[zurich] be the first to run [harlan]

late february 2002

It had never been her intention, really, to invite @Harlan Bellamy to anything, but she was desperate.

Honey’s former school -- not Hogwarts, but the other one, the chocolatier school in Zurich -- was giving her some sort of award. Something about being the greatest alumna under thirty, she wasn’t too sure on the details; she had stopped reading the letter after ‘Congratulations’ and merely skimmed the rest. But it was an award, there was a dinner, an open bar, and an after party, and a free trip to Zurich included. What more did she need to know?

They had already arranged for her to be there with a plus one -- William, when first planned, of course -- but that was before she had broken up with him. It had only been a few weeks, so it was probably too soon to see if he’d still like to go. Never mind it might send the wrong kind of message. So, she had assumed that it would require less effort to find a replacement date than have to admit she would be attending alone. She had overestimated her odds, though.

Until running into Harlan, of course. They never seemed to have any planned meetings, always the accidental run-in, and though the last time had ended in a couple of accidental kisses, they had moved past it enough. It wasn’t until the very last minute that she brought it up, the suggestion he attend her next-day event with minimal notice, fumbling through her quick explanation why she needed him at all. Honey wasn’t sure how she got him to agree -- the prospect that the entire event was muggle, the probability that she would look amazing, or the promise to keep Honeydukes on the hook for literally whatever he or the Griffins needed for the foreseeable future. Or they were friends now, or something.

Whatever the reason, they had survived the first half of the evening, even without Honey drinking in an effort to keep her head clear enough for a short acceptance speech in French. But as soon as that was out of the way and she was retaken her seat, golden spatula-shaped award in hand, she started on the champagne. Thankfully, there were only a couple more awards after hers that she had to pretend to pay attention to (Puffiest Pastry bringing the biggest laugh from behind her champagne glass).

They hadn’t made any plans farther than attending together; she had been purposefully vague about the finer details of the schedule, though she had noted that he hadn’t asked. The mood in the room was changing, moving from awards to after party, and Honey leaned in, sliding the award across the table as she moved. “You can hold it, if you want to know what winning feels like.”

Fingers danced along the lip of glass in a beat out of sync with the sporadic (and less than enthusiastic, Harlan noticed) applause of the audience. Maybe he was used to Quidditch functions, but the allure of an alumni event for some sort of muggle dessert school in Zurich seemed to pale in comparison to the caliber of ceremony that he was usually required to attend. Not that he would dare complain, though. It was a welcome reprieve. No press, no fans, no frills, no fuss. And most importantly, no one knew who he was. It was heaven. Heaven on Earth, even sat next to what could only be described as the single nicest and most terrifying human he'd ever met.

Her name was Darlene. An American from somewhere in the south of the country and apparently world-renowned for her cakes as evidenced by her countless accolades throughout the event. He'd wondered if she put whole thing on after the fifth award. Apparently she was the 'belle of the ball', or so said her counterpart, a smaller man with thick framed glasses, shiny bald head, and an immaculately tailored suit. Honey Bea Flume, and by extension her guest Harlan, were fortunate to be seated with them at the prime table at the event, font and center just off the stage.

Harlan, enticed by the promise of being unknown in the crowd of people with an open bar, had agreed to join Honey at an award ceremony put on by her secondary school in Zurich. The hint of her planned attire, not even necessary at the time of decision, was simply an added bonus. At least so much as he cared to own up to. He had to admit, though, that although Honey's methods of persuasion were questionable to say the least, they were certainly effective.

"Hold it?" The wizard repeated, almost under his breath amidst the cacophony of the crowd between awards, cool grey eyes deliberately dropping from her head to toe in mock surprise. He took the award in his hand, tossing it to the other casually as he leant back in his chair. "Watch your mouth, Flume." His voice lowered. "I told Darlene here that you're my cousin, so don't get any ideas," He joked in a tongue not familiar to the two remaining guests at their table. In reality, his alter-ago was Harvey, a muggle banker from London. "Congratulations," He held the award back to her, tone earnest for once. "You were bound to be good at something one of these days..." Harlan held up his glass with a smile.

