everyone knows someone who kills the buzz [fergie]

october 2002

Honey poured out just a touch more sugar into her coffee, which was already more cream than actual coffee, stirring it with her other hand. The fire had been lit for a few minutes now; that plus the coffee and Honey was almost starting to feel like an actual person. It was early -- for her -- Sunday and once again she was questioning if Honeydukes really benefitted from extended weekend hours, even though she knew well enough that it did. She yawned, not removing her hand from the spoon to cover her mouth.

There was a little tap at the window and Honey looked over lazily. It was an owl with the paper, rather than any post, and almost reluctantly, Honey (and her cup of coffee) moved to the window, opening it just enough to trade a knut for the paper without letting too much of the warm air out. She wasn’t awake enough to bother with the paper -- the sun was barely up, anyway -- and she tossed it on the counter as she moved back toward the fireplace. It was one of those very large sorts, set into the wall, very original to the building, full of soot and pots and pans and--

The flames turned green and Honey let out a yelp, dropping her cup and jumping back to avoid any of the hot coffee splashback. She wasn’t exactly expecting anyone; most everyone knew that she didn’t handle surprises well, visits or  otherwise; her brother knew better than to barge in lest he interrupt anything; her parents would drop by at anytime, really, but it wasn’t like the store was particularly busy -- Halloween was still weeks away.

So far she had thrown on a sweater and pair of jeans, but she hadn’t gotten much farther along in her personal prep for the day; that would have to be good enough for them. There wasn’t time to clean up her mess or put on a nicer sweater or anything really, before Fergie stepped out of the fireplace, knocking aside a large pot with his elbow. Again, if he had bothered to plan a visit ahead of time, she might have been courteous to clear him enough space. She blinked a couple times, confirming that it was really her brother before rolling her eyes at him, with a solitary, “Merlin.”

It took her another couple of seconds to remember that she was mad at him, or at least mad enough to have been giving him the silent treatment the past month. Honey snatched up her wand rather quickly, pointing it at him for another couple seconds before shaking her head and pointing instead at the shards and splatters of her coffee. She wasn’t surprised that he was giving in to their argument first; she tried not to look to smug as she straightened up, fully repaired coffee cup in her hand.  “Think about knocking next time?”

Fergie choked on his coffee, swallowing too quickly and feeling it scorch down his throat unpleasantly. He’d read the front-page news, then skimmed through Charlie’s article – he’d only seen him last month, but it wasn’t like they’d had much (or any) time to chat, and it was always kind of interesting to see what his former classmates had to put up with, the whole being famous thing. He’d thought at first that Sam and Liam might have been interviewed too, but frontmen were kind of the unofficial spokespeople for bands weren’t they? Fergie thought Sam, at least, would make for a more interesting read with his sense of humour.

Fergie had done a double-take upon seeing his sister’s name come up in the interview. He supposed it was typical for a newspaper to bring something that old up as if it had any relevance at all now. He would bet a galleon on Charlie’s new wife not being terribly happy about ex-girlfriends being mentioned in the first post-wedding article. Perhaps even less thrilled that Charlie’s blood status was being brought up – the singer had seemingly handled the prodding alright. Fergie thought it was a very diplomatic answer, given everything.

When he’d turned the page Fergie had expected some more gossip drivel, but not to come face-to-face with an entire article on his sister. Not a brief mention as a former girlfriend of someone famous, but a whole segment just on her. Even better, he was mentioned too – and the cherry on the top, just to rub it all in: they’d put his birth name down. A small part of him considered that perhaps that might allow his co-workers to think there was another Flume somewhere, but anyone that knew Fergie knew that his sister was Honey.

Honey the harlot.

Fergie abandoned his coffee to get dressed, throwing on whatever was clean in what was the closest the former Hufflepuff got to being in a blind rage (muted scowling, mostly). He grabbed his wand and a jacket, and stepped into his fireplace with a handful of floo power from the vase on the mantle. Throwing it into the grate, he practically shouted the address of his childhood home.

