lemon glow - montserrat

The Griffins had won.

It wasn't a pretty win, and it certainly wasn't one that Harlan considered a success. The team had left the pitch battered, bruised and defeated, only held together by the saving grace that was Alannah catching the snitch. He would take it for the time being, only based on pure exhaustion, but there were clear things they needed to work on before the next match — assuming Rob didn't kill someone by then.

The celebration after was meant to be lowkey, put together for those on the team but more so for those associated with the team and the people that they had invited. It was something that Harlan never looked forward to after a big game but he knew it was a necessity. The happier the stakeholders were, the better it fared for them. 

Held on the upper level of the arena in the private bar, the event tame relatively speaking, with soft music pumping through the Spring sky. The Griffins eventually trickled into the familiar crowd, each one more bruised than the other, Harlan being no exception. He had a gash through his eyebrow from a rogue bludger and his lip was busted, but healing already thanks to the team of mediwizards who tended to them post-match.

It was his intention to stay for the shortest amount of time possible, to show face. Immediately, though, he was pulled into a conversation with a few of the more prominent backers of the team, who promptly handed him a whiskey and were off about what the next year needed to be for them. What the Griffins needed to provide them. He scowled, downing the drink, wishing he was anywhere else.

He'd nearly forgotten in his bad mood that he had invited a friend of his own there. Joan Fábregas. An old teammate, and someone whose opinion the man valued greatly. Just as he saw his opportunity to escape, Joan wandered to the bar, leaving his own plus one to stand by herself. Harlan narrowed his gaze, unsure if he knew the brunette or not.

Returning reluctantly to the current conversation he was held to, Harlan only saw from the corner of his eye as someone approached the woman. It was clear he was drunk by the way he swayed, drink splashing in his hand against his sweaty palm. Harlan was hesitant to make an assumption but jumped at the moment the man touched a hand to her side, she visibly recoiled. It was as he approached he realized the man was none other than John Keogh, who owned a sizeable portion of the team.

"Time to go, mate," Harlan clapped a hand to his back and stepped between the two of them. He didn't care if it reflected badly on him, at the end of the day he was their show pony, and how he performed was a direct correlation to their success. In a strange way, he held the power. The wizard eventually stumbled away and Harlan was left there with her, wishing he had a drink to busy himself with. "Sorry about him, bit of a prick that one..." He trailed off, eyeing the nearest cocktail waitress for a beverage.

This was certainly not Montserrat’s idea of a perfect day out, in fact, had her mother not interfered at all she would have very much enjoyed spending the afternoon curled up in her living room with Cosmos and a good book, it had been ages since she had this much time off of work. However, when Joan had suddenly broken up with his long-time girlfriend and had spent the month moping around the family home avoiding the papers like the plague, her mother had written her with such concern that Montserrat could not find it in her heart to ignore her. And somehow that had ended in the two siblings, who were truly much better apart than they were together, sitting in a rather nice part of the Quidditch Pitch enjoining a Griffins game. At least the two siblings had always been able to bond over their love for Quidditch and Montserrat was never one to complain about the many perks her brother received as a faithful member of the Quidditch clan.

The game was intense but exciting nonetheless, her eyes focused on the play with the same sort of concentration she paid to her work at St. Mungo’s. Montserrat had not had the pleasure of enjoying many live games and had always been much too proud to ever ask her brother to take her to some even though he had more or less hinted on many occasions that she was more than welcomed to any game she wanted. What made the game even more of a thrill was that this was the first time she was finally seeing one of her favorite players, Alannah Dupont, play in a match. All of the Griffins were fantastic, of course, but she had always found female Quidditch players particularly empowering. Joan cheered her on enthusiastically as well but Montserrat knew that his interest was not strictly on her skills. Either way, it was nice for the two of them to bond over the Griffins victory, brother and sister jumping out of their seats in great pleasure when the final moments and Alannah catching the snitch determined the winner.

“Time to be social now, don’t embarrass me either just stand in the corner,” Joan grumbled after the game as he dragged her along to the private party being held in the upper level of the arena. Montserrat rolled her eyes at him but ignored his comment, still wanting to believe that deep down Joan really did have a heart and only talked to her that way because it was an unspoken rule on sibling interaction. She had gotten used to it. Holding her sweater in her arms, she walked into the small gathering, looking around to see any faces she might find familiar apart from the obvious celebrities she had only met through the papers of the Daily Prophet.

“Be nice, I need to--I’ll be back,” Joan announced and just like that made his way over to a group of men in the corner next to the bar, surely to be absent for a period of time. Some of them she recognized as members of the Spanish National Team, the women with them surely some of the many girls that hung out at events like these.

