days of why and how [robin]

may 2001

The day had passed by in a blur. Fflur Blevins had been fully prepared to deal with the hustle and bustle that the Beltane Festival had promised to be, but there was no way she could have prepared for what she had actually dealt with. Friends and families were invited to celebrate the day with those at Hogwarts, how had she not considered that her sister would have taken advantage of that fact? How had she seriously not considered telling her that she was back in Britain at all? Nerys had made it perfectly clear that she wasn't pleased with her.

After the younger Blevins had made her exit, Fflur had stuck to the outskirts of the Festival, always having one supervisory duty or another to get to if any student wanted to introduce their parents to their new flying professor, if any of the recent graduates recognized Fflur from her quidditch days, if anyone breathed in her direction. She had no reprieve in sight, having given up drinking because she landed her professorship and being too completely surrounded by people to sneak a smoke.

Finally dinner was over, the sun had set, bonfires were dying down, and Fflur made her escape. She made it just past the school gates before she apparated the rest of the way to the village, having her destination dead set in her mind. She hadn't bothered to fix her hair, to do anything more than run a comb through it after she washed her hair earlier that morning, didn't change out of one of her shabbier set of robes. She wanted a drink. She needed a drink. She wouldn't drink. But she could look.

Fflur entered the Three Broomsticks, still half full with the more hesitant to leave families of the students. She carried her freshly ordered vodka on the rocks to a table in the back corner and settled in with it, situating herself so she could see the door from her perch. Yet she was more focused on the glass before her, almost daring it to do something besides sit there. She stared at it long enough for the ice to melt, the condensation from the glass pooling on the table. She wasn't touching it, that could only lead to drinking it. She couldn't remember pulling out the cigarette that she was rolling and twiddling in her hands, but that didn't stop her from busying herself with it.

Her gaze flicked up from her drink to the rest of the room, surprised to see that it had become so empty. The emptiness only made the entrance of the next client all the more obvious. It was just one more person that she had definitely not expected to see ever, especially not today. "You're kidding," she muttered to herself before bringing the cigarette up to her lips. She needed something to keep her mouth busy or else she would say something, and that was the very last thing she needed to be doing.

She watched as he sat and ordered, his back turned to her. Her glass of watery vodka was finally neglected as she watched the man, the boy she had her very first crush on. She was sure it was him; he was just an older version of the mental picture she had of him, his face from their seventh year the one ingrained in her mind. He then, of course, had dated Nerys instead, and then it was all downhill from there.

Half of her was completely disappointed that he wasn't fat and bald, but the other half was extremely pleased about that fact. She gathered up her glass, removed her unlit cigarette from her mouth, and straightened up, moving across the room before her mind could catch up and stop her. She set her glass down heavily on his table, pulling out a chair and sitting herself down without waiting for an invitation.

"Can't say I'm surprised to see you drinking alone."

@Robin Byrne-Davidson @Nerys Blevins

The Three Broomsticks was less full by evening. Many of the guests had either gone home after the day or retired to their rooms. Robin had decided to put off dinner until then, make sure he could get a seat. Just staying at home would have been more practical, but he rarely kept real food in the house. Cooking for himself was more work than he was willing to do. Everyone who served meals in the village, and to a lesser extent most of Britain and Ireland, knew him well.

Tonight he wasn’t in the mood to bother with crossing the country, so he walked back down to the warm inn on the High Street. There were only a few tables occupied when he entered, most of them lone patrons with their heads down. It was getting to the sad drunk time of night. He usually avoided eating here so late, hanging round the sorts of people he used to be. But it was eat late or eat on the floor. So he sat and ordered, tapping his fingers on the table as the waitress left.

His pumpkin juice arrived shortly and he busied himself with it instead, lifting it to his lips and dragging his fingertips along the condensing glass. He had always been a fidgeter, especially in times of silence. He was about to pull out the book he’d brought for the very purpose of distraction when the chair across from him scraped out, startling him.

Someone fell heavily into the seat and slammed a glass down on the table. Robin drew his brows together in confusion, quirked his lip up in a small disbelieving smile. He recognized her immediately, of course. She’d always had a unique face. Not as pretty as her sister’s—but more memorable. “Why, that’s never Fflur Blevins,” he said. He tucked his paperback back in his robe pocket, distracted quite effectively enough.