As the bright green flames subsided Fergie banged his funny bone on a large pot hanging in his way and immediately cursed, inhaling sharply through his teeth and cradling it with his other hand. He glowered at Honey upon meeting her gaze, as if the pain in his elbow was also her fault, allowing it to amplify his anger at the whole situation.

Fergie clambered out of the fireplace and dusted himself off halfheartedly, looking up at her in time to meet her wand tip pointed in his face. He blinked, looked from it to her, breathing quickly and feeling his heart race in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. Honey lowered her wand and Fergie had almost forgotten he was mad at her until she spoke. “What, so you can hide whoever you’re sleeping with now?” he blurted out angrily, looking around the room as if to dare some man to pop out and prove him right. His eyes fell on the rolled-up copy of the Prophet on the kitchen counter and he let out a laugh, “You haven’t even read it yet, have you?”

Fergie shook his head and walked over to grab it up, flinging it at her before moving to pull out a chair at the table, letting the feet scrape across the floor. He sat down and folded his arms over his chest. “Page four.”

Fergie was right, annoyingly so; she would appreciate the chance to hide whoever she was sleeping with or that she had no issues barging into Fergie’s home in the same fashion -- she was pretty certain she would never interrupt him with someone -- but Honey shook her head indignantly. “Because this is my kitchen.” She matched his tone, not taking her eyes off of him as he looked around. “What?” He was looking at the paper now, right where she had left it on the counter. “I’ve only just got it.” She didn’t think she needed to explain that it took some time for owls to get to Hogsmeade; he was supposed to be bright.

“The fuck?” Honey caught the paper -- the one that her dear brother threw at her -- between her forearm and chest, her hands otherwise full of wand and empty coffee cup. He had no other introductions to offer, no explanations, only ‘page four’. He didn’t seem upset at the paper, not like when he read a bit of news that set his stomach lurching, something about the Ministry or Hogwarts or any number of things they had read over the past several years; no, he was simply upset with her, minding her own business in her own kitchen, reading her paper on her own time.

He sat and she offered him a final scowl before setting her cup down -- she wasn’t ready to set her wand down just yet -- and smoothing the paper down on the counter as best as she could. “Page four,” she repeated, rolling her eyes, turning to page four. There was a photo of her -- and not even a good one -- staring back at her. Honey the Harlot. She glanced up at Fergie but immediately regretted her decision; clearly, he had already read it.

She mouthed the word ‘Beatrix’ as she read, though that clearly wasn’t the detail she needed to obsess over. She had made it a month post Viktor-breakup without any backlash. She hadn’t been obvious about being single. She had been discreet. She hadn’t seen anyone even remotely pressworthy in those few weeks, why should this come up now-- Charlie. She had more or less avoided him since that one night in February -- she had only owned up about that night to Grace -- and had only brought him up in conversation when Fergie was first invited to the man’s stag do (which he had skipped), then to his wedding (which he did not skip).

He did still hold a torch for her, but that was another matter altogether.

Her mouth fell open at the next set of names mentioned: Meghan McCormack and Kirley Duke, a pair of siblings she had never met (unfortunately), let alone never attended any parties with. She had to reread the next couple sentences a few times. Gravesend Griffins star Harlan Bellamy. He was going to love that. Never mind it was true, especially the bit about their on-again-off-again relationship continuing while she was seeing Viktor, who only got one mention at the very end of the article.

She read the last sentence aloud: “We can only hope that the next man Ms. Flume sets her sights on fares better.” Honey swallowed and finally looked up from the paper. “I--” she started and paused after one word. She wasn’t about to apologize for any of it -- it was only half true anyway -- but the article wasn’t exactly good, either. She glanced at the article again, scanning for how many mentions of Honeydukes there were. There was only the one, in the same sentence as-- “Duke Flume.” She laughed, looking at her brother a couple seconds later. Maybe that would distract everyone from any mention of the shop, though she had been mentioned in plenty of articles before, Harlan’s interview a couple months ago, and it wasn’t like business had suffered yet.