She had expected more of a retort, but apparently she needed to make her jabs about his quidditch losses just a tad more obvious. There would be plenty of time for that later, she was sure. Smirking, Honey caught Harlan’s gaze drop and she instinctively moved her hand to her knee, hoping to draw his eye to bare legs for a second longer. But she was distracted as soon as he took her award in hand, carelessly tossing it from one to the other. “Careful,” she implored him, just a bit louder than his own hushed voice. She grimaced, almost regretting handing the thing over in the first place -- it was a silly spatula but it was her silly spatula.

“Well,” she responded, thankfully distracted from his mishandling of the award by his words. “I told her you were my father,” she continued, pausing to take a quick swallow of champagne. “And that’s probably more believable than you being a banker.” She laughed. “I mean, I didn’t even stop to consider you might need to know basic maths.” It had been the only profession she had been able to come up with on the spot, when Harlan froze for a second too long when answering the ‘So, what do you do?’ question that polite Americans ask. “Sorry, Harvey.”

She finished her glass of champagne and signaled for another, now thoroughly not paying attention to the awards ceremony as it wrapped up, nor to the chattering couple seated next to them. She could hardly understand them anyway, and apparently the feeling had been mutual since Darlene had asked Honey Bea to repeat herself more than a few times, unable to decipher her accent earlier in the evening.

The waiter reappeared with a new bottle of champagne and a refill for Harlan that wasn’t requested. The bottle was left at the table, but Honey didn’t offer it to the rest of the guests seated there after pouring herself another glass. “Wow, thank you.” It was hard not to roll her eyes as she took the award back, giving it another look over. Her name hadn’t been engraved on it yet; apparently that was something she needed to get done at some point later that evening. “One of these days,” she agreed with a smirk, taking another sip of champagne and replacing her glass on the table with a sigh. “The muggles who can’t actually visit my store…” She trailed off and shrugged, touching his glass with her own before quickly resuming finishing that bottle.

“If you ever want to know what it’s like being good at something, just ask.”

Harlan watched with delight as the very intent of his toying with her precious award had served it's sole purpose. She was squirming. Almost visibly so, he noted, as her face contorted into a grimace. The wizard smiled sweetly in response and finally handed it back to her, the prop having sufficiently served it's purpose as far as he was concerned.

"Oh did you?" The blond cast a cursory glance over his shoulder at their tablemates who were too consumed in their own conversation to pay them any mind. If he had to guess, they were gossiping about the desert that had just been served. "Should we really make them uncomfortable then?" Harlan casually draped an arm over Honey's shoulder, moving his chair as close to her own as possible. His pseudo-persona really had no depth here anymore, anyway. "Oh go on," He took a drink from the glass whilst shaking his head. "No one likes math anyway," He settled with, unable to even argue that the subject was his strong suit.

Harlan had always been a words man -- consumed by the stories that he read, obsessed with historical pieces, and always craving the feeling of being lost in the pages of something else. Math, on the other hand, had never really been on his radar as it apparently was for the man whose identity he'd assumed for the evening.

"Hmm, I think I'd be better off asking her..." Harlan eyed the handful of awards the woman next to the had amassed over the evening, his voice lowered in all seriousness. If Honey wanted to give him a hard time, he'd have no problem giving it right back. It was the main component of their banter after all. "So where's the after party, then, Flume?" Harlan crossed an ankle over his knee. The multiple courses of impeccably prepared food and lull of champagne had him more relaxed than usual. Just as the relaxation had consumed him, Harlan felt someone grab his shoulder.

