[mp] chocolate and a miracle or two [owain]

There were cobwebs everywhere— which would have been fine if they’d been obviously fake. But they were huge and too realistic for her, and though Barbara was short enough not to be bothered by them too often, she couldn’t help but keep looking at them with some paranoia. “You’ll kill any giant spiders for me,” she said teasingly, “right? Frogs eat spiders.”

Her companion today was Owain. That is— her date. Her date! As they walked down the path to Hogsmeade she couldn’t help but take a bouncy few steps when she thought the words— they were on a date!

It wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on, today, but Merlin— her sister would have been so thrilled, would have probably asked so many questions, and made so many jokes, and made so much fun of Owain. But her sister wasn’t here today to do any of those things, and all Barbara could do was wonder about it, wonder pointlessly if her sister would have him, like she’d used to joke she would. She supposed that she could tell one of her sister’s friends that she’d started dating Owain. Chances were that Iggy would have been honoured to threaten her date— but she would have felt pretty lousy about it.

“You remember the steps?” she added anxiously. They’d worked hard to choreograph a dance, one that would complement both their costumes and allow them to show off the fact that they were both fairly good dancers.

As they walked she took a little step closer to him; he was carrying the rest of his costume, a huge Famous Wizard card, and it was making their trip somewhat cumbersome. Barbie didn’t mind their awkward pace, though, and she was thrilling somewhat in just walking with him, on their way to their date. “D’you reckon it’ll be very crowded?” she said. She wondered how many of the other students around them were going for lunch— surely most of them were here for candy, right?

@Owain Hughes

What makes this a date?

Owain kept all the advice he had received on the matter in his head as he walked down to Hogsmeade with Barbie. He had complimented her appearance when they had met up (although, he usually did that - she was very pretty); he had asked her where she wanted to go for lunch (although, again, he usually did that - Barbie had more opinions than he); and he had a pocket full of money ready to pay for lunch (although, again, it wasn’t as if he had never paid for both of them before). All in all, he was a bit confused how the advice given, which sounded like he was to act as normal, translated into this being a date instead of just two friends going for lunch.

But they had agreed it was a date, so it must be.

Hogsmeade was covered in cobwebs, and he had even walked into a few as they strolled. This had led him to splutter the fine strands out his mouth, the silken threads managing to elusively evade the quick swipes of his hands across his face. Probably not a very attractive thing to do on a date. Owain was sure that sticking his tongue out did not fall under the category of gentleman-y behaviour. Minus the irritation the spider webs caused, he thought they looked awesome. It really made the students feel Halloween-y.

“Of course I will!” Owain agreed bravely, despite part of him wondering how big any spiders they encountered would be. Creepy crawlies didn’t bother him, but the giant acromantula that lived in the Forbidden Forest did. He would have remained in complete ignorant bliss of their existence had it not been for the events of the Dome. But that was not a period of time Owain wanted to relive ever, particularly not when he was on a date with Barbie! “I’ll eat whatever you want me to!” He continued before groaning. What was that? That had to be the weirdest sentence ever…

At least Barbie appeared to be nervous too, that was a good sign, right? Of course he knew the steps, they had practiced non stop and both were proficient in picking up new dances quickly. It was also simpler than anything they were doing in ballet at the moment, so it had been a dawdle to learn. He reassured her anyway, “yes, it’s going to be great! I wonder what the others are doing?” Nell was decidedly not a dancer. And honestly… he wasn’t even sure who else was going to be joining them. He had been distracted when Nell had mentioned names earlier.

As Barbie stepped closer to him, Owain allowed their hands to brush in-between them. Should he grab onto her hand? He let them brush once, twice, before catching hers in his own. He was sure his palm was clammy but holding hands was what happened on dates. They were nearing the Three Broomsticks, where they were going for lunch, and Owain considered Barbie’s question. “I dunno, I think it might get busier later on.” There certainly seemed to have been more students staying at Hogwarts for lunch than having left with them. “But we can always go somewhere else if we can’t get a table?” He suggested as they approached the door.

It was proper to open the door for your date!

