addicted to madness [harlan]

december 2001

Honey Bea needed a drink.

Christmas was getting closer and if she didn’t pay close enough attention, she would fall behind. Normally, Thursdays, the one day a week Honeydukes was closed, was a day for catching up on paperwork and making sure she was fully prepared for any upcoming events. Christmas was one big event in itself and the closer it got, the more and more last minute owl orders came in. Her father had offered to help her out, but she had been self-sufficient for this long, she was determined to do it again.

But she was almost so busy and so sleep deprived that she was almost looking forward to the one week after Christmas that Honeydukes would be closed. Almost. Usually she only made it a day or two into her holiday before she had to pop back to Scotland, just to check on the shop, make a quick batch of truffles to ease the tension that set in during family time. This year promised to be slightly more stressful, as not only would she be spending time with her own family, but Will’s as well. She was trying not to think about it too much, sure she was just working herself up about it all for no reason. She knew he had no reason to embarrass her in front of her family, was nearly certain the same thing could be said about herself with the Dashers.

So yes, she welcomed the distraction that Christmastime at Honeydukes provided her. She had spent the entire day in the kitchen, never pausing for a proper meal, only taste testing as she moved throughout the day. The hard work was paying off, though, as she had moved through the majority of the owl orders, almost fulfilling the quota of chocolates she needed to have sent out by the end of the weekend. All that just to say that yes, she needed a drink. Specifically, she needed a drink she didn’t have to make herself.

She fiddled with the strings of her apron, pulling it up and over her head after getting it untied, using the clean underside of it to wipe the biggest smears of powdered sugar, chocolate, and Christmas-colored icing from her face. The Three Broomsticks on a weeknight didn’t require much more effort than that, if even that much. Tucking the few wisps of red hair that had come loose from her bun behind her ears, Honey moved through Honeydukes proper and out the door. Hands instinctively tugged at the sleeves of her sweater, the December air drastically colder than it had been in her kitchen. But Hogsmeade had yet to see snow this season and her destination was just a few door down, so she didn’t turn back.

Most of the shops only had extended hours on the weekend, even during the holidays; she wasn’t surprised to find the high street deserted. Arms folded across her chest, Honey set off, keeping her head down against the breeze. Her gaze snapped up and over as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She raised her head and her hand, expecting to wave to the passing shopkeeper she was bound to know.

It took a second to register just who she was waving at: Harlan Bellamy. She stopped and lowered her hand. He was stepping out of the quidditch supply shop, saying something to the unseen owner who remained indoors. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy to see him, hopeful that this unexpected sighting went as well as the last one. It had at least stopped her from being mad at him, which was enough. He wasn’t looking at her, either hadn’t noticed her or had and was deciding to ignore her. Either way, she wanted his attention.

She waited until the door to the shop had closed behind him to pull two fingers up and whistle across the street at him. As soon as his head turned in her direction, she added a rather loud, “Oi, can I get your autograph?”

@Harlan Bellamy

No part of damage control was appealing to Harlan Bellamy; the inauthenticity was like oil to the water of his stubborn nature. He dwelled silently on this fact as he meticulously and methodically signed each piece of Gravesend Griffins merchandise. He worked his way through every bat, jersey and scarf in the shop without so much as a word spoken aloud. The captain's signature was committed to muscle memory just as much as riding his own broom was, but after a while it looked both familiar and foreign in his own eyes. As his quill furiously worked away to address each Christmas present that would surely be tucked safely under the tree just days from that moment, Harlan watched as his own name looked more and more like someone else's.

"Yeah, mate, it's no problem, really" The quidditch player put on his best smile for the Hogsmeade shop owner who had thanked him for what seemed like the thousandth time.

For the local store, having one of the biggest names in the game personally signing Griffins gear was like gold. Apparently. In any other circumstance Harlan would have rather pulled his own hair out than spend his Thursday evening so self righteously, but this day was the exception. After a public altercation that Harlan had, innocently, found himself in the middle of while training in Germany, the Griffins public relations team made it clear that he needed to clean up his image.

