two princes. [tag; dennis]

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

"Shut up, I love this film."

Near the back of an ancient movie theatre, a tall redhead was shoving fistfuls of popcorn into her mouth while her wide honey coloured eyes were glued to the screen. The cinema was showing reruns of old horror movies in a very hipster-rific "ironic" rebellion against Valentine's Day.

Foxy didn't have a date and so, she was here with five of her friends. It may seem a bit pathetic but she was very much into girl power. The flickering black and white picture on the screen was Nosferatu; an early 1920s horror. Compared to the movies recently, it may seem primitive but it was fun. A physiological thriller. The tense piano and violin music, the over exaggerated facial expressions of the actors on screen, it was cinematic. There was no need for blood and guts and women in short skirts who ran around screaming to make it.

It was still a scary movie. The mind played tricks as the creature crept up the stairs, the iconic silhouette on the wall behind it. It was a silent movie but Foxglove's overactive imagination could create the sound of creaking floorboards and the swish of his long, dark cape. With a sound of excitement, she wiggled in her seat as the climax unfolded.

The cinema itself was Victorian. Large and cold, the walls were painted red. The chairs were covered in red velvet, the heavy crimson curtains held back by gold swags. There were golden sconces that punctuated the red paint. It smelled old, like must and the acrid scent of old video tape that came on a reel.

It was just the girls in tonight, so it seemed. Her friends were losing interest, giggling amongst themselves as Foxy threw a handful of popcorn at them. The creature had just drained his last victim. Ellen, a cinematic dark haired beauty, lay on the balcony dying, living just long enough for her husband to embrace her. The waitress shrugged as she crunched her popcorn. "Serves her right," she grunted. "The silly bitch never listened when people told her a vampire had bought the house next door."

The heavy curtain closed and the girls got up, giggling and tripping their way down the steps. Foxy brushed down her short dress. Her long fiery hair was tied back into a sleek ponytail, fastened by a shiny butterfly hair clip, the wings of which wiggled when she walked. Around her slender neck was a black velvety choker which she adjusted before the rubber soles of her black army boots clunked down the steps after her friends.

It was late, almost eleven in the evening and London was alive. Her parents had given up telling her what to do. At almost eighteen, Foxglove was sure she was an adult. She didn't like being treated like a child, it was unfair.

The street lights made the rain soaked streets glisten as the gaggle of girls burst out onto the road, laughing and clinging to each other in the way teenage girls did. The Plaza was a community run cinema, staffed by volunteers. Most of them were young, keen on showing older movies. It was really rather a hipster thing to do.

With a playful roll of her eyes, the redhead traipsed after her friends. Usually at this time, they'd try and get into some bars. They were all underage but that didn't stop them from trying with various amounts of success. Foxy knew which bars were strict and which weren't and all dressed up and in poor light, age was difficult to discern.

The moon wasn't visible. London town was suffocating under a layer of heavy cloud, as was the norm. Tilting her head back, she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Foxy honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to see it or the stars. She and her family lived in one of the affluent suburbs, a twenty minute tube journey from the centre of the capital but even then, it was just smog and nosey neighbours.

Blowing at her blunt cut fringe, something caught her eye and she turned. It look her a second or two to catch up before she walked over. He was standing underneath a lamp post; how picturesque. She paused, a smile curving the line of her plump lips. If she had a camera, he could easily have been the cover for an indie CD.

Foxy's long legs stepped across a puddle easily as she came over to him to stand in front of him, leaning casually against the lamp post. "You never called me," she told him, her eyes searching his face before she broke into a grin and popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth before holding the carton out to him.


@Dennis Creevey

Dennis loved horror movies and was not, by any means, invulnerable to feelings of fear. He’d always been empathetic, and watching other people in death-defying situations probably made him feel more than if he were in them himself. He loved the jump scares, which shot pulses of adrenaline through his body and he loved the long, drawn out plots, which planted seeds of fear from frame one. It was a safe place to sample terror. At the end of the movie, he could just put those emotions back in a box and stop thinking about all of the characters who’d died and the barely-mentioned families they’d left behind. Horror movies never really dealt with real grief – not the insidious, long-lasting, acidic kind that lasted for years and years – and he liked that.

The Gryffindor thought about this as he made his way outside, the sharp curve of his shoulder blades bowed slightly against the chilly wind. February was cold in London. Colder still in Scotland, but at least at Hogwarts there were fiery hearths and charmed blankets and house elves that came and washed your clothes for you while you were in class. Dennis moved quietly to the circle of light pooling at the base of a nearby streetlamp. Looking out at his darker surrounds from inside, he noted feeling vulnerable and strange. Sticky remnants of hyperawareness clung to the hairs on the back of his neck despite the fact that the movie wasn’t really scary at all. Vampires aren’t really like that, he’d thought.

Little bits of city dust and dirt that fluttered by, catching the light in the most marvelous ways. His right hand hovered momentarily over his pocket, where his camera was tucked, but he decided against it. He need to walk now – away from this busyness to attempt to navigate the Underground to a muggle hostel on the other side of London. He was reminded momentarily of Dean and Dean’s apartment and, particularly, his fold out couch. The seventeen year old tried not to think about what had happened a few days ago – how he’d left his friend’s house without leaving a note or any other reminder that he’d been there. He’d made sure that everything was neatly the way that it had been when he’d arrived. It had been the right thing to do.

Dennis had a hard time allowing himself to feel sad. Mostly his downs were dissociative – he abstracted and disconnected and had a hard time finding the tendrils of meaning that tethered him to reality and continued participation in… anything. He felt guilty, too. Usually that came when he remembered that he wasn’t the only Hogwarts student who’d become intimate with grief and loss over the past few years, or that his loss hardly compared to those who’d lost whole families, or more. He had no more right than anyone else to be wandering the streets of London, or burdening good people like Dean Thomas with his miserable existence.

A sudden distraction appeared in the form of a freckled redhead, breaking through the invisible walls he imagined separated him and the rest of the people milling about tonight. The attention she paid him was jarring. He’d spent too many days wandering London barely making eye contact with other people for the image of this girl – this pretty, familiar girl with wide, present eyes – not to be jolting. Dennis gave a soft, crooked smile. He still had her phone number tucked away somewhere. He had photos of her too; pictures of her red ponytail swishing while she bantered with customers or told off her clumsy workmate Kevin for spilling chocolate milk on the floor – again. Standing there against the lamp post, smugness tugging at her lips, her vivaciousness and youth were practically tangible; a tactile thing he couldn’t help but sense when he was around her. She had no idea about anything else; he felt like he could just tell.

“Well, I was with my “boyfriend”,” he answered coolly. Dennis hadn’t given much thought to things like youth until he’d disengaged from the idea of it. The boy imagined that most people felt like that, though he doubted that most people felt disconnected from their youth at fourteen. There were probably a lot of Hogwarts students who felt older than they were, that came with loss and death and war. Standing here now, with the girl he’d seen for the first time last weekend, felt surreal. She was everything that a teenager was supposed to be, he thought. She was so perfectly, glitteringly, seventeen.

The chilly wind whipped around them both, and he could pick out the voices of her friends, who’d paused not too far away while they decided whether intervening would be more fun than being bystanders. Dennis imagined sharing secrets with this stranger, safely tucked into a cloak of anonymity even as they were face to face. Nose to nose. Maybe even lip to lip. There was something there, he thought – something appealing about the heartbreaking fragility of a connection like this. I know so much more about the world than you, he thought silently, and I can’t speak a word of it. He wondered if she could tell he had a secret. He wondered if she could see the way his lips moved to form words that said different things to the things said by his muddy green-brown eyes.