The advice ran through his head, and Owain awkwardly sprung forward to reach the door before Barbie. He opened it and gestured inside. “After you,” was said with a slight bow. Following Barbie in, he let his eyes grow accustomed to the gloom of the pub before looking around. There were plenty tables available! “Shall we get a booth or a table?” He asked. Was he meant to sit opposite her or next to her? Oh Merlin, he couldn’t remember!

As he mentioned that he wondered what the others were doing, Barbie had to wonder with him. “The others?” she asked, to clarify; that’d be Nell, for sure, and probably someone else from that crowd. Donna Russell, maybe? She frowned slightly, the corners of her mouth turning down in a decidedly puggish way, and tried to think of what kind of unseemly dance Donna Russell and Nell Jenkins could concoct. (Not that Barbara disliked either of those girls— but they weren’t very traditional, were they?)

Owain’s fingers brushed lightly against hers and then, as naturally as anything, they were holding hands. She swung her arm a little bit, to make sure he wasn’t letting go, and adopted a sort of half-smile. (Nothing to encourage it— she wasn’t an animal— but, so sue her, she was pleased. He was holding her hand! Her hand!)

“Go where else?” she said, and wrinkled her nose slightly; “Are we even allowed at the Unicorn and Thistle? We’re not going to the Hog’s Head.” This last was said firmly— Barbie had been warned since she was about three years old not to go to the Hog’s Head, which her mother thought was unsavory. (Which, of course, it was.) “Let’s hope,” she said, without much hope. “Bet everyone’s just here guising, anyway.” He practically leapt to open the door for them; she had to bite back her giddy grin when he gave her a little mock bow; she curtsied, using her hands to pluck at her skirt, and stepped neatly over the threshold.

The Three Broomsticks was so dreary and gloomy on the inside; she stopped inside to consider his question before answering— “Booth. I like the seats better.” And she wasn’t entirely convinced he’d remember to help her pull out her chair, and didn’t want to be offended.

Her dress— bright white and a little lacy— stood out insanely in the dark pub; she was glad when she’d been settled into a booth with a menu. She perused it halfheartedly— she’d been coming to the Broomsticks her entire life— then closed it.

What did you talk about on a date? The food? The weather? Merlin— he’d think she was the most boring girl alive. “How d’you reckon McGonagall got the permission to let everyone out for Halloween?” she asked, after a moment; “D’you think she’s going to do that every year, after this? I hope so.”

“Why wouldn’t we be allowed in the Unicorn and Thistle?” He asked, bemused. “I don’t think they’re fancy enough to have a dress code?” Owain had only been inside the pub/restaurant a couple of times but he didn’t think he’d been wearing anything particularly highbrow when he had been. “There’s always Sugar and Spice as well remember? Although that’s probably going to be busier. I think Holden said there was baby rabbits.” Honestly, Owain preferred rats over rabbits anyway, but he knew his opinion wasn’t shared with Barbie.

A booth? Did he sit on the same side as her or opposite?

He followed her across the floor to an empty booth, and at the last second slid into the opposite side. Surely it would be weird to be bunched up on the same side? And if they had gotten a table they would be sitting opposite each other. His large chocolate frog card was dropped to the floor as he got himself comfortable. The flickering candle on the table cast pretty shadows across Barbie’s face and he gazed at her as she looked at the menu. Owain already knew what he wanted. He swore that he had memorised the menu years ago, that’s how often he had come to the Three Broomsticks.

But… was he meant to order for her? He was sure he read that ordering for your date was meant to be super romantic, but honestly, it just sounded controlling. Owain was pretty convinced that Barbie was perfectly capable of ordering her own food. And besides, what if he ordered something she didn’t like? He knew her well, years and years of friendship would do that but that didn’t mean he knew what she wanted to eat on this particular day.

Luckily, Barbie interrupted his thoughts filled with minor details. Thank Merlin. “I dunno.” He replied, thinking about what she had asked. “I reckon it must have been a lot of organising. Plus, how did she manage to get it to remain a secret?! You’d think at least one person would have spilled.” Owain smiled at Barbie’s generosity, “even if it means that we may not get a table?” He said with a cheeky grin.

