two princes. [tag; dennis]

Her warm body next to his was doing things to his already muddled thoughts. He stayed under the too-small jacket with her for a moment before she was off to get food. The rush of cold air beside him was unsettling for a moment before her return, upon which he wrapped her up in the denim piece of clothing once more, this time without him inside too.

You don’t know me, so why would you trust me?

“Yeah,” he answered vaguely, even though the answer he wanted to give was the exact opposite. He didn’t want to answer with a passive yeah, but a distinct and definite no! He didn’t owe her anything; she was right about that, but a part of him wanted her to call him out. He wanted her to coax him and force him into whatever world she was apparently in. He wanted to be able to go there. Dennis let the moment slide away sadly, just like all of the others. He seemed to be lacking in some fundamental element; something that she seemed to be overflowing with. Life, he thought morbidly, before quickly dismissing the thought.

He shrugged when she told him to shut up, a slightly embarrassed smile gracing his lips in response to her laugh. She had a beautiful laugh.

Almost reluctantly - as if he had any sort of control over his thoughts - Dennis remembered that he had photos of her in the locker back at the hostel he was staying at. Magically resized to the same approximate dimensions as a postage stamp, Dennis had neatly tucked them away in the appropriate section of one of his photo boxes. He’d carefully avoided the muggles around the hostel; he wasn’t taking any chances with them. Dennis was sure that there were magical equivalents of hotels and hostels in secret places all around London, but he didn’t know about them. He’d stayed at the Leaky Cauldron once and it had been, well… creepy.

Dennis looked back at the girl he was with, nodding appropriately as she chattered about this and that. The thought that she might see his pictures made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t really feel guilty. He took photos of everyone; he was used to the weirdness of storing people’s moments in his photo boxes. He did wonder what she might think, though. Would she think that he was creepy? A weird stalker? He had a photo of her laughing - just a regular muggle photo, not one that captured any of the actual laughter. He supposed that she might think that was a pretty strange thing for him to still be holding on to.

Dennis had never liked photography much, as a child. He hadn’t been an observer, wasn’t one to romanticise capturing moments for posterity. He’d always understood the forward motion of time to be both unstoppable and fluid. He’d liked the idea that both he and everything around him was fluctuating and changing all the time; that there was no such thing as static. The idea had been a fun one for his eleven-year-old self. At an age where the sandy-haired boy had been more excited about falling out of the boat on his way to Hogwarts, or having snowball fights with his big brother, taking pictures had seemed absurdly slow and inhibiting. Carrying around a camera had felt cumbersome. Imagining the ever-changing landscape of people and seasons and ideas around him had been dizzying, and anything that got in the way of that was not something he wanted anything to do with.

Dennis’ eyes slid from shiny thing to shiny thing as Foxglove, much more enraptured with the task at hand than he, made her decision. A part of him was, as per usual, far away. Nowadays, his memories of experiencing anything through that lens rather than an actual, physical camera lens felt like a foreign language. He couldn’t remember the internal vocabulary describing his eleven-year-old experience. He didn’t know the words. What had it felt like to feel so present? He couldn’t possibly know. Foxglove knew, he thought distantly. Of course she did. “Yeah I think that would suit you,” he answered, smiling a little as he imagined how ridiculous she’d look in her current clothes with something so opulent draped around her neck. “C’mon,” he said, draping an arm over her shoulder (still wrapped in his jacket, he noted!) as the pair made their way away from the shop.

The two walked for a bit, mostly with Foxglove saying random things and Dennis trying to answer appropriately. He wasn’t speaking much, but he tried to seem interested when she talked. It was hard for him to just come up with things to say in conversation; not because he was horribly socially anxious or anything like that, but because he genuinely thought that she was far more interesting than him. He was a little convinced that if he spoke too much that she’d lose interest and disappear. He didn’t want to risk it. After a while, they turned down yet another dark London alleyway, almost identical to the one she’d dragged him down earlier in the evening. Dennis wondered how long they’d been out here for now. An hour? More?

He slowed to a stop, forcing her to do the same.

His heart was beating quickly at the thought of what he was about to do. Could he do it? Was he brave enough? Dennis fell between two extremes; morbidly aware of risk, and a complete lack of care for it. Sometimes he did the most reckless things. Dennis moved a little closer to her as she turned to him. He reached up slowly and adjusted the denim jacket she was still wearing, doing one of the buttons up so it didn’t slide from her smaller frame. He tried really hard not to shiver or let her know he was freezing cold, especially now that they’d come to a stop. “I want to try something,” he said softly, the words barely above a whisper in the dark. His hands lingered there, by her neck, for a moment before he let them drop back to his sides. “Can you stay here for one moment? I’ll be back soon.” Dennis ran his hands over his pocket, feeling for his wand.

Once assured that she would wait, Dennis turned back the way they’d come and started walking back to the jewellery store, a determined look on his face. He was gone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes before he appeared again.

Pressing his sweaty palms against his pants, Dennis came back into the alleyway where she was still (thankfully) waiting. He resisted the urge to glance back over his shoulder. No alarms had sounded - thank god -, and he was sure he’d avoided both people and cameras. “C’mon,” he said, approaching her, urging her to fall into step with him as he moved past her. His heart was racing and he ignored her questions until they were further into the dark. Once he felt a little more normal, Dennis slid two fingers into his jeans and drew out the necklace - the one she’d picked out - and held it out to her. He almost held his breath as he pressed it into her hands. “A memento,” he said breathlessly, something dangerous and exciting in his voice.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Still munching her chips, Foxy gave Dennis a smile as he carefully wrapped her back into his oddly warm jacket. He was giving off Mr. Darcy vibes. He was clearly intelligent but he was distant. Not exactly cold, just more…evasive. Then again, she imagined that she was the only person in the entire world that spilled her guts to a perfect stranger. The silence that rose up to meet them wasn't uncomfortable as she offered him the polystyrene container once more.

"So I dunno, I think she's totally bonkers," the tall redhead replied as they continued to wind down the rain-soaked streets. "I mean, who even waits by the phone all night for a call?" Foxglove gave a derisive snort. She was talking about her friend, Hazel. Hazel had fallen in love with one of the cooler guys in their high school. Of course, he vowed he'd call but he  hadn't. That was the reason Hazel wasn't out with her girl gang this evening. Whether or not Dennis cared, she didn't know but he was making all the right sympathetic noises when she paused for breath.

"Thank you," she replied with a lopsided grin, registering Dennis' thinly veiled sarcasm. Her brown eyes scanned the rows of obscenely expensive jewellery before them. This was a whole other world. Though Foxy was far from being raised in an under privileged upbringing, a small part of her lusted after wealth. It wasn't that she was materialistic. She wouldn't buy clothes or shoes or fur coats, nah. Had she had money, she'd escape. The mundane didn't suit her. "Imagine how many islands you could buy with that beauty," she commented as she nodded towards an emerald encrusted tiara.

Foxy felt a delightful zing! of excitement thrill down her spine as Dennis threw an arm around her shoulders and lead her away. She went willingly, all thoughts of that crazy necklace left back on the silk pillow it was resting on. With her head bowed to the cool wind, she couldn't help but let a grin light up her face. To any passers by, they must look like the archetypal teenage couple. Foxy was quick to carelessly toss her chips into a rubbish bin as they passed and loop an arm around his waist in return.

She was happy to keep walking and she wasn't alarmed as they slipped down another side street. London was a rabbit warren, full of little nooks and crannies but she found herself slowing to a stop, almost tripping on a broken bit of pavement.