“Of course the first sign of females and he dumps me,” she muttered to herself, holding her purse closer to herself as she looked around, feeling very lost and extremely out of place. Just as she considered what she might like from the bar and as she eyed an empty stool at the other far corner, a man approached her.

Montserrat tried her best to be polite but the half-slurred pick-up line he attempted on her was an utter failure from beginning to end and unable to help herself she giggled a little, her dimples in clear view as she brought a hand up to her mouth to attempt to cover her faux pas. Of course, he took that as an invitation to continue, attempting to reach out to touch her and lead her towards his side of the room, “I’m sure it’s great over there I’m just--I’ve come with someone you see,” she attempted as gently as she could. She felt rude outright refusing but visibly recoiled from his touch, biting her lip as she considered how long it would take Joan to notice.

“I’m really sorry--” she attempted again but this time help came, not in the form of Joan but even better, the departure of the man making her visibly relax. “Thank you so much, you're a lifesaver” she said she with a dimpled smile. “He seems like a great guy I’m just--well he was a bit pushy but I suppose it was just the alcohol talking,” she continued. And then it suddenly hit her, she knew exactly who this was and she fell silent, suddenly overcome by what she assumed to be embarrassment and the feeling of being starstruck.”I--you’re--I’m Montserrat, it’s an honor well pleasure to meet you, a fantastic game by the way,” she added. “I hear that you know my brother? Joan Fábregas? He’s just over there,” she added, just in case he thought her to be a crazy fangirl that had somehow gotten past security but surely she had already given him a bad first impression of her. 

Glancing over his shoulder to be sure that Keough was rightfully on his way, Harlan turned back to the woman. It was clear in his body language that he was uncomfortable with the level of praise that she'd appointed him for simply removing the leech, something he assumed was common practice. He would have liked to think that most people would have done the same if given the opportunity, but unfortunately, that wasn't always the case — particularly at events like this.

"He's really not," He countered almost immediately as she mentioned that he seemed like a great guy. John was like a lot of the men he'd met throughout his career, living a life that was afforded to them because of others' skill, going about thinking that rules didn't apply to them. Sure, his nature wasn't all that sinister, but give him a few strong cocktails and it became questionable.

Harlan nearly smiled as the realization hit her. It was nice, but certainly rare, to encounter such a genuine reaction at an event such as this — one that wasn't beholden to nonchalance, or indifference, or something.

"Thank you," He bit his tongue. It wasn't a fantastic game by any stretch of the imagination, but not many people wanted to hear what he believed he and his team needed to improve the most, despite how much it weighed on him.

"Joan — is your brother?" He looked over his shoulder at the man who he had invited, though he took his time before turning back to Montserrat. No wonder he hadn't brought her around before. "I do, I'm glad he — well, both of you — could make it," Harlan took a breath and caught the eye of a server,  suddenly in need of something to drink. "I've been trying to get your brother to a match all season," He made a face, watching as the waitress approached. "Something to drink?" He asked, nodding to Monste. The team there knew well enough what to get him without having to ask.

After taking the order, the waitress vacated the balcony from where the event was being held. Harlan half sat on the nearest barstool, amused to find that he was only now at eye level with the Fábregas sister. "Joan's just left you to fend for yourself, then?" He caught the floating tray of drinks that arrived as soon as it had been ordered, handing her a glass. "Useless..." He clicked his tongue before taking his own and sending the tray back. He couldn't very well leave her now, not with Keough lurking around.

The young witch had always had a thing for trying to highlight the good in others, even when it was obvious that their intentions were not the greatest and not the sort to badmouth a stranger to what was practically another stranger, she was physically at a loss for words. Either way, Montserrat was certainly not about to argue with the Harlan Bellamy, especially not to defend the man that had just come on to her uninvited so she simply laughed a little nervously in response to his comment.

The man looked important, that was obvious in the way he was dressed so she could only hope that her brother would not reprimand her later on for being impolite to a coach or someone of equal importance, Joan always did get a kick out of making her feel bad. All she could do was thank her lucky stars that someone had indeed been able to read the situation and step in, Montserrat really could not phantom how anyone would want to date anyone as inconsiderate as her brother.

It was such an odd thing, one would think that being related to a Quidditch star would make her significantly less starstruck when meeting others in a similar position. But for some reason it had never quite worked like that, she supposed it had something to do with the fact that Joan avoided taking her anywhere and Montserrat never asked. She was not about to jump up and down in excitement or embarrass herself by asking for an autograph but it was hard not to notice small things like how significantly taller he seemed in real life or how much nicer he appeared to be but then again, the healer had always believed that the press was simply unfair and loved a good story rather than the truth.

