adventure of a lifetime. [tag; fergie]

"Thank you so much for coming!"

The pleasant voice belonged to a petite blonde woman who reached out and embraced a passer-by. It was all systems go. The doors to Deja Brew had been open for a few hours and it was pretty busy. Poesy thought it just boiled down to the fact that people were nosy and probably missed her grandfather's vegetable shop and were simply happy to see it open once more.

It was stressful but exhilarating. Poesy hadn't been back in Britain for long and autumn was now in full swing. In fact, she'd been forced to buy a stockpile of jumpers because her usual arsenal of sundresses would have her frozen to the bone. Dressed in a pair of blue jeans, an oatmeal coloured cardigan and with her curls tied into a ponytail, her brown apron with her name emblazoned was in pride of place.

She really hoped this new venture would work out. Deja Brew was unusual and Diagon Alley was crying out for a decent coffee shop. Not a tea shop, not somewhere froofy and overpriced but an actual coffee shop. One that was warm and cosy, comfortable and served affordable drinks with a zing.

Her grandfather had been released from St. Mungo's a few days prior. Though he now walked with a cane, he gave her a cheesy thumbs up from the doorway that made her feel completely at ease, a moment of calm in a sea of chaos. Poesy had mailed invites to her family and friends as well as posting a small advert in the Daily Prophet. There were small cups of coffee on offer, a selection of the menu. Customers could add in potions of their choosing and Poesy felt her heart swell at the reactions. There was laughter and disbelief with some patrons excitedly dashing out to buy scratch cards with their boost of liquid luck. Of course, these quantities were watered way down.

Chewing on her lip, Poesy couldn't help the smile that started to spread. This felt right. She hadn't realised just how lonely she'd been back in Paris - then again, it was easy to ignore things when she was elbow-deep in textbooks. Things were under control as she swept on buy, happy to stop and answer questions. She didn't mind chatting about her work, especially since it had basically been her life for the past ten years or so. Turning her head, Poesy stopped suddenly as a familiar figure squeezed through the bustling crowd.

Instantly, she was shunted back a decade. It was summer. It was hot, the branches of the tree they were sitting under were heavy and fat with apples. They were by the lake, their toes just absently dangling in the warm water, wrapped up in each other. She had her back against his chest, his arms around her as her fingers trailed slowly up and down his arms. It was an intimate moment, hidden away from prying eyes - it had been one of the last times she'd been truly happy.

Her big blue eyes tracked him through her new coffee shop. There was no mistaking; it was definitely him. He was much taller and broader now. He seemed…different. He held himself a little more stiffly and his clothes fitted him better. Not to mention he was half the size he used to be.

They'd called him "Fat Fergie" back at school and the memory made Poesy's stomach twist uncomfortably. She didn't think he was fat, she'd never thought that. She'd always though he was handsome but now he was downright beautiful. He seemed to be unaware of her presence, despite the fact that she was stood stock still and staring. Cute had been replaced with, dare she say it, sexy. She couldn't help it. Her eyes trailed across him, from his feet to his face and she must have looked like a lovesick teenybopper. Poesy was having a hard time processing what was going on with him. They hadn't spoken in ten years and he'd definitely changed. It had been so long, she didn't think she remembered how his voice sounded or how his hands felt. Sadness poked at the edges of her buoyant mood. Gosh. He might even be married now.

She remembered that she'd invited him, along with his sister and his parents. Perhaps it was selfish but she needed someone she knew, a familiar face, especially now since London was as foreign to her as the surface of the moon. Panic set in. He was here because he'd been invited. She knew Fergie - at least she used to - and he was here because he didn't want to be rude. Simple. There was no other reason. He was a genuinely lovely boy. Man. He was certainly a grown up now.