“Which group have you come from then, if you’re going to judge?” he replied, glancing around at the quiet room in amusement. Clearly she’d been just as alone as he was. “Must not have been a good one if you’re this hard up for company.” He wasn’t surprised to see her in Hogsmeade, loads of people came by at one point or another. But he wouldn’t have expected her to come sit. Perhaps she really was that desperate. Or perhaps she’d just come to trade insults. If so, she knew him well.

He sipped his juice again for something to do with his hands, feeling that jittery urge behind his smile. “So what brings you here?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “The Hogwarts thing?” He eyed the glass her hand was still wrapped around. “Or were you just craving Three Broomsticks liquor tonight?”

"Surprise," Ffur said half-heartedly, knowing full well that it most likely wasn't a happy surprise for either party involved. "The big one up the lane," she replied, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of Hogwarts. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right, knowing that she was also quite by herself. "But yes, absolutely desperate." He definitely wasn't wrong about that part.

She nodded along as he inquired about the Beltane Festival, glancing down at the glass she hadn't realized she was still holding onto. "Both," she said, letting go of her glass, her hand dropping down to her lap to join her other in fiddling with her cigarette. "But really, I was up at the school and found myself thinking, 'Wow I wonder who else I could run into to complete my journey through nostalgia' so," she brought her arm up to rest her elbow on the table, cradling her chin in her hand, "Imagine my disappointment when all I could find was you." She sighed, glancing down to his own non-drink drink.

"But actually," she tugged at the collar of her robe to bring it, and the very small Hogwarts pin attached to it, closer for Robin's inspection. "It's Professor Blevins, now." She assumed that anything he could say about this newfound occupation of hers would be miles better than what she had just dealt with from Nerys, never mind that she cared about his opinion almost as much as she cared about her sister's, which was less than the minimum.

She couldn't imagine that he would have a child, let alone a child old enough to be at Hogwarts, so asking if that was the reason he was here seemed a tad pointless. That left the option that he had friends at the school, which seemed just as unlikely. He might have been well-liked at school, but now that she had plenty of time to be bitter about her life since then, she doubted that had carried on for him. "You don't," she brought her cigarette up to her lips before remembering that it wasn't lit, "You don't live here, do you?"

“Well, I suppose if I’m good for anything, it’s desperate people,” said Robin with a small chuckle. “Festival that bad, hm?” He couldn’t for the life of him fathom what she’d have been there for in the first place. Not as a mother, surely. She didn’t look like one. He reconsidered then; not all mothers looked like his own. She could have been a cool rock and roll mum. Or a cool rock and roll aunt, perhaps. His mind drifted toward Nerys. Was she old enough to have a school-age child? He didn’t really want to think about it.

Fflur’s next words caught his interest then, thankfully. Eyebrows raised, he watched her curiously across the table. “We can go for a fly and I’ll miss some easy saves if you’d like to relive your youth any more,” he said, flashing a small smirk. “I figure yelling at me was a good memory.” He desperately wanted to pry but held himself back, hoping instead to make her smile. Not much hope, though. He couldn’t recall her ever being much of a smiler.

She leaned in to show him something on her robes then, and answered his question about why she’d been at Hogwarts. "No kidding?” he replied dumbly, unable to stop himself. The thought was almost as preposterous as motherhood. Nothing he could recall about her would indicate ever wanting to teach, but then again, he thought, they hadn’t spoken in over a decade. She could have changed in all manner of ways. Just because he was the same loser he’d always been didn’t mean she hadn’t grown at all. “How long?” he asked, carrying with it a number of other questions. Had she been trapped in the dome? How come they hadn’t run across each other until now? He had heard at the end of school that she was going pro, what had become of that?

His food arrived, making him remember that he’d ordered it in the first place. “Oh, er, yeah, I do,” he replied to Fflur’s question, his groove thrown off a little by the interruption. “Since leaving school, actually.” He smiled faintly in amusement at her tone. “You don’t sound pleased.”