"Thanks, Ger, give us a shout if you need anything else," Harlan took the older man's hand in his own as he escaped through the store front. Albeit briefly, the wizard felt a pang of happiness when he saw the pure gratitude that the man had returned. It was clear that the small act had made an impact, just as the PR team intended when the quiet outing was planned.

By this time all other shops in the area were closed which was a welcome reprieve for the man. Initially, Harlan had planned to simply apparate home to London, but the promise of a solitary stroll through a haunt from his Hogwarts years was enough to make him think twice. Maybe it was the nostalgia, but he was feeling open to breaking his own routine for the first time in a long time. Just as the door closed behind him and Harlan looked to his next move, a voice from across the street caught his attention. Shit, someone had spotted him -- quiet night ruined.

The voice, though, that carried across the brisk December air, was familiar as opposed to new. Honey Bea Flume. Of course. Harlan jiggled the now locked door as if he would rather hide in the supply shop than see her, but turned back with shrugged shoulders when his efforts were proven fruitless. "Depends what you have to offer in return!" He shouted back as a glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, hot breath visibly making itself known in the frigid air. "Hope you locked up," Harlan glanced in the direction of the all too familiar Honeydukes.

Honey transferred her hand to her hip as she waited, either for him to be completely enthralled or completely repulsed -- there was no inbetween. Either way, she had a smirk ready to go and she tried not to look too pleased when he turned back in her direction. She didn’t offer a reply, instead focusing on that slight, crooked smile as she took a few step toward him. She stopped close to him, but still just a tad farther away than she would have normally. Her arms wrapped around her torso, already outside longer than she had bargained for. “Of course I did. Look what sort of people wander around here this time of night.” She hadn’t locked up but she wasn’t about to admit that, not after only being around him for thirty seconds.

“Busy day?” They weren’t really ones for small talk, for catching up on each others’ days. She caught glimpses in the paper, on the radio, sent a note whenever it felt warranted to draw attention to something. But the past few weeks had been too busy for her to pay attention to much outside of Honeydukes and she found herself wondering what he was up to, rather uncharacteristically.

Another wind blew and Honey drew her arms tighter across her. “Listen, I’m heading for a drink at the Three Broomsticks. You should join me.” She reached out to graze his arm with her fingers, some innate desire to touch him even in the friendliest way in the most innocent of situations. He was apprehensive about her suggestion, or at least that’s how she interpreted his lack of response. Was that a look in response to drinking, drinking with her, or drinking in a public place? It had to be the last one, she refused to accept any other reason.

“Or a drink at the shop? I have scotch.” It had been convenient that both Harlan and Will liked the same drink, letting her harness those efforts needed to do double the liquor shopping into something much more productive and enjoyable. Now that she was only seeing Will and not even seeing that much of him (her own schedule’s fault) she had plenty of scotch to share.

Grey eyes, intensified by the brisk winter air, flicked between Honeydukes' storefront that was just out of sight and the redheaded owner who had made her way to him with arms tucked into her torso. Over the course of the last year, he and Honey Bea Flume had gotten to know each other well. In fact, there was a time when they saw each other more than Harlan had cared to admit. The vulnerability that he had shown the woman was not something he planned on letting happen again. Despite this though, and the inevitable butting of heads, Harlan was drawn to her company - infuriatingly so.

Harlan scanned the empty streets to look for the 'sort of people' referenced in Honey's response before turning back to her, the feigned confusion painted across every feature. It may have been because he had been cooped up in a quidditch supply shop for the last five hours, but he was feeling uncharacteristically playful.  "Good," He nodded through pursed lips.

Before the man could even contemplate the question about his day, Honey let him know of her own plans for the evening. Harlan fought a smirk. Maybe he wasn't the only one that was feeling the inexplicable daw. The Three Broomsticks, though, had stopped him in his tracks. The place was likely to be filled to the brim with people escaping the cold, and dealing with the recognition was not something he was keen on, visibly so. Honey had caught on, and offered an alternative, much to his delight.