Foxy's mouth quickly became dry as Dennis fiddled with the buttons of his coat. He did seem a little preoccupied so she fell silent. Even in the dim, dank alleyway, she could make out the unusual colour of his eyes and the curve of his neck. Her brain was a little fuzzy and something that sounded like white noise was ringing in her ears. "Okay," she said softly, still watching him. He wasn't exactly touching her but she was acutely aware of exactly where his fingers where and just how close they stood. With his jacket fitted properly against her slender frame, the hem passed her thigh and the cuffs hung over her hands but she made no move to adjust herself.

Foxy felt the vaguely familiar sense of excitement swirl in her stomach. The unusual and dangerous anticipation of a kiss. Her toes curled in her boots as she felt Dennis' close proximity, uttering a quick and silent prayer of thanks to every deity she could think of that he'd picked up on her heavy handed flirting. Her eyes slipped to a close in the dark as she stood on her tiptoes, soft lips pressed together as she leaned forward -- only to slip and catch herself before she hit the deck. Realising that she hadn't collided with his body in the imagined romantic way, she realised that he'd gone. "Oh," she said with a frown, trying in vain to hide her disappointment. As nonchalantly as she could manage, she gave a shrug, a nod and a thin smile. "Sure. Where else am I gonna be?"

Watching Dennis' retreating back, Foxy winced. "Why are you so stupid?" She whispered to herself, rolling back the sleeves of her borrowed jacket as she smacked herself in the forehead with her left hand and gave a long suffering groan. She thought she was reading the signs right. He'd held her close and then he'd given her his jacket and he'd told her secrets and he'd touched her neck in a way that felt decidedly intimate. Sighing again, she massaged her forehead as she felt the shame wash over her like a tsunami.

Despite wearing his jacket, Foxy felt decidedly colder. She blew at a lock of her vibrant copper coloured hair as time seemed to tick slower and slower. It wasn't a good idea for a young girl to be alone in a back alley, any time of day, let alone after midnight. Anxiously, she chewed on a hangnail. What if he'd ditched her? In his absence, she paced the uneven and dirty floor of the street, up and down, up and down. Time was going backwards. She scuffled her boots against the pavement, hearing police or ambulance sirens wailing in the distance.

It seemed like an eternity before Dennis reappeared and thankfully, it was long enough for her to bury her embarrassment about the ill-timed and mistaken almost-kiss. "What?" Foxy asked, her finely groomed eyebrows knitting together in clear confusion as he just breezed past her. She looked over her shoulder and saw nothing in the darkness and so, she broke into a gentle jog to try and keep up with his lengthening strides. "What's going on?" She pressed him, confused and slightly out of breath. "Dennis," she asked, practically sprinting and cursing her choice of footwear. "Oi, Dennis. Slow down a sec--"

"Are you shitting me?"

The words were ripped out from her throat by an unseen force. The familiar and beautiful purple hue of the glittering amethysts caught her by surprise as she took a half step backwards. Her hands flew to her face as the colour drained out of her, leaving her numerous freckles in place as her jaw dropped open. "Dude," she whispered, utterly shell shocked as she felt the heavy weight of the gems and the chain against her palms. She flinched at the shock of cold metal. Even in the very low light, she could pick out the finely carved and multifaceted gems. "Oh fucking Hell," she whispered as her fingers stroked the diamonds and then she realised she wasn't breathing.

A memento? What did that even mean? Was it a goodbye? "Is this the part where you kill me?" Foxy asked weakly, still joking but she realised her legs felt like jelly and her knees threatened to buckle underneath her weight. He'd been gone for fifteen minutes because he was effectively stealing the Crown Jewels. For her. Her mind was all fuzzled and she gawped at the necklace. "Dennis, I can't take this," she gushed, eyes wide as she shook her head back and forth so vigorously, the ends of her hair whipped against her cheeks.

"I can't," she insisted but the more she did, the more she realised that she hadn't heard a kerfuffle. The necklace was astronomically beautiful and perfect in every way. A memento. The words continually bounced around her head and she had an unshakeable sinking feeling. "You're insane." Her tone was light, almost like she was impressed and she was as she gave him a dimpled grin. He…well. He wasn't what she expected at all. Swiftly, she gave him back the necklace and turned around so her back was facing Dennis. With her hands, she gathered up her hair in an invitation for him to fasten the chain around her neck.

“It’s okay,” he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. “No one saw me. No cameras, nothing.” She must have thought he was some kind of master thief or something. When she joked about him killing her, Dennis laughed out loud, still buzzing all over from the adrenaline rush. He was also relieved. Relieved that she was making jokes - her initial reaction had taken him off guard, though it shouldn’t have. This is the feeling, he thought, feeling his pulse in his hands and a thin sheen of now-chilly sweat on his brow. Every time Dennis did something reckless, he felt like this. A little more aware, a little more alive. No one would guess the teenager was an adrenaline junkie.

“You have to take it,” he insisted, “I got it for you.” I stole it for you, he corrected internally. Dennis watched her examine the necklace and felt a fierce rush of something - recklessness? - that made him want to steal things and break into places and do anything that might impress her. Maybe he’d skipped the early teenage learning curve of having crushes and learning how to deal with those feelings, and it was all happening to him now. His crushes, up until this point, had all seemed very abstract and distant, disjointed from reality in some kind of painful way. Dennis couldn’t describe the difference with words, but he felt it. It was like a kick to chest in the best way.

Momentary surprise took over his features as she dropped the expensive necklace into his hands, but his smile was back as she turned around and lifted up her hair. “Yes,” he answered simply. Yes, he was insane. Yes. She didn’t know the half of it. Dennis fiddled with the clasp, then clumsily draped the necklace around her neck and fiddled with the clasp again to close it. It took longer than it probably would have if she’d done it herself. It took longer than it probably would have if Dennis wasn’t so nervous about touching her neck, or so aware of her warm body near his. All he could think was that he didn’t want this feeling to end; he didn’t want this night to end.

A sharp pang of dysphoria cut into his adrenaline buzz like a knife.

A thought from earlier returned; there was nothing romantic about losing the ability to connect with people. There was nothing romantic about ephemeral relationships when all of your relationships were ephemeral. Dennis felt so far away from his “friends”. There was so much distance. Even Foxglove, who he currently felt like he would rob the royal family for, knew nothing about him. He meant nothing to her. The boy finally finished with the necklace and he let his hands fall to his sides. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Dennis’ darker thoughts were usually expressed through dislocation. He abstracted. But he wasn’t there now. He felt too present and too aware of his body and hers and everything around them to fall into that head space. Rather than remembering how pointless this all was sending him into a spiral of disassociation, he felt panic. Dennis didn’t like the empty space between them - metaphorical or physical - and he wanted her to know. The girl turned back to face him, a pleased expression on her face.

Foxglove was mid sentence when Dennis kissed her.

It was short. Dennis didn’t know how to kiss. He’d never done it before. He didn’t know where he was supposed to touch her or how hard or soft he should push. He didn’t know anything. But he knew that her lips were soft, and his hands found themselves at her waist, fingers pressing into the soft fabric of her dress underneath his own jacket. The denim radiated heat, which made him shiver a little as he pulled slowly back from her lips. Dennis rested his forehead on hers, his eyes still firmly shut. 

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

Foxglove squinted at Dennis.

No cameras, nothing he'd said. It was so casual and made it sound like this was a regular occurrence for him. They barely knew each other, maybe this was what he did. He seemed so…alive. He looked so different from the first time she'd met him and his boyfriend in the café she worked at. He looked so lost and quiet and unsure of himself. The man in front of her now, with sparkling eyes and life oozing from his pores, was a far cry away.

At which point, most people might start asking questions but Foxy just grinned at him as she held the precious necklace. She momentarily thought back to earlier in that evening, like a child swiftly cycling through one of this flick-books. She remembered him sounding aimless. She remembered his tattoo. She remembered him saying he'd lost his brother.

