[lisbon] nobody taught me 'bout the cages [harlan]

Honey Bea Flume really only needed the sidelines of the spotlight; any sort of association with Viktor Krum was a good boost for business; their very public relationship was even better. Things were leading up to the Quidditch World Cup, which meant more friendly matches between international teams on top of the regular League ones, more public appearances, and more instances for her to be seen with her boyfriend. It had taken some getting used to -- the moniker -- but over a month in, it was more familiar now. She hadn’t thought she’d get herself back into some sort of stable relationship so quickly after Will, but it had been too good to pass up.

Plus, Viktor was lovely and she usually enjoyed her time with him, of course. It was going to be tricky, though; she was well aware that this couldn’t work forever, and letting him down at a later date was going to be complicated, especially considering the effect she knew she had on men, but she’d figure something out.

But for now, Honey was doing her best to blend into her surroundings; however, ‘doing her best’ still meant a candy pink colored dress and somehow redder than usual hair gently curled and a general overall ‘I look amazing, don’t I?’ kind of vibe. But now that the press conference -- a shared panel between half of the World Cup’s seekers -- had ended and Viktor was tied up with more personal interviews for a while, Honey could do her best to let him attract his own attention by sticking close to the bar. She had no plans to get plastered, but a little bit of a buzz would be welcome, especially if Viktor wanted to talk with her at any point in the evening.

There were a few round high tables near the bar, and Honey had staked her claim at one with her second glass of champagne. She was less familiar with international players than she was with those in the British and Irish league, and such a wide international audience was not always enthusiastic about a small sweetshop in a village in Scotland -- go figure -- so it was turning into a bit of a quiet evening. No matter. It’d be over soon enough, and she’d go home with Viktor and distract him from talking. Simple enough.

She stopped mid-sip and set her glass down, crossing her arms on the table in front of her, catching sight of a very familiar figure as the crowd parted. @Harlan Bellamy at a quidditch event shouldn’t have been surprising, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting to run into him here, in Lisbon, at an event she thought was catered toward international teams’ publicity. It was a good surprise though; she supposed they were something like friends now; at the very least she was fairly confident he wouldn’t be mad at her if he saw her, which she would see to shortly.

The wait wasn’t too long; she watched as he broke away from the last reporter, making a beeline for the bar. She was a bit out of the way, and while she doubted there was any way he couldn’t notice her, Honey took a few steps closer to the bar to intercept him. She had one hand on her glass and the other on her purse, all temptations for any sort of physical contact effectively squashed. Either the champagne was very strong or the many foreign accents around were making it more noticeable, but her accent was thick as she greeted him: “Hope you’re done with work because I could use a distraction from being bored.” Adding a small smirk, Honey took another sip from her glass before setting it on the bar -- before she thought better of having free hands and picked it back up.

It had been quite some time since the captain of The Gravesend Griffins was voluntarily without a drink in his hand at a press event. At least one that actually tasted like alcohol; one that effectively relaxed the tension in his shoulders and made the conversations of evening a semblance of bearable. The faux-beverage that was currently in the grasp of his tightly clenched palm was, in reality, just a bit of seltzer water with a lime for taste but he was surprised by how powerful it was. At one point in the night, even he forgot that the illusion was just that, an illusion. The tension in his shoulders had relaxed without him even noticing and conversations were only a fraction of misery inducing.

Harlan Bellamy found himself in Lisbon at one of the many events leading up to the World Cup. Unbeknownst to most of those in the sport, even those 'in the know', Harlan's agent had worked tirelessly to get the Beater on a short list for the English National Team. The achievement was something that had always been on the man's radar, but had only become tangible later in his career when his hot-headed temperament had reduced to more of a simmer than boil.

There was only one small snag in the procession of his addition to the national team, his public persona. Or lack thereof, according to the Public Relations Department of The Gravesend Griffins. Harlan was notoriously bad with press; he hated the consistent repetitive questions that seemed to be more geared to who was in his bed than who was in his pitch, and he did little to hide his disdain with the fact. The inundation of such questions led to his inevitable break, whether it be an instant front page argument or simply storming off, leaving a room full of reporters and his team scrambling to clean up the mess that he made. The cycle of his tabloid success was a deadly one, the more he was pushed, the more that he gave the vultures, and he couldn't control it.

Until now. To join the national team was his chance to make a real move in his career. He was itching for growth soon after his first year as Captain of the Griffins had passed, and he was going to do everything in his power to attain it. Even if that meant press events, sober, with a (sort of) smile. Having successfully fielded a few generic questions before the press moved on to the confirmed played for The Cup, Harlan moved out of habit to the bar despite the fact that he would certainly not find his usual release there. His handler, also known as his agent, had confirmed that before arrival. Apparently Harlan was more prone to physical violence with whiskey in his system. Who knew?