Readjusting his headband so that his frog eyes were on straight he continued. “It does make it very special for the first years. I suppose it will depend on whether any of them get lost. You reckon they all know that the Shrieking Shack is out of bounds?” Owain supposed they would have to keep a look out for any lost first years on their travels. If he hadn’t practically grown up in Hogsmeade then at 11, he would probably have found it pretty intimidating too.

The waitress made her way over at the point, quill fluttering behind her ready to scribe their order. Owain gave a shy smile and gestured to Barbie, “ladies first.” Did the waitress know they were on a date? Did they look like a date? Or just two friends?

After Barbie had put her order in, Owain requested his own meal. “Can I get steak pie and chips with a butterbeer please?” The waitress assured them their drinks would be right out then left.

Witch Weekly gave many ideas for what to talk about on a first date, but it all seemed to be for dating a stranger. After all, Owain already knew what Barbie liked to do in her free time, and what siblings and pets she had. Besides, talking about Florence didn’t seem like a great idea.

“Did you see any really cool costumes in Ravenclaw?” He asked in lieu of anything else. “Most of the Gryffindor firsties seem to be dementors but I saw a 7th year as a dragon with a fire breathing charm!”

"Isn’t it a pub?” Barbie said. Her mother, at least, didn’t ever take her there. Sugar and Spice was another good idea— she hadn’t thought of that— and she thought it over.

She was dressed as a mouse, first of all, and she sort of didn’t want Owain to be thinking about the kittens and not about her, and she especially didn’t want herself to be thinking about the kittens and not about their date. “Good thing it’s not too crowded here, then,” she said, simply, opening her menu open in front of her and peering at it, her hands folded under her chin. Under the table, she kicked her feet, then pointed them and scooted in the booth until the tips of her toes could touch the floor.

She didn’t want to get out of the booth, but it was bothering her that his giant cardboard card had just been discarded on the floor; she leaned sideways until she could scrabble at the edges and pick it up, propping it against their booth and then swinging back upright. Good thing it was a booth, she thought privately. She’d had to swing her legs a little too far to counterbalance herself. Ew.

Barbara had been to the Three Broomsticks about a trillion times; she knew what she was getting. The menu was for show.

She had been so worried she’d bore him; she was glad her fears seemed to be unfounded. And— okay, he was so cute. She didn’t think he’d take well to her saying so, but with his frog eyes on crooked and looking so invested in their silly conversation— there wasn’t much else she could think about, but that she’d lucked out.

“Well it wouldn’t be fair to next year’s if she didn’t,” she said peevishly, before she registered his words. Next year get a table? How long did he think they were going to date? She didn’t even know how long she thought they were going to date. Although, obviously, she knew how long she wanted to. (Forever and ever, or something stupid like that.) He fixed his headband— he was still cute with the frog eyes not crooked, she decided, although cuter when they had been. “Reckon they’ll figure it out,” she said. “It’s boarded up, right?”

“Err, baked potato, no bacon,” she added, as the waitress came round. “And a butterbeer.”

Cool costumes in Ravenclaw? Well— it felt too silly to say that that she’d been so busy worrying about her hair that she hadn’t been paying attention. “I saw someone dressed like Venomous Tentacula,” she offered. “Don’t think it was a Ravenclaw though. It gave me a good scare. Probably a boy.” This was a little too misandrist; she offered a little justification. “I think it’s only boys who think it’s cool to go ‘round scaring people for no good reason. And yeah, I saw about ten Dementors. Did you see anything clever?”

She felt very dull again; she was grateful when their drinks came out, popping the bottle and taking a long sip, just to calm her nerves. "Next year we can do something scarier, if you want," she said. "Like, ghosts. Or something." No fake blood, she pleaded silently, before she decided that was a reasonable barrier to set, and added "Just, no fake blood."

“Dunno,” Owain said in response to her, “we’ve not been up there in a while.” They used to run around when younger. Never too close though, it was the Shrieking Shack after all. Most of the Hogsmeade residents accepted that it was cursed, and well, Owain had no desire to be cursed. “I don’t think anyone would have gone up there to remove the planks though.” He mused. Owain would have offered that they should go check it out later, but why would they want to do that. It sounded unnecessarily dangerous and scary. They were on a date, they weren’t ending it by getting cursed!