“He is, probably hasn’t talked about me much because he likes to pretend we’re not related,” she said jokingly, “I think he was looking for you earlier but got distracted by some of his old teammates, and the pretty blond girl over there but I’m pretty sure she’s come with someone,” she added nodding in Joan’s direction again. “Joan’s been out of sorts for a while but he’ll probably be out more often now that he’s broken up with Isabella,” she continued, stopping herself then eyeing him, not considering that she might have said too much. “You—did hear about that, right?” she asked nervously, hoping that she had not said something out of turn. He definitely wasn’t part of the press but Joan was weird about these things, he knew Harlan and him were close though so surely it was not a big deal.

“Um…” she paused for a moment, “I’ll just have one of whatever you’re having,” she replied without thinking, hoping he wouldn’t be the type to drink something ridiculously strong or plain undrinkable. Montserrat had never had a go-to drink and felt like asking what was available was a bit much.

She felt much more comfortable now that he had sat down, considering that she didn’t have to crane her neck so much to look up at him. “It’s fine, I can fend for myself…sort of,” she said jokingly. “Really he just caught me off guard. Anyway, I’m glad that Joan’s out and about, having fun and enjoying himself, this is more about him than me, once he finds a pretty girl to take home he’ll send me on my way back to my flat,” she added. Taking the drink from his hand she nodded in appreciation, “Thank you,” she said. “But don’t let me keep you from having fun, either, I know how important these celebratory parties are, good time to finally relax for a bit and let loose, right?”

Harlan smiled, shaking his head. He didn't imagine that Joan had been hiding his sister away because he was pretending they weren't related. If he had to guess, he didn't want all of his friends incessantly chatting her up. Thankfully his own sister was married now and his days of fending that off were hopefully behind him now.

"Ahh, I see," He turned again with a smirk, landing on the leggy blond, whom he recognized immediately. "That, he turned to Monste with a grin. "Is the wife of the President of Universal Brooms," He suppressed a laugh, trying to keep his voice down. He would say that Joan deserved it for ditching his sister, but paused at the mention of a breakup. "I hadn't heard that," He supposed that was why the man had finally agreed to come out. "Between us," He cast a furtive glance back to the group. "He's probably still got a shot," That couple wasn't particularly known for their fidelity.

Harlan made a face. It seemed this Fábregas sibling was used to taking the backseat. Taking a sip of his drink, he folded an ankle over his knee. "Cheers," He nodded, wondering to himself if that were the drink she would have ordered for herself. It certainly wasn't for everyone. He held up his glass. "To your brother finding someone he fancies—" Though Joan didn't deserve all of the cheers. "—and you enjoying your night," Harlan added as an afterthought, though realized after it could mistakenly have been taken the wrong way.

A good time to relax. "Hardly," This sort of thing was just another part of the job — show face, chat up donors, keep the management happy. "Suppose they aren't all that bad, though" He mused as he looked around the room. Give it another hour and this crowd would be far rowdier. "To be honest, you saved me from undoubtedly the most boring conversation imaginable," He nodded to the group of suited men that were currently chuckling among themselves and lighting cigars. "So thank you," He ran a hand through his hair before turning back.

"Really, you can get something else to drink if you like," Harlan grinned at the glass held between both of her hands. It didn't exactly look natural. And it was also the last thing he wanted Joan to see in her hand around Harlan. Back a few years, when he was in the thick of scene, that would not have bode well for an older brother.

“Well,” the young healer started, looking at the way that her older brother spoke animatedly. He was out of earshot but if his overexaggerated gestures were anything to go by, he was probably attempting to charm the group that surrounded him with an entertaining story. Montserrat would even bet that it had something to do with Quidditch, that was the only thing that Joan was any good at making conversation about and was probably one of the many reasons they did not get along so easily. The Quidditch metaphors could only go so far before it became obvious that Joan could not care less about the issues that faced the young woman as they were not directly related to his profession of choice. “That certainly is one way to make a comeback in the papers,” she mused. “Even if he does have a chance, a part of me would very much like it if she rejects him and maybe…embarrasses him, publicly,” she noted, thinking about how she might get a good laugh before she turned to him and smiled. “Does that make me the evil sibling?” she asked playfully.

She brought her drink up just slightly as he proposed a brief toast, the smell of alcohol had been enough to warn her that this was not one of the many fruity cocktails she was accustomed to drinking with friends back when she had first graduated from Hogwarts nor was is the wine she often had with dinner at her parent’s house. Even as she was anxious to take the first sip, however, she reminded herself that deciding to turn away the drink at this point might seem terribly impolite. “I don’t worry too much about Joan, his only type is female,” she joked, that much was true. Joan had taken some questionable women home before and had seemed equally smitten with all of them. She assumed it would not be long before he found his perfect match and just like that he would be married then all expectation would turn to her. That was not something that Montserrat was particularly looking forward to. “I see the prospects of me enjoying the night significantly improved already so I wouldn’t worry about that either,” she added, hoping it had not come off as too forward.