“The festival was ruined even before it began,” she stated quickly, not pausing to give Robin any sort of chance to pry any further, even though she was longing for someone to do some Nerys-bashing with. She knew that whatever she would say about her sister would just lead her to drain the glass in front of her, and that was not what she was trying to accomplish. There ought to be plenty of other things she could talk about to bring her mate down to her level of misery without issue. “Kids are the worst,” she said with finality, though there was a hint of a smirk on her lips.

The woman let out a laugh at Robin’s offer. “You might regret that decision, mate. I may have taken a few years off,” or been fired, “But I can still yell and kick your ass like no one’s business.” She could admit to herself now that her coaching style could be a bit harsh at times, but Robin had actually been pretty decent with his keeping skills. Not decent enough to block Fflur’s own shots on goal, but decent enough. A weird pang hit her in the stomach as she replayed their days on the Hogwarts pitch, and she wasn’t sure if she was longing for quidditch or was being reminded of the reason she liked him in the first place. Quidditch. Definitely quidditch.

She wasn't surprised that the announcement of her new profession was met with disbelief as she still had trouble believing it herself, and she was living it. "No kidding." She sat back in her chair, releasing her grip on her robes. "It's only flying though, so don't worry too much about those young minds I'm influencing," she explained, as if she actually thought Robin was concerned with what she was teaching the students. "What's today?" She leaned back in her chair enough to tip it onto its back two legs, balancing as she counted back the days since she had started her job. "Saturday, so, about five days now." It was pretty obvious that not everyone read the news about her new job, and if she ever had to see Nerys again, she would be sure to let her know that it wasn't totally out of the question to think she could have returned to the UK quietly.

"Well I'm not pleased," she agreed, once again rolling the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger. "But I can't say I'm displeased," she added with a shrug, watching him take a few bites of his food. She had lost her appetite early in the day at the sight of Nerys, never mind the whole interaction she had with her after first laying eyes on her, and had yet to gain it back. A more polite person might excuse themselves to let Robin eat in peace, like he had clearly planned to originally do, but that was the last thing on Fflur’s mind. “So what do you do in fancy ol’ Hogsmeade?” She waited a beat for adding, “And is this still the most exciting place to go?” Not that she wasn’t sort of enjoying her impromptu non-drinking companion, she could already tell that she would go stir crazy if she had to spend every night like this.

Robin smiled broadly as Fflur began to laugh, putting him much more at ease. “I haven’t been on a broom in ages,” he said. “You’d have plenty to yell about. Though—“ He leaned back coolly in his seat. “I think my catlike reflexes are still around.” It had been an inexplicable talent, one he was glad he’d noticed when he had time to exploit it, now rarely used except when he knocked lamps over.

She confirmed that her position was a new development, and he nodded. “Had any classes yet?” he asked. “Kids still being the worst?”

The statement had just added to the mystery surrounding why Fflur would have ever decided to teach. It sounded like it would have been a last resort for her, but surely Hogwarts wasn’t so hard up for staff that they would take on people who didn’t want to be there? Though perhaps it was exactly that, he realized as he thought on it. The school had been through some shit lately. When in his day Hogwarts had been the safest place in Britain, for the last several years it had seemed like the best place to get yourself killed.

If he set aside the children bit of the thing, though, Robin had to admit the idea of Fflur as a teacher was becoming less ridiculous the more he remembered of her. She’d taken naturally to authority as team captain, and had been skillful and fair. Well, mostly. But he didn’t think he’d taken quidditch as seriously as she did. He could understand what her frustration with him had been.

“I’m tolerable, then?” he chuckled. “I’ll take it.”

He poked around on his plate awkwardly with his fork. “Well, I am a grown man with a valid apparition license,” he replied, partially because he sometimes went places but mostly to brush aside the question, cover up how little he did these days. Fflur didn’t seem too keen on Hogsmeade as a social hub, and he didn’t want her to think him boring. Even—especially—if he was. It had been a fear of late. Though he still saw his friends on occasion, much of his social life before the war had revolved entirely around drinking. He hadn’t yet figured out how to have one without that crutch.

“It’s interesting enough here,” he said. “Though I guess you could go have a drink at the Shrieking Shack if old standbys aren’t for you.”