The crowd seemed to part and her surroundings came rushing back in. The chatter of the shop rushed in to meet her, with laughter, warm conversation and the clinking of cups. Poesy offered him a smile that was a little unsure around the edges but genuine all the same. Her eyes flickered across his face. It was still the same. Same eyes, same brows, same skin. Only now, cheekbones had appeared and he looked so much more graceful now. It both impressed and alarmed her. Poesy smiled again, her head tilted to the side. "You came."



@Fergie Flume

It would have been rude to say no, he told himself for what felt like the twentieth time this morning. She was just being nice, inviting him. She’d probably sent owls to their whole year, knowing Poesy. If Poesy was still the Poesy he had known almost a decade ago – it had been that long, hadn’t it? They’d said goodbye on their last day of school and Fergie had always sort of held onto the thought that they might see each other again, but she’d moved overseas and he’d not wanted to distract her from her studies by owling her. Then came the war. Then it was after the war, and in the least offensive way possible he’d almost forgotten all about her.

Now, looking back, she was just his high school sweetheart. She probably barely remembered how they’d been so in love that Fergie had thought they’d get married and have children. That seemed ridiculous now. Knew it was. Honey had told him as much, then and now – she’d elected this morning to not accompany him, even though she’d been invited too. Turning up was just being polite, especially when he worked in the same city.

It was a brisk November morning, and Fergie’s woollen suit was just enough to shield him against the cool breeze whistling down Diagon Alley. He was still trying to work out the whole ‘dressing for the weather’ thing when living at the other end of the country – well, technically not even the same country. And the weather up there was often drastically different to London, and he had to rely on the WWN's weather forecast. He’d been back in Hogsmeade for a month now; the commute wasn’t so bad, nor was having some company – he’d probably prefer it wasn’t his sister, though.

Fergie spotted the hunter green sign, a small smirk tugging at his lips at the name: Deja Brew. She obviously hadn’t lost her sense of humour, at least. He entered under the classic tinkle of an over-door bell, surprised by just how busy the place was at this time of the morning. The Scotsman squeezed between two groups of people who’d apparently already ordered their drinks but not yet made it as far as either taking a seat or leaving, “Excuse me, sorry.” 

He looked back where he was going and came face-to-face with a pretty blonde in a brown apron – Poesy. She smiled, he smiled back. “Hi—” they both spoke at the same time, he let out a nervous laugh, nodding, “Yeah, I did.” He held his arms out about to hug her, then seemed to think better of it and shoved his hands in his pockets. He gave the room a cursory glance. “This place looks amazing,” he commented in his thick Scottish accent, the twang intensifying now that he was back living north of the border. “How are you? It’s erm, been a wee while, eh?” He offered her a sheepish sort of grin.

Although his laugh was nervous, it elicited one of her own and suddenly it wasn't so bad. She smiled again as she fought the urge to shift her weight, pick at her nails or any other myriad of nervous gestures. Poesy was all in a flap because Fergie didn't make her nervous; she was psyching herself out.

As he extended his arms to her, she took a half-step forward before he retracted them, leaving her hovering. To cover the embarrassment, she wiped her already clean hands on her apron. Her big blue eyes flicked over his shoulder to see if his parents had accompanied him and felt a brief respite to see that his sister had not. Poesy didn't know much about Honey Flume, other than she was entirely too intimidated by her when she'd been sixteen. She was achingly cool, smart, funny and beautiful. It was probably a bloody good job that she wasn't here to witness this. She would have liked to see his parents, though. But she had to remember that things weren't as she'd left them.

She followed Fergie's gaze and she flushed with pleasure at his compliment. "Thank you," she replied demurely. "There are still a few bits and bobs to do," she tacked on hastily as she always did, trying to diffuse the compliment as she flapped her hands. Poesy had done all of this herself. From the moving and the painting, to the building of chairs and tables. She didn't know if this was going to work but she had to at least try.

Ten years. The phrase banged around her head like a pinball as he mentioned it had been a while since they'd last seen one another. Poesy was pleased to hear that Fergie's accent hadn't been diluted by his move from home. It was rich like clotted cream fudge and warm like a roaring fire. She couldn't say the same for her own. From going to Italy since she was fifteen and moving out of home at seventeen, her voice was less Welsh and more…flat. She'd lost the lilting rise and fall of her vowels and while her voice was still soft, it was now hard to place her.