'A photo, with the couples'  The photographer pulled the attention of the foursome at the table before blinding them with a flashing bulb. Harlan wasn't even sure how he he'd positioned himself but surely it wasn't natural. It seemed, though, that the party was really starting to come to life after the final awards had been given, the first few on the dance floor beckoning those around them. "Or did you just invite me to be your arm candy?" Harlan finally finished his thought as the lights dimmed around them. This was going to be interesting.

“Oh, yes, I really do think we should.” She shifted in her chair, leaning in to Harlan’s casual embrace, her body angled toward him the slightest bit; the perfect angle to give his nose a light boop with her index finger. She readjusted her position just a bit so she could take a drink, smirking over the rim of her glass, careful to not put too much space back between them. She didn’t want to give Darlene another wrong idea, after all.

Honey flicked her gaze to the other patrons at the table, rolling her eyes as she refocused on Harlan. He wasn’t wrong, of course, but she didn’t have to admit it. “I wouldn’t waste your energy.” She shrugged, tilting her head towards the woman’s husband, considerably older and balder than Honey preferred. “Those aren’t her only trophies.”

It was easy to drink when she was around Harlan, she realized as she finished her glass again. She was either very comfortable around him, or the glasses were exceptionally small. The latter, most likely. “The other room, maybe? Or here. I don’t know, it didn’t come with instructions.” She failed to mention that this was her first time attending, not wanting to draw any more attention to her lack of recognition in the candy world thus far, still too focused on her distinctly smaller trophy collection than the other woman’s.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to dwell on it for too long. The camera appeared and left before she had time to consider how to arrange herself, nevermind get rid of the glass in her hand or find some way to include her award in the frame. Harlan was closer than even before when they had been jokingly close. She took another gulp of her drink; or, she would have, if she hadn’t met her mouth with an empty glass. “Oh, arm candy, for sure.” She poured herself a refill and shrugged, partly at Harlan but mostly at the sight of the half-empty bottle of champagne. “I have to do my part for the rumor mill, after all.”

She appreciated the dimming of the lights, sure that her cheeks were growing steadily closer to matching the shade of her hair with every sip of champagne. Again, Honey turned in her seat to take a proper look at Harlan. “I didn’t appreciate that ‘reporter’s’ insinuation that we were dating, y’know.” She formed quotation marks in the air around the word ‘reporter’ with her fingers as best as she could with one hand held tight to her drink. She didn’t stop to consider that any other redhead could have been implicated by the words in the Prophet.

“What about my pristine reputation?” She paused to smirk, her eyes back on his face; she emphasized her next statement so it was clear she was saying it in jest: “I have standards.”

The other room. Harlan wasn't disappointed by the lack of plan for an after party, but he had to admit he that he had anticipated some sort of ridiculous muggle underground rave like he had seen briefly in movies. "Apparently it's right... here," He answered his own question after her. Steel grey eyes adjusted to the darkened room as florescent strobe lights in various colors danced across the table, Honey's limbs, and his pristine white button up. "I'm not dancing..." Harlan declared as he leaned back in his chair. '...by the way," His statement was absolute, evidenced by his furrowed brow and terse jaw.

The flash bulb of the camera rendered Harlan momentarily useless as he again adjusted to the unexpected change in landscape of vision. He managed to fake a smile to the photographer who was loudly proclaiming his thankfulness, although as usual it manifested itself as more of a grimace. Based on the guests to he and Honey's immediate right, that lucky bloke had the shot of the night.

"I was bound to be good at something one of these days," The quidditch captain repeated his insult to her from earlier in the evening, the perpetual scowl on his face dissolving to a smirk, eyes flashing to meet her own briefly. He had never dreamed that arm candy would be something he would aspire to, but with Honey in such close proximity, he found that it mattered little in the moment. At her mention of the rumor mill, Harlan sank into his seat and clapped a hand over his forehead.

"You did catch that, then?" He finished his glass and poured another in quick succession, referencing the Daily Prophet article he had been forced to take part in a month prior. As usual, the professional questions turned personal fast, and somehow a certain redhead was brought into the conversation. Although Harlan himself paid no mind to gossip columns, according his own personal Griffins public relations detail that had been assigned to clean up his messes, the mysterious candy shop owner had been spotted with him in a more than casual manner and the public had taken notice.

