[leaky cauldron] survivalist fantasy [elijah]

february 2001

Sleep was elusive.

Actually, falling asleep was really not a problem. The issue was staying asleep without waking up in a cold sweat, visions of inferi riding blast-ended skrewts clouding her thoughts.

Edith Holthouse had been back in London for six days. As soon as the dome around Hogwarts disappeared, or fell, or turned off, or whatever it decided to do, the witch had fled the castle and apparated away just as soon as she could. Ministry officials had flooded into the school, but this particular one ran away. She reasoned that she was an Obliviator, not properly trained for whatever these Ministry folks were setting out to do. That, and she really wanted to get out of her stolen Hogwarts uniform, drink alcohol, and never see the damn school again.

She wasn’t one of the adults in the castle that had entered in willingly when the dome was faltering; she had been swooped in when the floo network went haywire. But, now she was back in London and officially on a leave of absence from work. She had gone to work the day after she returned, hoping that she would be able to explain why she had been missing from her job for the past four weeks with no notice of her whereabouts or any sign that she was still breathing.

It didn’t take long, however, for the former Gryffindor to realize that the office was one place she didn’t want to be. She jumped every time someone closed a filing cabinet too loudly, ducked when she saw an interoffice memo flying from the corner of her eye. After the fifth person barged into her cubicle to ask her questions about what it was like inside the dome, Edith had her second conversation with her supervisor that day, informing him of her intention to take a leave of absence.

And that was that.

Edith was torn on her decision about work, though. If she had work to focus on, that could have kept her busy and kept her mind on other things and might have actually helped her in the long run. But the idea of one more person she had never met before asking her about Hogwarts was enough to convince her to stay on leave. And that was exactly why she could be found at the Leaky Cauldron a couple hours past noon on a Thursday. Both wizard pubs and muggle ones had their benefits: in a muggle pub, Edith was very likely to never run in to a person who even knew the word “Hogwarts,” let alone find someone who would want to talk about it. In a wizard pub, the chances were far more likely, but at least Edith would be able to threaten with hexes if they tried anything. Also, Edith was out of her muggle bank notes and was too lazy to exchange her sickles for more.

The pub wasn’t very crowded at all, and only occasionally did someone walk through to get to the Diagon Alley side. She sat at the bar, her elbows firmly planted on the counter. Her chin rested in the palm of her left hand, and the only sign that she was an actual person was that every other minute she would take a big swig of her beer. She had shed her coat, leaving it slumped on the stool next to her; her faded Manchester United sweater (combined with the alcohol) was more than sufficient at keeping her warm. Old jeans and her only pair of shoes, stolen from her father, completed her look. The girl’s chestnut hair was surprisingly only one-day unwashed, but still in a bit of a mess.

She pushed her slipping glasses back up the bridge of her nose as she considered her options for getting a good night’s sleep. Going to St. Mungo’s for help would just be admitting that she was weak, and that was one thing she wasn’t yet willing to admit. She had toyed with the idea of using a memory charm on herself, but she had heard about how that usually backfired on whoever tried it out, and there were actually some memories from her life that Edith wanted to hold on to. At least there was one thing that came close to helping.

“Just one more,” she said for the third time, tipping her empty glass towards the bartender.

@Elijah Dasher

Elijah August Dasher was, despite people often thinking the opposite, a well-adjusted adult. Yes, he knew some of his habits were considered socially awkward or even creepy, but he’d never really been one to bother with other people’s opinions, especially when they concerned himself. Which was why the lanky brunette was busy putting his quill to parchment in the midst of the soft buzz of the Leaky Cauldron. He honestly hadn’t planned on drawing anyone, sometimes he went out with that express intention – there was after all – no better way to improve one’s drawing skills than by working with living breathing models, but today he’d just wanted a quick pint before popping off to meet his brother, Will.

But he’d noticed the woman walk in, and she’d seemed so obviously shaken, at least to Elijah’s overly observant eye, that he couldn’t resist the urge to draw what he was seeing, especially when she sat nearly still. While he teased out the lines on his spare bit of parchment, Eli’s mind drifted absently over various thoughts, one of those being what was going through her mind. Not that he actually cared what the woman was thinking about, Elijah was not a people person, and rarely felt compelled to care about other people’s problems unless the names of those people were Arden or William, and they were his siblings. But in drawing, Eli always wanted to impart emotion and feeling, which required him to care just enough to pick up on the subtle bits of body language that people like the woman at the bar left lying around.