Honey took a deep breath, drumming her fingers on the paper as she scanned the article again, trying to figure out who she would need to make amends with. No one, she figured. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

“You know Rita Skeeter’s full of it, right?” She asked after a few more seconds. “It’s not true.” She shrugged. “Mostly.”

“Page four,” he parroted back at her again, arms still folded across his chest. Honey spread the paper flat on the counter and turned the broadsheet’s pages until she was met with what Fergie knew was a picture of herself. How they’d acquired this photo, he didn’t know, but it was clearly his beloved sister. Their eyes met and Fergie pressed his lips together in a thin line. His brow was furrowed and he was rather obviously not best pleased about the whole thing. Usually Fergie wasn’t angry - just disappointed – but this time his frustration was edging him closer to gentle fury.

She lowered her gaze to the paper and he could see her working her way through the article. Fergie watched his sister's features shift slightly the further down the page her eyes scanned. Then she laughed. “It’s not funny!” he snapped, getting to his feet again and pacing around the modest kitchen. He wasn’t referring to his birth name, either (though that was irking him too). Being Duke Flume was the least of his issues – he was more preoccupied with how this would impact Honey, Honeydukes, their parents, and him.

“I don’t give a shit if it’s mostly not true! It’s out there now,” he explained, pausing at one end of the room, as if it hadn’t dawned on her that it didn’t matter what was true or false – it mattered what people read in the paper. She ought to know that by now, the number of household names she’d slept with notwithstanding, there was also all the drivel the wizarding population had been spoon-fed by the Prophet when Potter and Dumbledore were public enemies – eagerly lapped up by people who saw the Daily Prophet as gospel. Fergie still bought the paper, but he knew to take things with a grain of salt. The same couldn't be said of the entire readership.

“It’s not just your reputation you’re—” tarnishing, he wanted to say, but he also didn’t want to insult her – not really. She was still his sister. He scowled and took in a deep breath, holding her gaze. “I have to show my face in the Ministry with every bugger knowing my sister is—” he let out a derisive laugh and rubbed at his face with both hands, pushing them up towards his hairline and back to rest at his crown, “—Honey the Harlot!" He glanced away, focusing on the soot he'd dragged in from the fireplace. "Merlin give me strength,” he muttered to himself.

Fergie turned to face her, hands dropping from the top of his head to the back of his neck, then to his sides with a soft slap against his thighs. “How much of it?” he asked, for once deciding he did want to know. “How much of it is true?”

“It’s a little funny,” she replied with a shrug, adding a sickly sweet, “Dukey.” That nickname alone -- bestowed upon her brother very early on by Honey -- had brought her parents on board with him going by ‘Fergie’. She tapped her finger on his name on the page. She had a whole other issue with him being credited with half of Honeydukes; he legally owned half, yes, but he wasn’t the reason they were in business, but that was a bone to pick some other time, she guessed.

Honey watched her brother with wide eyes; it was far too early in the morning for him to blame his language on drinking, like he normally would. He had some nerve being mad at her -- shouldn’t they be mad at the paper? This wouldn’t have been of any interest to anyone if Charlie hadn’t felt the need to get married. He was right -- of course -- again, but Honey wasn’t about to admit that. She was still mad at him. Getting madder.

“What’s it doing to my reputation?” He scowled at her and she scowled right back. She let him have opinions, have small words of advice when it didn’t really matter, but she wasn’t about to let him shame her for enjoying herself. That’s all this was, anyway. She wasn’t a harlot -- was that seriously the only thing they could think of to call her? Did Rita Skeeter pull out a dictionary until she found the right word that started with H? -- though it was apparent that Fergie agreed with the assessment. “Oh pardon me, kind sir,” she said with a flourish of her hand, the sign of a proper apology, of course.

She was about to say that she seriously doubted this would be big news to a lot of people, but she stopped herself, continuing on with her fake apology.”I’m so sorry we can’t all be as perfect and boring as Duke Flume.” She rolled her eyes as he turned away, putting her hands on her head like he had done, mocking him behind his back.