"You shouldn't have invited me, then... save that pristine reputation " Harlan dared, noting her empty glass and filling it and his own with the remanence of the champagne bottle. "You know never know who may see us," He raised an eyebrow, relaxing upon remembering that the two of them being photographed for the wizard press, here of all places, was almost impossible. Harlan got closer to compete with the thumping of unfamiliar music that blared through the speakers, "Or maybe you should have brought a change of clothes leaving my place," He shrugged. "Make it a little less obvious.." Harlan leaned into her in jest.

She shrugged, saving her comment that she was much better than his Seeker and that she had, in fact, caught that. “Can’t say I wasn’t flattered, but at least they could plug the business or something.” Not that anyone would know it was her just from that interview, probably, but people weren’t as stupid as Honey usually assumed, unfortunately enough. “You looked like you needed to get out.” It wasn’t a total lie, thought still far from the truth that she was completely desperate for someone to go with her. She shrugged, lifting her hand from her glass as Harlan refilled it, for once affording him a bit of personal space.

Honey laughed, unable to find the words to match the thoughts going through her head. It was one of very few nights she felt poorly about: a chance encounter with an old friend in Diagon Alley had turned into a catch up dinner, turned into catch up drinks, turned into Honey not needing to apparate home and finding herself at Harlan’s door instead. It wasn’t her finest moment and certainly not the ‘passionate relationship’ that had been described. They had only talked about that little pre-Christmas incident and the events that had unfolded after that, until she passed out fell asleep (after a few more drinks, maybe). She had a lot on her mind apparently, and had told him as much, though the end of that evening’s word vomit was a bit of a blur. Still, she knew enough to know that the subject of William had also come up once or twice.

But she wasn’t about to thank him again for letting her stay, nor for ushering her out after a cup of coffee and a hangover potion that packed quite a punch. “Not my fault the only womens’ clothing you had laying around was four sizes too large.” She returned his shrug before also leaning into him, stopping herself from remarking that he might consider having better standards, only realizing a second before that she would also be disparaging herself.

“I’m actually impressed that the only time something was written was also the only time nothing exciting happened.” Nothing exciting for her, anyway, but any night with her is exciting for anyone. “But y’know I guess they say ‘No such thing as bad press’ and I guess that applies when they don’t have any quidditch wins to talk about.”

Honey was mid-smirk when Darlene leaned over and touched her arm. ’Did you say cricket wins, dear? Oh we love cricket, don’t we?’ Her husband was brought into the conversation then and Honey shook her head quickly, offering a simple, “Nope,” before draining her glass. She caught Harlan’s eye and suppressed a laugh, unable to pinpoint the moment they had stopped speaking in French. Drunk Honey was clearly not as smooth as the sober version, and she was unsure how she had arrived at that point so quickly.

Harlan was momentarily lost in the memory of the evening in question, the event that transformed Honey into a tabloid regular for being seen leaving his apartment at the crack of dawn wearing the same clothes as the night before. The encounter was innocent, though, despite the 'insider information' that swore otherwise. The two had finally worked though the multitude of events that had transpired between them over the span of time that they’d known each other. As rare as it was, equally and honestly they shared their thoughts on the back and forth of their undeniable, and oftentimes unavoidable, attraction.

Ultimately, that back and forth culminated in the end of her relationship with William Dasher. It wasn't because of Harlan, he learned, but he couldn't help but shoulder some of the responsibility. Particularly after some of the more forthcoming information Honey had divulged that night.