"Honey," Harlan reacted to the woman who had cut off his path before he'd reached the bar, with red hair sweeping over her shoulder and cascading down the bright pink of her dress, making it hard for him to focus on any one particular thing. "Honey Bea Flume," He repeated as if he had just seen her. It had been quite some time since they spent their time together, pre-Krum. They had a good thing going for a few months, maintaining all things physical while avoiding any real emotions. At least those that were too detrimental.

"Bored?" The wizard repeated incredulously, taking a step back as an excuse to take in her full appearance. Silver eyes drifting from foot to head with a smile, almost knowing, before speaking again. "From brains to brawn, you can't be that surprised," He leaned forward to whisper, referencing the drastic difference between William Dasher and the woman's current beau, before taking another step back. The bartender had wordlessly sent another mock drink his way. "I'm surprised it's taken so long for us to run into each other," He held his glass up to Honey's. "To shared circles," He hit the bottom of his glass to the lip of her own, eyes not breaking their connection.

“Harlan Bellamy,” Honey repeated warmly, though her one raised eyebrow was indication enough that she was questioning the use of her full name. But she relaxed her face into a smirk as he took a step back; she didn’t take her eyes off of his, enjoying the fact that he was taking it all in. She sipped her champagne, still looking at him over the rim of her glass; she only dropped her gaze as he leaned in and dropped his voice.

From brains to brawn. He wasn’t completely wrong, not really, but the major contributing factor to her attraction to Will was due to physical reasons -- she certainly had a thing for a man who could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder -- but his reading abilities were a bonus. Viktor knew how to read; she’d never seen him actually doing it, but she didn’t doubt that he could. Never mind that Harlan fit neatly into both categories.

He stepped back and Honey was able to gather her thoughts. “And you can’t be surprised that I need constant stimulation.” She shrugged off the bartender’s frown at her innuendo, her eyes quickly finding Harlan’s again. She wasn’t one who chose her words any differently just because she was speaking to someone she wasn’t sleeping with anymore. She wasn’t going to read into any subconscious factors that might be playing a part here.

She chanced a glance down at his glass as he brought it to hers. Ignoring his toast for a moment, Honey raised an eyebrow at his drink of choice. “Hope that’s not gin.” She smirked, clearly referencing the last time he had gin in her presence, when he forgot that self-imposed ‘no making out with Honey in public’ rule. It hadn’t been an issue at the time, as they had perfected finding places -- usually out of the country -- where no one knew them, but sticking around a gin-soaked Harlan now wouldn’t end well for her. Honey finished her glass and lowered it to her chest, not wanting to let her hands free even if it was just to get rid of an empty glass.

“Shared circles,” she said finally remembering his earlier words. Honey reluctantly removed her gaze from his to take a look over his shoulder, across the large room to where she had last seen Viktor. There were still plenty of reporters in the area, and no sight of her not-taller-than-the-crowd boyfriend, so she moved her eyes back to Harlan’s. “I was almost starting to think you were avoiding me,” she offered with a smile; it was only half true, of course, but it wasn’t unheard of for men to distance themselves from her when she was done with them. Harlan wasn’t that type, though, and had actually taken the whole thing rather well. How novel.

“Or you’re just not very good at avoiding me.” She was conscious of the space between them, and how new that was, and how she didn’t feel worse about wanting there to be less space. “Can’t say I mind,” she said with a shrug. “Y’know. For the boredom thing.”

Harlan shot a sideways glance to the bartender who currently was fumbling with a glass he had been cleaning. The poor kid had nearly dropped the delicate flute straight onto the marble bar in response to Honey's proclamation regarding her need for stimuli. The Captain surprised a laugh, steel coloured eyes doing their best to remain apologetic despite the fact that he was feeling far from the emotion. Honey had always been entertaining, there was no denying that, but under the scrutiny of almost everyone in the room she was going to have to be more careful than that. He returned his gaze to her own knowingly, jaw terse underneath a smile.

At the mention of gin, the wizard shook his head. For some, tequila was their kryptonite, paving the way for a night of madness; for Harlan, that belonged solely to gin. Without fail, any night drinking the alcohol was bound to be one of many firsts, from tattoos in foreign towns, dancing on bars while missing various items of clothing, and making out with just about anyone who would have him. Honey had been subjected to all three over the course of their rendezvous that were spread across the vastness of cities in which no one knew their faces.

"You'd be in trouble right about now if it were," Harlan swirled the drink around in his palm, watching with interest as the lime sloshed from side to side. "Alas," He sighed, almost sounding disappointed that it wasn't. "Seltzer," The wizard shrugged. "I'm on my best behaviour tonight," He explained in short. If any of his handlers had spotted him by now (which surely they had), there was no doubt they would be actively preparing for crisis control. The redheaded witch, they had learned, would only mean a shift in the night for him.

Harlan offered a small smile as Honey suggested that he had been avoiding her. In truth, she wasn't wrong. She had been with Krum for quite some time now, and he had no intention of getting involved with that press debacle. It wasn't that he didn't want to get in the way of what promised to the romance of the century, more so that he was looking to avoid any of the unwanted attention from the press. Even now, he was aware of keeping distance between them, keeping his reactions as muted as possible, scanning the room every so often. It appeared Honey was doing the same.

