that place on memory lane you liked still looks the same [honey]

thursday 13th december 2001

Charlie was not a big fan of the festive season. Even before he’d had a girlfriend it had been difficult -- he loved his family, but he didn’t love lying about what he did; his parents knew about magic, of course, and that he supposedly made his way by playing in a band, but that wouldn’t fly with his aunts and uncles and cousins, so he was demoted to a lowly music tutor -- much more believable. If he had to decline Uncle Nigel’s offer to apprentice as a tiler for him one more time— he could hear him now, harping on about a fat lot of good sending Charlie off to New York for school had been.

And now that Kate was in the picture, well, it was a blessing and a curse. They’d be visiting Charlie’s parents for an early Christmas, so he’d get out of the extended Baker clan catchup on Christmas Day, but he would instead be thrust into Kate’s family festivities. He’d agreed before his infidelity had come to light, but it seemed even more pertinent that he go along with it now -- prove something. He couldn’t risk appearing doubtful or hesitant. The main issue, however, was that instead of quietly exchanging gifts between the two of them like they had done for their birthdays, they would be doing so in front of her sister, and her parents, and possibly endless aunts, uncles and cousins.

Charlie had something up his sleeve–a work in progress of sorts, but he didn’t know if he was going to be able to pull it off in time for Christmas, and he definitely didn’t want to do it in front of her family–so he needed something for his girlfriend to unwrap on Christmas Day.

Normally Charlie shopped in muggle high streets, because he was buying for his parents. This was different. As much as he was sure Kate would be overjoyed if he bought her a can opener, he wanted to get her something meaningful. It had taken him right up until the week before Christmas to work it out: a magical camera. She had countless photographs of family, friends, and landscapes in frames scattered throughout his house, and this way she might be able to add some new memories to the collection.

It was snowing lightly in Hogsmeade–he daren’t attempt to shop in Diagon Alley unless he couldn’t find what he needed here–and there was already a thick carpet of white covering everything, making the buildings look like gingerbread houses. Charlie’s collar was popped to shield his neck from the cold, with his hands in his pockets; he was so focused on keeping his head down as a gaggle of girls from Hogwarts passed (thankfully oblivious to his presence) that he didn’t see the woman he bumped into. “Mmf--” he grunted as his arms flew out to grab her before she went flying.

That was that taken care of. Honey stood from her crouched position, raising her hands high above her head to stretch and getting one last look at the trolley she had spent the better part of the day stocking. The train was leaving the day after tomorrow and all she needed to do now was bake a last few batches of pasties and cakes; she could save that for tomorrow, she reckoned. She was fully caught up, otherwise, on owl orders at least. There was still plenty of bookkeeping and inventory she needed to do but it was tempting to shove everything ‘til tomorrow and have a drink and an early night instead.

She argued with herself all the way up High Street, to do paperwork or to not do paperwork, though she was walking quickly--it hadn’t been snowing when she had left the shop so she had forgone her coat--so she didn’t have time to convince herself to do the busy work. (It’d still be there tomorrow, after all.) Arms crossed and head down, Honey hurried across the street, managing to perfectly time her foot catching a patch of ice with her elbow catching someone else. She braced for impact as she lost her balance--”Fuck.”--but whoever had helped knock her over helped keep her somewhat upright, too.

He had his arms around her and she was ready to offer him a cheeky thanks--or a cheesy one along the lines of sweeping her off her feet--when she caught a good look at him. “Charlie, I--” She blinked, trying to remember the last time she had seen him, sure it wasn’t that last time. He was such a constant presence, really--in the paper, on the radio, on the lips of schoolgirls flitting in and out of the shop--that it was hard to believe it’d been almost two years. It was her own fault for dating (around with) people with interesting lives; maybe she should seriously consider looking into someone a bit more boring-- not that she needed to be looking into finding a new boring person, as she already had one--not a boring someone, simply a someone, Merlin--and she was nearly completely determined to not ruin things with him.

Still, Hogsmeade had been a relatively Baker-free zone, at least to her knowledge (which was really all that counted at this point). He had never really shopped there before and her brother had stopped mentioning him-- until a couple months ago when that song came out.