She didn't feel sorry for Dennis. She could sympathise but she couldn't empathise. Her gilded childhood seemed miles away from his uncomfortable and jumbled one. But she felt for him. She couldn't (or wouldn't) dissect her feelings. Dennis was a perfect stranger. He was unique and she actually liked the fact that he was being purposefully obtuse. Like a film noir, he was an intoxicating mystery and Foxy lived for the feeling. She usually felt untouchable but to feel invincible and infallible with someone else was a strange and unusual concept to her.

Now that she wasn't facing him, she chewed her lip as a giggle threatened to escape. "At least you're honest," came the cheery response. The way he'd said that he'd gotten the necklace for her made her stomach swoop and her toes curl. It felt the like moment of anticipation she got when she was on a roller coaster, hanging by a thread above a precipice and then she dropped. Her stomach somersaulted as a shot of pleasure thrilled down the length of her spine. A mixture of euphoria and intrigue washed over her like a wave. Consequences always came as an after thought with Foxglove. She loved this. She needed this. The recklessness and the teenage carefree attitude. She'd have to grow up one day but not tonight.

She didn't feel worried or uncomfortable in Dennis' presence. Her  hands were on the heavy jewels around her neck as she laughed, the vivid lilac contrasting wildly with her burgundy crushed velvet dress. Foxy assumed they'd be giving the necklace back. Why would he steal it? "So," she began casually. "When are we gonna --"

As though Dennis was the moon and she the tide, her body swayed towards him. It seemed odd but not unpleasant that the boy who acted in such a cagey manner previously had made such a rash and decisive move to kiss her. Foxy had been kissed hundreds of times and she knew what to do but the best thing about kisses were that not a single one was the same. Kind of like sexy snowflakes.

The coolness of his fingers seeped through the thin material of her dress, causing her to gasp softly and shiver in the dim light. She didn't fight as she felt the pressure of his hands on her waist and back. She reached up to cradle his face softly, her hazel eyes closing as she kissed him back, applying a little more pressure to his lips than he had exerted on hers. They tasted sweet and she was able to pick up on the remnants of the popcorn they'd shared outside of the movie theatre. It felt like an eternity ago. While she wanted more, she felt strangely restrained.

Foxy kissed the tip of Dennis' nose, bumping it gently with her own as they took a minute. She smiled in the darkness, feeling unnaturally close and at ease with this transient juncture. Her fingers slid down the sides of his neck as she softly kissed the corner of his mouth as she stood, ignoring the fact that she was cold and her heel had slipped down a crack in the grotty pavement. She wasn't stupid. She knew that this was a fragment, a snapshot in both of their lives. She never planned ahead, she frequently didn't bother even thinking so she wasn't going to treat this as anything more than what it was; a perfectly perfect transitory moment.

"Come with me," she said gently as she kissed Dennis once more, leaning up on her tiptoes and parting her lips. Dropping back to her original height, she grabbed his hand and hauled him behind her, back out into the streetlights on the other side of the alleyway. They walked a little further along until she ducked into a tube station. It was less crowed at this time. They jogged down the worn steps and into the curved, white tiled covered tunnel. The air smelt like diesel as particles of dust wafted through the air from trains, the familiar tang of cast iron, mixed with cigarette smoke and the singing noise of the wheels grinding on the tracks some feet below.

The warm gust of a departing train kicked up her coppery coloured hair, fanning it around her face like a Renaissance painting and she turned and grinned at Dennis before opening the curtains to a small photo booth, the type used to take passport and identity photographs. "Shall we?" She didn't want to forget a thing about tonight.

He felt like he’d stepped right from his adrenaline high and fallen straight to the ground, only to be suddenly wrapped up in some other kind of magic. His heart rate was up again, he was desperately focussed on the girl in front of him and for one, little moment, he wasn’t thinking about anything else. Dennis was in a haze, his thoughts obscured by some kind of hormonal veil. It helped that he couldn’t see much in the dark - not that she wasn’t gorgeous, of course - but if he could see her teasing smile or any other indication of the whimsical unimportant nature of this particular moment it might distract him from feeling it. As it was, he couldn’t really think any complete thoughts. Her hands and her waist were too distracting. Her lips on his lips, or on his nose or cheek… too distracting.

He hadn’t really expected it to be like this. Kissing was yet another concept that was sort of abstract to him. Yet another thing that separated him from whatever the “normal” teenage experience was. Or the normal human experience, maybe. He’d missed all of these milestones growing up, but experiencing them as a young adult didn’t seem to be any less monumental, at least not to him. Dennis was aware that it was all fleeting, as much as he didn’t want it to be, and he was aware that this probably didn’t mean anything special to her. He simultaneously loved and hated the fact that this moment felt so important to him.

Idiot, he thought.

“Okay,” he answered distantly, fully committed to do literally anything she wanted. She kissed him again, in a very distracting way, and then, of course, she was dragging him off to somewhere else. He had to remind himself to wake up, come back to the present. It wasn’t cool or manly to be so affected by something as silly as kissing (even if it was his first, he thought privately). Dennis let his hand slip into hers comfortably as he took a couple of quick steps to catch up with her. His sneakers scuffed the dirty pavement as he jogged. 

Her hesitation made more and more sense as his initial adrenaline buzz wore off. Of course she didn’t want to hold onto a ridiculously expensive stolen thing - she might go to jail or something. Idiot. The word drifted through his head yet again as he chided himself gently. It was easy to feel like the muggle police and actual, real consequences were worlds away from him. In some ways, they very much were. But not for her. Dennis made a mental note to keep that in mind as he glanced at the purple thing around her neck. She’d gotten over her hesitation quickly enough, at least for now, though.

Dennis made sure to glance up at the cold night sky before letting her drag him down underground. It was getting colder, he thought, which meant it must be pretty late. How long had he been out with her? An hour? Two? More? It all seemed to be moving so quickly. Time was slipping out of his hands. What happened when the sun came up? The teenager took the stairs down two at a time as he followed his redhead into a warmer, more claustrophobic place. They slowed to a stop just as a train was departing, and Dennis was worried she’d let go of his hand. Train stations were good places for people watching, he thought, but at the moment he was fixated on one person only.

He held his breath as she pulled him into the Photo Booth, intentionally stifling a sigh of relief. Her jokes about him killing her and so on made him a little nervous that she wanted to take off. Maybe he was just that bad at kissing? Foxglove was putting coins in the machine as he ducked under the dirty curtain but he didn’t even feel guilty that he didn’t have any more muggle money. He just wanted to kiss her again.

He couldn’t help himself. The booth was tiny, maybe appropriately sized for one and a half people rather than two. Their bodies were pressed against one another (Dennis wasn’t freezing for what felt like the first time in years) and their hands, somehow, were still entwined. Foxy made a face at the camera, so Dennis leant in and kissed her on the neck, right above her new, extremely ostentatious necklace.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

It just seemed like a regular teenage thing to be doing on a Saturday night.

The more and more this night progressed, the more like a movie it seemed. They'd held hands, kissed, committed a fairly major crime and now it was time for a little memento. The photos, Foxy decided, would go into her book. She owned one, a battered leather journal where she kept her most precious and private things. Things like tattoo and piercing appointments, plane tickets, things that her parents would disprove of.

Not that they'd disprove of Dennis but she felt protective, like the teenager was hers. If she didn't share him with anyone else, this lovely feeling might last a little longer.

The redhead was glad to get rid of her coins, though. She loaded most of her change and a couple of decidedly bent and battered golden pound coins into the slot and with the curtain closed, they would be completely alone. She was so caught up in this. In this night, in her feelings and in him that home was the last place she wanted to go. Foxy's adrenaline was pumping and it felt like she had glitter in her veins. She wanted to run away with him and the destination didn't matter. Her brain was a mess and her hormones were skittering like rocks being tossed across a smooth lake but she was into it.