"Am I keeping you?" He lowered his voice in jest, responding to her eyes that were no doubt also looking to make sure that not too many eyes had spotted them in the secluded area of the side bar. Lucky for them, most of the press were distracted by the interviews in the opposite direction to even look their way, but Harlan knew better than to believe that they were flying under the radar. "Avoiding you?" He casually leaned against the bar, thankful their eavesdropper had moved to making another patron drinks. "I don't think that's possible, unfortunately," Harlan took a breath. "Trust me, I've tried," The wizard smiled, teetering on being playful.

"I can't promise to be all that much fun," Harlan explained matter of factly. "Once the Grffins Public Relations team sees that red hair in my proximity I'll be whisked away for fear of a tabloid frenzy," He chuckled into his glass of the suddenly less-than-satisfactory sparkling water.

She'd be in trouble -- she wasn't sure if was the good sort or not, but Honey shrugged all the same, still glancing down at Harlan's drink. She reckoned he would be in equal amounts of trouble, and she was about to tell him as much when he spoke again; her eyes shot back up to his face. "Seltzer," she repeated, half a bemused grin tugging her lips up at one corner. He was on his best behavior apparently; it shouldn't have come as too much of a shock at a quidditch event, but she had had that small hope that seeing him here at an international thing would mean he wasn't here for business. Honey decided not to question the 'why' part of why he was there at all, then.

Honey took the slightest step back, her best and most generous offer to help keep him on his best behavior. She was suddenly glad she had finished her champagne, not wanting a) to be the only one of the pair drinking because that didn't usually end in her best behavior and b) the small chance that her not-best behavior could somehow be rejected, if she got to that point. The fact that those concerns shouldn't have even been on her mind -- considering her boyfriend was standing across the room -- hadn't occurred to her.

"I--" she brought her eyes back to Harlan's after being caught out for looking for her plus one, "No, 'course not." Honey wasn't about to admit that Viktor was simply too busy for her sometimes; it was an uncomfortable thing for her to not be in control of her social schedule like she was now. She shrugged, offering him the slightest smile. Rumors were just rumors where Harlan was concerned -- if anything, Viktor ought to worry about those other people she had been seen with, though for the most part everything was pretty much a one time kind of thing. Honey motioned to herself with the hand still holding tight to her glass. "I am, officially, the arm candy for the evening." She didn't really appreciate that much, either; she'd rather be pushing her business instead of making small talk.

She nodded; yes, avoiding her. She held still as Harlan leaned against the bar, thankful for another smidgen of space between them -- every little bit helped her focus. "Gotta give you credit for trying to avoid me in Lisbon, though. There are much worse places." He didn't need to know that she had been casually avoiding London for his benefit. Well, also for Will's. And Charlie's. And her own, a little bit, she supposed.

Honey took another glance at his drink with his lack of enthusiasm for keeping her entertained, then back up to his face with a raised eyebrow. It was almost flattering to be so well-noticed by his PR team, but she was too keenly aware how little Harlan enjoyed the press. Besides, she was still trying to let him be on his best behavior. Well, what she could consider his best, anyway. Honey smirked and offered him a shrug. "If them noticing my hair is your backwards way to try and fulfill some sort of blonde fantasy with me, it's a little too late, don't you think?"

But really, if the thing that would stop them having a perfectly civilized conversation would be his PR team seeing them together, then they just needed to not be seen. "There's a bar around the corner," she offered casually, motioning vaguely in one direction. "I bet you could get a drink and be back before they've even noticed you're gone." And her, too, though she supposed she was lucky there was really only one person who would be looking for her, as much as it pained her to admit.

Harlan, surprised that Honey hadn't immediately tried to sneak gin into his drink at the mention of him being sober for the evening, took another unsatisfactory sip from his beverage. Perhaps Krum really did have some sort of calming effect on her. He smiled knowingly in return to her disbelief, an attempt to assure her that he was being serious. He was thankful that she didn't press the matter further as he was sworn to secrecy on behalf of his manager, who, just earlier that evening, had promised to break his shins if he ruined the night. This was Harlan's one shot to behave for just a few short hours to prove that he could handle the pressure of being on a national team. The Captain of the Gravesend Griffins was one thing, The World Cup was another beast entirely.

"Arm candy?" The wizard repeated with raised eyebrows. It wasn't unlike Honey to enjoy to attention, but to simply be the decor for someone else was not her style. At least as far as he'd known. Honey was a much better suited leader, despite the fact that he would never admit it. She called her own shots and made her own schedule. In part, that very trait was why they so often were met with an argument. There was a power struggle between the two who both equally as comfortable with the reigns in their own hands. "I don't believe it," He declared, scepticism clear across his furrowed brow.

Steel eyes travelling the expanse of the faceless crowd, searching for someone familiar who no doubt would be starting back at him with disapproval, were met with no such event. As far as he could tell, he'd gone unnoticed. For now, at least. "Blonde?" Harlan refocused his attention back on the much more appealing subject in front of him. "You know I prefer brunette," He grinned mischievously, exposing white teeth like fangs.