She blinked again and righted herself, muttering a quick, “Thanks,” as she readjusted her scarf, pulling it lower on her chin so he could see her smirk as she looked him over. He looked good, which was more annoying that it should have been. “I--” she started again, not sure what to say, but certainly sure she didn’t want to just send him on his way. “Drink?” It was less of a question than it should have been. She tilted her head in the direction of Honeydukes, catching his eye before she stepped that way, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was coming with her.

The door was unlocked and the air inside was cool but still far warmer than it was outside; she unwrapped her scarf and held it loosely at her side. “I’ve got whisky,” she said as she headed toward the kitchen.

The flash of red hair was familiar, as was the face that gazed up at him. “Honey,” he stated dumbly, struck by seeing her here -- though really, where else would he be more likely to see her than in Hogsmeade? It had been a long time--two years--since he had seen her last, but she looked exactly how he remembered.

He’d never really missed Honey like that -- he told himself it was because it had been a casual arrangement, so when they’d broken up it hadn’t been hard on him, or on her either, he assumed (she’d never chased after him), but really it was because he’d been able to occupy himself with somebody else, and seeing her now filled him with a weird sort of longing, as if he had missed her.

Charlie released his hold on Honey as she stood under her own support, nodding in response to her thanks because he didn’t really trust himself to say anything— Drink? Charlie blinked and his mouth fell ajar. He caught her nod to Honeydukes--not the Three Broomsticks--and barely hesitated before he said “Yeah,” and followed after her like a labrador retriever.

The door closed behind him with a tinkle of the overhead bell and it hit Charlie that this was probably a bad idea -- but he wasn’t going to back out now. It was just one drink -- and she probably wasn’t interested, like that, if she hadn’t owled him in two years.

The sweetshop assaulted his senses the moment he was inside--bright colours, sickly sweet smells--but Charlie had a few other, less schoolboy nostalgic memories associated with Honeydukes -- and the redhead calling out to him. He slipped out of his jacket--the warmth suddenly stifling compared to the brisk chill outside--and followed her through to the back room via the muggle sweet section, helping himself to a sherbet lemon. “Whisky’s fine,” he said around the hard sweet, blinking harshly a few times as the tang of the lemon surprised him.

Honey was already reaching for a bottle; Charlie lingered in the doorway and took the opportunity to give her a proper look over--make sure she hadn’t hurt herself when he’d barreled into her--pleased to find everything as before.

She didn’t wait for him to agree (or argue) before she reached for the half-full bottle of whisky on the shelf, and when he did answer, it sounded like he-- Honey turned to look at him, smirking softly. From the looks of it, he was eating something, and she was willing to bet it was a sherbet lemon or a flying saucer because surely he hadn’t changed that much. She set the bottle down and grabbed a couple glasses, maybe a little heavy handed with her pours.

Honey handed him a glass--she wasn’t careful enough to not let their fingers touch--and backed up against one of the large workbenches, lifting the other glass to her lips for a long sip. She glanced away from Charlie long enough to take in the state of the kitchen; it was surprisingly clean, and that was surely the only reason she wasn’t shoving him back into the shop proper. They had never not gotten up to no good there--the kitchen, or the shop, never mind the flat upstairs--but it was just one drink. Where was the harm in that?

“So…” She had another drink and lowered her glass, her other arm crossed in front of her. “You wrote a song about me.” She smirked; it was either that or be mad about it, and she wasn’t mad, really. She could have used a little warning, though. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. How many people did he know named Honey? And for that matter, how many people did her boyfriend know named Honey? But Will hadn’t figured it out, or he had and just hadn’t said anything about it, which was more or less the same thing.

She set her glass on the bench behind her and gripped the edge of the table as she leaned back. “It’s pretty good,” she said, with more of a smirk this time. Fergie heard it before she had, had been the one to tell her about it, wondering if there was anything he should know. He wasn’t a fan (clearly) and maybe that was partly why she liked it so much. (The boost to her ego might have helped, too.)

Charlie walked into the room properly, a funny little smile tugging at his lips as his fingertips ran along one of the workbenches. Honey handed him a glass and he took it, resting against the counter opposite her with a soft smirk. The hard-boiled sweet clacked against his teeth as he moved it around in his mouth with his tongue. Honey had always been mildly amused that of all the amazing sweets Honeydukes stocked, Charlie's favourites had been the mundane sort. He didn't know why he preferred a parma violet to a fizzing whizbee – perhaps it was just a form of homesickness; his way of staying connected to his roots.