She listened closely as she took a sip from the drink, trying not to make a face as the liquid burned down her throat. It was almost inevitable that she would be feeling the aftereffects tomorrow. Montserrat had always believed that with determination it was possible to overcome just about anything which was why she braved another sip, this one a little more generous than the previous one. The less she thought about it, the less she tasted it. Or was she already a little tipsy? Her cheeks felt a little hot but it was still too early to tell. “And you saved me from probably the most uncomfortable conversation of my life so I’d say we’re even,” she said decisively. “I used to be jealous that Joan got invited to all these parties, St. Mungo’s mixers are not particularly as…eventful as say an Quidditch party if the papers are anything to go by…but they’re definitely much tamer than I imagined,” she considered. “Unless, of course, all the fun stuff goes on in some secret location after hours,” she added.

Montserrat looked at him, a little puzzled by his statement before she shook her head, “Oh no, it’s quite alright,” stumbling forward just a little as someone tried to move closer to the bar, “It’s a little stronger than what I’m used to but it’s not awful, plus I’m not a terrible drunk, promise,” she added though unnecessarily, and to prove her point, took another swig from the drink. This time it tasted a little less than what it tasted like before, that had to be a good sign, maybe she was getting used to it. “And if any other creeps come this way well I can count on you to take care of them, right?” she joked, smiling at the thought.

Montserrat had the same accent as her brother but somehow it was harder to understand. Harlan found himself leaning forward as she spoke, trying to catch all of the nuances. His reactions were just a fraction slower than compared to a conversation with an English speaker, and he felt like he was falling behind.

The mention that the prospect of her night was on the up, though, Harlan heard loud and clear. He figured she must have meant that only because he'd spared her a half-hour with a sweaty old man breathing down her neck, but he liked to think his company provided something more. He raised his glass again, this time slightly, before taking another sip, opting to keep his mouth closed. These days the press had him on edge. Every move had to be calculated. He knew he would need to be able to refute any action in the future.

"Give it an hour," Harlan said dully, eyeing the crowd. There was typically a singular point in the evening when he knew things had taken a turn — they weren't there yet, but they were on the precipice. "I'll let you know where the afterparty is," He added despite himself, grinning over the lip of his glass before taking another mouthful.

She took a step forward and instinctually Harlan held his hands out to brace a fall. More than anything he wanted to keep her as far away from his lap as possible. That was just what he needed, after all, another ill-timed photo. That would truly seal his grave with the press. "Not awful!" He repeated, laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he stomached a drink he thought was just not awful. He admired her will to prove something. Whatever it was.

"Well, in the absence of your brother..." Harlan quipped at the mention of looking out for her for the night. In truth, this worked out well for both of them— they both were able to avoid the scum of the industry. He smiled vaguely, taking another sip, trying to catch up to where she had gotten to in her glass. "Mungos, then?" He dropped both hands to his lap. "In your professional opinion, does this look alright?" He leaned forward to show off the cut on his brow that been stitched up post-game.

“Thanks, I’d love to check it out,” she said. Her cheeks reddened slightly when he held out his hands as she stumbled forward, partially in embarrassment as her clumsiness showed just what a lightweight she truly was. In her defense, the man that had stumbled to the bar had shoved her pretty hard and it had completely caught her off guard but she figured that explaining herself might look even worse. But primarily, it was the uncomfortable feeling of a surge of electricity that hummed right under where his hands had been that made her feel slightly distressed, enough so that she attempted to take a step back right away, muttering a soft apology, “Sorry about that”. Even after all of these years, the young healer was not accustomed to being touched without warning, that gift she had was starting to feel like a curse, and though it wasn’t as if she could read his mind she certainly felt like he could easily read hers, and that in itself was just a little bit humiliating.

However the sound of his laughter helped her relax again, if he was not going to make anything of it then she certainly wasn’t going to make a big deal out of nothing. The last thing she needed was for him to think that she was throwing herself at him like the many girls that she was certain would try to for the remainder of the night. Not that she didn’t want to but the witch had never been the type to do that sort of thing, things happened for a reason she had always told herself.

He was protecting her from the creeps, doing the sort of think a big brother ought to do, it was nice to know that his friends were not as awful as Joan was. “Really,” she insisted, braving another sip. “How many of these can you stand before the room starts spinning?” she said with a laugh, setting the drink down on the counter to keep herself from drinking it too fast. She would finish it, but it was probably best she didn’t overdo it, she felt as if she was already embarrassing herself enough as it was. Sitting down in the stool next to him, to avoid any other accidents, she laughed at his remark.