At the mention of an escape, Harlan's smile turned, jaw tensing his smile into a line amidst his thoughts. The very idea of getting away from the event was more than appealing, although the infuriating voice in the back of his mind had decided otherwise. "That's unlikely," He let out a drawn out sigh. "See that bloke there," Harlan leaned forward for a moment, hand briefly touching Honey's back as he directed her attention to the older bald man at the other corner of the bar who was doing everything but looking in their direction.

"My personal nanny for the evening," He rolled his eyes, taking a quick step back before lingering for too long. "Wherever I go, he goes," Harlan explained, having only noticed the man half way through he and Honey's conversation. He recognised him immediately, despite the change in hair style from the last time he'd seen him at the Griffins headquarters. "Unless you've got a grand escape plan?" Harlan leaned back on his elbow expectantly. Maybe she hadn't changed all that much since their last encounter.

"Yes, well." Honey shrugged, fully aware that he was probably thinking along the same lines as her. Arm candy was so far out of her normal playbook that it was near unbelievable; she assumed there was some part of Viktor -- one guess which part -- actually wanted her to be there, but considering they had spent about two minutes together the entire evening, she wasn't exactly enthused. Though, she supposed, she didn't mind too terribly much. "Believe it or not, you have to admit I'm at least looking the part." She finally set her empty glass down on the bar so she could use her free hand to motion to herself again, this time drawing her hand up her side to ensure she had Harlan's attention.

She watched his face even as he took his eyes off of her, not wanting to miss his reaction to her words. "Oh, how could I forget?" Honey shrugged one shoulder and returned his grin with a smirk of her own. They shared similar interests: brunette women. She assumed his mind had flashed back to the same memory hers had, one which, coincidentally enough, had been generously sponsored by gin. Pity that as a sober person, Harlan would probably have some sort of conscience about reliving that with her any time soon.

Her face fell as Harlan didn't immediately agree to her plan to get out of there. She honestly had thought no one would have noticed, but even if they had, what would have been the worst outcome? More rumors? As if Honey would do anything to jeopardize her relationship with her boyfriend in the room; she wouldn't have been so obvious about it, at least. She cleared her throat, as if anyone in the room could read her thoughts.

She turned as Harlan directed her to; she leaned back into his touch just the slightest bit, enough to be noticeable to him, not enough to be obvious to anyone else. She had been doing so well avoiding touching him, had put extra space between them, was so inexplicably distracted by his hand that she almost missed the whole point of the gesture: the man at the end of the bar who was apparently going to be the bane of her existence.

"Cute." Honey noticed the ceased touch before anything else, though she kept her eyes fixed on the other man before turning herself and her attentions back to Harlan, not bothering to put that space from earlier back between them. "That seems a little.. excessive. Even for you." She skipped over her joke about being tightly restrained, though she laughed anyway. "Iiiii --" She reluctantly tore her gaze away from Harlan and glanced back at the man at the end of the bar. "Do not," she finished after a beat. "That was my plan."

Honey turned back to Harlan, her back to Harlan's keeper. "I could always just sneak you a drink." She glanced down at his glass for no more than a second before making up her mind. "Yeah, I'm going to sneak you a drink." She smirked as she lowered her voice. "Don't tell me the bartender is keeping you sober, too, because I'm going to start blaming you for being bored." She touched his arm lightly before stepping around him and heading toward the other end of the bar, away from the man that had been pointed out to her. "Besides," she drew a hand up her side again before tilting her head toward the young bartender with a look that said, As if he could say no.

She returned with a vodka soda that looked suspiciously like seltzer and another glass of champagne after just a couple minutes, and she set down Harlan's unwanted-but-not-protested drink on the bar between them. "You don't have to drink it, but then I'll have to, so," Honey shrugged as she took a sip from her own glass before smirking over the rim. "Win win, I guess."

Harlan needed no further persuasion to take Honey in. From the top of her ever-familiar hue of red hair, down the cascading pink of her dress that landed perfectly across her collarbones, all the way to her exposed legs, he took his time. Stone colored eyes that now bore a silvery shimmer finally travelled back up her body to make contact with her eyes again. A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. "Do I?" The wizard dared in response to her non-question. "I much prefer when you aren't," Harlan declared, the fire in eyes betraying his attempt to rile her up with his nonchalance. "Looking the part of arm candy, that is," He casually raised a hand to mock air quotes at the mention.

At the mention of their shared affinity for women with dark hair, his once half smiled had quickly grown, dimpling at either side of his cheeks. For a moment Harlan recalled their shared experiences. He nodded simply in response, knowingly. The memories of their trysts felt distant now as they attempted their best effort at friendship from a safe distance. A safe distance in which neither was tempted. Anything physically closer and they would be treading on dangerous waters. With he and Honey, there really was no in between.