"I'd prefer no press at all," The wizard retorted in all seriousness over the rim of his drink before taking another drink. As far as he was concerned, the less his name was in the paper, the better (no matter how many tickets it was proven to sell). He of course preferred that the Griffins' game spoke for their sales, but that wasn't always the case he so cruelly learned. Apparently, the public was far more interested in seeing what familiar face would pop up in the guests’ private viewing booth, or who would start the first fight on the pitch than who was the better team.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” He managed a smile in agreement via the rhetorical question. Harlan and Honey certainly had their share of salacious evenings together, sneaking out the side doors as to avoid being spotted together. This morning, though, when it truly had been innocent, was the one of the few times that they had been outed by the press and both had seen the effect of the attention.

“If only The Prophet knew that our night, in all actuality,” Harlan dropped his voice. “…was nothing more than you calling me a silver fox and confessing just how much better I am with my mouth…” Harlan’s statement, although lingered upon, was cut short by a voice belonging to a previously forgotten neighbour. He wasn’t sure if Honey would remember confessing her appreciation for the kisses they’d shared, so he sat back in anticipation for the reaction. With her, he never knew what to expect.

Managing a small smile in response to their table mates, he quickly turned his attention back to Honey. As she fought off the inevitable laughter, he found himself grinning in return, her reaction infectious. "But we do just love Cricket," He lied, resting his arm over Honey again, an American accent accidentally slipping out in reaction to the strangers' very strong accents of their own.

Darlene needed to check herself before she wrecked herself.

Harlan had dropped his voice, which Honey could only assume he had done on purpose as Honey had to lean in closer to hear him properly. She was still in the middle of processing his insinuations when they were interrupted. Honey needed to answer him -- more like she needed to remember what had really happened in the course of that conversation and then correct him -- but their neighbor was making that impossible.

She was still close after leaning in, so it didn’t take too much effort to settle into Harlan’s casual embrace. It was hard to decide if she was confused or amused. On the one hand, she had almost definitely called him old; that wasn’t anything new and every bit as hilarious as the first time she had said it. The other bit, though… she might have thought it but after so many years of practice she had become pretty good about keeping things to herself.

But the situation at hand won her over. Honey laughed at the accent -- Harlan’s, not Darlene’s -- and she found herself nodding without really processing what she was agreeing with. Her interests lay solely with quidditch and she would have quite the issue carrying on any sort of conversation about cricket. So instead she could only hope to get them to lose interest. “We sure do, don’t we, dear--” she paused before quickly correcting herself, hoping they would catch her slip up. “--Dad.” She had also attempted to mimic the accent, though if anything she only ended up sounding more Scottish.

She reached a hand up and traced Harlan’s jawline, not taking her eyes off of the other woman. It only took another few seconds before Darlene had stood, muttering a stern, “Come, Geoffrey,” and moved toward the gathering crowd of people, arms full of awards. And thankfully, they had left behind a nearly full bottle of champagne. Honey dropped her hand from Harlan’s face, leaning forward to reach the bottle and pull it back towards them.

Honey shrugged, shifting slightly to pour refills for them both. It was still a little too early and a little too bright in the room to start drinking straight from the bottle. Leaning back, Honey made no effort to make a smooth transition back to their earlier subject. “‘Silver fox’ you say.” She shrugged again, glancing sideways at him as she took a swallow. “Fox maybe, but silver? That doesn’t sound like me.”

Their American table mate having intervened at just the right moment, Harlan smiled happily to himself, pride evident across his features. He couldn't have planned it better if he tried. And he hadn't -- at all. Honey wasn't as amused, though, clear in her intent to spook the couple away for long enough for she and Harlan to continue their conversation in peace. He had to admit, he was impressed with the improvisation, and not only because he enjoyed the familiar touch of her hand to his jawline.

"You're cheeky..." Harlan cooed at the redhead as he watched the couple leave in a huff, leaving the two of them in their powdered sugar dust. "You do need to work on that accent, though," He shook his head through a laugh, unable to hide the fact that he was entertained by the night, and Honey, thus far.