The moment the shutter went off was the exact moment Dennis' lips touched her skin. The photo was immortalised; a portrait of her smile, eyes closed, catching the side of his face as she reached back and stroked his hair. It was such an odd and intimate place to be kissed. He just caught the hollow of her throats softly and it caused her to gasp and hold her  breath as goose bumps rose on the flesh of her arms. The coolness of the station and his fingers were reacting wildly with the heat from her skin and the jacket, causing her cheeks to redden swiftly.

Foxy dropped on to Dennis lap, shifting to sit a little more comfortably. She rested on his thigh, her long bare legs draped across his knees like she was on some sort of French chaise-lounge. Momentarily, she forgot all about the camera. Foxy shivered slightly in response to the warmth of his lips and the coolness of the tiles and plastic around them. With careful hands, she gently cupped Dennis' chin and raised it so she could kiss him again, smiling against his lips as she pressed him back against the wall. The camera periodically clicked behind them but she was completely unaware. Her long fingers raked his hair as she pulled him closer, kissing him harder with a breathless urgency, as though he might slip away at any second like water through a cupped pair of hands.

The necklace now felt comfortable. Previously, it had felt heavy and cumbersome but now the metal had warmed and it fell into the curves of her elegant neck perfectly, like it was made just for her. Absently, her fingers delicately traced his collarbones. In the stark (and crappy) lighting of the photo booth, the indents and little quirks of his face were so clear. Taking a break, she chewed on her lower lip and tried to stifle a grin. A long index finger came out to trace the smattering of freckles across his nose and while her own face was plagued by a whole host of them, his looked just right.

Sitting on Dennis' lap made her feel alive. There was only a very flimsy curtain separating them from the outside world. Foxy felt like she needed to say something profound to him, she just wasn't sure what. Their hands were still linked and absently, she let the thumb of her left hand run across the back of his, hinting on small scars and marks on his skin. Maybe in time he'd explain how he got them. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe tonight was all they had and goodness, wasn't that Shakespearean?

There was something bittersweet on the tip of her tongue as they gazed at one another. The tall girl felt like a definite pull in her gut. It was an overwhelming urge, the type she'd felt once before when she yearned to ask someone to dance at a school disco but then wussed out of it at the last minute. Deftly, she unbuttoned Dennis' jacket and let it slip off her shoulders to reveal an expanse of milky white skin in the process. His coat, though warm, was a little restrictive and she was aware that they hadn't said anything in minutes.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Foxy began softly and with a gentle smile. "But I think I sorta love you." For the first time that they'd met, there was a hint of self-doubt that flickered across her face. But she didn't need Dennis to reciprocate, nor would she want him to. It seemed unfair. He'd just got out of a relationship with his boyfriend and maybe he'd made a mistake in kissing her. She could be a rebound. It didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like they'd been destined for this, like it was spelled out in the stars. She hoped she hadn't made things awkward and the thought alone made her blush deeply.

By some sort of cosmic intervention, any potential awkward silences were stopped by the  mechanical clicking of the printer churning out the photographs. Shifting a little to collect the ink-tacky sheet of paper from the shoot, she laughed as she carefully held it at the edges. Even in the back and white images, her necklace was clear. There was the exact moment of his neck kiss along with one of her laughing, another with her hands in her hair and some more with stolen candid kisses. They were a little out of focus but so was her entire existence.

Chewing on her lower lip again, she delicately folded the sheet of photographs to form a crease and then carefully ripped around the edges and tore one away. Looking at it briefly, she held it out to him with a smile. "Don't forget me right away, yeah?" Would she be sad when this evening ended? Of course. She in no way expected them to be anything more than this but she couldn't help but feel a cold stab of jealousy knowing that Dennis would meet other girls. He would, of course he would. They were at the station and she'd need to board a train to get home. She lived in the suburbs, too far and too cold to walk to the leafy part of town. He said he'd walk her home but she was going to hold him to it.

"Okay," she said breezily but she didn't move from the comfortable position on his lap. "I should get going," Foxy replied, her words tinged with sadness as she dropped her eyes to her hands that were absently toying with his shirtfront. She waited for Dennis to suggest they do something else but then she realised it was far too late to do much else. Perhaps she wanted him to ask her to stay. She suddenly felt rather teary, then she remembered he said earlier than he didn't have a phone. She'd have no way of contacting him.

A few minutes ago she’d called him insane. He didn’t know it yet, but in a few days’ time he’d be reliving that conversation and, in particular, her claim against his sanity. He’d be combing over every detail, committing moments to memory and pining for a reality in which things had gone differently. For now, however, Dennis Creevey was very much caught in the present. In fact, he was having trouble recalling the last time he’d felt so aware of the present - a by-product, perhaps, of not really trying to recall anything at all.

Kissing was distracting, he decided.

The booth was small enough that various parts of their bodies touched all three walls. The fourth wall - the flimsy, rather ratty curtain - might as well have been lava for how the pair avoided it; leant away from it. Dennis was sure that Foxglove must share his wish that the rest of the world would disappear, otherwise why would she be pressing herself so tightly against him? Dennis’ own body was reacting in ways that he probably should have been expected, but didn’t. All of it came together to be some kind of teenage fantasy. He was half-sure he was dreaming.

The pauses between kisses were fluid, transitory things. When she finally spoke rather than move to touch or kiss him in a new way, from a new angle, his eyes were half-closed, his lips pressed to her shoulder. Her words certainly caught him by surprise. Even more surprising though, was a strange look that flittered across her face before she could cover the moment up with her signature confident smile. Bashfulness, he guessed? Uncertainty? He blinked, drawing back a little as he caught his breath.

Some people thought that “love” was a sacred word that carried more value the less it was used. More conservative people he knew might think that Foxglove’s casual use of it was borderline blasphemy. Dennis wasn’t sure where he stood on it. It had been some time - years, he thought distantly - since he’d told someone he loved them. Maybe he’d said it to his mother a year or two ago, minimum. He’d never been in love as such.

The skinny teenager felt an awkward sort of heaviness settle on his lips; it was the kind that crept into being at the absence of words. “Love” wasn’t a sacred word to Dennis, but it certainly felt too foreign a thing for him to say for him to give her an appropriate response.

The mechanical clicks and whirs of the photo printer punctuated the the dull drone of fluorescent lightbulbs and the sound of Dennis’ own uncomfortably loud breathing. Saved by the bell, he thought automatically, not quite sure whether the idiom came from the muggle or magical world. He felt relieved when she reached for the pictures, tearing some of the paper off for him. Dennis shifted a little to free a hand to take it for observation.

Don't forget me right away, yeah?

Dennis doubted he'd ever forget her in his life, but something compelled him to keep his mouth shut. He knew there was a certain morbidity to his obsession with preservation and memory, and besides that, it wasn't like he was about to confess that he'd never kissed anyone before. A part of him wanted to shake his head and detail all of the ways that she was important and significant, but he was afraid it would turn into something very uncool very quickly. It wasn't very manly to talk like that, so he didn't do it. Instead he gave her a sort of crooked smile, one cheek dimpling. He was aware he hadn't said anything for many moments but somehow he felt that speaking now would be like breaking some sort of spell.

And then she said she was leaving.

"Oh... Really?" Dennis mumbled the words; it was a clumsy delivery. He watched her as her gaze fell past his chin to the material of his shirt she was playing with absently. He couldn't quite decipher her thoughts from the blush on her cheeks or the fact that she hadn't moved away yet. He wasn't sure if he was ready to let her go, but Dennis had never been much of a confrontational type and if that was what she wanted... "Okay," he said after a pause, copying her word.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

I shouldn't have said that.