He shrugged at her words. “How do you dress up as a Venomous Tentacula?” He asked with just a hint of curiosity, “Did they have like leaves sticking out their hair?” Honestly, with all the nerves that were bubbling through being on this date, Owain couldn’t even think what a Venomous Tentacula looked like at that moment in time. A bit like a Devil’s Snare but with more thorns? But like, the image was not high on his priority list. He was sure Professor Ajay would be unimpressed if she knew. Nah, what was he thinking? It was Professor Ajay, she had mind slips like twenty times a day. He was owed one. “Just the dragon,” he commented, suddenly wishing he’d seen more interesting costumes.

“You’d, you’d like to do this next year?” He stuttered out in shock, convinced he’d misheard her words. But he hadn’t. She wanted to do matching costumes next year. Which meant they’d be doing Halloween together next year. Which meant…. Internally, Owain was jumping in excitement. “Of course, of course!” He agreed quickly, “I don’t mind, whatever you want!” She wanted to spend next Halloween with him! He would go in a chicken costume if that’s what Barbie wanted. Owain was sure he could pull off being a chicken.

They drifted into silence following that, and while Owain was generally very happy to gaze adoringly at Barbie, he didn’t do well with silence. It was just so… silent. He had to speak, to break it, but what did he say? His brain completely blank on him, almost like when he was trying to think of what a Venomous Tentacula was, he could not think of anything to say. Seriously, he berated himself, anything! What had Witch Weekly suggested? Just, like anything.

The weather. No, that was dumb.

The food. No, there was no food yet.

Classes. Oh Merlin, absolutely not. He was not a swot, he wasn’t talking about schoolwork out of school.

Like, seriously, just open your mouth and say something. Anything.

Still nothing.

Finally some words bubbled in his throat. “What’s your favourite colour?” He asked with a slight croak. Owain wished he could say it was a frog-like croak rather than a nervous one. It was not.

What was wrong with him? He had known Barbie since he had been five. He knew her favourite colour. Where had that come from? Why wasn’t Witch Weekly more helpful in this situation. Were his palms sweating, they felt like they were sweating. “The food’s good here.” He finally added helplessly. Why was he acting like such an idiot!

What makes a date a date?

Clearly his lack of ability to hold a basic conversation.

“No,” said Barbie, “Guess not.” She thought briefly about it— having grown up in Hogsmeade, obviously, she’d been around there. Not often— even Florence hadn’t liked to stray up there, and Florence had been the brave one— and couldn’t even decide whose responsibility the Shack’s upkeep would have been, if anybody’s.

Barbie hadn’t really looked that hard at the Tentacula costume— it kind of freaked her out— so she shrugged, used one finger to trace a circle on the table and said, “Reckon it was that, at least. Leafy head and vines, I guess— but scarier, like. Don’t know how else I’d say.” She tried to remember back, but drew a solid blank— “I reckon it was a Gryffindor, you might know them,” she added, in case he felt like he was missing out. He’d see it at the feast, most likely.

He seemed to be taken aback about it— Barbara’s first thought was that he just really, really wanted to use fake blood— but she reassured herself that, no, Owain was going to be reasonable about her reasonable (ish) request. “I mean—” she started, but he went on. He was trying so hard to make her happy— she’d feel a little bad, if it wasn’t kind of life-affirming. She gave him a broad smile: “Oh, well, you have to have ideas too,” she said encouragingly, just so she didn’t come across like she was dictating all their future Halloweens. “Anything you want. Just no blood.”

As she busied herself pushing her butterbeer back and forth in front of her on the table, she was aware he was looking at her, which made her too self-conscious to talk for a long moment. (Was her hair a mess? It was a mess, wasn’t it, probably? It probably was a mess! Oh, no! And her lips were chapped, too, now. She took another sip of butterbeer. Thank Merlin he rekindled their conversation, although…what was that?)

“Er,” she said, baffled. “Er… pink.” He knew that, right? Did he think it’d changed?

Had it changed?

“Purple,” she added, a bit unsure. “I like purple too.”