He sipped at his whisky and frowned lightly as it mixed with the taste of lemon. So, she said. Charlie tried not to choke and lowered his glass. He licked his lips to give himself a moment to think. “I did,” he admitted calmly, flicking his eyes up to meet her from where he’d been focusing on his drink. He hadn’t told her before now -- hadn’t needed even thought to. Perhaps he should have done, but to write to her out of the blue after this long would surely have been more inappropriate than to just say nothing at all.

He considered Honey’s smirk and returned it. “Course it is,” he said, sure that it was good because it was about her. All about her, in fact. Charlie was trying to look at her, really look, without it being obvious. The problem was, there wasn’t much in the way of distractions with just the two of them here. She still looked the same, if not better, than when they’d been dating (term used loosely). He vaguely wondered if she was seeing anyone–to complicate things–though of course, that ought to be irrelevant: he was seeing someone.

“I should’ve—” he started, then bit his lip. He tried again -- slower, more cool: “I should’ve written to you,” he offered before having another sip of whisky. “About the song, I mean,” he added, in case she thought he was apologising for something else (wasn’t he?). “Warned you not to get your hopes up when it came out.” His lips curled into another smirk.

It took him a minute, not looking at her, not admitting to it; Honey raised one eyebrow as she studied him, her gaze slipping over him as he stalled for time. She kept her distance, kept herself from getting too distracted. He said he did--write a song about her, that is--and Honey caught his eye. Confronting him about it now wasn’t as rewarding as she thought it might have been, as if he could have denied he’d done it. She had held off from owling him about it; she had told herself it was because she wanted to do this in person so she could see his reaction but really it was because she didn’t want to be the one to owl first, after all that.

But he returned her smirk and agreed that the song was good; it’d be a pity if it wasn’t. There was a joke there somewhere about him being obsessed--two years gone and still singing about her--but that couldn’t lead anywhere appropriate. She had another sip of her drink, not dwelling too long on how all of this was already less than appropriate.

He should’ve-- she raised both eyebrows; she kept his eyes on his but she didn’t miss him biting his lip. He started over and she relaxed her face, having another sip when he did. He wasn’t very good about writing to her, was he? She wasn’t about to bring that up now, though; she wasn’t hung up on his inability to write a simple letter, mind. He clarified--he should have written about the song, specifically--and she shrugged, not admitting she knew why.

And she wasn’t about to tell him why she would have appreciated the warning. At this rate, it would be another two years before she saw him, and what were the chances she’d be dating Will then? (Or anyone, for that matter.) It was easier to keep things light, treading the line between what she should and shouldn’t be saying. “Get my hopes up about what?”

She wasn’t going to make him say it, was she? He knew damn well she could read between the lines, and the last thing he needed was to be crossing any lines. “You know what,” he smirked (because that was so much more appropriate). At least he had more plausible deniability if he kept things vague, if he didn’t get explicit.

He should probably clarify, though, bring Kate up somehow to keep this in safe territory. Warn her off (or would it just encourage her? Would he enjoy that more?). But Charlie didn’t really want to tell Honey that he had a girlfriend and that he was only in Hogsmeade because he was trying to buy a thoughtful gift, and he could blame it on not wanting to be embarrassing and uncool, or on not wanting to upset an ex-girlfriend with talk of the current one -- but neither of those were the reason why and he knew it. He remembered how well it had gone down when Honey had thought he was sleeping with Fflur (before he had actually slept with her)—

But he had just gotten caught out by past indiscretions and Kate deserved better than for him to slip up days after they’d put it (mostly) behind them. Charlie had a large swallow of whisky, grimacing softly.

More importantly (priorities), Honey didn’t think he was like, obsessed, did she? The boys’ response to Honey (the song) had encouraged him to put it on the album, and the label had encouraged them to put it out as a single, but he hadn’t thought through the logistics of seeing the subject of the song again -- nevermind being alone with her in the very place some of those lyrics had been inspired. “I—” Charlie wet his lips and shifted his weight, swapping to cross the opposite ankle over with his backside still resting on her workbench. “I wrote it back then,” he admitted. He didn’t know why he was explaining himself but it was imperative she knew he wasn’t like, in love with her or something.