The thought made a dull metallic clang as it bounced around her already addled brain. What was her problem? She didn't make a habit of saying that to anyone and by his lack of response, she imagined he didn't either. It was a silly thing to say. She hadn't meant to say it, it sort of just…slipped out. But that was how she lived her life; she asked questions later. It was bad timing, too. Foxy would be the first to admit that she was a selfish, self-centred girl but then she remembered that he had a boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend? A boyfriend, none the least.

Maybe this was too much for Dennis, kissing a stranger in a photo booth. A bit more than kissing, she surmised. Here she was, sitting in his lap, in a tangle of limbs and emotions in a tube station. None of this was really real, any of it, was it?

Neither of them said anything and there was a beat of silence between them. The tube station that they'd tumbled down the steps of was deserted now and it wasn't long before the last train would arrive. Gently, she cupped his face, the pads of her thumbs stroking his cheekbones as she watched him with her dark eyes. Dennis was weird but weird wasn't bad. He hadn't told her much about him but maybe more than  he should have. Foxy knew about his dead brother, his scars and his tattoo. She knew he wasn't going to go to uni. She knew he'd had a boyfriend. She knew that he wasn't afraid of heights but what she really wanted to know was how he felt about her. She couldn't give a flying fart in space what his favourite colour was.

Foxglove didn't mention it again and she smiled. Her lips felt bruised and tingly from the impassioned way Dennis' had moved across hers. In the stark and unflattering light of the photo booth, her eyes were wide and her freckles apparent in her pale skin. Was she offended that he hadn't responded? No, not really. What was she expecting? Some sort of Shakespearean declaration of love? She didn't like Shakespeare, anyway. It was all long winded and no one said that they wanted to anyway.

Her head was spinning and she suddenly felt very cold and it didn't have anything to do with the temperature outside. Shifting on his lap, she very carefully slipped the photos inside her purse and into her bag as though they were more precious than this bloody ridiculous necklace she had hanging around her neck. The way he'd agreed so easily made her feel like she'd been punched in the gut. Opening her mouth to say something else, she closed them again and nodded, blowing at a lock of copper hair out of her eyes.

Things shifted and things suddenly felt real. Up until ten minutes ago, Foxy was happily living a giddy teenage dream. With regret, she let go of his shirt front and clumsily got to her feet. Despite her age, she was still growing into her long limbs, she looked like Bambi on ice.

Unable to stop herself, she ran her fingers gently up Dennis' arms to his shoulders before leaning in close and pressing her forehead to his, their noses just about touching in an Eskimo kiss. Foxy was usually brash and outspoken but when it came to something she really wanted, she was unusually quiet and in their close proximity, she was busy sending heavy duty strength telepathic vibes to Dennis. I don't want to go, she told him mentally. Let's do something else. Anything else. I don't care. Don't go.

Maybe she was being dramatic. Maybe she was making everything worse than what it was. Dennis didn't owe her anything and while that should be comforting, it didn't sit right with her. It felt like once the curtain was opened, they'd have to face the real world again. In this cramped, enclosed space, it felt safe.

As it on cue, a dull rattling could be heard and the stained curtain of the photo booth began to sway as the wind pressure in the nearby tunnel began to build. "That's my train," she told Dennis swiftly, her large eyes on the clock. It was the last train and if she missed it, she didn't know how she was going to get home. She didn't have any money for a taxi and there was no way in Hell she was going to call her dad to come at pick her up past midnight.

Her small hand slipped into his as she pulled him to his feet and yanked back the curtain, giving him a pull as she stepped out into the underground station. Her long legs jogged down the well worn steps, taking them further into the underbelly of London as they arrived on the dusty platform, just in time to see the headlights of the train pierce the gloom. Turning to face him, she chewed on her lower lip. "Come with me," she blurted out. If he wanted to, it was another twenty minute journey and another twenty minutes of hopefully kiss-filled time together. It wasn't a question because there was only one answer he could give and she hoped it was the one she'd chosen.

In this position, Dennis could feel his camera pressing into his side. A part of him itched to pull it out, to methodically document every moment of this for the future. It was almost compulsive, his need to take pictures of everything. A part of him was sure that this all had to end soon; this whole night was burning so quickly, so fiercely that it couldn’t last very long. He needed to have copies of each smile, each uncertain lip bite and each teasing glance she flicked his way. He wasn’t ready to let it end, but if it was should-get-going o’clock then he at least needed a way to tunnel back to this. A mental guide back to these feelings.

She pulled away. Dennis got to his feet unsteadily, dimly straightening his clothes out and keeping his face blank as he faced the swell of disappointment internally. He didn’t want to seem infatuated or desperate or come across like a kicked puppy or something. She seemed so vibrant, saturated at the edges, moving through life from moment to moment. He was just another one of those moments, he thought. He could be cool with that. Right? Swallowing words he wanted to say, Dennis followed her out of the photobooth, holding her hand firmly as he counted down the moments until she had to get on the train.

The gust of warm, dirty air displaced by the incoming train ruffled his hair. Dennis was briefly reminded of a very different train going to a very different location. Momentarily, the Gryffindor was gripped with the urge to tell her about it. Tell her everything. He squinted at the headlights of the train as It approached, drawing to a noisy stop nearby as he squeezed her hand a little tighter. Dennis didn’t like that she didn’t know so much about his life. A part of him enjoyed the anonymity; he certainly didn’t have that at Hogwarts, but right now there were too many different things for him to keep track of. He wasn’t really a muggle, for one.

The boy touched her hair, dishevelled by his own hands moments ago. He played with a strand, expecting a goodbye kiss before never seeing her again. The thought made him frown a little, despite him trying not to show it. Instead of a goodbye, however, she surprised him again.

Come with me.

“Of course,” he answered breathlessly, barely audible above the usual metallic clinking and mechanical whirrs heard down here. His muddy green-brown eyes held hers for a moment before flicking down the length of her face and neck. Dennis bit his lip. He didn’t know where they were going; surely not to anywhere in particular? He imagined for a moment that she was taking him home to her empty house but blinked the idea away. She said she lived with her parents. As exciting and nerve-inducing as ideas of empty houses and the teenaged bedrooms might be, Dennis wasn’t sure he was ready for that anyway. His cheeks reddened a little at the idea, but luckily he was already flushed from the making out in the booth.

As they stepped onto the train, Dennis wound an arm around her waist, unwilling to let her go just yet. He hesitated when they had to choose a place to sit but she took the lead again, so he followed. Dennis slid into the seat beside her, shifting his arm to wrap around her shoulders. The teenager kissed her neck again; he couldn’t help himself. “I want to see you again,” he said softly, just for her. His voice was husky and he couldn’t help but shift his body to face her as best he could. She was so flippant that he was worried she might say no, but that nervousness couldn’t be founded in logic, could it? She was here with him, wasn’t she? He nuzzled into the bend of her neck, closing his eyes for a moment and imagining that they were really alone somewhere and that he could really, really talk to her.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

"What?" Foxy asked with a laugh. Dennis' touch was soft and gentle but he was gentle kind of boy she decided, sure that he wouldn't find her assumption rude. It was like the moment was frozen and suspended in time. She felt odd, like she was experiencing some sort of out of body experience as they stood together. It didn't feel like they were in an old, dusty and dilapidated train station. She offered him a slow smile as he touched her hair, the copper tone contrasting wildly with his pale skin. This must be what those Victorian poets wrote about, a perfect moment, hanging weightless, perched on the edge of something wonderful.

She reached up and touched the hand that was delicately caressing her hair. They hadn't said goodbye yet and she didn't want to, not really. Foxy had lost her head completely. This night was moving too fast, she was struggling to keep up. Dennis seemed so far away from her. She was used to boys who were aloof and mysterious and she thought it suited him well but she had an inkling that it wasn't his choice.