“How very kind of you,” she teased, he was right after all, this wasn’t necessarily a social call as much as it was him taking care of her because she couldn’t speak up for herself. Of course it was just like Joan to not introduce her to any of his nice friends, only the arrogant assholes on his team that she had come to dislike. “Hm?” she wondered, slightly distracted by her thoughts she wondered if she had heard him correctly. Her eyes traveled towards the cut along his brow, leaning forward even more as she got a closer look, sitting on the edge of the stood as she leaned closer, one leg resting closer to his for balance.

“Do you mind?” she asked softly but reached out to press a finger close to his brow anyway to make a better assessment of the stitching. “It looks a bit deep,” she noted, “might leave a scar,” she continued, moving her hand back when the touch started to feel a little unbearable for her. “I know someone at St. Mungo’s that can take of it for you, if you’re interested,” she offered. “But I’d prefer the scar, it’s becoming, it’s hard to believe Joan is even in Quidditch considering how much he takes care of his face,” she rolled her eyes at the thought. “When did it happen? You all played so well I didn’t even notice”.

How many drinks did it take before the room would start spinning? Harlan chuckled at the question, shaking his head— it would certainly take a bit more than a few sips. "Well you aren't meant to neck it," He said through a laugh and almost reached forward to take the glass but was glad to see that she decided the same after a one too many mouthfuls.

There was comfort in knowing that he had a reason for still sitting there. He could have, and probably should have, been on his way, getting Joan to look after his sister and keep her away from the scum. But he hadn't yet. The prospect of getting sucked into another conversation about donors and the potential for the next season given the trajectory they were on was enough to make him want to hide out for longer. Hell, it was enough to make him want to get out of there altogether.

Harlan looked as Monsterrat leaned closed to get a better look at his injury. He hadn't thought this one through. Shifting so that she wasn't directly in between where he sat, he nodded once she'd made her assessment. The Griffins had a whole team of professionals who would, and actually had, told him that exact thing but it was always good to get a second opinion, he justified, sitting back on his stool.

"You think?" Harlan barked a laugh at the mention of a scar being becoming on him. That was the last thing his reputation needed. Well, not the last, but it certainly wouldn't help. "Ah I've got—" He fished in the pockets of his slacks. "—this bad boy," Harlan wiggled around a small, dark vial. "Apply once every four hours and I'll be as good as new, apparently," He shrugged. It worked on every other scar over the years so he had no real reason to be skeptical.

They played so well. Either Joan's sister missed half of the game, or she really was too nice for her own good. "Was this... your first match, or?" He teased, the seriousness of his face dropping into a grin. "Really, if it weren't for Alannah catching that snitch we'd have been dead in the grass," Harlan stated matter-of-factly. It really was just that simple. They played like garbage, collectively, himself included.

“Either way, make sure you get the stitches out at a proper hospital, it’s always safest,” she reminded him, it was something she often had to tell patients, especially new moms who always insisted on doing things on their own. Surely it wasn’t his first cut nor would it be his last, she didn’t see any signs of infection so that was always a good sign.

“My first official match, yes,” she replied, unsure if he was teasing her or questioning her ability to understand Quidditch. They had tried their best, she decided, and eventually, Alannah had managed to catch the snitch essentially winning the match but it did not take away from the team’s effort. In Montserrat’s opinion, that was definitely more commendable than the underhanded things the other team seemed to be up to but the young healer was probably pretty biased. “Even so—” she started, trying to explain the thought process that had made perfect sense in her head until a heavy arm draped across her shoulder and a very loud and obviously slightly intoxicated Joan interrupted their casual conversation.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, man!” he said, his voice just a little too loud for the young healer’s liking. Frowning at his close proximity, she attempted to shrug him off to no avail, Joan’s drunkenness making her feel a little dizzy. “I was just about to come over here and warn this poor woman that she better watch out before you’ve got your hand up her skirt,” he joked loudly, Montserrat averting eye contact with Harlan as she lamented the fact that Joan had caught sight of them at all. “But then I realized it was just Montse,” he added, his tone flat as if he was disappointed that he had not caught Harlan in the midst of a conversation with another woman. “Sorry sis but you’ve got to level up your game if you’re trying to reel in someone like Harlan,” he added, moving to stand beside her. Montserrat wished that the group would just consume her and her embarrassment.

“That was a shit game man, coming from me, you’ve got to keep training, can’t let Alannah get all the glory,” he continued, laughing as he spoke. Montserrat already thought that Joan was awful but when he became drunk he could get downright unbearable. It was hard to imagine that the two men had anything to talk about or any reason to associate at all. Sure she had heard about the reputation but compared to her brother, Harlan was not only charming but he was an absolute gentleman.

“They’re a team, Joan,” Montserrat finally spoke up, “and play like one which is more than I can say about whatever joke of a team you’re on,” she continued, crossing her arms. Joan took one look at her before he burst out in laughter, unfazed by her comment.

