “Cheers.” Much better.

Rob had to hold back a wince as Skyla shot down his guess.  He attempted to play it off with a shrug, glancing down at his drink.  This was number… three?  Or four?  He couldn’t quite remember how many he had consumed before Skyla arrived, as bored as he had been.  Nevertheless, he only felt a slight buzz at the moment.  It would take at least twice as many drinks to get him sufficiently drunk enough to do something ridiculous, but he fiddled with the thought of perhaps ordering a beer.  Eyeing Skyla from the side, he decided against it.  For some reason, he felt that if he ordered something a tad less strong he would be giving up a battle.  She had drank her first drink and was now working on her second rather steadily, with no outward sign of any reaction from them.  Or perhaps- was she flushing a little?

“Certainly, you’re intelligent enough to have been in Ravenclaw, my dear.”  My dear? Rob had to stop himself from groaning.  He probably sounded ridiculous to Skyla, or anyone eavesdropping on their conversation. Was he losing his touch?  It had been years since he had fumbled like a schoolboy when speaking to women.  Trying to ease the tension, he added quickly, “Though a beauty such as yours transcends houses.”  He downed the rest of his drink and ordered another.  Skyla would have to stop drinking soon, wouldn’t she?  He looked at her curiously, wondering if she was aware that when she blushed, her entire face became even more appealing.

Truthfully, he was too absorbed in watching her to remember the note he had passed her until she reached out and took the drink from him.  Therefore, he saw the shadow of hurt that passed across her face when she read the message, and was scrambling to get an appropriate comment out when she took a sip from the glass brazenly.  Rob truly hadn’t meant to slight her when handing her the note, he had been attempting to convey that he found her company much more pleasant than any of the harlots that regularly threw themselves at him.  He was used to it, in a way, the numerous witches that accosted him simply because of his fame.  Rob had simply presumed that the blonde was one of many who only wanted one thing, a chance to get her name in the papers.

Rob couldn’t help chuckling as Skyla unceremoniously dumped the remainder of the drink onto the floor.  He resisted looking over his shoulder again to view the other woman’s probable outrage, instead raising his glass to Skyla with respect.  Taking a mouthful, he almost spat it out at her next words.

I was a Slytherin.

He should have come to that conclusion himself, after seeing her reaction. A Hufflepuff would have certainly burst into tears, a Gryffindor might well have started a physical altercation.  He wasn’t entirely in the best situation to ascertain as to what a Ravenclaw may have done, as his thoughts were running rampant.  He had to take a moment and steady himself.  A Slytherin?  Paranoia crept in on the edges as he ran through several improbable theories.  First, she could have connections to some of his enemies.  After all, his preference for picking up women in bars wasn’t entirely a secret, and Skyla could easily be some sort of bait.  He narrowed his eyes and attempted to not glare at her.  She hadn’t come across as a threatening person, nor someone with anything to hide.  Rob relaxed minutely and attempted to muster some charm to remedy the situation.

“Congratulations my dear, you’ve probably cleaned more filth, “ he flicked his eyes over to the blonde, who was now making her exit angrily,  “From this bar than has been removed in years.  Cheers indeed.”  Rob took another swallow before continuing.  “Well, as we’ve established, you’re not an assassin.  So what is it that you do, Skyla?  A woman of your particular charm must surely have an interesting profession.”  Rob didn’t want to bring up his career choice first, for fear that she had heard of him.  Many a woman had changed her approach after hearing he played Quidditch, and although Rob wasn’t entirely pleased that Skyla had been in a house known to house the darkest of magical folk, he was willing to put that aside for the time being.  It wasn’t as if he intended to marry the woman, after all.

Ever observant, Skyla immediately picked up on Rob’s negative reaction to learning that she was once a Slytherin. Though she could not read his thoughts, she could sense that something was off. She felt that she could almost see what he was thinking, imagining that he was likely repulsed and intrigued at the same time. She would have expected nothing less from a former Gryffindor, however. Yes, Slytherin had a poor reputation in some circles, but that did not necessarily mean that all of the members of that House were associated with the dark arts. To say that all Slytherins were evil would be an oversimplification. It would be the same as calling all Hufflepuffs idiots, or all Gryffindors pigheaded, or all Ravenclaws know-it-alls. Clearly, in his case, old house rivalries died hard. 