"A little bit," she agreed with a gentle smile. Poesy couldn't quite remember their last conversation together. The words were unclear but she distinctly recalled a sense of deep melancholy, the type that only the loss of a first love could give a person. It was foggy and she'd been distracted, torn between her future and her boyfriend. But she'd made the right decision. He could have written. She should have written but for what? It wouldn't have changed anything and no one met their soul mate when they were sixteen. He didn't follow her to Italy but she also hadn't asked him to.

"I'm pretty good," Poesy replied brightly, finding herself having to tilt her head a little further back to look up at him. "I haven't been back long," she explained, nodding to her new coffee shop. She forgot that Fergie didn't know that she'd left Paris - and a former boyfriend - behind. "I can't make head nor tail of anything," she admitted with a laugh and then a frown. Her eyes slid from him to her parents. They were laughing and joking, standing with their backs to them. If her mum knew Fergie was here, she might start crying.

Poesy would happily prattle on about her potions voyage for hours but it wasn't for everyone. "But look at you!" The petite blonde gushed, her eyes wide as she extended her arms out to him. "You look amazing," she offered and hoped he wouldn't be embarrassed. He'd obviously put work into himself and it should be applauded. "London suits you," she remarked with another small smile. Poesy was dimly aware that Chloe, one of her waitresses, had been polishing the same glass for five minutes with her mouth hanging open.

"Can I get you a drink?" She asked, turning as she moved back behind the counter. Poesy was all set to make a coffee before she paused, a milk bottle in one hand and a heavy metal jug in the other. She blushed. She had no idea what Fergie drank any more. Swiftly, Poesy offered an apologetic smile and a shake of her head. "Americano?" She ventured as she tamped the coffee and slotted it into the machine. With her back to Fergie, she realised her hands were clammy. Clearing her throat, her hand dashed out to snatch a pale blue potions vial labelled "clarity." She downed it in one and coughed at the faint peppermint taste. She didn't often find a need to drink her own potions but her head was all over the place and it wasn't Fergie's fault.

Spinning back around, she held the cup of for Fergie to take, placing a small heart-shaped amaretti biscuit on the saucer. She offered him a wishy-washy smile. "I can do hearts and a particularly smushed looking phoenix. I'm working on the rest of the shapes," she joked, noting that the underside of his biscuit was slightly over baked.

A second or two passed before she caved into her curiosity. "Have you got a minute to catch up?" Poesy asked hopefully. It was poor form to duck out on her opening day but her employees would keep everything ticking over. Poesy hadn't kept in touch with anyone from her Hogwarts days, save for maybe Leo Emerson but she liked it that way. She'd never been particularly popular and while her school days weren't bad, she'd decided to lock those away. Leo hadn't mentioned Fergie in his letters or when he visited her in France and she would admit that she'd always been a teeny bit jealous. Fergie was basically a stranger to her now and it seemed implausible that they'd been so wrapped up in one another once upon a time. In case he agreed, she pointed to a free table in the corner that overlooked the shopping street. It might give them a little bit of privacy.

Fergie pressed his lips together and gave her a rueful smile. “More than a little,” he teased gently – ten years felt like a lifetime and yet, she looked almost exactly as she had when he’d last seen her. Maybe that was partly down to his memory being generous, maybe it was because ten years really was a long time and he could only vaguely remember her core features – her big blue eyes, her smooth pale skin, her golden blonde hair.

“Good,” he replied, nodding along with her. “Oh,” that was a pleasant surprise, he supposed, that she hadn’t been around for months without telling him. Not that she needed to tell him – she wasn’t obligated to notify him of her whereabouts and she never had. It was for this reason that he was under the assumption she’d been in Italy this whole time. “Suppose it’s a wee shock compared with like, drinking wine and eating fresh pasta every night.” He grinned. “Poor planning, coming back in time for winter. Think I’d rather be in the Med.” He glanced towards the windows, to the grey light outside. At least he’d be in Spain next month, thank Merlin – he needed a break.