The insurmountable distance between them was imagined but still somehow tangible. It was as if the lack of similarities and parallels was a living, breathing thing; something that thrummed the beat of crackling awareness into his chest. He could feel his heart now, kicking a little more quickly. It’s not appealing, he realised. Dennis already struggled with the fact that – through self sabotage or other, more organic means – his relationships with his peers and those closest to him were disintegrating, or at least very temporary. There was nothing romantic or beautiful about the ability to connect slipping through your fingers.

All of this flashed through his head in an instant, but instead of wondering if she saw it all stir beneath the surface, Dennis just casually took a small handful of popcorn and popped the salty cinema food straight into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “I’m Dennis,” he said. Jerking his head in the direction of the theatre he'd just exited, Dennis added, “Nosferatu?”

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

"Ah," she replied. Boyfriend. Of course. Foxy had quite forgotten there had been more than one boy at the table when she'd served them. She remembered his face quite clearly. He was strange but not in a bad way. She remembered she liked his eyes, a greeny-brown, like a sun dappled stream in Autumn but she'd completely erased his partner.

"You still could have called me," the redhead said casually. They could have hung out somewhere, it didn't have to be romantic. Foxglove wasn't used to being rejected. She was the life and soul of the party, an energiser, a go-getter and to be ignored for a boy, well. It was unusual, it had never happened before but she wasn't mad. She couldn't change a sexual preference. She honestly thought leaning over a table with her bum in the air would have clinched it. Shame.

"You could have brought him along too," she said quickly as she mirrored his actions and shovelled popcorn into her face. "I would have liked to get to know him properly," she said, the unspoken suggestion hovering in the air.

Foxglove's teenage rebellion had stemmed from being stifled at home. Her parents  were uptight and unoriginal. Her father worked in the City and her mother was a medical receptionist at a private clinic up on Harley Street. Her childhood was so normal. The waitress longed for things, grander things, fun things, terrifying things. A girl like her was not made for the suburbs. A girl like her was made from star dust.

Her parents had long given up trying to control her. The harder they came down on her, the more she pulled away. She was lucky to have two loving parents but it was hard to feel pain when they were being so supportive. It was frustrating, suffocating. She had a small woodland tattoo on the inside of her left wrist and she had to admit, the sheer joy of seeing her mother shriek and faint at the dinner table was pure gold.

"Hi Dennis," she replied with another easy smile. She trusted he remembered her name, most people did. It made her laugh how her parents expected her to be an upstanding member of society with a name like Foxglove Delilah Sharpe. Honestly.

"Classic," she said fondly as she looked at the old exterior to the building. "They weren't showing Hitchcock this year but I'm a big fan of German cinema." Foxy said it so gently, it was impossible to tell if she was kidding around or not. If Dennis was in the cinema, she hadn't seen him. Then again, she was too busy becoming absorbed in the story on screen. Sure, it wasn't scary but that wasn't the point.

Looking up, the redhead gave a careless wave to her friends who were watching with keen interest. They weren't even subtle about it. They were treating the whole situation as though she and Dennis were some sort of zoo exhibition. Foxy tried not to laugh. Out of all of her friends, she was really the only one with "experience" and that made her become some sort of dating and relationship guru.

"Why are you out so late?" Foxy asked Dennis, her eyes scanning his face. Street light suited him, she thought absently. He was a handsome boy but the harsh yellow lighting seemed to bring out his high, well defined cheekbones. Soft lips, dark hair, interesting eyes. He looked sad, too. She hadn't noticed it at the restaurant. There was just something about him, a faint haunting aura, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. That could possibly be why she was so attracted to him. There was nothing alluring about a person with a fully functioning soul.

"Had a falling out with lover boy?" Foxy asked innocently as she popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. She wasn't trying to upset him, she just wanted to understand how he worked. "If you have," she chimed. "Come for a walk with me." It wasn't a question, it wasn't even really an option. It sounded more like a game of truth or dare.

“I think you’re a bit young for him,” Dennis said, a slight smirk tugging at his full lips. He made sure to keep any acrimony out of his tone. The Gryffindor felt a little uncomfortable even thinking about things in that direction. He hadn’t even considered the idea that maybe there were reasons for his discomfort other than the ones he’d already thought about. Dean was a friend. Dennis was a waste of space. And there was all there was too that.

Why was he out so late? “Just watching a movie,” he answered, shaking his head a little. “I’m not exactly from around here. I had a free night.” The words were true… ish… but more importantly, they were kind of hilarious. There was a little spark in Dennis’ eye and nothing else that gave his thoughts away, but telling a muggle girl that he wasn’t from around here with a wand in one pocket and sickles in the other just seemed so ridiculous and humorous to him.

He watched her hair flutter around her in the breeze – so painfully vibrant. It was a perfect summation of her, he thought. Full throttle saturation. Dennis wondered what she wanted from him. Was this normal, he wondered? Was it normal for her to go up and talk to strangers and hit on customers? How carefree did she have to be to be able to do those things with such ease? Or perhaps it wasn’t breezy nonchalance at all, but something else that drew her to creating spontaneous spitfire moments? Dennis didn’t know, but he found himself wanting to. He wondered what she found herself wanting to do. Why was she here? Why had she stopped?

Dennis smiled his crooked smile, scratching the back of his neck with his left hand as he plucked another piece of popcorn with his right. “Something like that,” he answered enigmatically, sure that that answer was far more interesting than the truth. Dean was just a friend. Dennis was just a burden. My brother died in a magical war he added in his head, he was killed by wizards. Also he was a wizard and so am I and I’m still all fucked up about it all. Dennis knew there were laws about talking to muggles about magic, but right now he couldn’t remember what they were. The main one was probably just don’t, he thought.

Dennis wet his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, glancing down at the pool of light they were both in. For a moment it was as if her friends – so interested in him and their conversation – weren’t there. This is youth, he thought distantly. “I’ll walk with you, Foxy,” he said, looking back up. The teenager was strangely cool and calm, but he thought a part of that was just because this was all some bizarre dream. Dennis fell into step alongside her, wondering if he’d have to learn all of her friends’ names. “Is that your real name?” he asked, shooting her a sidelong glance.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

"I could go for a sugar daddy," Foxy said casually before she grinned in the street light. Her pretty face lit up, the skin around her eyes crinkling as a dimple appeared in her left cheek. She was never a serious girl. Little things didn't bother her. Her life motto was go with the flow. If things were pre-determined, why get stressed over it? There had to be a reason she and Dennis kept being drawn to one another.

"No you're not," Foxy replied. It was just a passing comment that held no judgement. Her bright eyes passed over his face again absently. The tall boy didn't have the hard edge that a typical Londoner had. They were busy, always rushing, keen to move fast. They were rude, they didn't make eye contact and they were always unfriendly. When they'd first met, she'd been unable to place his accent. London was a melting pot. Cockneys, posh boys, Asians, Jamaicans, the lot but he didn't fit in here.

Foxy felt as though Dennis might not have a place in this world. Teenagers normally didn't wander around so late at night by themselves. She'd tried that once. It was past midnight and she'd had a blazing row with her mother. She'd scaled the back fence, landing on a heap over the other side and she'd ran. Down her quiet tree-lined street, under the street lights and past the picket fences. She didn't come back until the next morning, then there was another fight over breakfast. Now, her parents had built the wall higher, enclosing her in like she was some sort of wild animal forced into captivity.