He had noted fairly quickly that she was likely a muggleborn or halfblood, based on her choice in attire and her obvious love for the muggle football team, Manchester United that was advertised by her well-loved sweater. He’d also noticed she was pretty, but Elijah knew he would have drawn her if she hadn’t been solely based on the fact that he found her interesting. Her attractiveness was certainly a bonus, despite the fact that Elijah didn’t really think of women in that way, or anyone that way for that matter. He had learned long ago that people like him were not likely to be fawned over by others, and aside from the occasional passing fancy or crush, Elijah had never really felt romantic feelings for anyone, they were messy, complicated, and far, far too time consuming when he had more important things to do like draw, read, or sleep. 

She had just finished her third drink when Elijah began a quick pass over the drawing with a bit of color, having picked a quill that allowed him to change ink colors on the fly. Normally Elijah left the drawings as they were naturally but his muse had decided that color was needed, and so he obeyed. Most of the color was background noise, as he focused on highlighting the Manchester United colors of her sweater, they were quite loud in comparison to the rest of the pub. Just before calling it good, Elijah doodled a small version of the team crest off to the side of the drawing to finish it off, and animating it so it moved and roared silently. Grunting softly to himself in satisfaction the brunette ran a hand through his shaggy hair before pushing himself up and making his way over to where the woman was sitting in a few long strides.

Without a word, Eli gently slid the parchment into the woman’s field of vision blinking at her in a cat like fashion as he waited to see what her reaction would be. He stood while he waited, watching the bartender prepare her next pint, and wondered absently if she’d try and hit him since she seemed the type. Then after a beat, the man couldn’t resist “for someone not wanting to attract attention to herself, your choice in sweater is rather poor.”

Edith offered up the biggest smile she could muster, which wasn’t very big at all, as the bartender nodded and grabbed a new glass for her fourth pint. She set her empty glass down on the counter and withdrew her hand, letting it fall to her lap, her chin still cradled in the other. She caught the movement of another bar patron out of the corner of her eye but paid it no mind. That is, until the movement stopped right next to her. She didn’t look up, hoping he would take that as a sign. She was just about to ask if there was something she could do to help him, to encourage him to keep moving, to not try and start up a conversation, to just leave her the hell alone, when he slid a bit of parchment towards her.

As much as she wanted to ignore everything that wasn’t a finely brewed pint of ale, the bartender was still taking his precious time preparing her new pint. So, Edith looked down at the parchment. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting; she had seen bank robbers in films slide papers across the counter letting the bank teller know that it was a hold up, but that was about as far as her experience with mysterious pieces of parchment went, and this definitely wasn’t that. She was looking down at, well, herself. It was quite good, but was that what she really looked like? Drawing-Edith looked sad, almost hollow, and real-Edith thought she was much better at having that hard, outer shell that had no visible emotions. She hadn’t felt happy in a while, and apparently it was showing much more than she thought it was.  She was about to send him off with a “Thanks bud,” and a “Now, leave me alone,” when he spoke.

What? Her sweater was a poor choice? Edith finally looked up from the parchment and turned slightly to stare at him, unsure of how to react, though several options went through her mind. How could a United sweater be a poor choice? They were currently number one in the Premier League, and even though she had missed five matches while stuck at Hogwarts, including them being knocked out of the FA cup, she was still quite emotionally attached to the team. Secondly, she had only returned to London with about twelve hours to spare before her landlord evicted her because she hadn’t been seen around her flat in a month or bothered to pay her February rent. Nevermind that she had left a load of laundry in the wash (which included a large portion of Edith’s sweater collection) when she had disappeared and another user of the shared facilities had disposed of it. Then, the only robes she owned were her old school robes and her work robes, and she wasn’t about to wear either out and about when all she wanted to do was drink.