An opportunity to get closer, though, as innocent as it was, had presented itself without Harlan orchestrating too much. While he drew attention to the Griffins personnel that had been sanctioned to make sure he didn't mess up their master plan of getting him on the national team, Honey leaning into him had proved to be far more interesting. The action was subtle enough, but he'd certainly taken notice almost immediately. He paused, if only for a moment, in his speech. She must have done that deliberately. But why, he wondered. Hadn't she a one Viktor Krum to keep her entertained? Not that he was complaining of course.

Even though Honey had no real plan beyond her idea to skip the event entirely, her suggestion to sneak him booze was the second best option. Well, third best thing as far as he could see. Harlan wasn't given the chance to protest before she made her way with purpose some distance from him to order their drinks. Harlan glanced at his handler, that was surveying the room with precision. Not once had he been caught even looking in their direction, but Harlan knew well enough to be sure that he was fully aware of the captains every movement.

"Gin?" He asked, noting the new lack of space that Honey had put between them upon her reentrance to his side of the bar. One sip and his question had been answered. "Smart decision," Harlan decided, enjoying the actual release of tension (albeit not realistically instant) that the vodka had provided his shoulders. "Cheers," He spoke louder now, the sight of the bartender who had been commanded to avoid all alcohol around the man catching his attention from the corner of his eye. "For the water," Harlan clarified, daring a touch to Honey's waist as he half-sat on the stool behind him, his legs turned to face her directly.

"Well, how's business?" Harlan couldn't help but smirk over the lip of his drink. He knew as well as she did that his question had no merit. Historically, that specific small talk had been their secret cue, their code words if you will. Not once, had she actually answered. Usually the three words led them to some more private area to carry out what had become an almost purely physical relationship. He took a long sip before speaking up again. This time was different. She had Krum. And he had the national team. Just as he'd opened his mouth to speak to his poor attempt at a joke, a stranger had sidled up next to Honey.

"Miss Flume!" The shrill voice of the sleek haired woman whom Harlan recognized as a new Prophet media reporter (entirely unrelated to the sport section) had interrupted. Harlan shifted so that Honey wasn't directly in the direction of his legs, looking elsewhere distractedly. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in that. Hopefully Honey could fend her off before anything too detrimental for either of them occurred.

Honey enjoyed his continued lack of protest, and she softened her smirk as much as possible just in case there was a wandering eye. She shook her head at his question, taking a sip of her champagne as Harlan tested out his own drink to find an answer for himself. “I’ve been known to make those.” Smart decisions, that is. She’d certainly consider this another one of those. She glanced back at the bartender, this time offering him a much more genuine look of thanks; she knew she’d have to get creative if she wanted to be able to secure Harlan another drink.

She didn’t miss him, she didn’t think. Not really, anyway. Maybe she missed the way she felt with him, but she was confident she could find that feeling elsewhere. Harlan wasn’t a vital part in all of that. But as he touched her waist, even as lightly as he did, she started to reconsider. She straightened her back, improving his view; the second that his hand was on her passed equally slowly and quickly.

Deciding to remain standing, Honey shrugged one shoulder. She studied him over the rim of her glass, trying to determine if he was genuinely asking about business or simply asking about business. But after a few seconds of consideration, Honey decided she didn’t care to know his true intention. It was enough to know that he was positioned toward her and she could easily rest a hand on his knee if she was so inclined -- she wasn’t, of course, but she could certainly entertain the option. He looked like he wanted to say something else -- maybe reconsider her earlier proposal to sneak out for a little bit -- and she just nearly forgot about Viktor on the other side of the room.

But as if the universe could tell she was thinking about a man that wasn’t her boyfriend, it sent someone to intervene. The Miss Flume that it sent was shrill and shocking and if Honey hadn’t been so focused on Harlan’s calming features, she might have been more startled.

She had a lot of reasons to not want to talk to a reporter right now; the obvious reason was sitting beside her. But business was business and she couldn’t bring herself any bad press, not after everything she was already putting herself through. “Honey Bea, please.” She transferred her glass to her left hand and offered the woman her right, turning her body slightly so that she was more directly facing her. “Did you see my father? He’s around here somewhere,” Honey glanced across the room like she was looking for someone, though her dad was safe and sound at home in Majorca. He was notorious for being hard to pin down for an interview, though, and his words were highly regarded in The Prophet. It had annoyed her initially, that reporters only wanted to talk to him instead of her, but she jumped at the opportunity to use him as her scapegoat.

“Really,” Honey said as soon as the reporter expressed disbelief. “He’s had a couple so he’s pretty talkative, too.” Honey smiled her best customer service smile, counting the seconds until the woman walked away. She held her breath, almost expecting the reporter to come back, and exhaled as soon as it was clear that she and Harlan were once again being left alone. She turned back to him, quirking one eyebrow as she took another sip of her drink. “This is fun.”