Charlie told her that she knew what, and Honey shrugged one shoulder as she returned his smirk. She assumed he wasn’t talking about her getting her hopes up about the song being good, or whatever; the song would have been the last thing to get her hopes up about, considering their history. They weren’t known--together, at least--for their conversational skills. But there was a first time for everything, she thought, as she remembered her boyfriend (and carried on not mentioning him).

Honey sipped her drink, looking anywhere but that expression on Charlie’s face. Her gaze fell on the wall closest to the door to the shop, the same wall he had pushed her up against the first time she had properly met him--and countless other times--and she smirked softly before she had another sip, letting her thoughts take a slight detour for another second or two. Thinking about what had already happened wasn’t as bad as thinking about what could happen, anyway.

She blinked and looked back to Charlie when he spoke again, though his I-- wasn’t very telling. She didn’t bother running through the possibilities of what was next--at this point she thought he might make an excuse to go to America and tell her he’d owl when he got back, they could just pick up this conversation later--as he stalled (again). But then he said he wrote it back then and Honey raised her eyebrows. “Back then when we--” she uncrossed her arm and made a crude hand gesture as best as she could while still holding a glass-- “Or back in school?” She smirked again, not forgetting about that schoolboy crush he’d been dumb enough to tell her about.

She shrugged and gripped the edge of the table behind her with her free hand. “Too bad you waited to release it,” she said, hoping she sounded as casual as she thought she was being. “Missed my chance for a private show.” Honestly, she couldn’t picture it--they had never been the sort to do that sort of thing, serenade or be serenaded--but she needed to say something. And she could say something, because it was just words and they were harmless. (Never mind that her reason should have been ‘because my boyfriend could hear it and I don’t want to make excuses for you’.) She sipped at her whisky again before she set it down, suddenly conscious of how quickly she was working through it.

Charlie grinned, then grinned again and rolled his eyes -- he should’ve never have told her about that. He couldn’t live it down, even now that they weren’t… “Then,” he said, gripping his own glass awkwardly and returning the gesture, for old times’ sake.

But he was grateful that she didn’t appear to be pressing him any further on details. He didn’t really know how to explain that he’d written the song then and rediscovered it more recently without sounding like he was pining for a love lost -- because he absolutely was not and he didn’t want her to think that he was. He’d ended this because he thought he’d felt something real with Kate -- he hadn’t even fucked her and had been unable to stop thinking about her.

But he wasn’t fucking Honey now and yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about that, either.

Charlie met Honey’s gaze, and the intensity of his stare only increased as she went on. He knew what she was doing, and he could (try to) put an end to it if he just mentioned the fact he had a girlfriend, that he had to carry on with his shopping but— “If you ask nicely, I’ll think about it,” he smirked. Honey drank, and he did too. She set her glass down and he focused on that action more than the average man might -- that was usually their signal: enough chit-chat, let’s get on with it. He flicked his eyes back to hers, trying to wrestle with what he should do and what he wanted to do.

He had another large swallow of whisky, emptying his glass, then pushed off slowly from his side of the kitchen and approached. Stopping in front of the redhead he reached around her for the bottle, crowding her space; she smelled faintly of melted chocolate and icing sugar and something else that was undeniably Honey -- something he hadn’t even known that he knew. Charlie paused as his fingers wrapped around the Scotch; his eyes had drifted down to her mouth -- he glanced back up and some (unwanted) semblance of sense kicked in.

Charlie straightened up and spun to rest back against the counter beside her, facing out. He poured into his glass, then drank deeply, still holding the bottle in his other hand. Belatedly, it occurred to him to top her up too (habit), and he twisted to do so.

She asked for a private show, as if she had ever been to any of his public ones--it had seemed a little weird, after everything--but he wasn’t hung up on the details, telling her to ask nicely. She returned his smirk, gripping the counter behind her with either hand. Charlie dropped his gaze and Honey followed suit, eyes landing on her glass of whisky; she glanced back up and met his eye, remembering what that had meant for them before (and what it still signaled for her now, if she was being honest). Her smirk softened as she wondered what he would do about it, even if she hadn’t meant it like that. She doubted he had grown out of being a lunger-- not that she wanted that, of course.