“What?” Honey dropped her hands. “Seriously?” She didn’t think he wanted to know, pretty sure that all of her life choices made him various levels of uncomfortable. “Fine.” He deserved it, being mad at her. She sighed dramatically and looked back down at the paper, as if she didn’t remember what had been written about her. “Meghan’s not true.” She wouldn’t have minded, though. “Or her brother. Been kind of turned off musicians after Charlie, y’know?” She said this all very casually.

She placed a finger on the article, fixing her face like she had finally figured something out. “Y’know, I think that song ‘Honey’ really might be about me!” She looked up at Fergie, trying to look as shocked as possible. The subject of the song had never been a mystery between them, of course, but that was beside the point. “Hmm, I did not get him arrested, but our acts were certainly indecent.” She smirked as she shrugged.

Skipping over all the bits about Harlan, she landed on the other quidditch player. “You know I didn’t break up with Viktor after the final. He ditched me and I left Brazil with you.” She shrugged again. “Oh, and Charlie does still ‘hold a torch’ for me,” she said rather unbothered, flicking a couple of air quotes around her words. “Or he did in February, anyway.” She shrugged again, hoping that was more than enough of the truth.

He glared at her, “No, it isn’t.” She was pushing his buttons and he was trying not to let her get to him, but he was struggling to let this go. 

Fergie pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to bite. He tried changing tack; “You know I’ve always stuck up for you.” And he had. Had never let anyone call Honey the kind of names he’d heard thrown around about women like her – not in his presence, anyway. How was her behaviour any different to how Charlie, or Liam, or any of the other womanizing men he knew, other than her being a woman? He didn’t think it was fair, even if he didn’t exactly agree with the mentality himself. Fergie was a lot more traditional than his sister – by no means a saint, but he didn’t sleep around at anywhere near the rate Honey did.

Boring. That was the best she could come up with to insult him? (And yet, it did hurt). “Thanks, Honey,” he said, dejectedly, staring at her across the room with disappointed eyes. He’d always been the ‘boring’ one, hadn’t he? Let Honey have the attention, happy to. She’d always wanted the spotlight and Fergie had never begrudged her for it. The problem was when she started reaching the national press, and when he got dragged along through the mud with her.

“Seriously,” he repeated, almost balking at the idea of knowing the ins-and-outs of who she’d slept with, but figuring maybe it really was better the devil he knew. He listened as she made her way through the list, already feeling a little bad for half-expecting every single one of them to be true. Fergie rolled his eyes, but there was no humour in his expression, just exasperation; he’d turned the radio over whenever that song had come on, partly out of prudish behaviour (he didn’t need to know what Charlie thought about Honey) and partly to prevent anyone he knew getting a whiff of whom it was about. “Hilarious,” he deadpanned, “should I send her an owl to get that corrected?”

Fergie ran a hand through his curls, then froze and looked at Honey like she’d grown a second head. “What?” Charlie… February… Had she slept with Charlie while he was with Kate? Kate as in the girl – woman – he’d just married? The wedding he’d gone to, that Honey had been giving him the silent treatment over because he’d been willing to excuse himself from the stag night (in New York! Paid for!) but not the actual nuptials? Wait, February… Fergie’s mouth hung open a little as he worked backwards through his life to early Spring.

As realisation hit, he rounded on her, “You used my flat as a base to go and fuck Charlie?” His voice had raised a decibel or two in his indignation. “So not only did you go and—” he stumbled over the word this time, “— sleep with him, help him cheat on his girlfriend – now wife, if you didn’t remember – you dragged me into it too?”

“Merlin, Honey – what on Earth were you thinking?”

Fergie didn’t look nearly uncomfortable enough with all of this -- was that relief instead? -- and Honey was close to inventing some new details to make things a little worse. Again, he sort of deserved it, showing up like this, on the offensive. “Should do,” she mused, flipping the paper over to the back page to look for the address of the Prophet offices, save her brother the trouble of finding it himself.