For all of her casual flirting, she found herself frowning. "Aw I'm sorry," she added, sounding genuinely concerned. If Dennis had a falling out with his boyfriend, that was probably why he was out wandering. If Foxy had a falling out with a boyfriend, she probably wouldn't have wanted to go back to him, either. She wanted to know more. She was horribly nosy but he didn't seem like the type for a long chat. She supposed he couldn't trust her. After all, she was just a redheaded waitress with an overtly sexual nature.

"Yay!" Foxy exclaimed triumphantly as she bounced on the spot, clapping her pale hands together. Without waiting for permission, she linked her arm with his as she lead him down the road.

His question made her laugh. "Sort of," Foxy replied with a grin as her long legs stepped over a puddle. "My real name is Foxglove," the redhead added as she pulled a face and wrinkled her nose. "I think my mother lost her mind," she chimed. "If you met her, you'd honestly think she would have called me something like Mabel or Maud," she grinned. "Something stuck in the sixteenth century like she is," she sighed. "I was never quite sure it suited me," she added serenely as she walked, the heat from Dennis' body keeping her pleasantly warm.

She stopped suddenly. They were between street lamps, the pale glow of them just catching the edges of her fiery red hair as she turned to face him. "You remembered my name," she said. She supposed it wasn't hard after she'd made such a first impression but she was flattered. He couldn't see her smile in the dark and so, she just squeezed his arm affectionately.

Foxy was like the unofficial leader of her pack of friends and it was clear. The remaining girls didn't really know what to do. They didn't follow, they just sort of stood there and she looked over her shoulder as one called her name. "Is it rude if we ditch them?" She whispered to Dennis under her breath as the girls advanced.

She loved her friends, adored them even. They'd been friends since school and they did everything together. Foxy wasn't ashamed of Dennis but she was ashamed at how full on her friends could be. It was a mixture of wanting to protect him and wanting to keep him to herself. To them, the boy was probably new and exciting. They'd be firing off questions. Foxy wanted to get to know Dennis, possibly intimately, but she couldn't do that when she was surrounded from all sides.

Casually, the redhead slid her hand down the inside of Dennis arm, finding his own with ease as she linked their fingers together. "Okie dokes," she said brightly as she began to walk a little faster, feeling the rush of doing something that might be frowned upon fill her up. Doing something inappropriate or reckless was addictive and right now, she felt the blood in her veins shimmering. "After three, we're gonna make a run for it. One, two, three!"

With that, she hauled Dennis behind her as they made a mad dash through the rain soaked London street. It wasn't so much a walk than more of a sprint. She felt giddy as she ran and she couldn't help but snort with laughter as she left her confused friends behind. On they went, scattering late night pedestrians in their wake as they dashed past various London landmarks. "In here!" She instructed as she pulled him into a dimly lit side street, cobbles under feet.

It was down one of the nearby attractions but it was deadly quiet. She leaned against the damp bricks of the building. She wasn't quite sure where she was but it wasn't far. They were near some indie shops, the type Foxy liked the frequent on the weekends. Her heart was racing in her chest, smacking against her ribcage as she laughed again. Things like this, no matter how small, made her feel alive. It was dimly lit, the nearest street light some metres away but she knew exactly where Dennis was. "Well," she said brightly. "Shall we go and take that walk now? London's great when it's dark. I can give you a tour."

“It’s okay,” Dennis answered with another shrug. After a moment of thought, he added, “I left him.” He couldn’t help but smile again and part of it was that this was yet another joke that she wasn’t in on. He guessed that there might be a few of those before the night was done.

Dennis let her link her arm into his and he followed her lead, falling into step as they started walking. He let her speak as she started chattering about her name and her mother. He didn’t know what she wanted, or where they were going but he was curious to find out, so he let her take the lead. She stopped them just outside of the circlet of light and Dennis’ fingers itched to take his camera from his pocket. Her hair was tousled gently by the breeze, the edges of it super saturated and backlit like skin held up to a lamp, but without the veins. Semi-transparency. Sub surface scattering.

Dennis thought about this as she whisked them away from her friends, feet splashing against the puddles of rainwater. He pulled her upright as she slipped a little, letting her take the lead again once she was steady. He found himself laughing, the sensation foreign and exhilarating all at once. It felt like it had been a long time since he’d done something stupid and silly and so teenage. Unburdened by the weight of the magical world, Dennis felt suddenly light and giddy. It was weird, and uncomfortable and incredible.

By the time she pulled him into a dark alleyway, he’d already forgotten about her friends and his plans to return to his hostel. He didn’t owe those girls anything, and Foxglove was here with him instead of them. Dennis didn’t know what that meant but it felt like something good.

The Gryffindor could feel his heart beating in his chest. After what he’d faced last month, running like that wasn’t something that tired him out anymore, but as soon as they were back in the dark he could feel the shape of her even when they weren’t touching. That was interesting. It was as if some sort of current was buzzing around her soft curves and sloping lines. He felt like his skin was humming back, but at the same time the light was so low here that he couldn’t really make out the details of her face. He didn’t like that. She belonged in the light, he decided. He moved away from her a little, conscious of invading her space and being too close.

He caught his breath.

Dennis didn’t really have the heart to tell her that he knew exactly what London was like when it was dark, so he just agreed and fell into step beside her as they walked down some alleyways, walking past the occasional person and hearing the occasional group of people out for the night. He was mostly quiet, but she wasn’t, so he listened as she spoke. Dennis supposed she was waiting for the occasional sympathetic nod or disapproving frown when she mentioned her friends and her parents, but he gave her neither and she seemed pleased enough with his neutral ear.

“Hey,” Dennis slowed to a stop, his face half covered by shadow as he surveyed a tall and very empty office building. “I bet the view is amazing from up there,” he said. Dennis had wondered a few minutes ago how safe she felt wandering dark alleyways with a stranger, but she hadn’t seemed worried at all. He didn’t think this was very sensible, but a part of the teenager knew that his opinion held an element of judgment. As a wizard, Dennis knew that all of the things under beds and staircases and hiding in dark places were real in one way or another. That wasn’t even accounting for human behaviour, or a stray group of delinquent magical folk. Dennis had known people who’d liked to confound muggles for fun. They were on the tame side when it came to muggle-wizard interactions, too. He shuddered internally, reminded of stories from three  years back.

“Wanna go up?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow and offering his new friend a soft smile. Dennis didn’t wait for a reply before moving forward to check the door. Locked, of course. He should have guessed. His pulse sped up before he’d even realised that he’d made up his mind about what he was going to do next, like his body knew him better than his head. “Foxglove, do you trust me?” he asked quietly, not turning around. The boy bit down on his lower lip, waiting a moment. Then he turned and touched her shoulder. “Close your eyes,” he ordered, turning her around on the spot so she couldn’t peek. Hastily, keeping his eyes on the redhead behind him over his shoulder, Dennis pulled out his wand and tapped it against the lock of the door. Alohomora.

The wand was back in his pocket in an instant, and Dennis tapped her on the arm to signal that she should turn back around. He held the door open for her, somehow just knowing that this was the kind of thing that would make her heart race in the most exciting way. Dennis felt a little detached from it, like he was observing his own actions from a distance, but that was normal for him. He just wanted to see the inevitable smile on her face.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Dennis seemed a-okay with the break up he'd initiated so Foxglove said no more on the matter. If he wasn't seeing that boy, then she wasn't crossing any lines as she took him on a mad dash around London. It was close to midnight now. The inky black sky had darkened. The rain had stopped and the clouds had thinned.