Skyla could feel the indignation swelling within her, and she was still trying to come up with a suitable retort when he broke the tension by complimenting her. It caught her sufficiently off-guard, for she let out a low, soft chuckle, genuinely amused by his quip about her being the first to clean the bar in several years. The unexpected burst of laughter surprised her, though she pushed away any doubts by chalking it up to the alcohol. Her second drink was a little more than half gone by this point. She wasn't quite sure how long they had been sitting there, but she was sure that she would need to stop drinking soon. Her eyes caught his and she realized with a start that her heart rate had quickened and the burn in her cheeks was still there. The pub was starting to feel altogether too warm for her liking. Merlin, what was wrong with her?

"So what is it that you do, Skyla?"

Now that was an interesting question. She was grateful for the change of subject, taking the focus off of her house affiliation and onto a topic she knew quite well: work. It also helped to take her mind off her dawning realization of the current between them, almost tangible despite her hesitance and the fact that they knew next to nothing about each other. She wanted to ask Rob if he could feel it, too, but was unable to think of the appropriate way to phrase what she was feeling. The thought that she could be attracted to someone so completely different from her was ludicrous. If she had been sober, she might have used her better judgment and left by now. 

A wicked thought crossed her mind as she contemplated whether she wanted to tell him the truth about her employment, or make up some outlandish lie to see how sharp he really was. Skyla glanced at her drink, deciding to leave it alone for the time being, allowing the ice to slowly melt into the alcohol. Meeting his eyes once more, she chose to tell the truth. "I work for the Ministry in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I'm an assistant to the Ambassador to France." Sliding her hand into her pocket, she pulled out one of her business cards that she always kept on her person and handed it to him. It was embossed with the Ministry seal and stated her full name and job title, the enchanted card flashing the information at regular intervals. It was a spontaneous decision, and possibly a bad one, giving a stranger so much information about herself. It was too late to worry about that now, though, and she mentally shrugged off any nagging uncertainty.

"How about you? What is it that you do for a living, Rob?" Skyla asked, then thought better of it. "Wait a minute. Let me guess," she said, not giving him time to answer her original questions. She looked him over once more, her eyes traveling slowly down his body, her gaze serious and considering. Tapping a finger lightly against her lower lip, she frowned slightly as she thought, her eyes lingering on his broad shoulders. “Hit wizard?” she asked, looking back up at him. “No. Auror? Or… Curse-breaker?” Whatever it was, his job was definitely of a physical nature, and she was more curious than she cared to admit to find out what exactly his job entailed.

The room seemed to spin slightly.  Truthfully, Rob hadn’t considered the fact that had not eaten a thing today when deciding to go out for a drink.  Ruefully, he pushed his glass a bit away from him, giving in to the inevitable- he was definitely more than a little tipsy.  It would probably be best to not indulge any more, or else he would end up doing something truly embarrassing.  Most of the time he took the precaution to eat before drinking, but in the haze of anger that had swept him at the failure of a practice earlier today, Rob hadn’t followed his normal routine.  In fact, he mused, the fact that he was drinking on an empty stomach would probably interfere if he did get to leave with Skyla.  Hopefully she wouldn’t take him stopping as a sign of weakness.

Was it time for last call?  Rob peered at a dusty clock mounted behind the bar and was shocked to see it was barely eleven in the evening.  It felt as though he had been sitting here chatting up Skyla for hours, and the sun would be rising soon.  He shook off the feeling of closeness with the witch rather irritability and blamed it on his many drinks.  Instead, he turned his attention back to the witch in question.  She was still blushing, so surely she was interested.  Women wouldn’t sit at a bar talking to a strange man unless they were after exactly what he was aiming for.  Her chuckling at his joke seemed to encourage him in this line of thought, and he smiled genuinely at her.  Of course, Skyla wouldn’t know how rare an occasion that simple expression was.