The food— that was something she could work with, at least. She grinned, trying to come across reassuring (Merlin, he was nervous, wasn’t he?) and said, too eagerly, “It is! Sort of wish they had a different soup of the day, though— I only like their tomato.” She tilted her head, gave him a worried-reassuring-hopefully cute look, half smiling, and added, “Don’t fret so much, Owain, it’s alright. We can…” Well, that was a sentence she should have had planned before she started it; she finished lamely with “If nothing else comes up, we can complain about Ms. Radziewicz.” Complaining was the easiest possible conversation to have— wasn’t it? And their ballet director, as the Nutcracker approached, was getting more and more frenetic in classes.

Barbara tucked her hair behind her ears, suddenly nervous that she’d made a terrible suggestion. “Unless you don’t want to,” she added, hastily, convinced again that her hair was awful just now. She tried surreptitiously to comb one hand through it, ensnaring it in a few of her curls and turning pink as she had to tug it back out, a bit less surreptitiously. Oh, no. Now it really was a disaster, wasn’t it? And she felt warm, now, too. She grabbed her butterbeer back up again and took another sip.

“Well, we have a whole year to plan this time then. I’m sure we can think up something really good!” Not that Owain wasn’t enjoying what they were wearing at the moment, but he was sure they could do better. And there was limitless options, even with no blood. “Maybe we’ll see something today,” he smiled cheekily, “probably not a Venomous Tentacula though!”

Of course it was pink! It had always been pink. Why did he ask such a stupid thing?

“I like red,” Owain added unnecessarily, as Barbie had also known him for just as long. Red had been his favourite colour even before he was sorted into Gryffindor. “And blue I suppose.” He meant that. Owain wasn’t only saying that because Barbie was Ravenclaw.

And she totally knew something was up. Why couldn’t he be a normal person and hold a date-like conversation? Here Barbie was trying to reassure him and smiling prettily and all he could do was nod dumbly.

“Do you like your part?” Owain asked, in lieu of anything else to say. While he was performing as the Rat King, Barbie had not been cast as Clara as he would have liked, but instead as one of the dolls. It was a cute part, but in Owain’s eyes she deserved so much more time on stage.

“She’s convinced I amn’t leaping high enough,” he moaned, not realising how easily he had slipped into a conversation that wasn’t based on ‘first date questions’. “I’m so tempted to tell her that I can’t get any higher without a levitation charm!” Owain wouldn’t dare though. He wasn’t entirely sure he would make it out the studio alive if he talked back to their director at this time of the year.

Watching Barbie try to discretely fuss with her hair brought another smile to his face. She really did look very pretty, especially while blushing slightly. “I like your hair.” He told her, while she was drinking so she couldn’t try and brush the compliment aside. Would it look like he was copying her if he also took a drink now? Owain eventually waited until Barbie had placed her butterbeer back on the table before picking his own up.

As he took a drink, Owain had a quick glance around the pub, eyes washing over the other occupants. They stopped to rest on a witch and wizard dressed as what he presumed was Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, given that they were each carrying stones and gold. Neither looked particularly happy to be there and seemed to be doing everything possible to ignore each other. Once he had placed his drink back down on the table, he nodded his head over at the couple to point them out to Barbie. “Whatcha reckon their story is?” He asked, interested to hear what she came up with. It obviously didn’t have to be true, the more ludicrous, the better.

Owain said, optimistically, that they had all year to plan next year's costumes — Barbara already suspected, of course, that they were going to forget until October first of next year, but she giggled (and felt instantly stupid) and said, simply, “Mmhm.”

His favourite colours were red and blue; she was nervous enough to find it sort of silly. “Like, Ravenclaw blue?” she said. “Or sky blue, or… what have you?” She, herself, was a fan of robin’s-egg blue. Which, she thought, was the most girly and silly thing she could say, so she wasn’t going to say it. And she liked royal blue, too, deep and almost purple. Frankly anything but Ravenclaw blue or navy blue.

Ballet was easier to talk about, at least. “Well,” she said, drawing the word out. Her biggest role this year was a doll — certainly nothing glamourous to start with, and she wasn’t even the prettier doll, she was the clown — but she couldn’t deny that it was much more fun than she’d expected. “It’s not so bad, I suppose. And you know, corps de ballet is the first step up to getting more solos.” This last was said with a more wistful tone than she’d meant it with— she smoothed her dress over her legs and added, matter-of-fact, “Of course I’m too small for anything good, though. Once I hit five feet it’ll be fine.”