“Anyway, my lovely friend over there,” he nodded towards the blonde in the corner that gave him a small wave, “Invited me to this players only type thing, wanna head out? I heard there’s gonna be a lot of nice-looking girls there, definitely much more entertaining than my sister, what do you say?” he continued, turning to Montserrat for a moment before he spoke, “You know the way home, right? I’d invite you but they specifically said no trolls,” he teased.

Montserrat clenched her jaw slightly, fighting the urge to say something that would probably make her look bad in public. Sighing heavily she grabbed her bag from the counter. “Yeah, whatever,” she muttered before looking over at Harlan, surely he would go. “Thanks for the drink and the conversation,” she smiled sweetly, “catch you around, then?” 

Joan barreled in like a freight train, draping himself over his sister's shoulders, speaking over the sound of soft music that was pumping through the bar speakers. Harlan grimaced through his smile, extending a hand as a sign of greeting for formality. The two had played together years ago, when they were both rookies, and it appeared that Joan hadn't quite moved on from that. This was going to be interesting. Harlan instinctively crossed his arms across his chest and sat up straight.

"Mate, c'mon," He groaned the moment that the words hand up her skirt left his colleague's mouth. Even without the context, that he was talking about his sister, the statement wouldn't have been received well. Perhaps ten years ago, he would have gone along with it— hell, it wasn't unlike him at that time, but not now. And certainly not here.

Harlan stiffened as the man continued on, now venturing to his team and the match they'd played. While he agreed that as a whole it was a shit game, the idea of a player getting all of the glory didn't sit well with him. That wasn't how they operated. His blood went hot. "Ah—" He opened his mouth to protest but Montserrat beat him to it. He glanced casually to her with a grin before turning back. "She knows a thing or two about quidditch, your sister..." Absently he took a drink, catching her eye, sitting back against the bar.

At the mention of the party, he took a deep breath, as though he were actually thinking about it. In truth, it was the last thing that he wanted to do, the sooner he was home, alone, the better. He nodded to the blonde, who he admittedly knew well himself from years back, and put on his best-conflicted face. "Can't tonight, got to hang around a bit longer, you know how it is," Joan most certainly did not, but Harlan knew how to stroke an ego when he needed to.

In what felt like a breath, one sibling was gone, and the other was on her way. Without thought, Harlan abandoned his drink once Joan was safely out of sight and caught Monserrat before she had made it all the way to the exit. He touched her side but retracted almost immediately, shifting to push hair back as she turned to face him.

"Your brother can be a prick," Though he imagined she knew that already. He paused for a moment. "I can get you into that party, if that's what you want—" Her face said enough. "Or not," Harlan cut himself off, amused, half grinning. He couldn't blame her, even with his offer he intended to leave the moment she was safely inside. He knew what that kind of party was going to be— if Joan wanted to get laid, he was going to the right place.

"Are you alright then, to get back?" Harlan asked, now more seriously, uncertain where back even was. He wasn't sure when it became his responsibility to make sure that she did. "I take the train back to the city, usually," He mentioned, trying to maintain as non-threatening as possible given the introduction her brother had so graciously given him. "If you're heading that way," He offered. "So long as you don't snitch to Joan that I've bailed on him," Something told him, though, that she would have learned to keep a secret with a sibling such as that.

“Yeah, I get it,” Joan agreed after a few moments, “All work and no play’s gonna make you a dull lad, Harlan,” he added with a chuckle, “you can’t start acting your age now, man, you make us all look bad,” he joked, bringing a hand down to pat his friend on the shoulder before turning to his sister once again. “And you go straight home or I’ll tell mom on you,” he added loudly, though Montserrat simply rolled her eyes at his empty threat, refusing to turn back around to even acknowledge him. She had seen too much of Joan to last her all week, Montserrat was more than happy to The last person she was going to take moral advice from was her brother who was probably off doing Merlin knows what with whatever girl that threw herself at him. She could only hope that his shenanigans would not end up in the paper lest her mother become upset about it. But, Montserrat was not about to remind him about it, a little part of her did hope that he got scolded for his unacceptable behavior.

Montserrat had to admit that she was just a little disappointed that Harlan had chosen her brother over her, though such an idea had really no basis as the two of them had barely spoken for an hour when Joan and Harlan went way back, though the details behind how they met in the first place were still obscure for her. Even so, Montserrat was beginning to enjoy herself, something that medical school and her work at St. Mungo’s rarely allowed for. Not that she did not have any friends to hang out with but with such little time, Montserrat was constantly surrounded by her work, whether it be in the form of her office, her colleagues, or her friends. She did not want to go as far as to assume that a little conversation or better yet, babysitting, on Harlan’s part would develop into some lifelong friendship but it had been nice while it lasted. As she approached the exit, unsure of how she wanted to get home and if apparating was a good idea in her tipsy state, she was surprised by the touch to her side accompanied by a feeling that made her take a shaky breath,  one that made her turn almost immediately.