”I’m an assistant to the Ambassador to France.”

For a split second, he forgot what they had been talking about, so absorbed was he in thinking about possibilities later tonight. “That must be an interesting line of work.”  Rob reached for the proffered card with genuine interest, allowing his fingers to graze hers when withdrawing it.  That small touch made his fingertips tingle, although that might again be blamed upon his inebriated state.  Flipping it quickly to read the correct side, he studied it.  Her last name didn’t ring any bells, so he felt the last bit of his suspicion draining away.  It would be quite the elaborate set-up to carry around fake business cards, especially one with a seal.  He tucked it away with another grin, arching an eyebrow at her.

“What would your mother say, Miss Davenport, if she knew you were going around handing out your personal information to strange men?”  He chuckled a bit, but abruptly stiffened as she began throwing out guesses as to what he did for a living.  Her quick rebuttal of her first guess relaxed him, and he began smirking as Skyla went on.  The woman was truly intuitive, to have almost hit the nail on the head.  Rob didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on him, it was something he had come to expect from female company.  He toyed with the idea of lying to her and saying he was something ridiculous, like an painter, but assumed that Skyla would see past the deception and call him out on it.

Was it really possible she hadn’t heard of him, or seen his face in any of the gossip papers?  Recently, Witch Weekly had even run a profile of the bachelors who played professional quidditch.  Rob had been slightly irritated by the fact that his good friend Harlan had almost topped the list, a good ways above his own person.  Of course, the magazine tended to pander to witches who only saw the word ‘captain’ and jumped at any notion of being able to land one.  He faintly remembered it listing things he supposedly looked for in a woman, and stifled another chuckle.  Top of the list had been someone to have children with.  More proof the entire article had been lies.

“I play Quidditch,” he began slowly, eyeing Skyla closely.  If there was any sign that she was only in this for the fame, he would be out the door in a wink.  “I’m a keeper.  I’ve been with the Gravesend Griffins for about six years.”  The practice from hell reared its ugly head, and he grabbed his drink heedless of the ensuing complications, and downed it.  He ordered a beer, keeping his mind enough to reason that he probably shouldn’t drink any more hard liquor.  “I actually came here almost directly from practice,” he growled slightly, “And it was absolute rubbish.”  He actually wanted to use stronger language than that, and felt in his pocket for the cigarettes he kept on hand when going out. He rarely smoked when sober, but as he was drinking…his irritation might be lessened if he took a few drags.  Would Skyla mind?  He slid one out of the pack and offered it to her.  “Care for a smoke?”

Skyla picked up her drink and had it halfway to her mouth when Rob announced that he was a Quidditch player - a keeper - for the Gravesend Griffins. Slowly and deliberately, she set the drink back down on the bar. Of all the lines of work he could have been in, it had to be the one she probably despised the most. Well, that wasn’t necessarily completely true, but the fact remained that she could not be less interested in Quidditch if she tried. She could honestly say that while she had heard of the team itself, she had never heard of him. Witch Weekly and its ilk were not on her list of reading materials, and she always religiously ignored the sports section of the Daily Prophet. Her avoidance of the sports section was twofold: One, she was probably the least athletic person in the world and therefore uninterested, and two, her father was one of the editors of that section and she did not want to support him in any way if she could help it.

“Bastard,” she breathed, blue eyes flashing dangerously. It felt as if a large, invisible fist was squeezing her around the middle, for her stomach was clenching unpleasantly and she found herself suddenly short of breath. There was a strange ringing in her ears and she heard none of what followed his admission of being a Quidditch player. She regretted getting so deeply involved with him, even if their contact had so far been limited to some conversation and exchange of work information. Her mind briefly traveled back to her Hogwarts days, when she was bullied and teased by a few Quidditch players, which had started her lifelong hatred of the sport and anything or anyone associated with it. When she became a Prefect, she had had some authority over unruly athletes, but before then, they made her life hell.