He frankly wasn’t jumping high enough in rehearsals — which she wasn’t going to say to his face. He’d heard it — and often. “Oh, don’t say that,” she said with some dismay. “You’ll die.”

She gave the idea some thought, then added “If you like, maybe I can sort of… sneakily levitate you. It’d have to be fast. Don’t reckon it’d do to be obvious about it.” She frowned at the thought, widened her eyes as comically as she could. “Imagine if you hit the ceiling, though. She couldn’t say anything cross about it for the rest of her life.”

Owain told her, as she took a drink, that he liked her hair, and Barbara nearly choked and set it down hastily, “Oh. Thanks.” And then, a moment later, because she couldn’t not, “It’s a mess.”

He pointed out a couple nearby; she leaned forward. “Oh, don’t reckon I could guess,” she said. “They’ve just bought a kneazle,” she theorized, “and he wants to name it Mr. Fluff, and she wants to name it John.”

Oh Merlin, there were lots of types of blue. Of course he couldn’t get away with saying anything imprecise around Barbie. She would spot it straight away. And he certainly couldn’t just say normal blue which was the first thing that popped into his mind. “I dunno, all blues I suppose. Like, I like when the sky is blue? Does that count?” It probably wouldn’t but at least he was talking and not just staring at her like an idiot. “Not dark blue though,” Owain paused, “navy,” correcting himself. “It’s sooo boring and official.”

“I don’t think you’re too small!” Owain said immediately and indignantly. “It should be about talent not height and you’ve got cauldrons full of that.” And Owain genuinely felt that way. Barbie deserved way better than any of the other dancers in the studio. “But I know you’ll be the best clown they’ve ever seen.” Oh crud, foot in mouth. “Because you’re a great dancer,” he added hastily, “not because you’re like clown-like or whatever.”

He took a hasty drink of butterbeer to stop himself from talking anymore. Merlin, he was great at ruining things, wasn’t he? Stop talking rubbish and inadvertently insulting Barbie Owain!

Barbie’s suggestion did warrant the laughter that came out his mouth though. This was more conspiratorial best friends than a date and so infinitely more comfortable than anything he was previously going with. “You’re a genius!” He praised with a wide grin. “Right, you’d need to hide your wand in one of the flounces in your costume but you could definitely do that! Oh Merlin, imagine her face!!” It was with glee that he was picturing the shocked look on Miss Radziewicz’s face as he leaped as high as the ceiling. Maybe mixing magic with ballet would even produce something spectacular.

His oldest friend, and current date, was so bad at accepting compliments. “It really looks lovely,” he assured, smiling genuinely across the booth at her. It looked like she had spent some time making sure the curls were all perfect. Owain only knew that because he shared a house with a sister and a mother who spent far too long getting ready for things.

Snorting again in laughter, Owain shook his head. “Well, they’re both wrong, aren’t they? Clearly a kneazle should be called Nancy…. or Norman.” He paused, “I think they’re the Ministry Candy Patrol and they’re here to make sure all of Hogsmeade is up to scratch for guisers later.” Another dramatic pause, this time lowering his voice. “But they’re undercover and she told him off for hogging all the chocolate frogs!” Later on, Owain would make sure that he definitely, definitely took the same amount of sweeties as Barbie. It was what a chivalrous date would do.

Sky blue!

“Hmm,” said Barbie, as though deep in thought; “I approve.” Then she giggled, overcome suddenly with how ridiculous she was, treating this so seriously. (She supposed he’d brought it up, but still— she couldn’t help the anxious fluttering in her chest, that she was boring. She wanted so badly not to bore him.)

“Oh, no, I don’t like navy either,” she added. “I think it’s drab.”

By this point she was almost uncomfortable talking about ballet— enough discussion of it made her feel so woefully inadequate, something she couldn’t help thinking Owain didn’t understand. (Why would he? He was, first, talented, and second, a boy— their dance teachers needed him.) This was her fault entirely, too; she knew that her moaning would have made him want to praise her, and had gone on with it, and even now that she was uncomfortable with it she couldn’t complain. Of course, she added to herself, even if his compliments didn’t make her feel any better about her dancing, it did make her feel better about how much he liked her. And how much she liked him.