She took in his features, narrowing her eyes as she did so. Was he kidding? “I –,” she started, not sure where she was headed with her sentence. The former Gryffindor looked back to the parchment still laying on the counter, her chin-rest hand now scratching the back of her head. He was obviously familiar with United, as he had drawn the club’s crest, complete with a silently growling devil. So maybe he was just commenting on the fact that she hadn’t bothered to dress like a witch while in this particular bar? If he was offended by her muggle attire, he definitely would have done something other than draw her, right? Edith was still staring at the drawing when she spoke again: “Do you want a pint?”

She was too tired to want to do anything in this moment except drink the pint the bartender had just set in front of her, narrowly missing the parchment as he did so. She shifted her gaze from the pint, to the drawing, then finally up to the artist. All other options for reactions outside of this simply required energy that Edith just didn’t have. “You can tell me why you don’t like my sweater, and then I can tell you why you’re wrong,” she added with a shrug, realizing that she would always have enough energy left to defend her beloved United.

“Do you want a pint?”

What?

Blinking, Elijah felt his brow furrow as his mind scrambled to make sense of the simple sentence that the witch in front of him had uttered. Did he want a drink? That was far from the response he’d been anticipating, but as she concluded her invitation with the logic behind it, the wizard couldn’t stop the small smirk that tugged faintly at his lips.  So, with a nod, the brunette slid his long frame onto the stool next to hers before resisting the urge to glare at the bartender for nearly damaging his work of art, not that it was really his anymore, anyway.

Settling himself into his new seat, the ex-Claw signaled for his own drink, and swept the shock of hair from his face before speaking again “I never said I didn’t like your sweater. I just said it was a poor choice for someone clearly not wanting to draw attention to themselves.” He finished with a small shrug, watching the witch beside him for any kind of reaction. “Now, if I’d said United is garbage, and David Beckham isn’t nearly the footballer he’s cracked up to be, you’d have a fair point. But, I didn’t say those things, and beyond knowing who United and David Beckham are, I know nothing about muggle sports. But I do like your sweater.” He capped off his point by taking a long pull from the glass the bartender had set in front of him, before turning his gaze, which was just a bit smug, back to his companion.

“You have yet to tell me why I’m wrong, you know..” Eli knew he hadn’t given the witch a chance to interject, but baiting people, even strangers, was too much for the man to resist. A good argument was always so entertaining, he had to try. While he waited for her answer, Elijah's hands fidgeted absently with the drawing he'd given her, and he wondered how much ink was on his face at that moment, and how much had gotten there as a result of his latest drawing.

She didn’t wait for his answer before starting on her own pint. Edith pulled the glass towards her before lifting it to her lips. There was quite a bit of foam on top, but she didn’t let that stop her from searching until she found the beer.  And find it, she did. Her original plan of taking just one healthy swig turned into her draining half the glass in a few swallows. If she wasn’t already a little drunk, she surely would be soon. It wouldn’t make much difference to her new drinking partner, though, as she was always very passionate when she discussed United, be she sober or inebriated.

Edith set the glass down in front of her as the man spoke, but she kept her gaze focused on the bottles behind the bar, just as she had when she was being left alone.  She wasn’t sure how he knew that she was attempting not to draw attention to herself, but for someone so observant, he clearly lacked the tact to actually, you know, leave her alone. She frowned, still looking straight ahead. However, as soon as he continued speaking, saying the words “Beckham” and “garbage” in the same sentence, Edith’s frown turned into a look of shock and she twisted her top half so that she could look him in the face while she berated him.

But he kept speaking and actually redeemed himself. At least he knew about Beckham. She was happy that even the seemingly oblivious people like this guy still knew who he was. It almost justified the obscene obsession the Obliviator had with him. Almost. “Uh, thanks,” she mumbled as he turned back to look at her and hazel eyes met blue. She looked away quickly, almost immediately uncomfortable at their closeness. She took another long draw of beer from her glass before settling herself in for her upcoming rant about United she was all too familiar with.

“I mean… they’re going to win the league this year. Again. That should be reason enough, really.” She paused, not very sure that she actually wanted to waste what energy she had left trying to explain the finer details about football and why United excelled at it if he didn’t know anything about the sport at all. Edith had done her part to learn about quidditch once she learned she was a witch, but not many people who grew up knowing they were magical took any time out of their precious schedules to learn about the world’s most popular sport (one that also happened to be England’s national sport as well). Heaven forbid people try to know about the world they live in.