London was a strange place to live. So busy and so vibrant but it was always so easy to find time to yourself. Foxy was a master at finding small spaces. She was unburdened by her teenage years. She'd deferred university for a year, she'd sat her exams and the results were in the lap of the gods. It was a Saturday night and she was young, looking for a thrill that money couldn't buy and maybe, just maybe, Dennis could be her thrill.

The redhead wasn't afraid of the dark as they stood in the damp alleyway to catch their breath. She was mentally figuring out a plan. They could see St. Paul's Cathedral, all lit up. Trafalgar Square and Nelson's Column with the huge stone lions guarding the entrance. Even Buckingham Palace. This was her turf and her town and she considered herself Dennis' unofficial tour guide. The place would be less crowded this time of night.

"Hm?" Foxy asked, all thoughts of a romantic stroll through Regent's Park coming to a screeching halt. As he gestured, she squinted upwards. He was right. It looked cold and underused. It towered above the ramshackle bridges and alleyways, almost piercing the sky. "Sure," she said briskly as she nodded. "It's cleared up a lot since before."

Wanna go up?

Foxglove blinked. It was like the boy she'd met in the restaurant who couldn't even meet her eye had suddenly turned into some sort of…superhero. "Hell yeah," came the almost instant response as she drew closer to him, unsurprised to see the door was locked. "What?" The redhead asked with a laugh as Dennis' straightforward question. It seemed weird. Foxy felt like she did trust him. She knew nothing about him, nothing significant but she didn't feel scared.

"Yes," she replied. She arched an eyebrow at him in the darkness before she found herself smiling. Her word was positive but there was a hint of trepidation to her tone. "Okay," she said slowly, narrowing her eyes a little before closing her them and keeping them shut. Foxy felt a little unsure on her feet, wobbling a little as she was turned around. True to her word, she kept her eyes closed as she stood for what felt like an eternity. What was he doing? And why couldn't she look?

He was weird but she rather liked it. The air had cooled now that the clouds were thinning and she wished she'd brought a jacket, had she known she'd be playing vigilante that evening. With her vision gone, Foxglove strained her eyes. She couldn't hear any jingling of keys or locks. All she could hear was the distant rumbling of traffic, car horns and the slow dripping of water.

Her skin was tingling, like there was glitter flowing through her veins. She was hyped up and eager to move. She had a feeling that tonight was going to be epic. In the darkness, Foxglove fidgeted. She clenched and unclenched her fists as she shifted her weight from foot to foot as she waited. In those horror movies, this was usually the part where the poor unsuspecting girl was brutally murdered. Shaking herself, she took a breath. It wasn't like they were breaking into the Bank of England or anything.

With the soft touch of her arm, she turned and her jaw dropped. "What the --" She looked at Dennis with wide eyes, confused and exhilarated by the open door. "How did you do that?" She asked, sounding breathless. "Are you some sort of cat burglar?" She asked, half serious. Then she laughed. Her pretty face seemed almost childlike in the low light. Her honey coloured eyes were wide, her lips parted as her vibrant hair moved gently in the breeze. This was the real her. She was an adventurer, a thrill seeker, a risk taker. Foxglove Sharpe was such a hedonist, it wasn't even funny.

"You," she said swiftly as she stepped forward and into Dennis' personal space. Her face cracked into a wide grin as she reached up to cradle his face between her warm palms as she gazed at him in wonder, one of her thumbs making a slow pass across his cheekbones. In her whole seventeen years of existence, she was absolutely speechless.

Leaning in, she kissed his cheek. The next second, she was off. Foxglove ran at the stairs, sprinting, taking the steps two at a time as she raced to the top. It was still dark and she had no idea where she was going but she knew she needed to go up. Around and round she went, her boots squeaking on the floor as she ploughed through double doors. She followed the flights of stairs up and up and up. She couldn't see any signs.

It was clearly an old office block from the way it was set up, all of the stairs in the same place, spiralling and spiralling. Foxy's legs were like jelly, the lactic acid building up swiftly and causing her muscles to scream in protest. Her breath came in pants, her cheeks pink but this terrible, rule breaking thrill was keeping her going. In that moment, she felt like she could do anything.

Reaching the top floor, all she was left with was one door. She ran at it, pushing down on the silver bar which indicated a fire exit and went barrelling through. Bent at the waist, she sucked in lungfuls of the cold night air, trying to get her bearings as she brushed back her hair. On the top of a roof, right in the middle of town and London was sretched before them. "Shitting Hell," she whispered as she crept forward, her jaw slack as she moved to the edge and leaned over. Foxy had never done this before. The elation was running through her, all of her senses heightened and she had the biggest grin on her face as she gazed down at the lights, twinkling in the darkness. Her fingers itched, like her body was telling her to do something but all she could do was stand in awe. "This is like magic."

Cat burglar. Ha. “Magic,” Dennis answered breathily, transfixed by her reaction. He was surprised, but he didn’t move as she touched both of his cheeks, eyes lit up with fire and wonder. He felt like shaking himself out of this weird dream. In what possible world did Foxglove Delilah Sharpe look at him like that? She was the wondrous thing, he thought. She was worlds apart from him. You’re lying to her, he thought suddenly, but Dennis tried to dismiss the thought as she kissed his cheek. It felt wrong to be here, pretending to be a muggle. It reminded him of his first day back at Hogwarts after two years away, when it had felt wrong to be there, pretending to be a wizard. He blinked, trying to bring himself back to the present.

Then she was off running, laughing as she ran until she lost the breath to laugh. Dennis followed her, of course, heart racing as he bounded up the stairs two at a time until he’d overtaken his new friend. He was half a flight above her when he stopped, letting her overtake him as he pushed one of the doors off to the side open a crack and looked out into a dark room with old desks in neat lines. Standing where he was right now, he could easily imagine that this was an office at the ministry of magic, quiet for the night as the hardworking witches and wizards that kept things going had returned home hours ago.

Shaking his head, Dennis fell easily back into their midnight jaunt, racing to the top. The place echoed their movements so loudly that it sounded like someone was chasing them up. The thought spurred Dennis further until he was finally out in the cold air with nothing but an insane view and a kind of insane girl. And himself, not too far from that descriptor either, sometimes. The teenager followed Foxglove over to the edge, following her move and looking over and down at the ground. He nodded in agreement about the view, sucking in deep breaths as he regained his breath and his balance.

In a reckless move, Dennis made himself climb up onto the ledge, aware of the effect that the wind had on his body and the fact that a simple slip would send him tumbling down. I have my wand, though, he thought distantly. The ground seemed kilometers away from up here (though they couldn’t be up that high) but while his palms were sweaty and he could feel the weird sort of numb inability to think that came with fear, a part of him wondered what would actually happen if he did fall. Call of the void he thought, turning back and bouncing down lightly, landing gracefully on two feet.

Dennis felt for his camera, and in a swift movement plucked it from his pocket and took a photo of the girl beside him before she had time to react. No flash went off in the night, but that was okay. There was so much more flexibility with magical cameras than there were with muggle ones. Magical photography was a step ahead. Dennis leant against the ledge with his back, camera in one hand as he glanced up at the sky. It was too bright or too polluted or both to get a good look at any stars above them. He thought it was a shame.

“It’s exactly that,” he answered, shrugging off his jacket. He knew in a moment he’d be freezing, but with the blood still pumping wildly through his body right now he felt warm. For a moment he let the icy air brush against his bare arms. “Magic.” Dennis looked over at her, wondering for the millionth time why she was here with him and what it was that she wanted. Dennis tucked his camera back into his jacket pocket, leaning over to drop the jacket on the ground before pressing his palms together and bouncing on the spot a little to maintain his fleeting warmth. “So do you run off with strangers and break into office buildings often?” he asked. She could have very well asked him the exact same question, he thought.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Insane. Absolutely insane.