She smirked as she brought her glass down, wondering if it was too soon to ask if he wanted to get a drink at a second location. It was almost nostalgic, really, thinking about how they would find ways to be alone, how she would feel alone when she was with him, no matter how many people were around them. That was part of the problem, she supposed. He wasn’t supposed to be here, at this international sort of thing. If his quidditch career was progressing, it might cause some issues. Whether or not they were issues she wanted to deal with was a whole other problem.

Her eyes flicked toward the man still stationed at the end of the bar, the man still looking anywhere but in her direction, before she brought her gaze back to Harlan. She could feel the champagne getting to her -- she had forgotten to eat dinner, too focused on getting ready and traveling -- but she thought she was still being rather discreet. Or discreet enough, anyway. There was still space between them, and she hadn’t had enough alcohol that she was acting too Scottish.

“Business is… kind of bland,” she said finally, with a shrug. She drained her glass and shrugged again, not looking away. “Nice, but there’s been times I’ve been more entertained with my—“ she paused to consider her words, not to worry about if he was catching her underlying meaning or not.

Harlan, now turned to face the bar, was intent on looking anywhere else than in the direction of the conversation to his right. The condensation on his glass, the presumptuous look of the bartender who had sworn to the Griffins personnel that he would not allow alcohol to get in the hands of their captain, even watching the painful attempt of players, who's only goal for the night was to get in as many photo as possible, was a better alternative for the man to focus on. For both he and Honey's sake.

Despite this though, he couldn't tune out from the conversation completely. When it came to her, ignoring was never an option, not entirely at least. A small smile pulled at his lips, which Harlan quickly covered with his drink as listened in. He had to give it to her, Honey was good at evading the attention from the reporter. Even he believed her for a moment. He could learn a thing or two from that sort of skill, that control, not that he would ever admit it.

Once the two of them were left alone, he breathed out, half turning back toward her although more cautiously now. It seemed that she agreed with his feelings toward the secrecy that they had found themselves sworn to. There was an electricity that was ignited, perhaps due to their history of keeping whatever relationship they had private, and it was palpable.

"Wonder who will show up next," He smiled before turning to look at her again. "That was impressive," He declared, rare sincerity apparent in his tone. Harlan raised an eyebrow at Honey's less-than-satisfactory response to business. He rested a hand on the palm of his hand as he studied her reaction. Bad business was definitely not what he expected to hear, not with all of the talk swirling around about she and Krum within the the Quidditch circuit.

"Personal endeavors?" He finished her statement, somehow having turned back into their original closeness unknowingly. "I'm very sorry to hear that," Harlan teased. "Though, I'm sure it will pick back up soon enough," He ventured, the idea of their escape sounding more and more enticing as the conversation floated on, as naturally as he'd recalled. "About that escape plan -" Harlan began, before a shriek from just behind him caught his attention, nearly sending the drink from his hand.

The two women whom the noise belonged to nearly knocked him out of his seat with excitement. "Harlan Bellamy!" He wasn't sure who of the two it came from. "A photo, please," The blonde asked, although the question was more rhetoric than literal. Harlan glanced at his handler for the evening, who for once was looking back at him, and nodded affirmation. This was part of the territory, it seemed. Harlan turned back to the women in their early-twenties, who were looking back at him expectantly. "Sure," He stood up from his seat. "Miss," The chestnut haired witch looked to Honey. "Would you mind?" She held up a camera that Harlan had never seen before. Youth.

Honey Bea shrugged off his -- was it a compliment? -- words about her handling of the Prophet reporter, but she couldn’t hide her smile. She quirked an eyebrow and hid her thanks in her glass, along with her hope that they wouldn’t be interrupted again. She assumed she didn’t need to tell him how much she was enjoying their time together; that much must have been obvious, just like it always -- well, usually -- was. Honey glanced at the drink in his hands, figuring that she’d time her repeated request for finding a second location with his next glass.

“Personal endeavors,” Honey agreed with a smirk, her gaze shifting quickly to the small mob of reporters across the room, seemingly gathered around her most personal of endeavors; but there wasn’t much to look at -- besides the backsides of reporters -- and she looked back to Harlan, not displeased to find him a bit closer than when she had looked away. “You think so?” She raised her eyebrows at his surety that things would pick back up, unsure if he was offering to help her with that or not. She decided to err on the side of the things she wanted to hear: he could help her with it.

Honey had just enough time to smirk before she saw two women rapidly approaching over Harlan’s shoulder. She stopped thinking about that escape plan and all the merits associated with it; she hadn’t yet figured out the logistics of actually leaving without being noticed, anyway. The women -- they were shriekers -- invaded their personal space and she glanced from their faces to his, hardly suppressing a smirk. She knew from experience how much he loved fan photos and it almost made up for the interruption. She had to lean back a touch to avoid being elbowed in the chest and she was so focused on balancing -- and wondering where her next drink was -- that she almost missed the question now being directed in her direction.