The train itself was pretty empty, spare a few people dotted around, their clothes clashing with the garish blue patterned fabric of the uncomfortably plastic seats. With his arm around her waist, her body went soft and pliant against his in a sideways cuddle as her hand reached up to grip one of the handrails as the train juddered into life, swaying her tall frame slightly. Foxglove didn't like going home. She was expecting a fight the moment her key slid into the lock. Her mother was too uptight and her father was too hands-off. Neither of them knew how to control her and she knew she was the constant cause for their fighting and eventually, their surrender and disinterest.

Her problems didn't match Dennis' and she knew she was portraying herself as some sort of typical teenage cliché. She picked a seat next to the window in an empty carriage that was littered with discarded newspapers and crisp packets and her body instantly reacted to the warm arm around her shoulder. Foxy scooted closer, ignoring the cold plastic against the undersides of her thighs. Ironically, Dennis was the type of boy her mother would approve of and they'd never get to meet. Wasn't that a metaphorical kick in the balls?

Her breath caught in her throat as her neck was kissed, shivering slightly as his lips skirted over her quickening pulse. A pale hand came up to slide down the back of his neck, ever so subtly keeping him anchored as the collar of her borrowed jacket slipped down and over her shoulder in her movements. "Really?" The tall redhead asked, her chocolate brown eyes bright and wild like a cat's as she grinned at him, her freckles highlighted by the fierce fluorescent lights flickering over head.

Biting her lip and barely concealing her grin, she nodded, her fiery locks escaping her ponytail and curling as the tips met the curve of her slender shoulders. As far as she was concerned, it was not an empty promise on her side. She let out a soft giggle as Dennis snuggled up close. The tip of his nose was cold from the night air but her skin was flushed and she felt like she was burning up inside his thick jacket. She squeezed his shoulder, sliding her hand over his shoulder blades and down his spine, feather light, wondering what his scars felt like before reminding her that this probably wasn't the place to find out.

The train slowed and stopped at various stops briefly as they travelled along the underground. Her home was about a twenty minute walk from the station and she toyed with the idea of getting off a stop or two earlier so they had longer to walk. Foxy moved a little, straining her neck to offer as much skin as she could to him whilst accidentally gripping his hip with her short nails before remembering her manners. She softened her grip but didn't apologise.

Foxy wanted Dennis to make concrete plans. She wanted him to tell her the time, date and place and she'd be there. This whole night had  been full of chances, almost like the cosmos was directing the pair but that wasn't enough any more. No. She wanted to spend time with him. Not a walk in the park or a cup of coffee, but proper time. Conversations into the early hours of the morning where  they were too awake to go to sleep and they wanted to continue learning.

"Hey," she said softly as his lips grazed her collarbone, just above her new necklace and her toes curled inside her boots as she felt her resolve wither and die. "We're nearly here." Her tone was soft and full of regret, cracking mid-sentence. They still had the walk and she was sure he'd take her home but things were definitely wrapping up and she felt a bit sick.

Eventually, she cupped his face and lifted it so he was forced to look at her and she offered him a genuine smile that dimpled her cheek. She didn't want to feel sad and she didn't want the last possible vision of her for him to remember looking like that. On her feet, she took his hand and hopped onto the platform, mere seconds before the beeping doors shut. Much like he had before, she held his hand tight, her fingers effortlessly intertwined with his as she climbed the steps.

Foxy's neighbourhood was Holland Park, an upscale and very green part of the capital, with tree-lined streets and white stucco sprawling houses. It was shame it was dark because it was stunning in the bright summer sun. It was technically in Kensington but still. She stayed close to Dennis, resting her chin on his shoulder as she slowed to a meander, her nose against his cheek, enjoying the warmth emanating from his body. Out of the rather shabby station opened up into wide spotlessly clean streets, cast into a warm glow from the streetlights. "Thanks," she told Dennis gently, the pad of her thumb stroking his knuckles absently. "I've had a really great night."

It sounded lame but it was true. It had been wild from start to finish and she felt full invigorated and energised and she felt a pinch in her heart to know that it was almost over. After all, she wasn't really a part of his life. Like a leaf in a breeze, it was never really meant to last but that wasn't to say that it didn't sting. Foxy kissed his shoulder affectionately. She always liked midnight, there was something magical about it. Not quite night and not quite morning, more of a limbo between two worlds. If that wasn't a metaphor for her and Dennis then she had no idea what was. Tilting her face back, she looked through the canopy of trees and was surprised to see some stars poking out; a rarity in London. "Make a wish," she told him, pointing up at a shooting star which could easily have been an aeroplane.

Dennis stepped out from the train, his once-white grey sneakers scuffing the ground as he saved himself from a stumble. Soon enough, they were outside again and he felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. She leaned on him, letting him lead. Dennis didn't know the way, but he didn't think it really mattered. They'd slowed to a meandering sort of stroll and he found himself over-aware of the shape of her body again, a part of him missing the photobooth and the way being in such a small, enclosed space had given him the sense that time was barely even passing. Or relevant. When the redhead made a comment about making a wish, he glanced at her, then followed her gaze upwards. The streak of light was gone by the time his muddy green-brown eyes searched for it but he didn't really mind. Dennis already spent a dangerous amount of time wishing for things.

Rather than turn his eyes to the sky, the mousy-haired teenager preferred to look at her. While her chin was still tilted upwards, Dennis leaned in to kiss her neck again. He smiled into her skin, feeling a little giddy. Dennis liked doing that, he realised. It had been a long time since he'd really felt physically intimate with anyone and necks felt like an intimate place to touch, or be touched. Through pure circumstance, no one ever touched Dennis Creevey. He didn't really hug Dean and he hadn't seen his parents for too long. "I'm going to call you tomorrow," He said huskily, into her skin. He'd have to find some change, he thought. There was a phone at the hostel he was staying at that he could use if he could just get a few pennies together to do it. He still had her number somewhere, he thought, folded away and tucked into a shoebox or something. He might have even taken a photograph of it, for posterity.

Dennis didn't really own anything important beside his camera and a pair of old sneakers but the piles and piles of photos would be a hassle to go through if he died suddenly. The thought was intrusive, but by now, Dennis was used to it. He wished his thoughts didn't wander in the direction of Colin and morbitity and mortality in quiet moments like this, but death as a concept was pervasive. It was everywhere, even here. Dennis slipped a hand to her waist as they walked. He held her a little closer, not caring that he didn't really know her or that he'd probably broken, like, twenty laws tonight.

Dennis imagined, briefly, telling Dean about it. That he'd actually talked to her. Kissed her. Broken into a building, stolen things for her. Okay, so maybe that last part was a little alarming and perhaps it was very stupid of him but he was having trouble caring about it at all. Even if he tried very hard. The teenager wondered what Dean would think, and if he'd get that sort of look in his eye that Dennis didn't like, the one that made him feel like a little kid. God, he hoped he didn't look proud. Dean had a paternal side that Dennis wouldn't have minded so much if he didn't feel like it was reserved just for him.

The teenager was snapped back to the present as his companion slowed to a stop. "Oh, is this you?" he asked vaguely, his gaze flicking between the large houses they were stopped in front of. Her family had a bit of money, he thought. Their place was much nicer than the area his parents lived in, and the house looked bigger too. Not that Dennis had been home for some time. It was okay, he told himself. He'd call her tomorrow and then he'd see her again as soon as he could. If she was interested, if she wanted to see him again, then Dennis was there. He shivered in the cold, finally acknowledging a sensation that hadn't really gone away since he'd taken his jacket off what felt like a lifetime ago. The boy's hands hadn't left her body, but he turned to her now, preparing himself for a reluctant goodbye.