Harlan leaned into her touch only briefly before turning toward Honeydukes, his answer clear before he had a moment to open his mouth. "Honeydukes," He led the way down the cobblestoned path that had fought the threat of snow thus far. "I'd rather not deal with people," He turned back to Honey to make sure that she was coming behind him, pausing for a moment for her catch up.

For the most part they walked in quiet. Harlan was not one to fill silence with small talk - they were beyond that now. "How strange to be coming in here without having to break and enter..." Harlan mused as he reached for the front door of the store to open it, stopping to allow her time to get the keys. Just then it dawned on him, though, that perhaps Honey had not been entirely honest - he knew her well by now. He slowly pushed the unlocked door open, clicking his tongue in the process, disappointment clear.

"Have you really not learned your lesson?" Harlan asked with a shake of the head, holding door for her to enter. For someone who complained so frequently about the manner in which the two of them met, it seemed she actually hadn't learned a lesson. Harlan was comforted by the scent of freshly baked goods and the warmth of the indoors, his shoulders relaxing almost immediately. Once indoors, the man scanned over the boxes of goods that were cloaked in the darkness of the closed shop, reading the various labels.

Harlan shrugged off his coat and placed it over the front counter before leaning against it to face the woman. "So, how's business?" He asked, a grin pulling at the side of his mouth. It was the question that he'd asked her every time they had run into each other of the last few months, small talk that he knew was just as unbearable for her as it was for him. In reality, he was curious about what she been up to, and he hoped that she picked up on it.

“Honeydukes.” She found herself repeating after Harlan, taken aback just a bit as he walked away, toward her shop, toward her home, without so much as a second glance. She took off after him, a step or two behind, her arms drawn back in toward herself. She quirked an eyebrow at his next words, unsure if she should be grateful he was making such a sacrifice for her or if she ought to be offended that he didn’t consider her as ‘people’. She smirked, offering a simple, “Of course.” She caught up to him, standing close merely for warmth and surely for nothing else, not sure if she was happy or not that he didn’t have anything else to say. Either way, she didn’t offer up any sort of conversation of her own, still wrapping her mind around seeing Harlan so unexpectedly.

Honey shrugged off his comment about how strange everything was, not wanting to point out that he had been invited to Honeydukes on a number of occasions. They pulled up to the front door and apparently the one second of hesitation she needed to decide whether or not to pretend to fiddle with the locks was too much. Harlan pushed the door open and Honey rolled her eyes, entering the dark store ahead of him, brushing up against him just the slightest bit as she pushed by him. “Call it wishful thinking.”

A couple lights had been left on, but there was nothing too glaring overhead, a few dim sconces along the far wall and a little less in the kitchen. Probably for the best considering she hadn’t refreshed her makeup or made sure she had rid her face completely of rogue sugar.

She let Harlan pass by her as he entered the shop; she stopped short and crossed her arms across her chest as he made himself comfortable against the counter. “See for yourself.” She moved around the counter and into the kitchen, fully expecting him to follow her. The room was in the same state of disarray she had left it in ten minutes ago, trays spread out across the countertops, chocolates cooling and setting haphazardly, the two sinks full to the brim with tomorrow’s dishes. It was chaos, yes, but organized chaos. She knew where everything was, which step in the recipe she had stopped on with every different batch, knew exactly where she would pick up tomorrow -- or, more likely, later that evening when she decided she could save her sleeping for her holiday.

“Scotch?” She left for the pantry without waiting for an answer, grabbing a half-full bottle from the lower shelf of liquor. One hand full, Honey bent down to peer through the other bottles for her own choice. She wanted to continue on with her ‘least amount of work possible’ decision about drinking this evening, shrugging as she straightened up with only the Scotch in hand, deciding it had the best work to alcohol ratio. She opened the bottle and took a quick swig, shivering at the burn and the taste before recapping it, not really sure why she was doing it but knowing she needed it all the same.

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve before she reentered the kitchen, holding the bottle out for Harlan to approve of before she bothered finding a glass for him.