“What?” She repeated with a huff, ready to repeat herself a second time for clarification. Was it that hard to believe? She knew at least two other married men who wouldn’t mind seeing her on the side (or so she told herself) so was it really so unbelievable that a man who wasn’t even engaged yet could have felt the same? Or almost, anyway -- he had seemed a little offended by the whole ‘cheating’ thing. Minor details.

She wasn’t used to his next expression, some sort of genuine upset; she was nearly taken aback, but it was much easier for her to steel herself against him. “I did not!” She matched his volume (that much was easy) but the flat out lying was even easier. She didn’t like lying to him -- and usually she avoided it -- but the truth would only make this worse, right? She was about to say something about not drinking and apparating, which he had been appreciative of (!) at the time; she wanted to remind him. But he had to go and have more opinions.

Honey bristled. This had nothing to do with Fergie, nothing to do with the girlfriend -- wife -- nothing to do with anything except how horrible Charlie had been. Naturally, Honey placed no blame on herself, and once she was done explaining everything, she was sure Fergie wouldn’t either. “Only the sleeping together bit -- he invited me over after things had ended with Will and his girlfriend had left him.” She tightened her grip on her wand, finding renewed reassurance to keep defending herself, throw Charlie under all the buses she could. “I can’t help it that he’s a giant sleaze. He was your friend first.” That might have been a step too far, blaming Fergie for anything, but he was asking for it, accusing her of cheating or helping Charlie cheat or whatever (though he was not wrong).

There was another tap at the window and after one more narrow gaze at her brother, Honey turned to let the owl in, pausing only when she saw the envelope it was carrying. Red, howler red. “Very funny, you send a howler ahead of yourself?” Her back was turned to him now, so he couldn’t see how hopeful she was that he had been the one to send it. The other options weren’t as appealing: Charlie, Charlie’s wife-- she shook her head and cleared out any other thoughts, taking a step forward to grab the envelope and shoo the owl on its way.

Turning back to Fergie, she waved the envelope in front of her. “You inviting yourself to hear this?”

Fergie was still reeling from the news; he was an accessory. Merlin, what if anyone ever found out? He supposed he didn’t think Charlie would be keen for anyone to revisit his one night stands, so there was a slim chance of it, but it didn’t lessen his upset at Honey any. “You did!” He called her out, usually happy (?) to believe her or at least pretend to, for once his indignance was overpowering any brotherly love. “How could you?” he asked, voice still a few octaves higher and decibels louder than he usually spoke to his beloved sister, even when they were fighting.

“He invited yo--” He pulled his head back, confusion plain on his face. “She what--” It was only now that Honey mentioned it Fergie remembered Charlie and Kate had briefly broken up -- had that been in February? Pretty bold of Honey to lie about it if it hadn’t been, even for her. Fergie cast his mind back; he hadn’t found out from Charlie directly, of course, he had found out from the Prophet and even if Fergie took most things the tabloid printed with a grain of salt, he’d discovered that particular story to be true. Or, the breaking up part at least -- he wasn’t so sure about the other details, and he obviously hadn’t brought it up the next time he’d seen Charlie (at the wedding). Fergie’s eyes flicked to Honey’s wand hand but convinced himself that that wasn’t why he felt the wind leave his sails.

Well, she was right about one thing. Two things, he supposed: Charlie was a giant sleaze. Much as Fergie liked him as a mate, and it had kind of been his fault Honey and Charlie had ever… No. He wasn’t taking the blame for that. “Yeah, because you jump into bed with all my friends don’t you?” he sniped back at her in defence, hoping she wasn’t going to correct him and admit she did. Merlin, please.

Fergie sighed. He wanted to believe her, that the stars had aligned and it had all happened when both his sister and Charlie had been (briefly) single, and, more than that, it had been at Charlie’s invitation not Honey’s. He didn’t know why that would make it better, but he felt that it would. He lowered his tone, subconsciously switching to something more like an exasperated parent; “Promise me, Honey, you’re telling the tru--?”