Picking up her drink for a second time, she did the first thing that came to mind. With a jerk of her wrist, she tossed what was left of her scotch at his face, feeling extremely satisfied as it made contact with his skin. “Keep your bloody cigarettes,” she told him through gritted teeth. It was a shame, really. She could use a smoke and she didn’t like to turn down the offer, but it couldn’t be helped. Sliding off her stool, Skyla gripped the edge of the bar for a moment to allow the world to stop spinning. Perhaps she was drunker than she thought… She had skipped dinner in favor of coming straight to the pub for a drink that evening. It wasn’t the smartest idea, but it couldn’t be helped now. Without a backward glance, she stalked toward the exit, wanting to put as much distance between herself and Rob as humanly possible.

As she made her way toward the exit, she was accosted by another obviously drunk patron of the pub. She could feel his arm slide around her waist, pulling her toward him. It took her by surprise, and she did not immediately fight back. “Don’t worry, love. You can come home with me instead tonight,” the wizard slurred with a chuckle, his breath strongly reeking of the vodka he must have been drinking. His friends, seated nearby, laughed along with him. Skyla shuddered with revulsion, unable to reach for her wand as it was crushed between her body and his. This was why she rarely went to pubs without the company of others. The last thing she wanted or needed tonight was to be groped by some randy, drunk man with a beer gut. “Get your f*cking hands off of me before I do you much worse than I did him,” she hissed, her body kicking into action as she shoved him as hard as she could. Her rage gave her the strength that her body lacked, and the man stumbled just enough so that she could tear herself free and make her retreat.

Pushing open the door to the pub, she nearly fell out into the street, slamming the door shut behind her. Skyla walked several paces away from the door before stopping and leaning with her back against the outside wall of the pub. It was only when she paused that she noted the chill in the air, which felt refreshing against her heated skin. She found that she was sweating a bit, her whole body trembling from the adrenaline rush. With shaking fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her cigarette case. She took one from the case and snapped it shut, sliding it back into her pocket before lighting the tip of her cigarette with her wand. She inhaled deeply, bowing her head and wrapping her left arm around her midsection. Merlin, this night has been so bizarre, she found herself thinking as she exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting shut as she allowed the nicotine to work its magic and slowly calm her down.

As it turned out, the possibility of Skyla turning down his offer of a cigarette was the least of Rob’s worries.  While he had been rambling on about his job, he had failed to notice the dangerous storm cloud apparently erupting from Skyla’s dangerous expression.  When she uttered the curse in his direction, he therefore mistakenly assumed it was due to his proposition to have a smoke.  Before he could utter an apology, he was showered in the remains of her drink.  Rob jerked back reflexively and frowned after the woman as Skyla positively fled from his presence.  Ignoring the smirk the bartender (and indeed, several of the patrons) shot his way.  He groped around the bar, grabbing at a spare napkin and wiping his face clean.

This wasn’t the first drink Rob had gotten tossed on himself, but it was probably the only time he was utterly confused as to the reason why.  The evening had seemed to be going smoothly; despite the slight hiccup of Skyla graduating from Slytherin- still something Rob wasn’t entirely sure he was comfortable with.  He felt in his pocket and slammed a handful of galleons onto the bar.  The witch had left without paying for her drinks.  Rob had been planning on paying for them all along, but he liked a companion to at least attempt the fruitless dance of compensation.  He had been with too many women who had simply assumed he would give them the world if they played with him enough.  An exclamation from the direction of the door drew his interest and his mood, if possible, turned even blacker.

Skyla was being propositioned, it seemed, by one of the many miscreants that frequented the bar.  You could find them in nearly any establishment that served alcohol- dirty, out of shape, and traveling in packs looking for women to come home with them.  Now, Rob may have had the same goals in mind when he set out tonight, but he prided himself on not forcing his company on anyone.  If a woman didn’t desire to leave with him, he allowed her to go her own way.  But these low-lives were notorious for accosting women who seemed unable to defend themselves, ironically one of the things Rob had briefly mentioned to Skyla earlier that night.  She was able to get away from the man after a small struggle, and quickly left through the door.  Rob knew it wouldn’t end there for the man and his friends, who were even now raising eyebrows at each other and making obscene gestures in the direction of the door.