Harlan had half a mind to stay in the front of the store, to make Honey wait, to not do exactly what she had expected him to. But alas, he was drawn to the dimly lit kitchen like a moth to a flame. As the light flicked on and intensified, revealing the threshold of where the business owner perfected her craft, Harlan's legs moved without question.  Not even the strongest force guiding his decision making, stubbornness, was going to stop him now. As he stepped through the door to the kitchen, peripheral glimpses of chaos only momentarily captured his attention through the suffocation of red hair and the smell of sweets -- both equal parts familiar and confronting.

"Someone left in hurry," The quidditch captain spoke to himself, although just loud enough to be heard as he adjusted a pot to fit into another, doing his best to organise the mess. "Scotch," He agreed mildly, cleaning a spot on the counter to sit comfortably as he had so many times before. Steel grey eyes followed Honey's delicate movement to the pantry with interest. "You'd better not be poisoning that," He called out, noting the lapse in time that signified a delay. Harlan leaned back to peer around the corner and caught a glimpse of Honey bending to look through the bottles, his gaze lingering for a moment before he sat back up.

The wizard did a once over of the bottle of scotch, although he was confident  that she had made a good choice, and gave a nod. He jumped to his feet to reach for the glasses that he knew from experience were just out of her range of height. "You really do need a step-stool back here," Harlan stood deliberately close as he leaned over her to grab two glasses. He stopped with the two glasses between fingers as he turned to face her "Unless you'd fancy for something else?" He presented the glass and waited for the response.

Once decided, Harlan leaned back against the counter, taking a mouthful of the drink and relishing in the immediate relaxation of his shoulders. While training, he didn't drink much, and the effect of the alcohol was immediate. After having spent the whole night signing merchandise, he needed this. "Big night at the Three Broomsticks?" He inquired. "I hope I'm not keeping you," Harlan met her gaze with a smile. Sure, he was lying, but he had a relatively convincing poker face.

@Honey Bea Flume

She loosened the cap on the bottle as Harlan gave a nod, catching another whiff to accompany the taste that still lingered on her tongue. Setting the opened bottle on the counter, she offered Harlan a shrug. “Why bother with a step stool when I can have tall men instead?” Honey mused, not taking a step back to put any more space between them, instead appreciating that he had replaced the aroma of the whisky with his own. She shook her head slowly in response to his question, taking the offered glasses from his hand without a word. She poured them out equal amounts, though she knew full well she shouldn’t be drinking as much as him, especially considering she was one good swallow ahead already. She was never good at listening to reason when she was around Harlan.

Handing a glass off to him, Honey hoisted herself up onto the counter before taking a large sip from her own. “It was going to be,” she said with a shrug, pausing to take another sip, assuming he would know she was lying. Each mouthful was getting easier and easier to tolerate. “You can make it up to me.” She wanted to claim that she meant this in a ‘drink with me’ sort of way, though she wasn’t too confident that she did. She really ought to be more sure of that.

“Shouldn’t you be busy?” She inquired over the rim of her glass before taking yet another sip, realizing that she was getting farther ahead in alcohol consumption, and setting her glass down between them so she would at least have the three seconds of delay it would take her to pick it up again before her next drink. “You can’t come back from third place in the League without some proper training, y’know.” Not that she had any room to talk; the squad she supported were starting the season in fifth and had fallen out of the playoffs before the Griffins, but that was neither here nor there.

"Ha," The broad man let out a dry chuckle as he handed over the glasses for Honey to pour into. "Oh sure, how could I forget you keep a couple of tall men around for that very purpose," Harlan joked despite the fact that once upon a time that would have an insult coming from him. He watched with interest as she metered out the amber liquid before returning a glass to him. There was an innate ease in which the woman moved with. It was as though she was constantly floating on a cloud. Absentmindedly, he mused that she would make one hell of a chaser in the pitch.