“You know that drawing me is just a tad more than a little creepy, right?” the woman posed the question to change the subject. It was a good drawing, yes, but he still had obviously been staring at her for more than five minutes to be able to accomplish it. She smirked before taking a much smaller swallow of beer than usual. “If I was 5% more drunk and 5% less tired, I probably would have smacked you,” she added, setting her glass down and turning back towards the man, “In case you were wondering.”

By simply putting Beckham and United in the same sentence Elijah had all but exhausted his knowledge of the sport, and settled for nodding along with the witch’s ramblings and sipping his pint. It wasn’t that Eli didn’t know about muggle things, he did after all, have his own collection of muggle comics sitting in his flat. Those same comics were unarguably the reason why Eli had even gotten into muggle culture, and drawing in particular. It also helped that his dad was muggleborn, and had been the sole reason he’d known about them as a boy. The real detracting factor behind his lack of interest in football was a general disregard for sports, muggle or otherwise. He had never felt the need to bother with them much, no matter how popular.

When she finally accosted him for his drawing, the wizard couldn’t stop himself from laughing aloud before finishing his pint “Surely, I’m just an artist suffering for his craft, no?” He teased lightly before continuing “I was ready to duck, honestly. I’ll keep it in mind, should I cross your path again.” If they were going to have this conversation he was going to need another drink, he decided as he signaled to the barkeep for another. While he waited, somewhat impatiently for his next drink Elijah explained himself, goading her a bit in the process “I know it’s creepy, but wouldn’t it be more creepy if I drew you and kept it?” Elijah loved drawing, but unless it was something he was drawing expressly for himself, he’d never really felt the urge to keep the drawings, as that seemed extreme, even for him.

It was the whole reason he’d decided to start giving his subjects the drawings, at least they had control of them. “And, anyway, I really don’t have to look at you as long as you think, just glances here and there.” He added with a shrug “If I didn’t draw people, I wouldn’t get the kind of practice I need to get better. Models are great, but even being human they aren’t as unpredictable and free as your average witch or wizard. In fact, I bet you I could draw anyone in here in under five minutes.” He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to prove anything, let alone himself to this random woman he’d just met in the pub, but he did. It hadn’t even occurred to him that in order to have a real bet, there would have to be a wager of some sort. 

“Hey if you still want to be punched, that could definitely be arranged.” She was only slightly serious, but she most assuredly had enough pent up aggression to sock someone right now. And if that’s really what he was expecting and wanting, she would be more than happy to oblige. Edith watched as he ordered another drink and took that as a signal to drain her own glass and call for another as well. “Actually,” she said after a pause, “Whisky this time.” She responded negatively when asked if she had a preference for which kind of whisky, then turned back to the starving artist. “Whisky is much better for fighting so I’d like to be prepared.” She smiled as she spoke, relishing being able to talk about anything except Hogwarts.

The witch shrugged in response to his next question. “How do I know that you don’t have three more drawings stuffed in your pants right now? Because yes, that would definitely be way creepier.”  Edith snorted into her newly delivered glass of whisky, amusing herself with what she thought was witty banter. She took a sip, anticipating the burn that beer hadn’t given her in her last four pints. Different, but a good different. Edith had already decided to spend the rest of her day in the Leaky Cauldron anyway, so getting drunk at a quicker pace wasn’t too much of an issue. In fact, it was probably beneficial.

“It’s still good, though,” Edith mumbled, listening to him explain just how little he had to look at her. The smallest part of her was actually disappointed that he hadn’t watched her as much as she thought, but it was a part small enough that it was easy for her to ignore. “Ha,” she snorted again, this time in disbelief that he thought she could also draw. “I highly doubt that. I can draw stick figures, but that’s about it. Drawing was not exactly a job requirement for me.” She took a bigger gulp of her liquor, gulping a few times even after clearing her mouth of liquid.

Hopefully she would be able to steer the conversation away from her own job though. She wasn’t feeling up to explaining why she wasn’t at work on a day where she clearly should be. “You draw for a living, then?” It must be nice to have a job that he seemed to actually enjoy, instead of one that he physically and mentally couldn’t cope with. “You’re probably famous but I’m more than clueless about art in general.” She smirked, sliding the drawing back towards him a few inches. “You better sign this because I’m going to need to sell it to afford living.”