Fflur smiled as he talked about quidditch a bit more, keeping in mind that she would have to test those cat-like reflex claims. She shrugged at his claim that he couldn’t fly, though, “I’m sure you fly just fine.” She had even managed it for a few years while she became an alcoholic, and Robin had never been a terrible flyer. Not as good as she was, but still good. “Yes, and yes,” she answered his next questions about her classes, but she didn’t feel much like elaborating.

She shrugged again, doing her best to keep her compliments to a minimum. “Tolerable would definitely be one word for it.” Every time he laughed or smiled made her hate this day just a little bit less, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “So you’re grown and can apparate and still come here. I guess that sounds a lot for the cooking here, at least.”

“Actually,” Fflur frowned, staring down into her drink, focusing through the clear liquid to the bottom of the glass, her hand still wrapped around it. “I don’t drink.” She had yet to say this out loud since it had become reality nearly a week ago and it sounded strange to Fflur to hear it. And she wasn’t sure why Robin was the one she decided to tell first. She was starting to regret everything about this decision to say anything at all, and only two seconds had passed since she did. “Vodka, I mean. They were out of gin,” she lied, unsure which thing would be more believable: her declaration of her newfound sobriety or that she didn’t drink vodka.

She pushed the glass towards the man next to her, saying “You can have this.” If he had followed quidditch at all after school, he should have known just how many flames her career had gone down in. But, she realized with a pang of embarrassment, that meant he would have had to pay attention to Fflur at all, and if there was one person she doubted had done that, it was Robin. Surely seeing Nerys earlier in the day was the only reason all these old emotions were showing themselves, years after the woman had stopped caring about what anyone thought of her.

“But,” she said quickly, doing her best to save face, “it’s just too bad the Shrieking Shack is so haunted. I bet they probably have gin.” She shrugged and put her cigarette in between her lips, eyeing the food Robin wasn’t eating. “I can go so you can eat, if you’d rather,” she offered, pointing to his plate. She was hoping he wouldn’t agree; now that she had found someone to talk to that wasn’t someone at the school that was obligated to, it was better than she thought it would be.

"Oh, just fine, definitely.” Robin’s grin faded into a teasing smirk. “Up to your standards, Miss Professor, I’m not sure.”

It felt odd how abruptly quidditch had ceased to be a part of his life. He figured it was like that for many people, those who weren’t good enough or invested enough to make it as pros, once they graduated and no longer had the facilities. He still had the broom he’d ridden in 1988 hung on the wall in his hall closet, but he’d never had the need to travel anywhere that way. It was just another reminder of school, an object of nostalgia he had to look at every time he put on his coat.

He shook his head with a small laugh. “Speaks more to my laziness, really.” While that was a part of it for sure, he did have a certain affection for the place. He’d always preferred familiar comforts to new experiences as much as he’d liked to pretend the opposite.

Fflur seemed to have a sober moment, and spoke quite seriously for once. “Oh,” said Robin quietly. But she was speaking again before he could add that neither did he. Clarifying, apparently. He had his doubts, it didn’t seem like a likely way to have phrased what she was allegedly trying to say, but he didn’t call her out on it. She had the right to present her life to him however she saw fit. Usually he didn’t have such qualms himself. He’d learned over the years that being cagey never helped anything. But he couldn’t resist reusing the line when she pushed her drink towards him. “Oh, no thanks,” he said, stopping her hand and catching her eye. “I don’t drink vodka either.”

He lowered his eyes and quickly removed his hand after a moment, wrapping it around his pumpkin juice and taking a long sip.

Thankfully, Fflur chose to make a joke while he was composing himself. “You know, I think rumors of its haunting have been greatly exaggerated,” said Robin. “But I think you’d have to bring your own gin.” She pointed out his food then, and he realized how much he’d forgotten it. “No, don’t,” he said firmly, then regretted sounding so desperate. “I mean—you’re not bothering me, if you want to hang around.” He ate a bit of potato this time before he could stop himself. He’d never been so aware of his tendency to put things in his mouth to fill an awkward moment.

“So what,” he asked afterward, “were you so desperate to get away from Hogwarts you’d sit here and get a drink you didn’t want?” The small, amused smile returned to his face. “Lucky I showed up to save you.”