Harlan took a mindful sip of alcohol and let the burn of the liquid trickle down his chest as grey eyes peered over the rim at Honey who was hoisting herself up to the counter adjacent to him. "A quiet night at The Three Broomsticks..." He repeated with skepticism. "That's not how I remember it," The Hogwarts alum tapped his pointer and middle finger on the glass creating an audible rhythmic sound. At Honey's next comment though he stopped, the raise his eyebrows.

"I could do that," He countered. The idea of making it up to her, and what all that would entail, had momentarily taken his thoughts to a different place until Honey spoke again. Harlan took a step so that he was directly in front of the woman, their eyes now even. It was strange given their height disparity to see her at his height.

"Ah, I'm not worried about it," He rested a hand near her thigh on the corner of the counter to get comfortable. "Better to come back after third than come back after fifth," The player referenced her beloved Pride, who the Griffins had ranked ahead of. "Been keeping up with my matches then?" He smiled mischievously, knowing full well she would refute it.

Harlan leaned back against the table in the center of the kitchen that was covered in utensils in varying degrees of use. As he took in the counter that the redhead sat atop, now having a whole view of the space, of he noticed a picture frame peeking out from behind a bowl. Familiar red hair caught his attention immediately as it flitted across the photo. Having thought he had uncovered an embarrassing family photo, Harlan moved quickly and pulled the frame to his hands with excitement. What he found, though, was not nearly as gratifying as he thought. The picture was of Honey and Will at a dinner, blinking happily back at him.

The man couldn't help but let out a laugh as he turned the frame back to her. "Did you have this framed?" Harlan questioned in disbelief. There was no way in hell in that Honey Bea Flume had gone out of her way to have this photo in her kitchen. That is, of course, unless she really had changed since he knew her. "I'm sorry," He lied between chuckles, turning the photo back around so he could get another look. 

Honey smirked as he offered to make it up for her, sure that she wouldn’t need to make any suggestions as to how best to do it. She sat still, save for taking another sip, as Harlan stepped closer, keeping her glass close enough so she could smell the whisky rather than the man next to her, keeping herself in check. “Of course not,” she shrugged off the accusation, sure he could see right through her. She didn’t offer any sort of rebuttal, not wanting to give him any reason to take a step back.

But despite her continued disparagement of the Griffins, he retreated, and Honey took another sip of her drink. She took a god look at him, trying to decipher how he was doing beside the most superficial things, curious what he’d been up to the past few months, but knowing that sort of small talk wouldn’t be ideal.

Honey’s face fell, but she immediately hid any discomfort in her whisky, draining her glass in one go. It burned, but that was still a more welcome sensation than the sudden embarrassment she was feeling. She hadn’t expected this; the photo had been handled before by other visitors, her parents, employees, but on those occasions Honey had felt a sense of pride as they had questioned her about it. Yes, that was the same Will from a few months before, yes, she was still seeing him, yes, they could meet him sometime. It had taken some getting used to, but Honey was almost certain she was enjoying the notion of being William Dasher’s girlfriend. Until Harlan laughed, that is.

Even she had to admit it was a cute photo, a little keepsake from their surprise Florentine holiday. It wasn’t like her at all to display personal photos in the kitchen, but it had been gifted to her here and then promptly forgotten about as she had shown her thanks. Carrying it upstairs the following day had seemed tedious and so it had stayed, several weeks now. She certainly didn’t mind it being there, though.

She ignored his question, sliding off the counter to pour herself a refill. Taking a quick swallow before abandoning her glass, Honey turned and took a step closer, one eyebrow arched. “Shove it,” she finally started, resisting the urge to smirk. “I think it’s…” she took the frame from him and turned it around, peering down at the faces, “Nice.” She cleared her throat, setting it face down on the counter behind Harlan. It was a different sort of nice from the photo she had of her and Harlan from the night of that gala (among other things), but that was beside the point.