His head snapped back to her and he immediately wanted to shrivel up and die at her 'compliment'. “Er, yeah,” he laughed nervously, his cheeks taking on a ruddy hue as he averted his gaze down towards his feet. “Thanks,” he mumbled, then glanced back up at her, still flushed. He'd started shedding some of his weight while they'd been together, but now he was a far cry from the potato he'd been as a young boy. “Well,” he drew the word out, hesitant to correct her, “actually, I’m working here but I’ve moved back up to Hogsmeade.” He scratched at the side of his head and ran his fingers through his curls, “Family stuff.” He added, then realised that sounded like something bad – really bad, rather than just his sister being a bit loose – had happened. “Nothing scary,” he amended, “nothing to worry about.” He was assuming she might worry, when she might not give a toss, but unless the continent had changed her drastically, Fergie knew she was more inclined to care than not.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, following her towards the counter. “Um—” Fergie didn’t really do fancy coffees, he just had the granules in the jar at home, and at work he tended to have a cup of tea, so he was a little relieved when Poesy suggested something for him. His eyes had grown wide trying to read everything on the menu at once. She was busy making it, so he found ‘Americano’ on the menu and read the description – suited him fine, he ought not to have too much milk anyway with how fatty it was.Maybe she thought so too.

A minute later and she was handing him a mug and saucer. “Cheers,” he said, “cute.” Ugh, he grimaced, cute? Belatedly, he shifted the saucer to one hand and reached into his pocket, “How much?” he asked, before she waved him off. Oh, now he felt bad. He wasn’t expecting anything free, even if it was only a coffee. He smiled guiltily at her in appreciation. When she asked for him to stay he felt like he definitely couldn’t say no – she had, conveniently, given him a proper vessel to drink from, not one of those paper takeaway cups the muggles used. Not that he didn't want to stay, either. “Yeah, I’m – yup.” He cringed at his own inability to speak properly.

His eyes followed the direction of her finger and he nodded, walking carefully over and holding his drink with two hands as he weaved between tables and chairs. He set it down on the table and took a seat opposite her. Fergie picked up the biscuit and dipped it in his coffee before taking a bite. “So um, how long have you been back? You enjoying it?” He glanced at her hands, looking for a ring, and tried not to read into the fact there wasn’t one there – maybe she didn’t wear it to work. Seemed implausible that she would be single, she was too beautiful and kind to be alone – or that was how he remembered her, at least.

The way he described Italy made her laugh and she couldn't help it. That sounded ideal and something similar to how she'd seen the country in her mind's eye. Poesy decided not to correct him, just in case he loved the place or he wanted to visit someday. "Oh no," she chuckled, her hands going to her face as it turned pink. "You're making me feel homesick." It was a familiar pang, laced with panic. Often, she wondered if coming back here was a mistake. She didn't have any formal training for this sort of work, for this sort of city, for this sort of pace. She followed Fergie's gaze to the window and she smiled again. "Oh, I dunno," she commented lightly. "I miss the rain." Welsh rain was very different. It was often fine and hazy but stuck around for days. The type that got someone soaked to the bone, despite how many layers they were wearing. It was misty and murky and stunning. Cold and heavy. There was a reason the country was so green. He was right, though; she'd drunk an awful lot of wine.

Fergie's uncomfortableness radiated off him in waves and Poesy wished she could stuff the words right back into her mouth. Biting on her full lower lip, she managed to offer him a gentle smile. Maybe it was a bit full on. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned it. It was impossible not to, really. She mirrored his actions as she scratched the back of her neck, willing him to somehow miraculously forget the entire last five minutes of their conversation. How terrible was that? There was some sort of unwritten rule that ex-girlfriends weren't allowed to tell their ex-boyfriends they thought they were hot.
Of course he was working here in London. A lot of their classmates must have migrated south but Poesy was well aware she was trespassing. She nodded along in understanding but her eyes flicked up to his face in alarm as he replied he was having family issues. Her heart sank.