It was no surprise that the witch circled back to his previous comment, just as he'd hoped when he made it. All of what he had said was truthful of their night, but the realisation that she may not have recalled their conversation in its entirety as he had got the gears working in his head. It was like a lightbulb had gone off, opportune to the success of his side of their continued banter. There was no way that he was going to pass on the opportunity to mess with her head.

"Wait," Harlan leaned back casually, trying to gauge how much she remembered. It wasn't hard to fake the monologue, as he hadn't had to fabricate anything just yet. "Really?" He leaned back to get a better look at her to emphasize his disbelief. "If I recall, you pointed out this particular patch of..." Harlan pulled his blond hair to the side to expose a patch a white greys. "....whites..." He quickly pulled his hair back over before she could get a better look. This part, at least, was truthful.

"I take it you don't remember what you said after that, then?" Harlan paused for dramatic effect, wondering just how much she would believe of his charade. "About how you really felt?" Harlan changed his tone to indicate that he was repeating a statement she had made. "About me," He clarified. In honesty, Honey had drunkenly confessed her champagne fuelled appreciation for him ages ago, but regarding the night in question she only confessed that he had preferred his particular brand of kissing. "The 'L' word..." Harlan dared, catching her eye.

She flashed him a grin, still reeling in the victory that was getting rid of that other couple. “My elderly father calls me cheeky, so you’re really fitting the part.” She took a large swallow, shrugging off his insult to her perfectly melodious accent. “I don’t know how many times I have to remind you that my accent is a gift to those that hear it and you really should consider yourself lucky.” She laid it on thick, nodding matter-of-factly before taking another large sip.

One eyebrow raised, Honey looked over as Harlan spoke again, like he had something very juicy to tell her. “Really?” She repeated his question with her own, not sure what she was being asked to clarify. She narrowed her gaze, looking at him with suspicion as he leaned back. She followed his movements with her eyes, moving from his face to his hand to his hair, memory flashes of a conversation once had coming back to her. He rearranged his hair to hide the hairs he was referring to, but Honey was already leaning in to push it back to take a proper look.

“Ah, yes,” she remembered with a laugh. “So very distinguished and not old at all.” ‘Silver fox’ was a bit of a stretch, but she’d let him have that if it truly made him feel better. Honey took one last look at the hairs in question before sliding her fingers through it and tucking it behind his ear. She caught his eye, only dropping her hand after a couple more seconds had passed. But as quickly as she had leaned in, she had moved back again, quickly finding her champagne to distract her.

Honey rolled her eyes at Harlan’s next question. She hadn’t been that inebriated, had she? “Enlighten me.” But as soon as the words had left her mouth, she was regretting inquiring any further. How she really felt? Honey swallowed, trying to replay the conversation that she had seemingly repressed. She had just broken things off with William, he had been at the forefront of her mind that night. But she had been drunk in London and had picked Harlan’s flat as safe refuge, not Will’s. As if he could see her mental gears turning, he clarified that her words had been about him. And apparently had been quite specific.

She paled, unable to do anything else but drain her glass, not taking her eyes off of him even though she wanted to. “You’re putting me on,” she countered, but if she was being honest with herself, it was totally plausible. Not that she felt that way, she was fairly certain, but it would be like her to think that would be a particularly hilarious thing to add to the evening -- she had consumed gin at some point, after all. She refused to believe that the gin had instead revealed some deep desire unknown to sober-Honey.

“Or you obviously feel the same way, considering you still agreed to be here tonight.” She shrugged, the glass in her hand feeling much too empty.

"You do realise that I'm not that much older than you, correct?" Harlan spoke matter-of-factly as he made himself comfortable sitting back in his chair, eyes scanning to crowd, hand lazing over the back of the chair. It had been a long few weeks training. Harlan's muscles felt the full effect of the Griffins' schedule each movement, straining under his semi-formal attire. He hated to admit it but the game had certainly taken a toll on his body. Even still he had not intention of slowing down.