Taking a step back, she resumed her place on the counter, taking the opportunity to take another large gulp of whisky. She pointedly ignored the warmth she was feeling in her cheeks, not sure if it was alcohol induced or not, but not wanting to dwell on it either way. Catching Harlan’s eye over the rim of her glass, Honey shrugged. “So that’s still going on,” she added with another shrug, not sure if she felt worse because she wasn’t more excited about sharing her news or worse because she was telling him at all.

It was a curious thing to watch Honey studying him as though she was trying to find an answers for questions she had yet to ask. He remained still under her gaze, his own eye contact unwavering as he attempted to decipher what exactly it was that she was trying to see. The two of them had known each other for months, but sometimes it felt like years. At least in Harlan's mind. He could nearly always gauge how she was feeling based on a cursory glance. The ability was equal parts blessing and curse. In this moment, though, he was having a hard time, which was not something that he handled well and that did not sit well with the wizard.

Harlan watched as the woman slid from the counter, seemingly unbothered by his prodding at her and her framed photo. He would never admit it, but he was disappointed in her lack of reaction. The Honey he was accustomed to would have had had his ass handed to him on a platter for that remark with a rebuttal that was sure to sting anything worse than what he had said. He dropped an elbow to the counter casually to deflect how thrown own he was by the entire interaction.

"Nice?" The quidditch captain repeated in disbelief, shifting as she took the photo and hid it safely behind him as though he couldn't simply turn and grab it again. He played along for the moment. "Who are you, and what the hell you have done with Honey Bea Flume?" Harlan stood up straight to touch both of her shoulders as if to ensure that she was real, one hand rising to briefly graze her jawline.

Harlan watched with interest as she started on her next drink. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't impressed that she was beating him, but then again, it seemed like she needed it more given the situation. "Well that's very sweet," He finished the rest of his own glass if only to keep up and made his way over to pour the second. As it turned out, maybe he needed the alcohol just as desperately. Something about the topic of conversation had left him feeling unsettled. "So when's the wedding, then?" Harlan poked in jest. He let out a laugh. "You know, I'd never figured you the relationship type..." He mused before another gulp of his drink. They were heading down dangerous territory, but he couldn't stop himself now.

Honey nodded, confirming her use of the word ‘Nice’ but now regretting her word choice. There were so many other ways she could have described it, should have described it, but there was no backtracking with Harlan. She held her ground as he touched her shoulders, ignoring the hand near her cheek. “Hilarious, really,” she said as she shrugged herself out of his grip, hoping he would miss that she had nothing more clever to say. She really should have planned this better.

“Oh shove off,” Honey muttered into her glass before she took another swallow of whisky. That was something that had crossed her mind, but she wasn’t about to admit that now. A wedding was probably Will’s next logical step, either soon or somewhere far down the line; they hadn’t discussed it or anything, but it had to be coming eventually and she still wasn’t sure how she would handle it. She didn’t want to let him down.

Those weren’t feelings for this kitchen, not now. “Just because you don’t want to date me doesn’t mean no one else does.” She wouldn’t call whatever they had done a relationship and it was almost a stretch to call it dating at all. She set her glass down, feeling her thoughts starting to lag behind her mouth. But she only made it a few seconds before she picked it up again, eager to have something to distract her hands.

Honey looked down briefly at the liquid left in her glass before glancing back up to catch his eye again. “So sorry to disappoint you,” she offered with a smirk and a shrug before finishing her second glass. A part of her, the tiniest part of her, hoped he really was disappointed. She set her empty glass down, willing herself to wait at least a few minutes before pouring herself another refill.

But she should have concentrated on the whisky, should have kept her focus on something that wasn’t Harlan or how he had touched her jawline before. The exclusivity of her relationship had never been more obvious. She poured out another glass, taking a large sip before refocusing her gaze on Harlan’s features. “Gotta grow up sometime, I s’pose.”

Watching Honey Bea squirm under the scrutiny of her relationship and all that came with it was less gratifying than Harlan had expected. Her reaction, although just what he had hoped for, did not satisfy him as he thought it would. The wizard maintained a straight face, though. He was determined to not let on that there was a chance that he had feelings beyond what he had shown thus far. "I think so too," He forced a smile in response.