How much she liked him, even as he barreled down the natural path of conversation toward clown comparisons; she clapped one hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Owain recognised his mistake at the same time she did— as he hastily corrected himself she started laughing, pressed her hands to her cheeks as though that would keep her giggles in. “Oh Merlin,” she said, a little out of breath— “Stop, stop stop. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t frankly tell if he was taking her joke suggestion seriously, or joking back— she gave him a half smile and said, in as friendly a tone as she could muster, “No!!!” She couldn’t stop grinning either, though; it took her a moment before she got out “If I don’t accidentally kill you, Miss Radziewicz definitely will.” It was still a thrilling thought though— she let herself imagine it one more time, Owain soaring up into the ceiling, before she folded her hands neatly on the table and took a deep, calming-down breath.

She listened intently to his theory, trying to keep her face deadpan. “Ministry Candy Patrol,” she repeated, and grinned. “Reckon they’d stop us for candy impersonation?”

It felt a bit cruel to be talking about this obviously miserable couple, though; she raised her eyebrows to look quickly around the Three Broomsticks again, gaze finally landing on two elderly women in one corner laughing over a photo album. “What d’you reckon they’ve got in there?” she said. “My money’s on bad Rita Skeeter headlines.”

Miss Radziewicz would definitely kill him. But, avoiding death was part of the fun, right? “I trust you,” Owain told her, “besides it would totally be worth it!” He paused though, allowing himself to think of other options since Barbie had apparently ruled out levitation charms, “what about if I eat some fizzing whizzbees?” said with a wink, “then I could just do the whole dance several feet off the ground. A floating Rat King, no one would ever have seen the like!” He imagined how possible it would be to do the whole dance while floating, it would definitely present a huge new range of challenges.

“Do you think you can jump while you’re floating?” He asked curiously, “can we get some fizzing whizzbees later and try it out?” They were bound to get some later. “We can see if you need the ground to jump or you can just sort of use your arms to go higher…” Owain demonstrated the desperate flapping of his arms that he assumed would be needed, and probably looked like a complete idiot doing so. Not that it bothered him. Owain was remarkably unconcerned by what strangers thought of him. Barbie on the other hand, he cared what she thought of him.

He was taking a sip of butterbeer when Barbie made her joke and had to quickly swallow down before he sprayed it across the table. Owain may not know a lot of things, but he knew spraying your date with liquid from your mouth wasn’t the done thing. “Oh Merlin, you’re right!” He grinned back, then cast another glance over at the couple and ducked further into the booth. With a whisper, he shared a conspiratorial look with Barbie, “they’re onto us! Don’t look! We’ll be taken in for questioning.” They were completely ridiculous and he really did not want to be anywhere else. Barbie was the best.

Their food arrived just as Owain was leaning across the booth to catch a glimpse of the new targets. He shot an innocent ‘I wasn’t doing anything, promise’ look at the waitress who deposited their dishes and turned to leave. “Oops.” Was his short response to Barbie once she was out of earshot. Then he laughed again. The waitress probably thought he was crazy. But that was preferable from being so nervous he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“When they were younger they were world famous broomstick stunt women,” he told her matter-of-factly. “And they used to do mad dares and tricks all over the world.” Owain nodded as he spoke, pretending to be a lot more serious than he was. “Except they were once travelling so fast that they made Rita Skeeter’s curls fall out,” he mimicked the shock on the face of the reporter when her hair could suddenly move and wasn’t rigidly held in place. “So she started to only write bad things about them, like they were actually a front for invisible giants who were actually carrying them as they did their tricks.” Owain turned with a grin, “my new heroes, clearly.”

His food had remained untouched, so invested was he in the story. Quickly snaffling a chip from the plate, he turned to look at the rest of the room. A man sat by himself, face buried in a newspaper, but every so often he would cast furtive glances at the door. “What about him?” He asked, pointing him out discreetly (well, discreetly for Owain), “Who’s he waiting for?”