“Harlan?” she asked, the confusion obvious on her face as she looked up at the man she had just been sitting with only a few moments prior. As he asked her whether she’d want to go to the party, her expression changed before she could politely refuse. “Thank you but I think I’ve seen enough of Joan for the night,” she noted, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she realized that her pesky older brother was not around and had hopefully departed for good. If luck was on her side, she would not be forced to deal with him until the next family gathering. “Trust him to ruin the mood,” she muttered, though she was not sure what mood she was referring to specifically. Either way, with Joan gone, the air already felt a bit fresher.

“I was just thinking about how I’ll go back home,” she replied, a hand brushing through her long brown hair as she attempted to get it out of her face, the drink had yet to wear off and she was still feeling a little warm. “You live in London?” she inquired, her brows furrowing a little in confusion. For some odd reason, she imagined that someone with as much fame and notoriety would opt to live in a mansion in the middle of nowhere. Shaking her head she smiled, “I suppose I imagined you’d like in the middle of nowhere, keep the nosy paparazzi out of your business,” she continued on. “I’m alright to get back but I certainly wouldn’t mind your company,” she reasoned, walking a little ahead of them as they made their way outside, Montserrat trying her best not to draw too much attention to herself. “Especially since you’re heading that way anyway,” she added, just in case he might have gotten the wrong idea from her statement. Then again, if he had, so be it. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said with a wink and a smile.

The stadium was a short walk to the train station. At this time of night, only a handful of people littered the streets, most of the fans had gone home at this point so the witch would only assume that those in the area either worked there or had just left the party in search of the next one. “I hope I’m not keeping you,” she mentioned a little apologetically, slowing down a little so that they could fall into a patterned step. Montserrat did not see any threats around and figured that their body language was safe enough to keep any wandering eyes from assuming the worst. “I honestly don’t know how most of you do it, I was in there for less than an hour and I’m already exhausted by being in a room full of people,” she joked. But then again, Montserrat was not the sort to ever seek the spotlight in the first place.

Arriving at the station, the two boarded towards the front of the train, where seats had been reserved for the players and their families, blue velvety seats, personalized drinks, food carts, and attentive attendants, truly first-class service. Montserrat remembered taking something similar before when she had been younger and Joan had been in his prime as a Quidditch player. There were several booths that were semi-occupied but feeling a little bold and not wanting their conversation to be monitored or interrupted, she opted for the last empty carriage. “This all right?” she asked but went in to take a seat anyway, close to the window. “This way we don’t have to worry about any more interruptions,” she teased. “And you can tell me all about the perils of your stardom and whatnot,” she added.

Harlan hadn't been entirely truthful when he said he took the train to town from home matches— realistically it was split between that and apparating, dependent on how the night had progressed. For a moment, he questioned his own breezing over of that fact, though he couldn't (and categorically wouldn't) try and ascertain a motive apart from making sure Montse got home safely. Her brother sure as hell wasn't, anyway. Thankfully, though, it seemed their walk to the platform was going to be as simple as it should have been, two acquaintances trying to get home.

The compartments on the train were filled mostly with families, a few lone adults whom Harlan assumed weren't fans of traveling by magic— either because they were too drunk or because they weren't confident in the abilities. He took the train more when he was just starting with the Griffins as captain, when they were still struggling to overcome their underdog status. Most nights, it was nothing more than a place where he could get away from everything for an hour and sit alone, watch the city go by.

"Erm," He coughed, peeking into the empty compartment toward the front of the train before casting a furtive glance back down the corridor. The train was due to leave, and he didn't really have much of a choice despite the sinking feeling in his chest that this wouldn't look great on paper. "Yeah, yeah," He followed in slowly once Montserrat had taken her seat. He purposefully took his own in the in middle, opposite her, so that they weren't facing each other dead on.

The door slid closed behind him and Harlan let out a breath. The perils of his stardom was not a topic he wished to discuss, so he was thankful when an attendant sprung open their carriage with a smile. She was a familiar older woman, Lucy, and it seemed she remembered Harlan. "Oh, Harlan!"  She slapped both hands on her rosy cheeks and stopped just short of jumping over to hug him. "Your poor face, love," She frowned.

"Hello Lucy," He couldn't help but smile, despite himself. She cast a glance at the brunette he shared the compartment with and only raised her eyebrows for a fraction of second before catching herself. "What can I get you both? Harlan, the same? And I'm bringing an orange, you need to eat something!" A whiskey and an orange, the cure for any in-game injury. She poked his bicep affectionately before turning to Montse. "They've really got everything," He piped up, gesturing to the trolly of biscuits and chocolates outside their carriage. "And you don't have to have a whiskey," He clicked his tongue, sitting back more casually.