The quidditch player grappled with the sensation of her delicate fingers combing through his hair. He fought the inevitable chills that ran up and down his spine and stopped just short of a shiver. Honey knew his weakenesses, he would give her that. "Silver fox," He repeated cooly. He couldn't let her know that she had gained any ground in their battle of the evening. He still had a lot of squirming to make her do.

Knowing that he had the power to make Honey second guess herself was nice, but knowing that his nonchalance would make her sweat was the fuel to his proverbial fire. He'd always had a problem with control. "Oh, am I?" Harlan crossed a foot over his ankle and took a deliberately slow drink, his voice equally as drawn out. It was clear that, as he suspected, there were pieces of that evening that Honey hadn't remembered, and he fully intended to capitalise on that.

Honey was trying to retaliate. Harlan recognised her counter as one of her more successful defence mechanisms based on prior experience. He also knew, however, that this meant for certain that she had no idea if his claims were true or false. She was scared, even. And Harlan relished in it. "Or, what if, I just felt bad for you..." He nearly whispered, peeking of of the corners of his eyes before turning to the dance floor again. He couldn't be too obvious. "Just trying to make you feel better," He shrugged.

"Guess you'll never know," He ended quickly with a flash of a smile. Harlan caught the eye of a server and requested another bottle of champagne. The way things were going, he couldn't dream that their night was going to end anytime soon.

“You are,” Honey replied with a nod that he was certainly just putting her on, not taking her eyes off of him. He was clearly enjoying this, and frankly it was amazing that he had made it so long through the evening without telling her. Usually, he would get right to the point, not wasting any time. This was not the type of teasing she enjoyed. There wasn’t enough champagne in the room to help her deal with it.

She had to lean in again to hear Harlan properly as he talked in hushed tones, as if the lower volume could make his words any more truthful. It worked, of course, though she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I had never pegged you for the charitable type, but I guess age does that to ya.” Honey returned his shrug and tried to relax, following his gaze out to the dancefloor, catching a glimpse of Darlene simultaneously waltzing with her man while still cradling all of her awards. That sort of skill warranted its on reward, if she was being honest.

“I guess I have to take what I can get.” Honey repressed a laugh, burying it in her champagne glass instead. He could have picked lesser women to make feel better, so at least she could do that for him. And as a consolation prize date for the evening, Honey could have made worse decisions, she supposed. “Probably better that I don’t know.” She returned his smile by raising her eyebrows, quickly taking another drink as a silent request that they change the subject forever -- or at least until she had made it through another bottle and was ready to prod him for more information.

Harlan wasted no time ordering another bottle, and Honey tacked on an order of yet another bottle, just to save the waiter a trip, of course, as she had plans to work through that first one as quickly as possible. “We should get out of here,” she mused, still looking out across the dancefloor. It took her a second before she realized how she had said things, and she moved to quickly correct herself. “To a bar. Or something that’s not this.” She jabbed a thumb at all the dancing, which was apparently the only other activity (besides drinking) and this shindig. “I know a good place,” she reassured him with a nod.

The waiter returned with their two bottles of champagne, and Honey waited just until he had turned his back before stuffing the award and the bottles, one after the other, into her purse, which appeared rather small but had the added benefit of being charmed bigger on the inside. It was times like these that she felt truly sorry for muggles: when they couldn’t carry that much alcohol in their bags.

She didn’t attempt to encourage Harlan any further than standing up and not pulling down the hem of her dress. Coats were grabbed and she led them outside; it had started snowing while they were inside, and she congratulated herself for charming her coat for some extra warmth ahead of time. “Iiiit’s,” she paused, quickly realizing that she didn’t know where in Zurich they were, but still pointed to the left, “This way.”