If Fflur had been expecting anything from her beverage offering, it wasn’t what she got. She looked up as he stopped her hand with his own, not sure if she was more relieved at the touch or at the words that he didn’t drink vodka either. She wanted to ask him to elaborate, for them to find this common ground, to find someone in her same situation to make her feel better about it, to give him some reason to keep his hand there. But of course, he looked away and she retrieved her hand with a nod, swallowing her question as he busied himself with his drink.

She didn’t plan for the smile that crept on to her face as he told her not to go, though she instantly reminded herself she was reading far to into it. “I mean, you probably have nothing better to do than talk to me,” she nodded slowly, trying her best to not show just how hard up for company she was, “So I can stay.” Reluctant agreement was at least better than flat out telling her to leave.

Fflur started to worry as he asked about Hogwarts again. The free meals were probably the highlight of her day. She hadn’t been on top of the news when all the dome business was happening, but the after effects of it were still very palpable in the castle, but at least it matched her mood. But his smile was back and she returned it as she nodded along with the rest of his statement, pushing those Hogwarts thoughts out of her mind. “Very lucky.” Quite the understatement.

“But you’re right,” she frowned towards the glass now sitting between them, “I didn’t want this drink.” She pulled her wand from her robes and pointed it at the glass, clearing it of its contents and being sure to get every last drop. After replacing her wand, she pushed the glass away, drumming her fingers on the table top as she searched for some way to fill the silence, not wanting to draw any more attention to the matter. “So,” she started, not knowing where she was going with the thought. She hadn’t tried to have a completely sober conversation in years, and it was proving to be more difficult than she had bargained for.

Thankfully the lone waitress came by then, taking the empty glass and taking Fflur’s order for a cup of tea. But the reprieve was short-lived; the waitress left as soon as she had appeared, and Fflur was left once more drumming her fingers, her other hand holding up her head. “So,” she started again, “You’re all caught up on my career now. How about yours?”

There was a moment during which Fflur looked downright pleased that he’d asked her to stay. Robin returned the smile cheerfully, but by that time it had all but disappeared from her face. He didn’t follow suit. She might conduct herself with a very determined aloofness, but that had never been his style. If anything, his style was the opposite.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, as close to deadpan as he could manage while keeping up a pleasant smile. “My life is nothing but loneliness, waiting for someone like you to deign to speak to me. Just being in your presence is a gift.” The truth was closer to it than he cared to admit. Fflur showing up at his table had saved his night from the monotonous solitude in which many of his nights were spent, had brightened him up considerably. And despite all the cool disinterest she affected, she’d apparently done so of her own accord. Maybe she’d had a better opinion of him than he’d thought. “Really, though,” he added in case his sarcasm had come off too mean-spirited. “It’s a welcome change of pace.”

She drained her glass, not by drinking it but with her wand. Both of them looked at the empty glass in silence for a few moments before a waitress appeared to take it away and to get Fflur tea instead. The conversation seemed to have slowed to a standstill, and he watched her lazily rest her chin in her hand. And things had been flowing so easily.

Fflur was smarter than he was, however, and mentioned that they hadn’t talked about his life yet. “Oh, right,” Robin said with a soft laugh. He often spoke very little about the subject, usually unintentionally. "Well, you don’t happen to be familiar with Auror Pike, do you?” He leaned forward over the table too, resting on his elbows “I wouldn’t blame you if you’re not.” The show, though not without its serious moments, was mainly an affectionate homage to Grindelwald-era crime dramas with a generous dose of camp. He had a feeling Fflur preferred more respectable entertainment if she was a fan of fiction at all. “Anyway, I’ve been doing voices for them for a while.” He wondered if she’d ever listened, heard an episode with morbiwizard Wendell Bonnett, for whom he used his own voice. Though she might not have recognized it anyway. It had been over ten years. He had to keep reminding himself of that fact tonight.

Even though she could tell that he wasn't being serious, Fflur did not mind the words he was offering her. "You're welcome," she replied with a shrug, like she actually had done him a favor by sitting down, by not getting shooed away the moment she did. "Really, though," she repeated after him, this time adding a slight smile, "You're welcome." She had probably already made his evening a little awkward, so there was no harm in simply adding to that fact.