Foxy's eyes were wide as she took in the twinkling lights. No alarms had sounded since their entrance and there were no wailing sirens and the screeching of police van tyres as they hurtled in her direction. She wondered how Dennis had broken the lock. Was he a locksmith? A master criminal? A magician?

Turning, she looked over at him and smiled just missing the camera lens. She didn't know him at all but she thought she probably should. After all, they had just deliberately broken the law together. She was an accomplice, she just hoped they wouldn't go the same way as Bonnie and Clyde.

Swiftly, she followed Dennis to the edge of the ledge. With her hands on the damp stone ledge, she hauled herself up and her long legs over with the strength and grace of a ballerina. She sat, perched on the edge, her legs hanging over and swinging in the cold breeze. The initial adrenaline, that hot heady feeling of euphoria, was now starting to ebb.

Carefully, she leaned forward. Her bright eyes watched the tiny people wandering below her through the gap in her thighs, the wind whipping at her long red hair. She wasn't looking at Dennis but she could feel him and she knew exactly where he was. "Do you ever think about jumping?" Foxy asked softly, transfixed by the view from her new vantage point. There was nothing to catch her, there was no wires or safety net. Many feet below her were just stones and rocked.

She didn't feel alarmed or Dennis' safety. In fact, she was rather jealous. She wanted to be standing so high above London on a thin ledge, balancing between life and death in such an acrobatic way.

"Do you ever just sit and feel comforted by how small and wholly insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things?" She asked her new friend before her voice was snatched away by the wind. She did. She thought about death a lot. It wasn't like she harboured dark thoughts, she just often wondered if there was something beyond the veil. She didn't believe in the Pearly Gates, she also didn't believe in Hell. She didn't buy all the rules and all of the hope of eternal life. She just sometimes wondered what might happen after she passed, whether anyone would miss her and if she'd ever make a lasting mark on the universe.

She didn't believe in Hell fire. Before she was born, Foxglove was forged inside a supernova and she hadn't felt a thing. How hot could it really be?

"Magic," she repeated with a grin. Her eyes sparkled in the low light from the various sky rise buildings around them. She laughed, her head tilted back to the sky as she closed her eyes. The wind felt nice, she wasn't bothered by it too much. She kicked her legs that dangled from the building as she absently hummed a tune she'd heard on the radio that afternoon. Foxy wasn't arty but she could sing, it was one of her many hidden talents. She could also burp the alphabet, walk on her hands and play beer pong like a pro. You know, the important stuff.

Foxy grinned at him. "First time breaking and entering but not doing daft things with strangers," she answered and offered a shrug by way of an explanation. "It's a personality defect," she went on casually. "Besides," she said breezily as she looked over at him again. "I don't think you're a stranger." That much was true. She didn't feel uneasy in his presence. She wasn't scared or anxious or afraid. She felt comfortable and she hoped Dennis felt the same way as she did.

She watched him for a moment and wondered what a contradiction he really was. He seemed out of place, almost shy and yet, he'd broken into a building and ran up ten flights of stairs to share a unique view with a girl who had hit on his boyfriend. Her smile turned to a grin, her teeth white and even as the dimples appeared on her cheeks. Her previously carefully applied powder had worn off in the mad dash up the stairs and her many freckles were now visible. The less kind students in her school called her "constellation face".

She patted the space next to her in an invite for Dennis to come closer. "You can see St. Paul's from here," Foxy mentioned as she pointed at the large domed cathedral, all lit up and she sighed wistfully without thinking. She folded her hands in her lap serenely as Big Ben chimed in the distance, marking midnight. She heaved a shiver. Foxy always loved the chiming of the ancient bell. It was slow and mournful but it was iconic. Turning to Dennis, she offered him another smile. "G'morning," she said brightly.

Dennis found himself strangely aware of the way she sat on the edge. Without really thinking about it he moved closer, just in case she slipped. He was a hypocrite, he thought. “Yeah, I do,” he answered, his voice ringing with a particular tone of honesty that she probably wasn’t expecting. Of course he thought about jumping. He was thinking about it right now; the edge of the brick ledge of this building was calling for him, and so was the ground below. Dennis shook his head, trying to empty it of these ideas. But his thoughts were like barbs and they always caught inside his skull. The boy shifted slightly, turning his head and looking back over his shoulder at the expanse of city laid out like some kind of breathing sculpture before them.

A soft laugh was all he gave as an answer for her next question. No, was the answer. It wasn’t comforting for him to feel so small and insignificant. Did she really understand the implications of that line of thought, he wondered? That she didn’t matter at all, and that he didn’t matter and that ultimately nothing mattered at all? Everything was just motion; moving atoms, moving electrons. It was all just matter; heat death would end all motion eventually, and they would be long dead by the time that happened. There was nothing comforting about that. In fact, it made him think more about jumping...

The redhead laughed, head tilted up at the sky, eyes shut and legs dangling. It brought Dennis away from the dark of his stupid thoughts and back to the present. He watched her with absolute fascination and jealousy and something else. Admiration? She was absolutely perfect, he thought. He’d thought that about fifty times since he’d seen her tonight. Every time he did think it, the thoughts came with a pang of nostalgia and hurt and every time she did something that reminded him of how carefree and young she was, Dennis wanted to ask how. How do I get back to that, he thought, questioning the night air silently. How do I feel that?

She was so hyped, so excited to be up here and he just wanted to keep impressing her. Anything for that careless or carefree grin she shot him. He moved closer, pushing himself up into the space beside her that she’d patted, but facing the opposite way, with his back to the endless abyss of falling rather than his front. “You don’t know anything about me,” he said softly, answering her previous comment about the being strangers and glancing over his shoulder at the landmarks she was pointing out. Dennis folded his hands in his lap, rubbing them lightly on his jeans for warmth – it turned out the heat of exercise only continued when the exercise also continued.

“Good morning to you too,” he answered casually, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. After a moment of eye contact, Dennis looked away. “Tell me more about you.” She didn’t know him; the few facts she might be able to pull were lies anyway, like his relationship with Dean or the fact that his life was anything like hers at all. Dennis thought about the fact that this whole interaction was particularly meaningless. More than their meaningless lives or the fact that nothing much felt like it mattered at all. It made him feel desperate, suddenly, to give this interaction more meaning. More emotional weight.

He wanted this to matter. He wanted her to matter. He wanted to matter to her.

“Tell me about your family,” he said, looking back up at her as their shoulders brushed. Dennis blew warm air onto his hands, rubbing them together. She must be cold, he thought. His jacket was on the ground a little way away… and it was spelled to stay warm. Would sharing it with her be against the rules? His eyes were searching for something as they met hers. Maybe family wasn’t it. He shook his head, “Tell me about your… passions. Fears. Tell me something true.” Perhaps there was a new air of intensity about him now, like he was finally very here. If so, he didn't seem to notice.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

She offered him a serene smile as Dennis sat next to her. It was close to freezing up here and she could feel it and the heat that was clinging to his shirt front was enticing. "Doesn't mean I don't want to," she added casually. Dennis could have sought her out; he had her telephone number and he knew where she worked, he could have stopped by and the fact that he hadn't should have rung alarm bells.

"Family," she said with a nod. "Dad works in the city," she began, reaching up to fiddle with her velvet choker absently. "For one of the big banks. He wears suits, runs around a lot, comes home late," she added with a smile, her eyes watching a procession of cars meandering through the rabbit warren of streets way below her. "Mum's a medical receptionist in one of those fancy private clinics," she told Dennis. They were high paying, respectable jobs but they were so mundane.