He didn’t lunge, but there he was, right in front of her. Her smirk faltered despite her best effort and her jaw tensed as she swallowed; he wasn’t saying anything but she wasn’t going to give in--to saying things, not the other thing, she wasn’t going to do that at all--first. She kept her eyes on his, even after his gaze drifted down. There was no genuine need for him to be so close, though maybe she could be blamed for bringing him back to the kitchen in the first place, considering-- he met her gaze again and there was a split second of Honey thinking this was it. It had been five minutes, tops, but if she wasn’t the one initiating, then maybe--

But then he was gone, or, moved to stand side-by-side with her. She reached for her glass--without putting any more space between them--and had a big swallow (or two). There was a little left in her glass as he made a move to top her up; she held her glass more in her space than his, giving him an excuse to stay close. Everything seemed so normal between them, besides her never having a boyfriend when they did this before. There was never so much to think about.

She grappled for something to say, something else to talk about because while she didn’t want to get that sort of distracted, she didn’t want to throw him out in the snow so soon after inviting him in, either. “You’ve not been to Hogsmeade in a while,” she said between sips. She assumed she would have heard about it, at any rate. There wasn’t a lot going on the village--not a bad thing, these days--beside a lot of gossip about the comings and goings of anyone who stepped foot there. That, and she wanted to know why he was there, since it was obvious it wasn’t to see her.

Charlie focused on pouring for Honey, not on how he could feel her warmth, standing this close, or how they were drinking here, in her kitchen, out of sight -- really, keeping this rendezvous private was probably for the best, regardless of what did (or didn’t -- didn’t, because he shouldn’t) happen. Drinking in public might’ve precluded them from doing anything else (whilst still in public, probably), but it wouldn’t have helped his case to be seen drinking with an ex.

But one drink (refilled, multiple times) couldn't hurt. He wouldn't be here long. Just one, for old time's sake, and then he'd leave. No harm, no foul. Kate didn't have to know -- he wasn't doing anything wrong. The brunette ran his hand back through his hair, leaning his backside against the counter again in an attempt to look more comfortable being here than he was.

Charlie turned his head to look at Honey. “Erm, no,” he admitted. “Haven’t had a reason to,” he explained, having another sip of whisky. Honey had been his only reason before, really, and he generally avoided most wizarding locales since becoming famous (grimace). He lowered his glass to hip height and frowned before smirking, eyes forward; “You keeping tabs on me?”

Honey was probably a little too transfixed on Charlie running his hand through his hair, too transfixed on him, period. And it was obvious that she was looking at him, too, because he was standing to her side, but whatever. The (second) whisky wasn’t exactly helping her judgment (or helping her remember her boyfriend, either) but she had another sip as he turned his head to look at her, too. She wasn’t thinking about how close they were, or wondering when that had happened; no, definitely not thinking about any of that.

He agreed that he hadn’t been in Hogsmeade and Honey smirked a little because he hadn’t had a reason to be. (She knew she had been the reason.) But he was here now, and she was about to say as much before Charlie looked away. Her smirk fell somewhat, though it came back as he asked his next question.

“It’s a small village,” she said with a shrug. Pretty much everyone knew everyone, and everything that everyone was up to, and on and on-- like how Fflur Blevins was in the village so much because she was sleeping with Robin Byrne-Davidson. Oh, maybe that was why he was here, to see his wee pal.

She wasn’t about to ask about her specifically, however. She didn’t want to come off as upset or jealous or whatever emotion he thought had been behind that whole New Year’s party fiasco. (She had had a good time in the end, anyway.) “What’s your reason, then?”

Charlie watched Honey's reaction, his attention drawn to her lips as she flicked her tongue out. The brunette subconsciously wet his own lips in response before taking another sip of his whisky.

He frowned as Honey let out a laugh, offended despite himself. It shouldn't matter what Honey thought about him, or his relationship status, anymore - but he couldn't help it. He wanted her to be jealous, to miss him, to want him back - even if he didn't feel the same about her. Charlie was used to being fought over and grabbed at by relative strangers, so when women appeared uninterested, especially women he'd previously dated, it came as a heavy blow to his delicate ego. Like a spoiled toddler, Charlie craved near-constant positive attention from the fairer sex. He looked down at the glass in his hand, still scowling lightly, thinking about how he had been right to break it off with Honey nearly two years prior.