She shook her head slowly, offering an apologetic smile for not being familiar with Auror Pike. She couldn't be sure if he was talking about a real person or not, but she wasn't about to let her complete ignorance for the situation to be too apparent. Leaning forward the slightest bit as he did the same, Robin explained that he did voices. Assuming that this was a magical thing since he still lived in Hogsmeade, that could only mean that it was a radio show, or something similar.

"Uh," she started, not wanting to make it too obvious that she hadn't paid attention to him 'for a while', "I've lived in Paris the past six years or so." She offered that as the explanation for not knowing about it, without having to flat out say she had no idea the show even existed. She didn't need to get into the details of the reasons for her move in the first place, or that for a while she lived on the very edge of the magical world, not really seeing the point of it anymore, or that when she was back in it, she didn't spend her time listening to radio shows from the UK. "I guess I'm back now, though, so I could give it a listen, if you think you're any good." She smirked, well aware that she was going to listen whether or not he thought highly of himself in it.

She rolled her cigarette back and forth between her fingers, finding the next lull in conversation as good as any to step outside and finally smoke it. "I'm going to smoke, if you want to join." Please want to. "Or I'll be right back, and you can finish eating without me staring at you, if that'll help." Either way would hopefully buy her a few minutes to figure out something better to talk about, to come off a bit more casually cool than she surely was, because whatever she was doing up to this point was definitely not support the look she was going for.

Fflur pushed her chair back to stand up, leaving her freshly delivered cup of tea on the table to cool while she took a turn outside. She offered another smile to Robin before she turned around, not really wanting to wait to hear him decline her offer.

Fflur looked confused and Robin felt a little bit like an idiot. Of course she had no idea what he was talking about. He wasn’t nearly as famous as he sometimes thought. She gave an excuse though. It was more than he had to explain not following her career. “Paris,” he said. “Romantic.” She’d never struck him as the type who’d go anywhere for that reason, so surely it had been something more logical. Maybe she’d had a job there. Played on a French team or something. Or had some other occupation—Robin realized he was totally ignorant of her interests, beyond ‘flying’ and ‘not children.’

“Oh, I’m pretty good,” he replied, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Don’t force yourself, though.” He didn’t want her judging him and he couldn’t explain why.

Fflur started playing with her unlit cigarette again. He watched it rolling between her fingertips, oddly mesmerized until she announced that she was going to go smoke it and his eyes flicked back to her face. “Sure,” said Robin. He wasn’t sure about leaving their table unattended, but as she stood up she gave him this smile over her shoulder. He couldn’t help but follow it.

She was leaning against the stone wall of the building when he got outside. "Don't worry," he said, resting beside her. “I’ve got my own.” He fished a pack of cigarettes from the pocket his book wasn’t in and tapped one out of the box, bringing it to his lips. It wasn’t as often anymore that he got himself in the type of social situations he generally smoked in, but he still carried some just in case.

He lit a small flame with his wand and brought it to the end of his cigarette, then held it out to Fflur with a small smile. “Getting all your vices in before you’ve got to get back up to school, hm?” He remembered himself and his friends smoking out the window of Gryffindor Tower, but he wasn’t sure how well a teacher would get away with that sort of thing.

Fflur didn't realize how stuffy it was inside the Three Broomsticks until she was outside it; she pushed through the door and stepped out, walking a bit away before taking up a spot up against the wall, leaning back against it. She only had the opportunity to fret that Robin wouldn't be joining her for a few seconds and she did her best to hide her surprise when he followed her out, quickly finding a smirk to put on her face. “Who said I was going to offer you one anyway?” Never mind that she probably would have given him the entire pack if he had asked.

She halted her search for her own lighter as Robin offered his; she took a step towards him and leaned in towards the flame, feeling instant relief as she inhaled deeply. She straightened up before leaning back against the wall, not bothering to resume her initial spot a step or two away. She wasn’t sure if that feeling in her stomach was more related to the fact that their arms were nearly touching or that she had neglected to eat dinner. The latter option, definitely.

“Just about,” she replied easily into the smoke that she had just exhaled. She looked straight ahead, watching the smoke dissipate, crossing her arms across her chest but leaving her hand free enough to keep smoking. “I’ve looked at vodka so now I only need to sleep with a stranger and then I’ll be all set.” She laughed to hopefully indicate that she was joking, even though that wasn't too far from the truth of how her evenings progressed. And despite the joke, she was thrilled that they were outside in very dim light; she was fairly certain she was blushing, though she honestly had no idea why. Normally she knew how to socialize, but apparently she had given up that ability when she had given up drinking.