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

With her eyes closed, Foxy made a wish. Well, she made a couple. Usually, London was so smoggy, it was a miracle to even see a star, let alone a shooting one. She wished for a good summer. She wished to win the lottery. She wished that her parents would actually try for a change. She also wished for Dennis. Not to have but rather, for him to be happy, too. They'd shared a lot tonight and she wished that the pain he felt from losing his brother would ease soon. She wished that he'd feel better, that he found a place to belong, that he'd be happier. Foxglove was a selfish girl but for the first time in a long while, she decided someone else needed it more than she did.

Goose bumps rose on the flesh of her arms as she was kissed and she felt herself smile, her eyes still closed and feeling like she was in a warm and cosy bubble. "Okay," she whispered back softly as her fingers slid up the back of his neck and into his hair in an effort to keep him anchored to where he was. In the moment, Foxy didn't stop to think that Dennis might be lying. He said he'd call her the first time they'd met but he didn't. She overlooked the fact that he was sitting with his boyfriend and he hadn't actually agreed to anything.

The redhead melted into Dennis' side as she looped an arm around his waist in return, leaning in a little bit as they walked on. Her body still felt tingly and the mad moments of their shared night flickered across her brain like an old black and white movie. The adrenaline from the jewellery heist was wearing off and the necklace still felt heavy and unusual around her neck. The skin he'd touched felt like it was on fire. She felt very alive.

Foxy did stop to think how ungrateful she'd sounded earlier on. Her parents were still together and they were comfortable. They weren't particularly functional but she had everything she was ever going to need. Then there was Dennis. His family had been ripped apart so cruelly. A death of a loved one was something impossible to get over. She thought briefly about his parents. They'd lost one son and it felt like they'd lost another. His parents didn't understand him either, so she'd formed a bond with him as a sort of coping mechanism.

With a sigh, she lifted her head from his shoulder and nodded. "Yup, this is me." Her bright green eyes frowned at the front of her home. It was very nice but it was very boring. The door wasn't painted a fun colour and there weren't any bright plants in the garden. There was just carefully trimmed ivy that curled around the door. The front garden was beautifully maintained behind the low stone wall but it lacked personality.

As Dennis looked at the house, Foxy looked at him. The harsh lighting of the streetlight seemed to work for him. He looked young and moody, his eyes seeming a little darker than they were in real life. Because this wasn't real life, not really. It was just some sort of manic dream that was messing with her head.

As he turned to face her, she offered him a soft smile. Her hands ran from his shoulders and down his arms, her fingers delicately interlinking with his as she gave them an affectionate squeeze. She didn't want to say goodbye. She always said goodbye to people. "Thanks for tonight," she told Dennis honestly as she looked down at their joined fingers as a sad little lump formed in her throat. It had been crazy. Now that it was over, recollections crept in. Had they really broken into a building and climbed to the roof to watch London bathed in city lights? Had he stolen her a necklace that weighed a tonne? Had she been really, truly and completely honest with someone?

Foxy sighed heavily. She couldn't put off the inevitable. Swiftly, she dropped one of his hands to shrug off his jacket and instantly wished she hadn't. She'd purposefully left the photo booth photos in his left pocket for him to find later as a reminder as she handed it back to him. It had been a magical night. Dennis knew more about her than perhaps anyone in the world right now. He knew her secrets and her dreams and for once, she didn't feel ashamed.

Foxy chewed on her lower lip as she bowed her head as the sense of impending heartbreak crept in around the edges of her body. She stepped in suddenly and kissed Dennis gently. It wasn't invasive and it was lingering, as though she was trying to remember everything; the warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips, the smell of his clothes mixed with the scent of their surroundings. Had Foxglove kept a journal, Dennis would have had a starring role.

"I'll see you soon," Foxy told Dennis confidently as she blinked at him before she nodded. She couldn't say goodbye, not this time. The streetlight picked out the russet highlights in her copper hair as her freckles became more pronounced and she offered him another smile; she didn't want her crying to spoil the memory of tonight. "Soon," she told him again as she squeezed his hands, stopping to lift them to her face so she could kiss the backs of his knuckles.

"Okay," she said with a soft laugh as she shook her head before taking a step backwards and letting him go. The garden gate creaked open and a light flickered on upstairs and Foxglove winced. She'd had such a wonderful night, she lacked the fight to go at it with her parents. She trudged up the path and paused at the door, stopping to turn around and face Dennis. She blinked. That was it, the mental photograph she'd taken of him, bathed in yellow light and looking right at her. Lifting a hand, she gave him a cheery wave and blew him a kiss off her finger tips before sliding the key into the lock, opening the door and accepting her fate as she stepped inside.

"Yeah, I - " She cut him off with a kiss and for a moment, his mind went blank. He didn't remember what he was saying, but just enjoyed it for a second. When his thoughts came back, they weren't at all related to whatever he was going to say a moment ago. Was kissing always like this, he wondered, or just on a night filled with teen-movie level adventures? Did it make a difference that he felt close, or was that irrelevant? He didn't know her very well, but the way that their night had been structured seemed to have fast-tracked some kind of intimacy feeling that made him feel like he knew her, kinda. Imagining kissing someone who was a proper stranger didn't really hold much appeal for him. It hadn't before tonight, either - he'd wondered, of course, but wondering wasn't exactly the same as wanting - but right now the concept was especially unappealing.

His hands were at her waist still, holding her to him, but then she was moving back and putting space between their bodies. He wasn't a fan of the feeling, though he supposed he was grateful that it hadn't been too awkward, the kissing. She hadn't seemed to notice that he didn't know what he was doing, so that was a definite positive. His thoughts were a little scattered. Foxglove pressed her lips lightly to his cold hands and he gave a small, crooked smile. It seemed strange to him, abstractly, that the start of the night had been relatively miserable and now he felt a bit like he was floating. It was strange that a few hours had created this shift, from one thing to another. He wasn't protesting it.

"Yeah," he said, his thoughts only briefly tangenting off on the fact that he didn't talk very much, and oh god maybe he should be saying something more eloquent, and what if she -

Dennis forcibly stopped himself just then, not wanting to waste the last moments as she moved towards her house. The air around his body was suddenly much colder than it had been moments before, and without her standing beside him he shivered a little. Trying to ignore the temperature, he took in some of the details of her house as she walked towards it. The garden was exceptionally muggle. British-muggle, he specified internally. Nice and trimmed. There were matching lavender plants to each side, but nothing particularly colourful. She was right in the middle of it all though, and to Dennis, the scene looked like a painting. For obvious reasons, the past couple of hours had been the brightest ones in a while. He was only weeks out of the Hogwarts Dome; everything felt either extremely intense in comparison or extremely mundane in comparison. Tonight easily fell into the former category.

He raised a hand in a half-wave in response to the kiss she blew him (simultaneously, he replayed earlier kisses in his head). The drawn out nature of the moment was kind of humorous to the teenager; it was tension-filled in a good way, but still made him feel impatient even though he didn't really want her to go. An upstairs light flicked on in the window and Dennis looked away from her very briefly to acknowledge the fact. He wondered if she was going to get in trouble; she'd mentioned her parents and the fact that they wanted different things from her more than once tonight. He watched the redhead fumble for her keys and then she was heading inside. And that was it.

Dennis didn't stop smiling as he finally turned away from her house, dimples firmly in place on both cheeks. He wasn't exactly sure where that bit of paper containing her number was, but he'd have to hunt for it tonight so he could call her tomorrow, he thought. He'd promised her as much. Rubbing his hands together for warmth and then stuffing them deep into his pockets, Dennis tried to think about which box it might be in. If he couldn't find the number, though, it wouldn't be the end of the world. He did know both where she worked and where she lived, after all... He snorted at how creepy it sounded. He could write her a letter or something, right? That wouldn't be overstepping any lines. He'd never really been any good at writing letters, but he supposed he'd try it for her....