They both looked to the window at the same time, but Honey was closer so she let the owl in. A hot, satisfying sensation curled in Fergie’s stomach and he immediately felt guilty for taking pleasure in what he was at least eighty-per-cent sure was about to be a telling off from Mum and Dad. “It’s not from me,” he answered, trying to hide the delight from his voice that had somehow slipped in there.

The youngest Flume folded his arms defiantly. “Better open it before it opens itself,” he warned, again trying not to seem too pleased about getting backup all the way from Majorca (it hadn’t occurred to him that this could be from Charlie, or Charlie’s wife, and he was probably better off not thinking about that possibility). “You know they only get worse the longer you make ‘em wait.” It occurred to Fergie that he’d learnt this tidbit care of his school mates, not from Honey -- neither of them had ever done anything to warrant a howler before, well, that his parents knew about. It had only taken twenty-nine years.

“Merlin, Fergie.” Honey closed her eyes, breathed heavily through her nose. Fixing her gaze on her brother one more time, it took more restraint than she would have liked to admit not to roll her eyes. “You are not--” she paused, backtracked, didn’t want him reading into whatever verb tense she was using-- “Were not any part of my fucking Charlie.” She didn’t dance around the word like he had decided to; she thought she could see him get even more uncomfortable, if that was even possible. She had to give him credit, she supposed, that he was more offended at being some sort of accessory by the sheer luck he had a fireplace in London, rather than anything she might have done. It probably wasn’t the time to congratulate his selfishness, though.

She nodded, once, twice. “All of them. No one is safe.” Of course she didn’t truly blame Fergie for being Charlie’s friend -- except she kind of was, now -- and she didn’t often make a point to prey on any of his other friends.

She had really wanted the howler to be from Fergie; never mind that the other options for senders weren’t as pleasant; Fergie would have been much easier to hex considering how close he was standing. She narrowed her gaze at him, nearly deciding that the howler would be worth waiting to open if she got to blast that smug look off his face. Did she deserve that look? Probably, but she wasn’t about to take her fair share of the blame for anything.

The howler was warm in her hand, and she could have sworn it was getting warmer, but she wasn’t about to flinch now. “I know that,” she lied. She had never received one before, so why should she know anything about them? Honey was good at keeping things to herself, not getting into trouble; had been, anyway. She stepped around the large kitchen island, putting it between them -- if he wasn’t going to leave, she wasn’t going to chicken out and turn around -- before she slid her finger under the envelope flap. She tossed it onto the countertop, but the envelope was already yelling. At her.

”Don’t think for one second--” “That we didn’t see the paper--” Her parents were taking turns, interrupting each other, finishing each others’ sentences. ”You couldn’t have warned us?--” “This shouldn’t have happened--” “If sweet Will--” Honey blinked, determinedly not looking up at Fergie, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. ”Can’t take care of yourself--” “How can you mind the shop--” “Family tradition--” “Your livelihood--” “Your decency--” She was impressed, almost, that their worry about the shop came before their worry about her morality. ”Your poor brother--” Honey was pretty sure she was grinding her teeth by now. ”You’ll both be needing us--” “Just as soon as we sort out a catsitter--” She wasn’t expecting it to end there, not on that note, but the howler caught flame, curling into ashes after a few more seconds.

Honey stared at it for a little bit more before she glanced up. “That’s not fair.” She was still mad at Fergie, of course, but now she needed his help. “This--” she waved at the newspaper-- “Has nothing to do with the shop.” She couldn’t get (and didn’t want) a repeat of what her parents had said in their howler, but she was fairly certain it boiled down to: she couldn’t handle the shop so they would be needing to step in. “If you told them you’d stay for a little bit,” she paused, so close to apologizing for everything else in the past ten minutes before deciding better of it. “Maybe they wouldn’t…” She shrugged, hoping he’d catch her drift so she didn’t have to come right out and ask him to lie to their parents for her.