“Of course not,” she lied, twisting to set her empty glass down on the bar before delicately taking the camera from the younger woman’s hand. Honey’s please-the-reporters smile had faltered as soon she had been relegated to the ranks of ‘the help’ rather than anything of value. She glanced at the camera only briefly before straightening up and walking a few steps back, wanting it to seem like she was doing everything possible to get them the perfect photograph. Bringing the viewfinder to her eye with one hand, she used her other to motion the two women to squeeze in with Harlan. “Closer, closer, have to get in the frame, y’know.” She didn’t think that Harlan would miss her smirk even from behind the camera.

She stopped motioning with her hand and instead steadied the camera, her finger conveniently finding the flash and knowingly covering half of it. It wasn’t that she was jealous or upset or anything other than completely understanding of their admiration of certain quidditch players -- no, apparently she was upset and would have appreciated not being interrupted. “One… two…” She snapped the photo before saying, “Three.” She smiled as she handed the camera back, not wasting any time after the women had thanked him for the photo nearly a million times and left before she had reclaimed her stool. “An heirloom to last them a lifetime,” she said with a smile, finding her empty glass quickly and motioning for a refill.

“I still have my souvenir photo,” she offered with a knowing smirk, referring to the shot taken at that gala over a year ago, their first night together. It was tucked away neatly out of sight of prying eyes but the good memories associated with it certainly warranted her keeping it safe. Her thoughts took a neat turn back to her personal endeavors and she shrugged one shoulder, looking back out into the crowd. “I think you gave me unrealistic expectations about quidditch players.” She turned back to Harlan and smirked, shrugging again. “Pity.”

It seemed that Harlan and Honey's run-in, that, for once, had not been orchestrated, was cursed. The conclusion came to him as he looked into the soulless eyes of the women before him, who were practically salivating at the opportunity for a photo. He wondered in vain if they wanted the photo to simply show off the souvenir -- forget having an actual, genuine conversation with the captain with whom they were such great fans of. The Englishman had half a mind to not-so-politely decline, but the looming presence of Griffins' eyes on him had directed him otherwise. He had an image that they needed him to portray, and that included being nice to all fans, these included.

Honey was playing along as well, although he knew better than to assume her compliance was anything more than a facade. Despite this though, she showed no sign of retaliation as she took the camera in her own hands. Was she up to something, or had she truly changed her ways? The Honey he'd known would have fired back in some way, but this new, Krum-era Honey showed restraint. For the second time in the night he was in awe by her self control. Selfishly, he hoped that the streak wouldn't last long.

Now securely trapped between the two young women that had pushed their bodies as close to his own as humanly possible, Harlan prepared himself for the photo. What he imagined would be a smile certainly looked more like a grimace. Closer? The captain shot a glare at Honey behind the camera, catching her smirk even from a distance. Perhaps she hadn't changed that much after all.

Left to themselves again, Harlan slumped back into the stool, half seated and half prepared to stand again for the next guest to interrupt their conversation. Who would it be now? The President of the Griffins? Viktor Krum? Her father? The possibilities were endless, and seemingly all out to get them. After taking a gracious mouthful of his drink, Harlan turned to Honey again in response to her statement.

"Do you now?" He couldn't help but smile. "Framed on your bedside table, I take it?" Harlan referenced the time he'd spotted a photo with an old boyfriend framed on the counter in Honeydukes. Truthfully, the idea that Honey kept it, hidden away, was more than intriguing. Her next words, though, were even more so. Harlan's smile turned immediately to something more serious, more intent, studying her He scanned her eyes, trying to comprehend what she was actually saying, to decipher the words that been carefully woven around the ones spoken aloud.

It felt in an instant that the distractions around them dissipated, gone into thin air in the time that it took for her statement to register. Was she teasing him now? Harlan had no time to figure it out and instead spoke out of impulse "That is a pity," He agreed, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure there is something we can do about that?" Harlan leaned forward to collect Honey's drink from the bartender who had approached from her right, and rested a hand atop her thigh. The action was subtle, but dangerous given their location, and likely held for just a moment too long.

“Under my pillow,” she replied with a small smile, sure that the photo’s real location -- her underwear drawer -- was information better saved for a conversation with far less people around. She maintained eye contact with him, hoping that he would read into her words exactly how she had intended him to. Harlan seemed to be good at that, knowing what she meant without her having to say it, knowing what she wanted, anticipating her moves. She liked that -- and that she could have that with someone without having something as silly as feelings attached. Unrealistic expectations wasn’t hyperbole as much as she might have wanted it to be.

Honey raised an eyebrow when Harlan did the same. “Isn’t it?” She caught the movement of the bartender out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t take her gaze off of Harlan -- he was far more interesting than champagne, anyway. She raised her other eyebrow to match the first at his next question. There was something they could do about it, but she had ruined that something by being involved with Viktor in the first place, then Harlan had ruined that something by showing up here where said boyfriend was. And all that was assuming they were thinking about the same something. The hand on her thigh suggested that they were.