“So your auror show,” she started again, wanting to get the subject off of herself, “You said you’re good but I’m going to need proof.” She paused to take a quick drag off her cigarette. “I’d sort of need to buy a radio if I want to listen, and that’s a pretty big investment for something that might end up being wildly disappointing.” She had sold her set when she moved to France, both not wanting to bring a lot with her and to make a few quick bucks, and then she had never seen the need to replace it. She wasn’t sure what sort of proof she was looking for, but she was eager for whatever he had to offer.

“Ah, the trifecta.” Robin grinned, looking off into the distance because it seemed more appropriate. “Might want to leave room for a bit of gambling every now and then. Or, y’know, hard drugs. Cold-blooded murder. Maybe just on special occasions.” After a second he chanced a look back at her. He watched her lips around her cigarette, the smoke curling out of her mouth when she removed it. The act of smoking had always been more fascinating to him than the feeling. There was something about it that made even the roughest people elegant. Not that Fflur was ever anything less than elegant, of course, try as she might. She had one of those faces.
 
“Well, Wednesdays at nine,” he said. “And repeats on Saturday and Sunday mornings at ten.” He tried to cover up the anxious twist in his gut at her comment about the potential for disappointment with a soft laugh. “Confiscate one from some kid, or something. You have the power now.” It was more preferable to joke and let the whole thing go than suggest she actually spend money. “Or you could come over to mine sometime and get the running commentary,” he added teasingly. He sort of hoped she’d take it as another joke. He wasn’t sure he wanted her knowing how much his silly piece of fictional media was a part of him now. He had the tendency to get really excited about it.
 
As he brought his cigarette back to his mouth Robin looked at Fflur again and felt a brief, but strong temptation to ask about Nerys. He couldn’t decide whether it was an understandable question, just catching up on someone he’d known in school, or would make him look pathetic given their history. His intentions, he knew at least, were pathetic if the question wasn’t. Quickly he decided to remain silent. He didn’t want to risk betraying how much Nerys still meant to him somehow in his voice.
 
“Well, if you want to sleep with any strangers, I can give you some suggestions,” he said instead with a mischievous grin, in an effort to keep up the light banter for as long as it could go. “Not much of a scene for that in Hogsmeade, of course, but if you know where to look, yknow.”

Gambling, drugs, murder. She could account for two of the three, at least, but she was fairly certain that wasn’t what Robin was hoping to hear. “Special occasions, yeah,” she laughed to fill the silence of the second it took her to get her cigarette back to her mouth. She wanted to pose the same question to him, to figure out his vices. Anything to get the topic of conversation off of her, but she was drawing a blank.

“Huh,” Fflur mused as she exhaled a mouthful of smoke, “I guess I do have that power. Still not used to that.” She chuckled, amused by her own joke. “Commentary could be good, though I’m not very good at hiding my disappointment,” she added with a shrug and a the smallest hint of a smile. Whatever the final choice, should would definitely be finding an unattended radio tomorrow at ten to test the waters, but he didn’t need to know that. And if he was serious about her making use of his radio, then she supposed that was alright too.

She raised an eyebrow, turning her head to get a proper look at Robin. “Wow,” she said dryly, “That’s such a generous offer.” She rolled her eyes, knowing full well that she did not trust his opinions in matters of the opposite sex. Namely, Nerys, but she never going to introduce that name into conversation. “I’m aware just how limited the options in Hogsmeade are,” she confirmed, though her list of hopefuls had increased by a tentative one since that morning. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. Ever.

Her cigarette was nearing the filter, and she wasn’t confident enough in her ability to save the conversation from the awkward turn to want to stay for another one. She took a long drag and flicked the butt to the ground, stamping it out with her foot as she pushed herself off the wall. “I should go,” she said, trying to find some disappointment on Robin’s face for a second before taking a step back. “Thanks for the tea,” she said quickly as she turned around, remembering the untouched cuppa back on the table inside. She’d just have to owe him one later. Damn.