Fergie’s eyes narrowed. Is, was -- which one was it? He wanted to ask, but then Honey had been quite obviously irate at Charlie for the past however many months, so he assumed that maybe this was all part of it; the puzzle pieces were slowly slotting into place (or being jammed, but he wasn’t to know). Charlie had gotten married -- to someone else -- and Honey hadn’t wanted him to go to Charlie’s stag night, hadn’t even wanted him to go to the ceremony but Fergie had put his foot down. He hadn’t ever asked why she’d been so vehemently against it (by Honey’s standards), had assumed it was just general bitterness -- but now it all made sense.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he mumbled, not quite confident enough to say it loud and clear. Also, perhaps, less inclined to be mean given his private revelation about Honey’s feelings towards one of those friends.

He watched Honey open the howler, took half a step back and then a full one as it launched into a tirade with their parents voices. Fergie’s eyes were wide for the entire duration -- he almost smirked when he was mentioned -- up until the moment the red envelope started tearing itself into pieces and combusting. He glanced at Honey, some small part of him wanting to ask if she was alright but a much larger part feeling vindicated in his position on all of this now.

Honey met his gaze and Fergie did his best to keep his face impassive. He rolled his lips, adopting as calm a voice as he could muster; “It has plenty to do with the shop and you know it.” Maybe she didn’t, but how could she not see the potential ramifications of all of this--

“What?” His brows shot up, and a short laugh bubbled forth. “I am not lying to them,” he started, because that was his first thought -- had obviously been Honey’s, anyway. He could, however, tell them he was staying -- and actually stay. He didn’t want them to come all the way from Spain, ruin their retirement and have to work at the shop, all because Honey couldn’t keep it in her trousers -- or, out of her trousers, however it worked. He didn’t want to think about it.

Fergie half-turned away from Honey, resting one hand on the back of a kitchen chair, mulling over his options with a soft frown on his features. He could commute, maybe even take some time off -- it was the quiet period in his office, and there was a chance Honey might need some backup in the shop-- Surely it wouldn’t get that bad, maybe. He’d heard about the owls Charlie had gotten over the years, any time there had been something unpleasant in Witch Weekly or the Prophet about him -- made sense why he lived in a muggle apartment, well, had. He’d said something about moving after the wedding -- best not to mention that to Honey. He rubbed at one eye with the heel of his palm. That was another thing; if his parents were here, they’d have to deal with any backlash from… whoever. Did Kate have fans? Usually teenage girls hated the wife, but they might very well hate the homewrecker more -- even if she did have her own single.

Ultimately, he told himself, he was doing this for his parents’ sake, not Honey’s. Fergie sighed and lifted his head to look at her, moving to put the chair behind him and rest both hands on it behind his back. “I’ll do it,” he started, then, “I don’t want them suffering because you can’t have normal boyfriends--” two subtle jabs there: the article had indeed said she had a type, and he’d only known Honey to ever refer to two of the many as ‘boyfriend’, “-- I’ll go back and get my stuff, take the attic room.” With no small effort, he kept the smirk off his lips -- he could get smug after she cottoned on.

Yes, Fergie could just say he was going to stay for a little, help her around the shop with odds and ends -- nothing too tedious of course, because he had a day job -- and in case Mum and Dad decided to drop by… she figured she could throw an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and have two separate cups of coffee to leave out in the morning. This would blow over in no time, and they’d go back to minding their own business and let her mind hers.

Honey stopped planning it all out, reeling her thoughts back in to replay what her brother had just said. I am not lying to them “Seriously?” Half that article was a lie, and that was enough to convince their parents to take action. One little lie to them from their darling child would convince them to reconsider. She wasn’t to the point of begging, but she was close; their parents were very efficient packers and Honey wasn’t confident there was a lot of time to spare. Certainly not enough time for Fergie to have a crisis of conscience in her kitchen.