Dennis' old sneakers scuffed the ground a little as he walked, his mind spinning possibilities.

Edith yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth; on night shift, decorum wasn’t quite so important. She was tired, but she had zero intentions to fall asleep -- the mug full of a mixture of tea and an energy potion was helping her realize that dream of not having dreams. The other mug -- the one with a healthy dose of whisky -- wasn’t hurting, either. Her desk was still a bit of a mess; she supposed she could have been using her time to organize a little, sort through all the built up paperwork from the month she had missed. Well, the month-plus-one-week-of-‘personal’-days-she-was-invited-to-take worth of paperwork. She had insisted that the week was enough, and apparently the department was short staffed enough that she wasn’t questioned too terribly much. Edith wasn’t about to draw attention to her absence -- or her return -- by asking questions now.

She had been in the field twice in the two weeks she had been back in the office, though both calls had been false alarms. So when the next assignment was dropped on her desk, Edith wasn’t in much of a hurry. She glanced at the parchment, glossing over the long list of oopsies the witch or wizard had made in the presence of muggle(s). Another yawn. She rolled her shoulders back before rubbing her eyes, thin fingers slid up behind the lens of her glasses. Standing up, Edith shrugged off her robes -- was that the best part of going out? Probably -- and reached toward the ceiling, though the stretch did little to relieve the tension in her back. She stood there for a few seconds, letting her arms fall to her sides; she shook out that dull ache before reaching for her tea cups in quick succession. The cup with the potion was finished off first and she wasted no time before finishing off the whisky.

There wasn’t enough whisky in the world to get her drunk, she thought idly; it was a good thing, considering she would need to apparate, but she was also wanting to put that thought to the test just a bit. Edith looked back at the parchment for an address and breathed a sigh of relief -- it was local. She glanced around quickly but there was no one left in the office to give her any grief; she slid the top left drawer of her desk open and reached for the bottle; a close apparation meant that one more swallow wouldn’t hurt.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand as she stowed the bottle back in the drawer; she grabbed her wand and the details of the case and left the office slowly. Not rushing just meant she would have a few more minutes of memory to erase. Easy enough.

The apparation was uneventful; the suburbs were quiet. She passed hedgerow after hedgerow until the number on the house matched the number on the parchment. She double checked it, just to make sure, considering all the houses looked exactly the same. It reminded her of her grandparents’ house, matching perfectly with the houses on either side. Of course, she had only visited them once, so her memory might have been a little fuzzy. Not as fuzzy as the muggles was about to be, she supposed.

She stood in front of the house as she looked down at the details again. Teenagers. She glanced up at the windows; no lights were on so she was either early or very late. Interaction with charmed objects. Typical. Theft. Less typical. Edith sighed as she read the rest of the list. She had stopped wondering how they knew this stuff, how the Ministry stayed in the know. Especially now, when work was the only thing left to distract her from her thoughts; it wouldn’t do well to start thinking about work, too.

The names were at the bottom, after all the offenses -- she didn’t pause to wonder why acknowledging there were actual people involved was a last thought -- and she stopped, reread, and tried to process what she was seeing: Magical: D. Creevey. Christ. Teenager, Creevey, Hogwarts was still out, the fucking Dome. Edith shuddered as her thoughts all came together; she ran over the list of offenses again -- no murder or anything super serious, right? She didn’t usually try to rank things -- the law was the law and she was just doing her job -- but the Dome. Were they already forgetting what everyone had just been through?

“Christ.” Edith stuffed the paper in the pocket of her hoodie and withdrew her wand. Stepping up to the front door, she first pointed her wand at her feet to silence her steps, then at the door to unlock it, it was all routine at this point in her career. She closed her eyes in a prolonged blink, either shaking the sleep or the alcohol from her thoughts, she couldn’t tell the difference.

The house was a typical townhouse; she assumed correctly that the master bedroom was on the first floor; magic was the only thing keeping her stealthy. The muggles she found didn’t fit the basic description of the one she was looking for; she charmed them to stay asleep before checking the rest of the rooms, finding nothing, and deciding to settle into a comfy armchair in the front room, ready to intercept the girl. She wished all jobs were this easy.

She remembered the parchment in her pocket and she pulled it out again, thinking things over. Lots of reasons -- excuses? -- for leniency were running through her mind. The Dome. The War. Colin. He didn’t know better. He didn’t deserve the inevitable hearing, that much was for sure. He -- Edith halted her thoughts at the sound of voices outside. She blinked a few times in quick succession, dropping the parchment on the side table before flicking on the light. She blinked again, adjusting to the brightness; by the time she heard the keys in the door, her hand was tight around her wand.

Her silent confundus charm was just as quick as the door opening. “Come on in,” she said groggily, her wand still trained in case she was being followed inside. But once it was obvious she wasn’t bringing home a guest, she invited the girl to sit with a nod toward the pale pink sofa before locking the door with another flick of her wand. “I’m here to fix the television.” She picked one of her usual excuses, too tired to think of a new one. Edith didn’t focus on the girl’s features too much, either too exhausted to be able to commit them to memory or too not-sober to particularly care to focus at all. “You’re Foxglove, yeah?”

NPC; Foxglove Sharpe

As soon as Foxglove crossed the threshold of her home, her body heaved a heavy shudder. She felt a tingle that ran from the top of her head, down her spine and into her feet. Odd. She blinked before assuming it was just the warmth of the house and the difference in temperature from outside had caused the involuntary reaction. Thinking nothing of it, she shrugged and kicked off her boots, turning only when addressed.

"Oh, hello," Foxy said lightly with a warm smile as she looked at the older woman. The redhead didn't recognise her but she didn't feel alarmed. When gestured to, her stocking-covered feet didn't make any sound as they moved across the hardwood floors towards the proffered seat on the sofa. She didn't hear the door lock.

"Oh good," Foxglove gushed with a relieved smile as she sat down onto the couch, sinking into the plush cushions as she folded her legs beneath her. The television was brand new, complete with satellite. She wasn't really one for TV and she had the feeling her parents had bought in in a vain hope of keeping her indoors. "I need to catch up on Friends," she added dreamily as she scratched her forehead. "Rachel's just found out she's pregnant but she won't tell anyone who's the father," she rolled her eyes playfully. "Mad, right?" Or was she further along in the series? She couldn't remember all of a sudden.

Foxy's smile was still in place in the dimly lit room. Her big brown eyes finally landed on the object in the woman's hand. "Strange looking screwdriver," the teenager remarked curiously. She nodded towards the TV. Anyone else's would be a tangled mass of confusing wires but her parents were too uptight to have anything become messy. Each wire was labelled and the ones that weren't plugged in were neatly coiled. She absently wondered if TV Repair Woman had ever seen a set so orderly.

Foxy's body was still tingling with the feeling of Dennis' fingers on her skin and her copper mane was sticking up at odd angles, due to the passion but also the wind from the Tube. The woman, however, seemed sleepy. Maybe she'd had a rough day. There was a storm due in the next few days, so maybe something had knocked out the satellites?

"That's me," Foxglove replied breezily. "But call me Foxy," she insisted with another smile. "Should I go and get my dad?" She asked the other woman as she made a move to open the door and go and get him. "In case you need him to sign something? I dunno where all the utility bills and paperwork are kept," she grimaced. "Not really my thing." She paused briefly. "Is my name on your list?" She asked curiously, trying to peer at the paper the woman had left on the table. "Bit strange. I don't pay the bills so I don't think I'm the person you want."