Oh, shit a brick. Was that the reason his parents hadn't shown today? What if one of them had died? Poesy vaguely remembered his sister. The image was fuzzy but she recalled red hair and that she'd been decidedly frightened in her presence. So, he was back at Honeydukes. A dazed look crossed her face. That was what families did in times of trouble - they stuck together. Goodness, she wondered what being part of a normally functioning family like his must be like. "Oh good," she eventually replied, ignoring the nagging feeling that she should investigate further. She'd always liked his parents and they'd been nothing but kind to her. It was inappropriate to ask and she made a mental note to maybe send flowers. She didn't know the reason for Fergie's move back closer to home but she thought she should at least show she cared. "Everything's fine?" She paused. "Give them my love."

Cute he'd said and she folded her lips together into a thin line to stop herself from giggling. He stepped away and she exhaled quickly as she followed, clenching and unclenching her fists to try and will away the nervous energy. As though trying to find something to occupy her hands, she reached out and swiped a bottle of apple juice from the fridge before sitting down. "About a month?" Poesy answered. It was a vague answer but time had been getting away from her. She nodded. "Yeah." The word was drawn out and sounded uncertain and she found herself laughing. "No, I am. I'm just brand new to everything. I'll let you know once I catch my breath." The last spurt of enjoyment she'd left was when she'd applied the last coat of paint. Poesy looked around. The place was filled with smiles and laughter. It'd be Christmas before she knew it. While she wasn't adverse to spending the season alone, there was a tinge of uncertainty surrounding it. She wasn't sure she could face dinner with her family just yet.

Fergie's eyes shifted to her hands holding on to her bottle but she made no move to hide them. Of course he was curious and she wasn't looking into this any further. After all, she had pretty much ghosted him. There had been others since him - she was sure there had been others since her, too - but his fingers were bare also. Poesy looked down at her hands as well, pale and warm against the lopsided hardwood tables. It'd make sense if they wanted to know if they were dating someone. It was the elephant in the room. "It's not for a lack of trying," Poesy finally joked with a smile, aiming to get straight to the point. There had been someone special and his name was Alexandre. Cool and very Gallic, he'd been  her type; tall, dark, handsome with a wicked smile and a delicate touch. She'd repeated the same mistakes she'd made with Fergie by putting her career first. She couldn't handle a relationship and climbing the ladder of the Potions Guild at the same time.

She'd come home battered and bruised, exhausted and too worn out to go out to dinner. Alexandre had taken it poorly. He didn't understand because Poesy hadn't explained the sheer effort she needed to give in order to gain her qualifications. No one really understood unless they were in her shoes. She was struck by the fleeting realisation that Fergie might have done. She and Alexandre had almost made it.

"Are you -- ?" seeing anyone? was what she was about to ask before she slammed the brakes on. No. It was none of her business, despite the fact that it shouldn't be weird if they spoke about it. Why should it be? Poesy wanted to tell him everything about the last ten years; her adventures, her triumphs, she even wanted to tell him about her crushing lows because she knew he'd be sympathetic. There was something holding her back and she didn't know what it was. He was no longer obligated to care. It made her feel horrible, like there was a chasm between them instead of the table they were seated at. She cleared her throat and cracked open her bottle of juice. It shouldn't be uncomfortable. They were both grown adults. She wouldn't hurt his feelings and he wouldn't hurt hers.

"But you're working in London?" Poesy powered on, wondering what it is he might be doing now. His suit looked nice, expensive, so it was either something well paid or something where a smart appearance meant something. Fergie seemed so worldly wise here in this small coffee shop. He looked as though he had his life together and that was an admirable trait. Before he answered, Poesy swiftly bruised some coffee granules off her apron and smiled, giving him her full attention. She wanted to know everything. They had ten years to catch up on.