Rob had his wand out and at the nearest one’s throat before any of them had managed to shrug on a coat.  “Now gentlemen…” he began, his voice cold and low, a sure sign of his anger.  “Let’s play nice.  You have two options:  let the pretty lady finish her night in peace, or…” he jabbed his wand a tad harder into his captive’s neck, “It might get  a little messy in here.”  A few of the other fellows began to pull out their own wands, but one of the older ones was hastily motioning to his companions, his face pale.  Rob strained to hear a few muttered words…. murder, and Azkaban  seemingly the most predominant.  A frightening smile spread across Rob’s face.  “You’ve heard of me, it seems.”  After a few more tense moments, the men lowered their wands, and Rob did the same, shoving his man back towards the group.  “I don’t think there needs to be any further conversation tonight, gents.”  Rob swept out of the pub before any of them could think of aiming a curse at his back.  For that matter, he should probably steer clear of this particular bar in the near future- usually owners didn’t take kindly to patrons threatening each other.  He wondered for a minute why the bouncers hadn’t broken the whole thing up, but stopped when he spied a glowing ember a few paces from himself.  As his eyes adjusted to the night, he recognized Skyla.

“Not that I minded another shower tonight- but next time, could you choose something a bit less…potent?  Scotch burns my eyes.”  Rob’s sarcastic tone oozed out with each word.  Skyla had simply stormed away from him with no explanation whatsoever, and his initial assumption that it had to do with the offer to smoke was obviously an error, as Skyla was so blatantly demonstrating.  He couldn’t fail to notice that she was chilly, standing as she was with her arm around herself.  Hesitating a moment, Rob shrugged off his jacket and quickly slid it over her shoulders, striding a fee paces away and lighting a cigarette of his own.  “Before you go throwing the jacket at me too, hon, I think a fellow might deserve a bit of explanation.”  What could it have been?  Surely not Quidditch…although that might be a more feasible explanation.  Rob couldn’t for the life of him figure out what a sport could do to cause that sort of reaction that had veritably exploded from her.  He continued his cigarette in silence, staring off into space.

Skyla had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, trying to sort through the jumbled mess that were her emotions, that she did not hear the door to the pub opening or the person approaching her until he was standing next to her. Looking up, she was taken aback to see Rob. She quickly straightened up, readying herself in case he started screaming in her face, or worse, tried to get violent. She nodded blankly at his sarcastic request, too surprised to be able to give him an immediate response. Before she had a chance to protest, he draped his jacket about her shoulders and moved away, lighting a cigarette of his own. She watched as he exhaled, his attention diverted elsewhere for the time being. At least now she wasn’t feeling the chill of the night air, but it irked her that he had offered his assistance when she hadn’t requested it.

Skyla shrugged her shoulders, attempting to shift the coat so that it covered her as much as possible without her actually holding it closed. She was acutely conscious of how the coat smelled of him and how it dwarfed her, the shoulders much too large and the sides much too long. The fire which had been cooling within her kicked up a notch, and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She shook her head, angry with herself for getting so distracted by something so unimportant. None of this mattered, really. She would stay until she finished her cigarette, then hand him back his jacket and leave, which would put an end to it. Likely, she would need to walk home. Mixing apparating and drinking was never a good idea, and right now she didn’t trust herself not to splinch herself by attempting to apparate home. Fortunately for her, they were just around the corner from Diagon Alley.