"No brothers or sisters." Her tone wasn't sad at all. It was that old adage you can't miss what you never had. Foxy was well used to the sympathetic facial expressions when she explained she was an only child. Did she ever get lonely? Yes but didn't everyone? Did she have good social skills? Yes but she didn't need a sibling for those to develop. They were a small family and they were fairly happy.

"I imagined they'd wanted another once upon a time," Foxy found herself telling Dennis, the words just slipping out as she blew at her hair. "But they went so wrong with me, I think it put them off the idea of having any more kids," she joked weakly. "There's always a faint air of disappointment," the girl carried on as the fidgeting with her choker became more agitated as she twisted it in her fingers without thought. "I don't know. Maybe they wanted someone smarter or more obedient," she sighed as she swung her legs. "They haven't said anything but I can see it, clear as day. They're just too busy for me."

Foxglove didn't begrudge her parents. She'd had a nice upbringing with nice people and nice things but nice was so…blasé. Boring. Vanilla. She'd rather they fight or cry or hug, just something other than the every day "how was school?" because she thought they didn't really care about the answer. Family wasn't a sore subject but there wasn't a lot to tell him.

"Something true," she echoed as she leaned into him gently. "I want to travel," she told him, her honey coloured eyes shining with genuine excitement. "I want to go to far flung places. The Middle East, Asia, Africa," she said, sitting up straight as she babbled on, her face lighting up.

"I want to go trekking and do something insane, something that I'll remember when I'm forty and hating my husband," she grinned at Dennis. "Machu Picchu with llamas, Holi in Jaipur, Full Moon parties in Thailand, the Great Barrier Reef in Queensland," Foxy stopped to catch her breath. She had a head full of mad ideas and she was so desperate to live. A girl like her was not destined to be eating microwave dinners in front of the TV like a pensioner.

Something true, he'd asked her. "I'm deferring uni," she told Dennis brazenly as she watched the light show beneath her dangling feet. "Mum lost her shit. She told me I was throwing my life away and she didn't believe me when I said there's more to life than school," the redhead added as she frowned.

"I broke into an abandoned mansion when I was thirteen," she said as she shuffled closer to Dean. "It was a dare and I love a challenge," she said with a grin. She extended a pale wrist towards him. There was a strange, unique and intricate spider web shaped white scar on her left wrist that reached from the bone up to her elbow. The marks were faint now but still visible. "Fell through a window and buggered up my arm," she said detachedly as she turned her arm for him to see.

"I'm scared of falling," she finally admitted to Dennis, looking a bit uneasy. "Not physically," she added. "But emotionally. I'm scared of falling in love and not having anyone to catch me. I'm also scared of seagulls," she added as she pulled a face. "I don't like them or the sound of their wings flapping. They're just like winged rats," she replied casually.

Absently, she tugged her velvet sleeve down over her arm as she shivered gently. Foxy looked up and she saw Dennis looking at her. She held his gaze in their close proximity, her eyes flicking back and forth over his face. She knew his eyes were a greeny-brown but in the low light, they looked almost golden. "Why are you looking at me like you've seen the Mona Lisa for the first time?" She asked. He was looking at her intently, in wonder, like she was suddenly some sort of rare and beautiful object. She felt something between them, thick, heavy and unsaid.

"Honestly though," she said, snapping out of it. "Why didn't you call me?" Foxy tilted her head at him curiously. She didn't want to hear about his boyfriend. "And why do I feel like you don't belong?" Her plump lips down turned at the corners slightly. "I dunno," she said, breaking eye contact and looking back out onto the streets below. "I don't understand you and I feel like you don't want me to."

Dennis listened to her talk about her family. He followed her gaze to the streets below, feeling a slight swell of vertigo as his body swayed gently in the breeze. He was reckless and a risk taker, but it wasn’t because he was fearless. Quite the opposite, in fact. As she spoke, he thought about his own family; it was impossible not to compare. The Creeveys were far from wealthy; they were a very working class family. His father was a milkman and his mother worked in a shop. Dennis had two parents who probably cared about him a lot, not that he’d really talked to either of them in over a year and a half. He wondered if they felt like they’d lost two sons. The boy felt a wave of guilt rise from his abdomen to his chest and he focused back on what she was saying to keep himself distracted.

“Oh yeah?” he asked when she spoke of travelling. When he was eleven, Dennis had wanted to travel the world, too. He wanted to go to west Asia as well. There were all kinds of new and exciting magic types in other parts of the world that he hadn’t explored yet, though he doubted that Foxglove shared his reasons for wanting to go there. When had that desire changed, he wondered? At some point magic had shifted from being the most incredible and mind-blowing thing in the world to something that was a chore, and something that reminded him of the death of his brother.

Dennis took her hand as she offered it, tracing his fingers in little steps up her scar. So very muggle, he thought. Most of the time magical folk could get rid of a scar with ease. Very few spells left irreversible marks. Of course some chose to keep their scars, but there were far less skin blemishes like that in the magical world. Dennis’ body was an encyclopaedia of scars to show, he thought. He looked back up as she talked about falling in love and being afraid of it. He couldn’t connect with that. Dennis thought about relationships and kisses and sex and love late at night or when his guard was down, but that was just another area of things where the events of his life had transpired to stunt his natural growth. He didn’t know how to connect with people, he thought. The world of romance felt far, far away. The boy glanced up at her, watching the way stray strands of red hair floated in the wind. Right now it felt less far away than usual, he concluded.

He cracked a smile. Mona Lisa, huh? Dennis looked away, a little abashed that he’d been so obvious but mostly just amused at how she’d responded. “I don’t have a phone,” he answered honestly. Dennis didn’t know if Dean had a phone; he hadn’t seen one while he was there. He shrugged. “I don’t know you. You were just a random flirty waitress at a breakfast café.” He paused for a moment, before adding, “I have a lot going on.” Understatement of the year. She didn’t seem to really be listening, though. The phone question was just a way for her to lead into her next question, something that was much more perceptive and would be very out of place if he really was this muggle he was pretending to be. I don’t understand you, she said. Dennis got up from the edge, pushing himself back onto his feet with a lithe bounce.

He took a few steps away, but didn’t go too far. A part of him was still worried that she’d fall, so he didn’t let himself move so far away that he couldn’t help if that happened. But he didn’t want to look at her. He couldn’t. Instead, Dennis caught sight of his jacket and he scooped it up with one hand. He emptied the jacket pockets, stuffing his little camera into the pocket of his jeans before moving back to where she was sitting and draping it over her shoulders. “C’mon,” he urged quietly, helping her down from the ledge. He let go of her hand as soon as she was steady on the ground. She was looking at him with her small and very curious frown, like she was trying to solve a puzzle. He didn’t have any answers for her.

I have literal magic powers, he thought, wondering what she would make of the words. I’m a wizard. “My dad’s a milkman,” he said finally, hoping that she wouldn’t push; wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t answered her questions. “We still have milkmen in little towns up north,” he added, teasing a little. “I had a brother, but he was… he died” Dennis ploughed on through his little slip up, shoving his hands in his pockets for warmth. “I’m not going to uni. I don’t know what I want to do after school. I don’t know if I want to stay at school.” She wouldn’t know what he meant, he remembered; it was already February and school term was due to end in a couple of months. He didn’t look like he could be any younger than seventeen or so. He couldn’t tell her that he’d been kept back, or why.