Fergie smiled; she hadn’t changed. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” he reassured her. She obviously hadn’t had time to read the Prophet lately – he supposed that was a relief.

“A month,” he repeated, trying not to seem disappointed. It wasn’t that long, really, and besides that he hadn’t even been thinking about her until her owl had arrived – so had she felt the need to drop him a line just to keep him abreast of her living situation, he’d probably have been more perplexed than pleased. Was she glad to be home? She didn’t sound so sure. He could imagine that a month was hardly enough time to adjust, especially when he envisaged that she had spent the majority of that month getting this place ready. “Good, yeah,” he smiled weakly, “bet it feels like you haven’t had a minute to yourself.”

“What?” Fergie flicked his eyes up to meet hers, guiltily – she’d snapped him staring. It had just been curiosity, not longing, but now he wasn’t sure how she’d interpret that. “Oh, I—” he cleared his throat and took a drink of his coffee to avoid having to explain himself – it was that, or wade warily into having to discuss their relationships since.  He didn’t think it would serve either of them to dwell—

So much for avoiding that topic. Fergie knew what she was trying to ask – the same question he kind of wanted to ask her, but kind of didn’t want to know the answer at the same time. “Erm, no. Not right now,” he smiled wistfully. He was too preoccupied with Honey’s relationships – or pseudo-relationships – to have his own right now. That was his excuse anyway. It had been a year since he and Ailis had broken up, but he hadn’t had any serious relationships since then – a few dates here and there, but Poesy didn’t want to hear about that and he didn’t want to tell her about it. “You?” he asked before he could stop himself – at least he’d been able to make it sound offhand, rather than obsessive.

“Yeah,” he nodded more enthusiastically, keen to change the subject. “Ministry,” he gave her a lopsided smile, as if to say ‘yeah, I know, me and everyone else’.  “Muggle Liaison Office,” he added, not with any shame. “It’s not very glamorous but it’s good work, you know?” He loved it, even the boring stuff. Last week he’d learnt how to wire a plug – not that he needed to know, it had just been for fun. “No two days exactly the same.” Except for in the summer; he and Lysander had even gone so far as to create a scale of reactions to muggles finding out their children were witches and wizards.

The Scotsman took another drink of his Americano. “I was gonna ask what the plan is once this place is up and running, but it’s already pumping,” he grinned, looking around at the bustling crowd before turning back to meet her gaze.

Poesy nodded. Fergie's unwillingness to go into detail about his family life was one hundred percent normal but she couldn't help but allow a very small part of her to feel slighted. She didn't know his family well so she shouldn't really be offended. She hadn't thought of Fergie often over the last ten years so it was a bit of a shock to have these wayward feelings blindside her.

"I haven't," she agreed cheerfully and with a bright smile. "I love being busy. I'm really looking forward to winter." Her little Welsh town had never been enough for her. It was beautiful and idyllic but it was small. It couldn't hold all of her dreams, which was probably why her and the man opposite to her relationship has crumbled. "I haven't seen Christmas lights in forever." That sounded stupid but maybe Fergie didn't know that Italy didn't really have those.

Habitually, Poesy rolled her teacup around in her hands, the hot porcelain searing her palms was actually rather comforting. "Oh no, it's fine, I don't--" she began to fumble over her words at the same time he did. Her blush deepened as they mentioned the elephant in the room.

Not right now, Fergie had said. Poesy imagined learning that he was single might be exciting or she might feel relieved but in actual fact, she just felt...uncomfortable. The Fergie she knew always looked so good in relationship. He was a genuinely lovely man. He was a good boyfriend and he'd be a better one now. The women in London were absolutely mad to let him walk past them. Swiftly, she cleared her throat. She really wanted to comfort him and say the traditional oh, well, you won't be single for long! but how inappropriate would that be coming from her?