Rob asked for an explanation, but she found that she couldn’t give him a real one. How could she tell him, a stranger, all about some of the worst parts of her Hogwarts years? It was unthinkable. “First you insult me," she began, referring to the incident with the blonde witch and her note, but failing to elaborate, "then you tell me you're a Quidditch player. What am I supposed to think?" Her voice was soft, her tone cool. Outside the pub, it was much quieter than it had been inside, so she did not have to raise her voice to make herself heard. She was glad it was dark and that the closest light source was a street lamp several feet away. It would surely help to hide the blush in her cheeks. She could think of several swear words that she wanted to hurl at him, but kept them to herself. Despite what she thought of as her tough exterior persona, she didn't like to overuse bad language. To her, it exhibited a lack of education and a certain crassness that she could not tolerate. Only in an extreme or unusual situation, like the one she had experienced just moments ago, could she be goaded into actually swearing aloud. 

Impatiently, she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, leaning back against the wall once more. She gave Rob a long look, trying to divine his intentions. It was, of course, impossible. She didn't know this man at all. How could she think that she could have any idea of what he was thinking? All she had were assumptions, which were solely based upon her preconceived notions and her limited experience. His signals that evening had been mixed. She prided herself at being perceptive and a good judge of character, but she could not get a handle on him. It was maddening, and yet… Skyla took another drag from her cigarette, tipping her chin up as she exhaled a long stream of smoke. She watched it dissipate into the air before speaking again. 

“I’m sure you’re used to women falling all over themselves when you tell them what you do,” she mused aloud, remembering how some of her female coworkers would sigh and giggle every time the newest Witch Weekly came out featuring Quidditch players. Skyla wondered if the blonde from earlier had known who Rob was. It was entirely possible, and would explain the note and the drink. She never understood the mindset of the women who got caught up in lusting after the rich and famous. For as much as she struggled at times, she preferred her boring, anonymous life.

“I hope you didn’t expect the same from me.” She flicked a bit of ash from her cigarette, careful not to get any on his jacket. She would not allow him to think she was negligent for burning his clothing. Due to her own line of work, she associated with important people out of necessity, but that was in the realm of her professional life. In her personal life, she did not have much experience with professional athletes. In fact, now that she thought about it, Rob was the first one she had ever actually met. “I’m not interested in your fame,” she told him, looking up at him. After a pause, she added as the afterthought that it was for her, “or your fortune.”

Rob’s puzzlement with Skyla’s reactions was plain for anyone to see.  He ran his free hand over his head irritably and took a last drag of the cigarette, focusing instead on the harshness as he inhaled.  He knew from previous experiences that irritation could quickly spark into anger… and well, he didn’t think any of the business owners would appreciate it if he punched a hole in any walls if he felt like expressing it.  Coupled with the drinks he had consumed, Skyla was treading on very dangerous ground.  Not that Rob would hurt her, but he didn’t particularly want to go into an overly-emotional tirade at the moment.  He flicked the remains of the cigarette away and decided to stick to his guns.

“Insult you?  I wasn’t aware that I had done anything of the sort.” Rob’s voice cut across the silence in a low tone.  “In fact, It would have been easy for anyone to see that you were doing the insulting.”  He hadn’t forgotten the way she had rudely refused his offer for a smoke, or the much more obvious maneuver where he had gotten an unexpected shower.  And what was this about his being a quidditch player? Rob honestly couldn’t figure the woman out.  She was hot one minute, then cold the next.  He sighed, frustrated.  Sometimes, challenges weren’t worth the battle.  He didn’t feel particularly keen towards Skyla and regretted handing her the damn jacket.  She couldn’t even offer up a word of gratitude!

He refrained from walking towards her and instead stood a few paces away, knowing that if he broke the unspoken line between them it could get dangerous.  A flicker of thought had Rob assessing what the situation would have been like if he had given into his impulses and kissed her before this debacle had unfolded.  He probably wouldn’t be standing out in the night like an idiot, with the air growing progressively colder as the hour inched towards dawn.  Perhaps the drink would have been thrown earlier, but either way he would be in his bed, warm and comfortable- asleep or otherwise.

The next snide comment issuing from her lips snapped him back to the present.  It held a ring of truth that he wouldn’t even attempt to deny.  Women did tend to throw themselves at him, but they were passing amusements, not something he was genuinely interested in.  In that much, at least, he was honest with himself.  Previous flings had him laying the facts bare to women- he wasn’t interested in anything long term, and he wouldn’t subjugate himself to parading around on their arms for show.  He certainly hadn’t expected anything of the sort from Skyla, although her irritation with him was slowly becoming clearer.  So, she didn’t like quidditch players, that much was obvious.  Rob didn’t personally see how it affected much as she had still been intolerably rude to him.