Harlan mirrored the woman's action and busied himself with own drink. She was draining her glass faster than he was, he noted before Honey's next words interrupted his thought process. "Ha," He nearly spit out the mouthful of liquid but saved face in the last moment. Just because he didn't want to date her. She had a point. Harlan grappled with the idea for a moment before catching her gaze again. To be fair, he didn't really want to date anyone.

"Ah right, you had to settle for someone then," The wizard forced himself to make eye contact with Honey, and quickly found that it was nearly impossible to break it. Thankfully, she poured another glass before she could read into his facial expression, which he assumed had given away his feelings more than ever before. "Truly though, good for you. It's nice that you're happy," He spoke honestly for what felt like the first time in their sarcasm laden interaction. The nicety felt foreign in his mouth and Harlan quickyl washed it down with the final gulp of his drink, holding his glass to her to a refill.

"We may deplete your alcohol supply at this rate..." He commented with a smile, suddenly feeling the warm effect of booze as it flowed through him.

Honey arched an eyebrow as she finished her mouthful, resetting her glass down beside her, the corner of her mouth twisting into a smirk. “The day I settle is the day you win the League.” She shrugged, returning his subtle insult with one of her own. She caught his gaze for a second, feeling the weight of something unspoken that she didn’t want to focus on. She took another sip, hoping he wouldn’t comment on how she couldn’t do something so simple as keep eye contact.

“Thanks,” Honey said automatically, the smirk falling from her lips. It was a stilted reply; Harlan’s seemingly sincere reassurance that he was happy for her had caught her off guard. At least, she was going to claim that as the reason for her sudden internal reflection -- not because she was now wondering if she was happy. Of course she was. Just because Harlan had called attention to it and called her out for how unlike her the whole thing was, that didn’t make it any less real. She had had that self-debate ages ago and had decided that she liked him enough to make the commitment. But that didn’t matter now. She didn’t have anything to prove to Harlan.

She cleared her mind with another swallow of whisky, eager to have Harlan’s refill to distract her further. She wrapped her hand around his hand and the glass, solely to steady it as she poured out another drink for him. Glancing at the level of alcohol left in the bottle as Harlan made his comment, Honey shrugged. She emptied the bottle’s contents in his glass and shrugged again as she set it aside. Her hand lingered for a second too long but as soon as she retrieved it she busied herself with her drink again, taking another large swallow, her gaze shifting around her kitchen in all its disarrayed glory.

“There’s more whisky upstairs,” she mentioned, almost as an afterthought, referring to the smaller yet better curated liquor shelf in her flat. There was also more whisky in the pantry, but upstairs was also cozier and less disorganized and she wouldn’t be able to look around and think about working like she was starting to do now. It wasn’t an out-of-the-ordinary sort of comment, she insisted to herself. He had been upstairs plenty of times and they had just discussed how happy she was in her perfectly committed relationship, literally just minutes ago.

Honey finished her glass once more, either for reassurance or thirst, she wasn’t clear on her reasons. It was clear, however, that the alcohol was doing its job: her head was light, her cheeks were warm, and her mouth was moving ahead of her thoughts. “Yeah, I need more.” She slid off the counter and brushed past Harlan to head out into the store, making an obvious point to lock the door before starting up the spiral staircase.

The air inside her flat was warmer than it was downstairs, but that only added into the coziness. The sitting room, dining area, and kitchen shared a space. The kitchen was done to a much smaller proportion than the one downstairs and it looked deceptively underdone. But it did the job, kept her fed, and had plenty of shelf space for her promised bottle of whisky. She had brought her empty glass upstairs with her and she wasted no time before pouring herself out just a bit more.

The drinks were going down as fast as Harlan's guard, the carefully built wall he creating around himself less and less strong as the night progressed. It didn't help, of course, that Honey's hand lingered for just a moment too long as she poured him another mouthful of whiskey into his glass. The wizard paused when the warmth of her skin left his own, willing the sensation to come back, if even in memory. Despite his best effort, the attempt was not successful, so he instead followed the woman's movement as she glided by to lock the front door.