Poesy couldn't think how to make this situation any better. They weren't friends. The most alarming thought was that if her rock and roll sister, Constance, ever found out that Fergie was unattached, she'd be here quicker than two shakes of a lamb's tail. When asked the same question, she sketched a smile. "A recent near miss," she told Fergie honestly. Selfish or not, Poesy wasn't really ready to be someone's wife. Or girlfriend. Gosh, she was already struggling to be someone's boss, nevermind someone's lover. She didn't want to talk about it.

"No way!" Poesy exclaimed, her bright eyes wide as she learned of his job. "That's amazing, well done," she replied, genuinely pleased for him. By this time, Poesy was a professional at pushing that guilt that stuck in her throat whenever the war was vaguely mentioned back down; she was happy for him. "Sounds like a perfect fit," she offered kindly. It did go some way to assuage her misconduct after hearing that Muggles and Muggleborns were in his capable hands. Though, it wasn't enough to make her admit that she'd been an absolute shithouse.

Unaware that she'd been holding her breath, Poesy let it out in a laugh. "Can I be honest?" She asked Fergie. "If I can keep this afloat until New Year, I'll be absolutely thrilled." Her mother was a daydreamer but her father was fatalistic. Poesy was somewhere stuck in the middle. She didn't know if Fergie suffered from a case of got-to-keep-it-in-the-family but because his family owned Honeydukes, maybe he did. Poesy also didn't want to admit how badly she needed this venture to work. She needed to show her mum and her sister that her time spent abroad was bot frivolous.

As Fergie met her eyes, she offered him a tired smile. "I've got a lot of I-told-you-so howlers I'm hoping to send," she joked -- sort of. "And listen," she began, nodding to his coffee cup. "I can't afford to give you free coffee but you're welcome to drop in if you're passing through."

Fergie smiled, agreeing with her preference for winter – Merlin knew he burnt like a lobster in the summer. “Yeah, it’ll be good to see Hogsmeade decked out.” He valued seeing his parents (and Honey) over Christmas, but he did miss having a proper wintery day rather than the sort of mild weather in Majorca. Maybe when either he or Honey (ha) settled down they could push to have Christmas back in Scotland. “Well, I hope you’re stocking up,” he glanced around the café, trying to picture it covered in tinsel and fairy lights.

He had half-expected Poesy to say she was seeing someone – that the lack of ring was just a case of whoever it was dragging their heels. He lowered his gaze and ran his fingertips around his saucer. This was a little more awkward than he’d prepared himself for this morning. He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers and gave her a rueful smile.

“Yeah,” he smiled again, a little more happily. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Helping Honey at the shop, maybe, but that didn’t give him anywhere near the same satisfaction that he got from his work at the Ministry. Working at Honeydukes had always been more of a duty than a passion.

“It’ll be open long after that, I’m sure,” Fergie reassured her. He meant it, too. Diagon had recovered – slowly at first, then with a bit more enthusiasm once things had really started to settle down aftet the war – but it was still in need of places like this, new blood.

The Scotsman grinned. “I bet,” he lifted his mug to his lips, “glad mine was a regular owl.” He sipped his coffee – and then nearly choked on it. “I—Poesy, I’m happy to pay,” he said, his face flushing red in embarrassment at the fact she’d pointed out he hadn’t – he’d thought her waving him off had been genuine, but realised now that maybe she’d been expecting him to insist. “I thought…” Shit. He looked like a right twat now.

He made a half-hearted effort to glance at his wrist – not even bothering to pull back his sleeve – and said “Is that the time? Sh—sugar, I better get going.” He set his cup down and got to his feet quickly (he wasn’t going to be the recipient of any acting awards any time soon, based on this performance), fishing in his pocket for a handful of coins. He bent to place them on the low table between them with a small clatter and flashed her an awkward smile. “Was good catching up, thanks for the…” he gestured at the almost-empty mug. “I’ll see you.” With that, he turned and slipped through the small crowd and out into the street.


END