Charlie shrugged, still looking down, trying to appear nonchalant. "Not for my sake." he lied, lifting his glass to his lips to down the remaining liquid with a large swallow. 

He looked at her quickly, not for the first time, mildly confused at her comment. He blinked. Honey was an expert at tugging him in each and every direction, stringing him along with the merest whiff of something tantalising. So she was still interested? Why couldn't women just be straightforward about what they wanted? His posture relaxed as he licked his lips, "If you asked nicely you might still get one." he smirked suggestively.

And just like that, another mixed signal. "You wanna make her a gift box?" He asked suspiciously, arching his eyebrow and lifting his glass to take a drink distractedly before remembering it was empty. He lowered it to the counter, his fingertips still loosely wrapped around it, "You're not gonna fill it with cockroach cluster and shite like that?" He teased, a lopsided little grin briefly flashing across his sharp features. Once again Charlie was reminded how little he had bothered to find out about his girlfriend. Admittedly, he was getting better. Becoming more observant - but he felt like he wasn't even close to knowing as much about Kate as she knew about him. "I er, don't really know. Spicy or fruity stuff probably." He offered unhelpfully, "There's a weird lolly she likes from back home that's like.. mango with chilli I think." As soon as he said it Charlie realised he was telling Honey more than he really wanted her to know about Kate. He pushed his glass towards her, waiting just long enough for her to top it up before taking another drink eagerly.

Honey smirked and arched an eyebrow. “Just ‘might’?” She shrugged, though her smirk remained. “Doesn’t seem like a sure enough thing, especially if I have to be nice.” Not that she really wanted the private performance, but she’d be damned if she had to put effort into getting something from a man she didn’t actually want things from. This would also probably be the opportune moment that she was seeing someone as well, but she didn’t want a repeat of the last time she had told a former lover about her off-market-ness.

“What am I, twelve?” She returned his grin playfully, though she had to admit that he had a point. Of course, that would be like her to do something like that, but she’d be smarter about it. It certainly wouldn’t be so easily traced back to her, for that matter. She shrugged, not offering any clarification. She raised her eyebrows at his hesitation. He didn’t know? That was the first thing she learned about someone, information she used to her own advantage more often than not. “Spicy or fruity, right.” She was already moving through options in her mind for possibilities to fit the bill, even as he continued.

“Back home?” She caught those words over his actual suggest of mango and chili -- probably for the better, after all, because that sounded like a terrible combination -- and she tilted her head as she raised her eyebrows again. Not surprising he had moved on from Scottish women, clearly. They were quite the handful. But from the sounds of it, ‘back home’ was somewhere warm, for lack of a better descriptor. This was was more interesting than she had bargained for.

She took another swallow of her drink and set it back on the counter with a smile. “I can definitely send you something, unless you have a few hours to kill,” she decided with a shrug. She could certainly make him something now. It wouldn’t be mango and chili lollies, but custom-made dark chocolate chili truffles and mang-filled white chocolates served a bit better purpose than something he could go pick up back home at the corner market. No way they had a version of a store that could even hold a candle to Honeydukes.

"Alright, probably." Charlie's smirk widened, "Not too nice, don't want to put you out of your comfort zone." he kept his gaze locked with hers, reluctant to break the eye contact but knowing that he probably should. One or two glasses of whisky (even the good stuff, which he was sure this was) was not enough of an excuse for the thoughts beginning to slip into his mind. A bottle, maybe, but he doubted Honey was keen for him to stick around quite that long.

"Sometimes you act like it." Charlie teased, rolling his lips to wet them before grinning again.

His face fell as she repeated his words back to him. "Er, yeah." Shit. "She's from America." His large brown eyes watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to the (intentionally limited) information he'd provided her. The last thing he wanted was for Honey to figure out when he had officially met Kate, as it heralded the end of his relationship with the former. It didn't seem like the Scottish woman was overly dismayed at no longer being his girlfriend, but that wasn't to say new information mightn't change her friendly disposition.

Charlie took a large gulp of his whisky, swallowing hard and frowning a little. "I can... wait. If you're sure?" He offered hesitantly, not sure if Honey was genuine, following it up with a more confident "Save you the postage."