Despite everything in Harlan that dared to push the envelope to see just how far he could take this little game, he remained quiet as Honey spoke, mouth closed, jaw terse and brow unflinching. From experience, silence was far more convincing than the alternative. Besides, it was out of his character to be so forthcoming. He sensed that the redhead, who knew him well enough by now, would catch on if he'd acted too erratically so he instead practiced his long perfected act of control. Even the mention of Honey 'taking what she could get' only garnered a half smile from behind the lip of his drink, his eyes flashing for a moment so fleeting it was gone before it registered.

"Correct," For once, he agreed with the woman's sentiment that she was better off not knowing what had really happened that night. That was, until she could no longer stand the fact that he was holding something over her. It was only a matter of time, given both of theirs affinity for having complete control of a situation.

As his eyes did a final scan of the ballroom (or lack thereof) they planned to leave behind, Harlan happily grabbed his coat and followed her out the door. If there was one thing he couldn't tolerate, it was dancing with a crowd. That, paired with the bad music was enough to send him running willingly, even if it meant out in to the snow. Since they'd arrived, the moon had made it's ascent and was now shining brightly beyond the flurries of snow overhead.

Harlan took a deep breath of cold air in the hopes that it would refresh him from the ceremony that had lasted entirely too long for his company. In fact, there were very few people he would endure something like that for, and he had no idea how in the hell Honey Bea Flume had become one of them. As he thought on the matter, his head tilted to watch Honey step in one direction, and then another, before turning back to her original course. Harlan wondered if she actually knew where she was going before remembering the amount of nights he'd seen her do just that before leading them exactly where she wanted. It was magic.

"Where are we going, then?" He spoke into the sky as he blinked through snowflakes, his boots crunching along the coated cobblestone. "Or is this the part where you lure me into an abandoned building to injure me enough to give your team a chance this season?" Harlan's gaze flicked over to her for a moment before tucking his hands into the warmth of his coat pockets that were charmed to cut through the chill of the night.

In fact, the weather was barely noticeable with all the champagne in his blood. Speaking of, "Hand it over then,' Harlan stopped their trek to tap the strap of her bag, not daring to dig in on his own. As it turned out he had some manner.

“I know a good place,” Honey reiterated, deliberately avoiding looking at the man, knowing her face would give herself away. She didn’t need an exact plan; she would find something. She always found something. “Oh please,” she laughed, catching his eye. “If I was luring you anywhere I probably wouldn’t be wearing as much.” He should have known that well enough from experience. She ignored the comment about her quidditch team, instead deciding to focus on the part of the banter that might not get her into trouble. “Plus, I wouldn’t be quite so obvious about it, hmm?” Maybe just a good sort of trouble.

She paused, looking up at Harlan with raised eyebrows. “Hand what over?” But she was already shifting the small bag so she could reach inside it, pulling the full sized bottle of champagne from the depths. “Are you sharing or do I need to get both?” Either way, she was planning to share. It was easier than knowing she drank a whole bottle herself. Being ignorant about how much she had actually consumed was far more pleasant for everyone involved.

Honey only took the bottle back once she had allowed Harlan a turn with it; she lifted it to her lips as she continued walking, still no more sure that they were headed in the correct direction. Not that it really mattered, anyway.

She turned the bottle back over to Harlan, offering him a glance in his direction. Small snowflakes had started to gather in his hair, and Honey had to repress a smirk. The moonlight, the snow, the profile, the champagne... it was all going straight to her head, which only brought her thoughts back around to what they had been discussing earlier. About the L word. She rolled her eyes without a word, looking straight ahead again, but she couldn’t stop second guessing herself.

Her hands were tucked back into her pockets, though the champagne was doing wonders for her core temperature. “So, do you really feel bad for me?” She asked with a sudden subject change, again avoiding his eye, bringing things back to his excuse for being in Zurich with her in the first place. “That’s just so…” she paused to search for the right descriptor. “Nice.” Honey looked over with a slight smile, all hints of a smirk gone from her face. “Didn’t you think that would backfire and only make me fall more in love with you?” She arched an eyebrow, still convinced they couldn’t possibly have had the conversation he was claiming they had.