Instead he pulled his hands out of his pockets and lifted up one side of his shirt. Along his right side there was a large burn scar. Huge, actually. The skin was a slightly different texture there, paler than the rest of his chest. “I got burned in a forest fire,” he said, anticipating her curiosity. The other side of his chest was taken up by a large and complex tattoo. It spanned from his chest over one shoulder, most of his back and his left arm down to his elbow. None of that was visible, of course. “I’m just glad it wasn’t on this side,” he added, pointing to his tattoo before letting his shirt drop. He shivered from the cold.

He should leave now, he thought. But his feet just wouldn’t take him away while she was there. He jerked his head in the direction of the staircase. “Lets get out of here before we get in trouble,” he said, and then he led her from the roof. They took the stairs much more slowly on the way down than they had on the way up, and Dennis was silent most of the way.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Oh dear, she'd upset him.

Dennis bounded away like a scalded cat, leaving Foxy staring at him. She should have known not to push. He wasn't like other boys. Usually when she flirted, she got what she wanted; attention. Dennis on the other hand seemed to be acting in a completely obtuse manner, deliberately evading her and flinching whenever she got too close. She should really take him up on his non-verbal clues.

He hadn't meant to be callous but his words hurt her. You were just a random flirty waitress he'd said and she fell silent. Perhaps she'd pushed him too far? Too hard? She dropped her gaze to her knees. Neither teenager could look at each other and she didn't know how they'd gotten to this point after all the fun they'd been having.

Foxglove nodded with what she assumed was an understanding smile. It seemed silly that she'd been slighted when she was the one who'd been doing all the upsetting. She wondered if that's what everyone else thought she was, just a random flirty waitress.

"Oh no, I'm fine --" The redhead was about to protest before Dennis draped his jacket around her shoulders in an uncanny gentlemanly action, considering he couldn't wait to get away from her. Her pale freckled hands drew the garment closer around her slender shoulders. "Ooh," she remarked with wide eyes. "It's still warm," she commented, wondering if it was maybe stuffed with goose down or one of those fancy new heat-retaining materials that had been on the news earlier that month.

Back on her feet, she tried not to let it bother her that he was standing so far away as she slid her arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "Cool," she said brightly to his dad's occupation. There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a milkman. When she was younger, she often fantasised about stealing a milk float and going Hell for leather at three miles per hour down the road. The milkman she would steal it from would probably be able to catch her whilst chasing after her.

"Oh I'm sorry," Foxy whispered, genuinely feeling a bit distraught for him. She didn't push it further, he'd made it clear he wasn't down for a deep and meaningful at the moment. Foxglove couldn't relate to his grief at all. She still  had all of her family members, including two sets of grandparents and the only brush of death she'd ever encountered was the passing off her pet rabbit, Michael. The sudden urge to hug him was overwhelming. There he stood in the dim lighting, looking childlike and lost.

"Well that's your choice," Foxy said gently as she folded back the cuffs of his jacket so she could see her hands. She really wasn't one to offer advice, especially since she continually made the wrong choices. She hadn't expected Dennis to explain his feelings to her because he was right; he had a lot going on. Dealing with the death of his brother, no matter how long ago it happened, must have been traumatic. "You'll figure it out," she added breezily as she offered him an encouraging smile.

"Yeouch!" Foxy gasped as Dennis revealed the marks on his skin. She paled as she crept closer, squinting at the damage done to his skin. She reached out and soft as a feather, ran a finger around the edge of the burn. "What were you doing in a forest?" She asked,  her slim eyebrows knitted together in confusion. It seemed like a peculiar place for a young boy to be loitering. Every fibre of her being was screaming at her to find out more information. "How did you --" she stopped herself short and folded her lips together in a thin line.

Foxglove didn't see a lot of his tattoo before it was covered. She made out some vibrant colours, even in the strange lighting his high up. She nodded. "Nice ink," she replied. It made her crappy little tattoo seem really insignificant. She smiled and nodded in acknowledgement at his joke. Absolutely. What a colossal disaster that would have been.

They were leaving and the redhead felt a tug of disappointment. The waitress easily could have stayed up here until the sunrise. Sunrise over London must be a magical thing. The reds and pinks reflecting off the many glass windows like a prism, the huge, sprawling city painted like a watercolour. "Absolutely," Foxy said briskly. "I don't know how many more visits from the police my mum would be able to take." Her tone was light and jovial but it was the truth. Foxy hadn't gotten in serious trouble, nor did she have a criminal record. She just had a knack of being caught out late or with people she shouldn't be near. She'd been safely delivered home in the back of a police car seven times so far.

Foxglove was careful to close the door behind her, erasing their arrival as they trailed down the steps in silence. "Can I walk you home?" She asked, wherever "home" was. If he wasn't familiar, she could help him out. The London public transport was confusing and stressful. It was far too easy to get on the wrong train or bus and end up in the wrong end of Wandsworth.

On they went as she closed the doors behind them, still not convinced at how he managed to unlock it in the first place. She ambled down the damp alleyway, the cool breeze kicking at the ends of her coppery hair as she folded her arms across her chest to trap in the warmth. "Where'd you get this?" She asked, conversationally as she stroked the front of her  borrowed jacket. "I could use one of these. I always feel the cold," she remarked, wondering if she could ask her parents for one for her birthday.

They passed various things on the street as they walked; sushi bars, karaoke, jazz clubs. She didn't know Dennis well enough to take a stab at suggesting something he might like to do. Her original idea was to take the walk up to the Royal Observatory. It was on a high hill, overlooking the River Thames. She'd only been once, as part of a school trip years ago. It was near the Cutty Sark, a tea clipper in a dry dock. She'd never been on that, either. She was watchful of what she said now, after learning of his loss. She didn't want to make him any more sad. "Fish and chips?" She asked, nodding at a chip shop complete with flickering neon signs. "We could grab something and walk along the river?" She asked. If he said no, that was also fine. There was a nearby tube stop if he was desperate to flee.

Dennis felt a little guilty as he slid the jacket over her shoulders, but a part of that was probably because he was using magic to impress her and he really shouldn’t be. Something about it felt wrong, and he wondered momentarily if there were laws against letting muggles interacting with magical objects. That felt wrong too, and he wondered how many muggleborns there had been on the board that had drafted up those laws. Probably not many, he thought with a touch of disdain. Dennis felt good impressing her like this. The whole thing made him feel ten feet tall, and perhaps that was the problem. He shivered as she touched his skin, and it wasn’t because of the cold.

What were you doing in a forest?

Dennis smiled at her question. Not a comment on the burn, or a question about the fire, but about what he was doing in a forest. “Fighting monsters?” he offered, amusement clear in his tone. After a pause, he added, “I was just with a group of friends and someone lit a fire and things got out of control.” Mostly true, he thought. Dennis hadn’t been sure who’d started the fire, but it had been used against inferi. There had ended up being way too many of them to fight, and Freya Trickett had twisted her ankle, so he’d bolted out in front of the creatures and away to distract them. It had ended up working, he reflected thoughtfully, though he’d ended up half dead in the dark before an underclassman had found him in the snow.   

In retrospect, the memory seemed so distant, like he’d done all of those things in another life rather than this one, here, now. The sharpest edge of that experience – the thing that had left a deep imprint on him – was the memory of wanting to be alive. Wanting to stay alive. That had been something quite moving, he thought. “So I’m stuck up here with a criminal,” he joked, opening the door for her to go through. Dennis wondered how many visits from the muggle police she had gotten. Dennis wasn’t really scared of the muggle police, at least not in the same way he worried about wizarding law. Despite knowing he was a wizard for the past six or seven years, Dennis still felt like he was in a foreign country when it came to magical politics and magical legislation. There were times – even now – when he received odd looks from his magical peers when he mispronounced something or didn’t recognise a reference. Dennis wondered if it would last his entire life.