"Upstairs then," He agreed, despite the warning signals that had fired somewhere deep in his brain, beyond his will to fight. They could be friends. That was a normal thing that two adults could do, he justified as he followed her up the spiral staircase, sure to pad enough time between when she went up from when he ascended. The temptation to stare, although a thought, was not something that Harlan would succumb to.

The upstairs of Honeydukes was as familiar as the store itself, if not more. The duo spent equal time in each other's places once upon a time, but never so casually as now. In fact, Harlan couldn't remember a time that he sat in her living room to just talk. Despite that though, he was welcomed by the all-enveloping warmth that the home offered.

"It's been awhile since I've been up here," Harlan couldn't help but smile to himself, the effect of the alcohol only visible in his lopsided smile. The wizard was good at controlling his booze, but there was no denying that he was considerably nicer with a few glasses of whiskey in his system when the situation called for it. Whiskey either made him angry, or a teddy bear, there was no in between. Luckily for Honey, it was the latter.

 "What are we celebrating?" The quidditch caption threw himself on the couch, his ankle crossing over his knee comfortably as he called over his shoulder to the woman who was filling her own glass.

Honey ignored his comment for now, not wanting to ruin the mood by pointing out the only reason he hadn't been up here in a while was because of his uncalled for jealously. No, they were getting along, and that couldn't only continue if she kept her attentions on the alcohol. Instead, she shrugged, taking a swig from her drink and wasting no time before refilling the void she had just created. "Do we have to be celebrating something?" Honey set the bottle on the counter and took a large sip from her newly filled glass. She took a step towards Harlan before thinking better of her decision and swiveling to bring the bottle with her as well. Smirking, she offered up her own suggestion: "Can't you just be pleased to see me?" Her accent was getting thicker the more she drank, but she was still far from unintelligible.

She crossed the room quickly, one hand on the bottle and one on her glass, much more focused on Harlan's face than making it safely across the small space. Her toe caught on the edge of the rug and she stumbled forward, catching herself quickly enough to stay upright and not spill a drop. "Have to redo that sticking charm," she muttered more to herself, not intending to act on her thought now or probably any time in the near future. Her face was flushed as she handed off the bottle to Harlan, freeing up a hand to shift some of the pillows aside so she could make herself comfortable in the corner of the sofa. She pulled her feet up under her, turning herself so she could look at him with the least amount of effort.

"It's more or less the same," she offered with a shrug, referring to the earlier question that she had ignored. Her gaze darted around the room for a few seconds, falling on the same family photos that had graced the walls for as long as she could remember, the gallery being added to as the years went on. It was obvious, now, why she never lingered in this room too long when she had company. All the more reason to stay in this room now, she realized, as she brought her focus back round to Harlan's face.

Honey took a quick swallow of her drink, the silence thick between them. "You, er," they didn't do small talk; she wasn't sure where the line was that separated casual drinking conversation from prying into his personal life. "You have holiday plans? Family stuff?" She brought her glass quickly back up to her lips to cover the awkwardness of her question, bringing it down do her lap equally quickly and sloshing some of its remaining contents down her front.

"Shiiite." Honey handed off her glass to Harlan and in one swift motion, pulled her sweater up and off, the knit damp with whisky that she didn't care to keep wearing. She didn't think twice that this wasn't something that the friend version of Honey should do in front of a friend she wasn't trying to sleep with. Of course, it wasn't something she realized until after she had tossed it aside and taken her glass back, her face warm but not any warmer than the alcohol had already made it. "Oops." She didn't say it in any specific way, convincing herself she was actually embarrassed by what she had just done.

She drained her glass and left it on the table as she stood up, taking care to not trip on the rug again as she headed to her bedroom to grab another shirt. “So,” she started again from the other room, raising her voice a bit to be heard. “Holiday plans?” She waited a beat before adding in a lower volume, “Iii already asked him that.” The scotch wasn’t doing her any favors.