silvertongue : honey bea

"You say 'self-assured' like it's a bad thing," she pointed out. "But he probably wasn't. That's good news for you, though. You'd be having a lot less fun with him." She shrugged, not bothering to ask if he actually was enjoying himself. It was a given. The witch nodded after taking another sip of her drink. "Actually, the 'royal treatment' is saved for quidditch captains of successful teams." She waited a beat before adding, "But I can guarantee it would still be enjoyable." She was referring solely to the learning experience a tour could offer, not the fact that she might not be wearing pants while giving the tour, and that time it would be on purpose.

"Well, it would be considered self defense, after all," she said, arching an eyebrow at him. Never mind that she had her wand pointed at him for the better part of their conversation. " But if I was trying to lure you, you would know," Honey shrugged, tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear. And she wasn't over exaggerating; when she wanted something, or someone, she went for it. However, he had literally walked into her place of business, which was also an extension of her home, in the middle of the night. Even she had to set her standards somewhere. Still, the idea of offering him more and more Scotch and seeing what happened was really appealing. He hadn't left yet, after all.

She bumped his shoulder right back, nearly snorting as he brought it back to quidditch. "Oh please," she said between laughs. "The don't need my help to get the upper hand." She didn't want to pass up the opportunity to personally antagonize the captain of the Griffins, though. "I think you're helping them enough by eating sweets and drinking at all." He was definitely the first quidditch player to visit Honeydukes after hours. Well, an unplanned visit anyway. And neither truffles nor Scotch seemed like it would fit into a standard athletic nutrition plan.

Honey sipped at her hot chocolate again, not remembering putting as much schnapps in it as she was tasting. She set the mug down next to her and slid of the table, immediately turning around to face Harlan. She leaned towards him, lingering for a few brief seconds before reaching above his head to grab a jar of marshmallows from the shelf mounted on the wall behind him. Taking a step back, Honey fiddled with the lid of the jar, popping it open to scoop out a handful of marshmallows for her drink. "Perfect," she said with a smirk, looking over at him as she brought the mug to her lips again.

She leaned sideways into the table, letting out a dramatic sigh. "As much fun as it is hosting a middle tire Beater," she sighed again, "I have an early morning ahead of me. Have to prepare for actually opening the shop." Honey nodded quickly, having finally decided on her plan of action for the rest of her night. She straightened up and smoothed out her nightie. "Feel free to take that with you," she motioned to the bottle of whisky he was drinking. "Or you can leave it here for when you come back."

Harlan pushed back against Honey's shoulder in an attempt to metaphorically stand his ground in their not-so-silently fought battle of wits. It was rare that anyone was able to keep pace with his oddly timed sense of humour, that often made him come across as too tough, and he found that he was enjoying the new sensation. "Sure, sure," The captain waved his hands in front of his chest to signify that he would rather his playing to do the talking. "You'll find out soon enough," He shrugged back into normal seated position, one hand on his drink and the other rested comfortably on his knee. "This doesn't slow me down," He shook the liquid from side to side in his glass to indicate that he meant the alcohol. Truthfully, that was far from the case - he was usually too dedicated to a healthy routine - but she didn't have to know that just yet.

He watched intently as the red-haired woman made herself present in front of him, waiting a tantalising amount of time before reaching over his head to grab something or other. Those details mattered little he found, as he tried to identify the foreign feeling that hit his chest when she didn't make some sort of move. He would never admit it, but he was strangely disappointed.

Harlan's eyes narrowed accusatorially at her, now well aware that this stranger was toying with him. If there was something that he wasn't a fan of it, it was being played, but he was now sure it was only fuelling his fire. This wasn't the last she would be seeing of him. "All yours," he replied as he leapt to his feet, leaving his half full glass behind on the counter. "For when you decide you'd like a real drink," He added while he took a step toward her, making sure his body was at an uncomfortably close distance. "Don't spend that generous tip I've left all at once," He took her hand in his own to gesture a goodbye. "See you next year then," Harlan called over his shoulder as he made his way through the unlit shop.