Dennis was thoughtful as they went down the stairs. They moved far more slowly downward than they had on the way up, but the trip was over quickly. Foxglove shut the door behind them as they left the building and Dennis breathed a silent and unexpected sigh of relief as they did so. He was sure breaking into muggle buildings using magic had to be on a list somewhere of things you weren’t supposed to do, but he hadn’t really been thinking about it until they’d left. Or at least, he hadn’t thought he’d been thinking about it.

“How about I walk you home?” he asked softly, feeling strange about the idea of her walking him “home” to his hostel tonight. It just didn’t feel right.

There were so many things that he couldn’t tell her, and it made him uncomfortable. When Dennis had gone to muggle school for a year up north in Cumbria, he hadn’t known how long he was going to be there for. There had been a chance that they’d be stuck there forever, but at the time he and Colin had been so horribly naïve that they’d both thought Harry Potter and his friends would save them any moment now. It made things more bearable at first, and horribly torturous towards the end. Dennis hadn’t been as good at lying back then, so whenever he’d made a slip up kids had made fun of him. He was a weird kid. The boy had been bullied by some, shunned by others. He hadn’t ever before had the problem of trying to befriend a muggle because he hadn’t had any friends at all when he’d been trying to be one.

“Somewhere in Scotland,” he answered with a dimpled smile, “You can keep it.” Dennis waved away any protests she had. The charm on the jacket would wear off eventually, right? Then it wouldn’t matter anymore. Dennis shivered as a cold breeze rushed over his body, and his skin prickled with goosebumps in reaction to the cold, but he tried not to let her notice. Who cared about a stupid jacket, he thought defiantly. She could have it.

A few more steps in the dark and she had more questions. Fish and chips? “Sure,” he replied distractedly. A part of him had started to think that he’d made a horrible mistake agreeing to run off with her like this. Or perhaps, he thought dimly, the mistake was in actually liking her. She was funny, he thought, and quirky and she liked horror movies. She was bored with her life and she was carefree and so full of energy. Dennis gave her a sidelong glance as they moved out of the shadows and into a lighter area of the street. She was pretty, too. Beautiful. Vivacious. His mind threw these adjectives at him relentlessly, as if he hadn’t already agreed.

“Sorry, I know I’m being vague,” he said finally, slowing to a stop and pulling her aside as a couple of people moved past them. Dennis leant on the glass window of a jewellery shop casually, watching her as he spoke. “I’m not used to this,” he explained, motioning between the two of them, “It’s been a while wince I’ve talked to someone new, made a new… friend.” A while? Dennis couldn’t remember a time when he’d gone out of his way to make friends with someone new. Not since Colin had died. Dennis ran a hand through his hair self consciously, dark eyes drifting to the things on the shelf just inside the shop they were standing outside of. Rings and tiaras and earrings. Glittery things, even in the dim lighting.

“I’m having fun,” he said, the statement half a probing call for her response – hopefully an affirmation of the same thing. Dennis bit his lower lip, a sudden thought taking him by surprise. He glanced at her and then back at the items on the shelf; there was a strange look in his eye. His pulse sped up, his body once more reacting before he'd even properly decided to do it... “Which one’s your favourite?” he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Foxy watched him for a long  moment. Internally, she was trying to break him down and sort him out into little boxes. In her mind, she had a sort of filing cabinet and everything and everyone had a draw. Her parents, her friends, her likes, dislikes and fears, all neatly sorted out for easy recollection but Dennis? Dennis didn't fit. He was being deliberately vague.

He didn't owe her anything but she'd answered his questions truthfully. Not once did she lie but then again, what were the odds of them seeing one another once this night was over? Slim to none. So why was he being so cagey?

"Not technically," Foxglove corrected him, still keeping her tone light. "I've never been charged. I suffer from wrong-place-wrong-time syndrome," she said with a soft smile. That much was true. She successfully swallowed her uneasy feelings and faint frustration about being on a one-way street with the boy. She had to respect his boundaries. It just seemed a little…bizarre. Bizarre about the fact that they'd broken into a building together and she didn't even know his second name.

Again, he'd flipped the conversation as easy as flipping a light switch. She found herself nodding along in agreement. "Why Mr. Darcy," she added, her voice sounding prim and proper as she fluttered her eyelashes in the bright streetlights. "What a wonderfully chivalrous thing to do," she joked with a grin. "Did you want to protect me from those forest monsters?" Foxy asked lightly as she squinted at the sky.

"Oh but --" the redhead closed her mouth as Dennis said she could have it but he looked freezing. "Share it?" She asked, slipping out of the garment and throwing it over her shoulder to wear like a cape, holding it open for the boy to shelter beneath it with her if he wanted to. Somewhere in Scotland he said and she had to smile; again, so vague. She was starting to think that this was how he functioned. It was fun and mysterious but it was also a bit confusing. People were weird.

"Coming right up," Foxy said briskly. She shrugged out of his jacket and darted into the chip shop. There wasn't a queue, not this time of night. She looked at the menu, half fancying a Chinese buffet but ordered what she said she would. When asked if she wanted salt and vinegar, she answered "Just salt, please. Oh and these," she added, holding up two sachets of tomato sauce before handing over a five pound note.

The wonderfully greasy meal was wrapped in newspaper which she carefully carried outside, ripping open the sachet of sauce with her teeth before squeezing a blob at the edge of the container. "Hm?" Foxy asked, her honey coloured eyes wide with surprise as she was moved out of the way, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster as she nibbled on a handful of chips.

She shook her head, copper tendrils swaying in the wind as she swallowed. "It's okay. Like you said, you don't know me so why would you trust me?" Foxy asked serenely, spearing a ketchup-covered chip with a small wooden fork. "It's fine," she reassured him. She wasn't stupid, she knew her personality was full on. She had a habit of going nought to one hundred in three seconds, catapulting towards people. But that was her. She was bright and inquisitive. She wanted to know everything about people, anything from their favourite colour to their favourite song just because she was desperate to learn. Poor Dennis was just caught up in Hurricane Foxglove.

"So we're friends?" She asked the taller boy with a small smile as she tilted her head. "Cool," she added gently. Turning to face Dennis again, she gave him a broad smile. "Oh, shut up and eat your chips," she laughed as she offered him the container, his wooden fork had been stabbed into the golden, bubbly and battered cod fillet.

"What? Like if I'd won the lottery?" Foxy asked, mildly confused as she saw where they were. She let out a long, impressed whistle as she set her eyes on the array of beautiful jewellery and the astonishing price tags attached. Her eyes roved from diamond engagement rings to pearl necklaces, to cufflinks and earrings. "D'ya think I'd suit a tiara?" She asked Dennis as she saw a beautiful emerald one, sitting on a plush red pillow beneath a spotlight. Very regal and it cost more than her house. And next door's, too.

Foxy decided to take this task seriously. She leaned forward so her nose was pressing gently against the glass window as she took her time. Everything was beautiful but her eyes shifted and landed on a beautiful and extortionate necklace. The redhead had always loved amethyst and she never knew why. Eventually, she lifted a finger and pointed. "That one," she finally settled on. She was totally enraptured, imaginingg the dripping diamonds on her long and elegant neck. In a ball in Vienna. She was wearing vintage Dior and everyone was lusting after her. She let out a wistful sigh as she smeared the glass with a greasy fingertip accidentally. "My mum always said to marry rich," she mumbled as she pulled a face.