He was unbearable; how many times did she ask him for a favor? Frequently, actually, but this one didn’t require any effort on his part, just a little note to head off the Flumes and then Honey would take care of the rest. Business wasn’t suffering and she wasn’t about to let this stupid article decide that should change.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute, but it felt like a lifetime before he was looking at her again. He sighed and Honey raised her eyebrows; that was the customary reaction he had when he thought better of things and was coming around to agreeing with her. And she was so right. “You will?” It was too excited an ask, but the relief was outweighing anything else she might be feeling. That didn’t last long, though: “Get tae fuck, normal boyfriends.” She was almost genuinely offended, but he was right.

He could say whatever he wanted later. Honey turned to go find a quill as she nodded, not quite hearing what he was saying; she was around the other side of the large worktop when it hit her. “Your gonna go--” she furrowed her brow and looked over to the living room, the loft above it their parents had called the ‘attic room’ to make it sound a little nicer. Looking back to Fergie, Honey shook her head. “You don’t need to actually be here.” She wasn’t trying to reason with him so much as she was just telling him he couldn’t move in with her. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Seriously,” he echoed back at her. Fergie knew lying must be sort of like a second language to Honey by now, and he was fine with turning a blind eye to it when it was a little white lie – something that didn’t negatively affect anyone – but this did. Would. The more he thought about it, the more he realised there was no way she could be featured in the national newspaper in an article like that and it not come back to bite. Maybe he should take a couple of weeks off, let everything die down…

“Yeah,” He nodded, not missing the unbridled relief radiating from his sister. He felt a little bit cruel, now, letting her think she was going to get her way – but he supposed she needed to get used to not getting her way. Fergie raised his eyebrows at her. “Yeah, the day you have a normal boyfriend I’ll eat a jar of cockroach cluster.”

Honey moved further into the kitchen and Fergie watched her with muted interest; she appeared to be under the illusion, still, that he had decided to lie. Did it say more about her or him that she thought he would agree that easily?

Then the knut dropped. He smiled, slowly, intentionally – a little unkindly; unusual for him. “Yeah, I’ll just get some clothes for now, figure out what to do with the flat later.” Depending on how long he was going to be here he’d either leave it empty, sublet, or leave his tenancy. Fergie raised one telling eyebrow at Honey and nodded at the paper. “Apparently you do. Besides, you know Mum and Dad won’t believe me in person – I can’t lie like you can –“ another jab, but an honest one, “– and I’d say they’ll be here as soon as they can get a port key.”

Before she had a chance to argue, he walked to the fireplace. “Do me a favour and leave me some room for when I come back?” he asked, moving the poker set out of the way. He stood up again and helped himself to some floo powder from the pot on the mantle, then looked at her – a little more gently; “I’ll try and beat them back so you don’t have to deal with them alone, alright?” His lips twitched into a tiny smile before he threw the powder at his feet and said his London address.

She was about to point out that Will had been a perfectly normal boyfriend, but Fergie didn’t seem much in the mood to give her any credit for anything -- never mind that Will had failed to be mentioned in that entire article and she wouldn’t blame him for being mad at her, too -- and she wasn’t about to press her luck.

Honey shook her head again, hearing but not quite listening to what her brother was saying to her. Fergie, living here; she didn’t exactly have huge plans for her living space or have a long list of visitors awaiting their turn, but she was nearly thirty; she didn’t need her brother living with her. He wasn’t wrong about their parents, though, or that she could lie much better than he could, two things she wasn’t about to admit to. She stared up at the ceiling, knowing he wasn’t wrong about their imminent arrival, either.

Having tried and failing to shoo him out permanently, now Honey didn’t want him to leave. Fergie moved toward the fireplace and she was this close to sticking his feet to the floor but what was the point? She needed his help and he was setting the conditions (and there would be plenty of time to argue later if he really was intent on living here).

He paused and tried to reassure her, even smiled at her, but she didn’t return the favor. “Alright.” If their parents had bothered to send a howler before catching their portkey, Honey couldn’t imagine what they had left for her. She had been good at avoiding their disapproval -- the success of the store should have been enough for them -- and she didn’t like not knowing what to expect. She stopped short of telling Fergie to hurry; she had already asked him for too much, anyway.

[[ thread ]]