“Well, haven’t you hit the nail on the head,” he sneered slightly, voice dripping obviously with sarcasm.  “I spent hours talking to you to only then,” he gestured with one finger, “bring up what I do for a living.”  The ball had started rolling now, and he couldn’t make himself stop speaking, whether it be the lateness of the hour, or his inebriated state, he didn’t know.  “I could have gotten up and walked out when you revealed your former house.  I don’t particularly care for Slytherins.”  Rob’s gaze hardened perceptibly as he went on, now glaring at Skyla.  “But I decided to give you a chance.  Instead, you proved me wrong.  And you stand there and you dare, you dare…”  Rob cut himself off abruptly and clenched his fists, breathing slowly to relax.  Surely she hadn’t realized what she was implying.  If Skyla’s reasoning was any good at all, she would see that if he was exactly like she suggested, he would have made off with the blonde earlier in the evening with no regard for her feelings. 

Calmer now, Rob unclenched his hands and looked anywhere but at her.  He was still frighteningly close to exploding.  “What I don’t see is, how any of this gives you the right to judge me, Skyla.”  This last was uttered, not in tones of anger, but of utter coolness-although the slight sneer Rob gave to her name might have given him away.

Skyla didn't need this. She was better than this, and she knew it. It was too late and she was not sober enough to try to match wits with someone she barely knew. The whole situation struck her as absurd. Taking one last drag of the cigarette, she tossed the butt to the ground, crushing it beneath her foot. "I'm sorry that, as a Slytherin, I've lived up to your expectations," she told him, a note of finality in her voice as she returned his glare with a cool stare of her own. Rob's denigration of her former house stung, yet it was so typically Gryffindor that she might have laughed if the situation wasn’t so negatively charged. Even though she had her immature moments, like this one, she knew she was a good person. Or, if she wasn't good, she wasn't evil, and did not deserve to be placed in the stereotypical evil Slytherin box. It was obvious that this exchange was going nowhere.

The shoe was now on the other foot, and she found that she didn't like it one bit. He had called her out on her crap, which was something she did not experience often. They were both making judgments about the other under less than ideal circumstances. Skyla knew she needed to pick her battles, and suddenly, she no longer felt like fighting this one. She could feel the beginnings of the headache she always got immediately after drinking, letting her know that her buzz was wearing off. Tiredly, she pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. She could see that he was incredibly angry. While under other circumstances she might try to needle him some more, now all she wanted to do was go home and go to bed.

She also had to admit that Rob wasn't completely thoughtless like she had originally implied. He had, after all, remained with her rather than leaving with the blonde. He had also offered her a cigarette and given her his jacket for warmth. She knew that she was beaten, and even though there was so much more that she wanted to say, she kept her mouth closed. Mentally, she began to withdraw from the conversation, a feeling of detachment replacing her earlier anger. "Haven't we both unfairly judged each other?" she asked in a low voice. It was a rhetorical question, as she did not expect him to answer her. No one liked to be judged, but the fact was that people judged each other all the time, both consciously and unconsciously. It was essential to the human condition.

Slipping the jacket from her shoulders, Skyla crossed the few feet separating them so she could hand it back to him. Goosebumps erupted on her arms as she once more felt the coolness of the air against her bare skin. "Thank you for this," she said as he took it from her. She hesitated, not really knowing what else to say. She inhaled and opened her mouth as if to say something, but then shook her head. She teetered on the edge of apologizing to him, but in the end couldn't bring herself to do it. There was a slight pause. "Good night, Rob," she said. With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from. Rounding the corner into the alleyway next to the pub, she paused to get her bearings. In a split second decision, she determined that she was sober enough to apparate home. She turned in place where she stood, apparating away with a soft "pop."