It was a simple gesture, really, and not one that Honey would normally take for more than its face value: just two touchy people sitting close, something that she would do without a second thought. But it followed that question -- his offer? -- and it was Harlan. It wasn’t that it was suggestive; Honey had no shortage of that in her life. It was electrifying almost, in a way she didn’t think she would be able to replicate if it had been her boyfriend sitting there instead. She finally took her eyes off of him as her thoughts passed to Viktor; she glanced sideways to find that the reporters were still keeping him more or less preoccupied.

She caught Harlan’s eye again and leaned toward him just a touch, taking the glass of champagne from him. She was focused more on her other hand, though; Honey rested it lightly on top of Harlan’s for a second before moving both of their hand up her thigh, just a couple of inches. It was just as subtle as his move was, she supposed, but after another second she reconsidered and picked his hand up and off of her leg. Even her exhibitionism had some limits. But she didn’t lean back, didn’t put any more space between them, simply uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way.

“Nothing we can do about it.” Honey glanced back at the crowd as she sipped her drink. “Here, I mean.” She turned her attentions back to Harlan with a smirk. “What with your nanny and your best behavior and my… endeavors.” She wasn’t sure at what point in the past few minutes of their conversation she had decided she was perfectly fine with using Harlan to keep her from going crazy in her relationship. “I--” she started, stopping to consider her words. “You should stop by sometime. See what I’ve been working on, sample some things. Get your business updates, up close and personal.” She softened her smirk somewhat, as if she might have been actually talking about her work.

In an instant, the ubiquitous sounds of the crowd around he and Honey had dissipated, their echoes sinking into very walls that had kept them contained. Though Harlan was aware of those around him, buzzing across the room in their attempt to get noticed, he certainly no longer cared to feign his interest. As far as he was concerned, there was only one thing he was putting his energy into now, and that was the witch in front of him who was currently moving his hand up her leg.

While the impulse decision wasn't executed to illicit such a response, Harlan was not protesting. In fact, he wasn't sure if there was anything that could stop the momentum that they set in motion. The small voice that he had shoved to the back of his consciousness was currently setting off every alarm bell possible, to no avail. Even the threat of his manager making a surprise visit felt too distant to be effective.

Unknowingly Harlan had leaned closer to Honey as he followed her movement, only becoming aware of his position in the absence of their the touch. After a moment though, he straightened up, the cacophony of the crowd returning loudly around him and inundating his senses. Though Harlan's gaze remained unmoved, his features had settled somewhere between amused and frustrated; his lips had pulled into a reluctant half smile, brow furrowed.

Their banter was a more-than-welcome reprieve from his otherwise mundane evening, so much so that he didn't want to lose that feeling just yet. The grey area they had landed in, between friendship and something more, was exciting. Particularly while that something more was impossible. While almost every cell in his body was screaming, attempting to formulate some sort of escape plan for them, the logical part of his brain was making the calls.

"One of these days," Harlan avoided a definitive answer, sitting back in his chair,  mind now made up. He should leave. After a quick nod of appreciation to the bartender and a cursory glance at the Griffins personnel, he stood to Honey. "For now, I've surpassed my patience threshold for a press event," His eyes shot to the increasingly boisterous event, suddenly aware of how surprising it was that he had made it so long.

Seated, the witch was significantly shorter than he, and Harlan had lean down to embrace her. The action was quick, as to not call on any unwanted attention, but he lingered for half of a moment. "You know how I enjoy sweets," Harlan spoke directly into her ear before a quick, platonic kiss on the cheek. Without another word he lost himself in the sea of faces, weaving through suits and sequins in an attempt to find refuge.

As Harlan straightened up and away from her, Honey questioned why she had bothered to take his hand off her thigh in the first place. She didn’t have anyone watching her, after all. She drowned her thoughts with champagne, sure she didn’t want to jeopardize anything work-related for him just so they could do a bit of very innocent touching.

She raised an eyebrow, convinced that Harlan’s non answer to her invitation was better than an outright refusal. She knew he understood what she was getting at, and she assumed that he knew she wasn’t the sort of person to ask twice. Glancing down to his drink very briefly, Honey made up her mind to sneak him another drink and pretend she had a better escape plan this time, though she had nothing more than ‘we just walk out of here’. But he stood and stopped her before she even had the chance to ask; she was almost certain she didn’t let her expression show her disappointment to be left by herself again. “Of course,” she offered, her gaze following his as he looked out at the crowd — reporters still shielding her boyfriend from view.

Honey made eye contact with him as he turned back toward her, her final invitation a silent one; they were good enough at unspoken signals that she didn’t think she would be misunderstood. She returned his embrace — reluctantly, almost — with the hand holding her glass of champagne still situated between them. It lasted too long for it to be a completely platonic sort of hug, and she couldn’t hide the smirk on her lips as he spoke again. She knew that nothing she could say would convince him to stay now and any response she wanted to make wouldn’t do to be overheard, so she stayed silent as he kissed her cheek, raising an eyebrow as he pulled away.

She watched him leave over the rim of her glass, her gaze drifting south as usual, before turning back to the bar before ordering a glass of Scotch to hold onto the Harlan feeling for a few more minutes.

[[ end ]]