Montserrat could sense his hesitation though she was unsure if it had to do with his image or if he was starting to regret having volunteered to take the entire trip back to London with her. It would probably be no longer than an hour voyage back but that would give way to plenty of conversation. In all honesty, she would not be entirely upset if he chose to remain silent, he seemed to be a man of a few words based on what she had seen of him thus far.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bite,” she said teasingly as she made herself comfortable in the chair, removing her jacket and setting it aside before reaching into her bag for a hair tie and loosely pulling her hair away from her face. “Anyway, if you’re worried we can always move,” she reassured him, though she could only hope that her presence did not make him so uncomfortable that he felt the need to sit somewhere else.

Before she had a chance to get in another word, however, one of the attendants opened the carriage door almost as quickly as Harlan had shut it. The older woman looked very pleasant, something that could not be said about most of the attendants working so late a shift on the train. Montserrat would know, she often took the train to and from Paris when she was dating her ex, often having to take the last train to London so that she could get a few hours of sleep before school. Thankfully, Montserrat had lucked out with the afternoon shift at St. Mungo’s the following day and could stand to get home late or take a detour if necessary without having to sacrifice too much sleep.

“Oh why thank you I was worried I’d have to drink whiskey all evening to keep up with you,” she said jokingly as she turned to Lucy as she gathered from Harlan’s words, “Hm,” she considered for a moment, “I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to sangria if you have it,” she suggested, it was a Spanish favorite for a reason, “or cranberry and vodka would be lovely, Lucy, thank you,” she offered an alternative, just in case. “And some chocolate frogs? I haven’t had them since school, you better eat something, Harlan, how about some crisps?” she asked, her tone changing just slightly as she pretended to chastise him.

“But in all honesty, you really haven’t had anything to eat since the match have you?” she asked as Lucy let the carriage door close for a moment as she prepared their drinks. “Tsk, tsk, drinking on an empty stomach is certain death tomorrow morning,” she noted, crossing her legs as she straightened her back when Lucy returned, setting her drink next to her in the cup holder. “Take it from me, I’m a doctor,” she added. "I should have probably eaten something more substantial too," she noted, thinking about what she might eat when she got home. She probably had some leftovers to work on while she tried to sober up before bed. "Now that you've got me all alone and soon to be a little tipsier than before, I can't be held responsible for my actions," she warned him, her expression serious before she burst out in laughter. "But you're sworn to secrecy or Joan will never let me live it down," she added.
 

Harlan looked to Lucy, then back to Montserrat, his hesitance easy to interpret. He knew the train attendant and she hardly struck him as the type to tip off The Prophet with some bullshit story, but nonetheless his shoulders tensed at the thought. Him with a mystery brunette, alone on a train, made for quite the headline given his last month in the press. All the while, though, the two of them couldn't have had a more normal interaction. He sat back (as much as he could) and tried to relax. Lucy tutted at the mention of crisps, knowing fully that Harlan wouldn't give in. That was a battle she'd long lost.

"Ah, I'll eat when I get home," He shrugged, averting his eyes as Montse folded a tanned leg over the other. What he planned on eating (steak and two veg) had become an afterthought. He'd done everything he could to avoid noticing it— the way that she moved, the way her skin still shone under the light from the carriage overhead—but their close proximity was making it a harder task.

She couldn't be held responsible for her actions, she said. Harlan suppressed a laugh and instead cleared his throat. If he could have been anywhere else in the world he would have. He needed to be careful with this one.

Instead of losing himself in his own thoughts, he focused on the drink that drink Lucy had made for her. It was dark plum in color— too dark for a vodka anything, realistically. "Sangria and... chocolate frogs," He surmised, nodding to the sweets at her side and thumbing the orange in his hand, peeling back the rind. He supposed that whiskey and citrus wasn't that much better of a combination, but he wanted to avert attention in any direction.

"Don't worry," Harlan said finally, eating a slice of the orange. "I've seen Joan in far worse a state," He cocked an eyebrow in thought, a handful of particular memories coming to mind. Montserrat was probably all too aware of that side of her brother. She had no reason to be embarrassed, if that was her concern.

Harlan finally took a drink and practically melted into his seat. It was the first time that night that he allowed himself a moment, and instantaneously the effect of the match hit him. Everything was sore. He ran a hand over his shoulder, squeezing the muscle that felt as though it was removing itself from his body. "Don't happen to have any Mungos grade medicine with you?" He asked, grinning through a pained expression. The years of his work were catching up to him.