dracula teeth [nessa]

monday 20th october, 2003

Charlie glanced up at the sign above the door, then around the immediate vicinity -- as though he was about to engage in some sort of shady deal he didn’t want any witnesses to. He supposed, technically, that was sort of the case. He hadn’t been sleeping well in weeks (months), but the last few especially had been worse -- and now that his usual source of distraction was otherwise occupied, he figured he’d better find a way to sleep (or a new distraction) instead of reverting back to old habits (distractions).

He pushed the door open and entered the shop. He wasn’t a frequent visitor to Diagon Alley, and when he ventured to Hogsmeade it was usually to one of four places (Honeydukes, Robin & Fflur’s place, pub, or the other pub), so the interior of Black King’s Fine Iron Works was a small shock to the system. It was like being dragged back to Hogwarts with all of its doom and gloom. Had wizards never considered IKEA? (Now that he thought about it, he wondered if it was just British wizards who had a thing for medieval décor.)

Charlie weaved his way through the furniture and— whatever else it was they sold— to the counter. It was almost closing time, if the sign on the door was accurate, and he could hear tinkering out the back. He dinged the little bell on the counter and turned, resting his back against it while he waited. He folded his arms across his chest, then immediately unfolded them when he moved to inspect a strange looking mirror. Several shadowy figures were moving around in it -- he turned to check behind him but there was nobody there. He peered into the mirror again— and jumped when he heard someone behind him.

“Nessa,” he said quickly in recognition as he spun around to meet her, his heart beating a little faster in his chest than it had been a minute ago. “I— Erm.” Not the smooth entrance he’d been hoping for so far. ”Was in Cork,” he smirked, attempting to recover somewhat. He swallowed and stepped away from the strange mirror, shooting it a look as though it had personally offended him. He glanced back at Nessa. “I— was wondering if you might be able to help me with something?”


@Nessa Regan

"We are nearly closed, so shop quickly," Nessa demanded from the little office near the sales counter. She'd already sent her little cousin who ran the counter home for the evening, and she had been finishing up the day's paperwork when she'd heard the bell ring. A deep frown line marred her face as she pushed her rolling chair from the desk and began the short trip out of the office and back into the shop.

Other than the single smith working in the back, the shop was deserted at this time of night. The Regan witch liked to believe it was because the rest of the world had the decent not to show up ten minutes to close. Well, the rest of the world save for the poor soul who decided to darken her doorway.

Rounding the corner of the office, she let the frosted glass door shut quietly behind her. The dark witch was about to ask something along the lines of 'can I help you?' even though her eyes would be saying something else entirely when she noticed who was standing in front of a cursed mirror her cousin had acquired in Belize. Her dark features melted, but only slightly, into a bit of a smirk as she approached him. She watched him spin around as her heels broke through the relative silence in the shop.

He had finished his greeting by the time she was standing in front of him, and she rested one hand on her hip quietly. " Was in Cork, he told her, and she remembered the comment he had made the last time she'd seen him. Turning her wrist toward her face, Nessa eyed the delicate watch that hung from it and then looked back to him. "Only if it is something that can be done in the next.. nine minutes," She teased, smiling at Charlie and waiting for him to clue her in on what assistance he needed. The curious witch wondered if he was looking to buy something from the shop or if there was something he wanted from her specifically.

Nessa rested her hand on her hip and Charlie took the opportunity to give her a proper once-over, his dark eyes lingering on her curves--her waist cinched in with a belt to make them all the more obvious--before making their way back to her face. He smirked again -- she was definitely fitter now than she had been in school, and she’d been pretty fit then, too.

“Nine minutes?” He pushed his bottom lip out in contemplation. “It’s not unheard of,” he grinned devilishly. The Englishman averted his gaze, lest he get too distracted by that thought before he got what he came here for (well, his excuse, at least), and addressed the air between them instead; “I… need a particular potion but I don’t want it turning up in Witch Weekly.” He glanced back at her, his expression serious but amiable. He was trusting her, though only God knew why -- he hadn’t seen her in years, but he didn’t exactly have any other options.

He moved a little closer, fingers touching on the edge of a tall dresser before he thought better of it -- he wasn’t in the market to lose his hand. “You seem like you’d know where to… source that sort of thing,” he explained delicately, hoping she wouldn’t take offence. “And be discreet,” he added, in recognition of the fact nothing from their conversation in that shitty diner had ended up in the tabloids.

Nessa noticed his eyes trailing up and down her and the crooked smile that followed, and she returned the smugness. It wasn't as if she wore such outfits so that handsome wizards like the Charlie Baker wouldn't look at her. Not that Nessa needed an ego boost; the witch had confidence for days. "It's not unheard of,", letting out a playful scoff, Nessa rolled her eyes at him. "And how would that be fun for me?" She countered with another smile, wiggling her eyebrows at him playfully.

While she wasn't the type to judge (actually, yes, she absolutely was the type), Nessa was curious as to what sort of potion he was looking for—nodding her head from one side to the other as the witch recalled what kinds of things she'd seen in the paper about him. Nessa didn't remember him being an addict. Or maybe he was just good at hiding it. Either way, she loved the idea that Charlie had come to Cork, to her, for this specific request. Merlin knew there were about a thousand Apothecaries from Diagon to Cork, so it must have been something interesting he required. Something he needed to be kept secret and Nessa loved mysteries. There was something inherently attractive about knowing something that others did not; that was her addiction.

Her dark eyes followed his fingers to a dresser, lips opening to give him a warning before he seemed to think better of it. Nothing in the shop was what it appeared, but when was anything in the wizarding world? "I see," She told him before taking a step back to look around the shop. All of the customers had cleared out, but there was still one smith working in the back, she could hear the hammer falling, and Nessa spoke again. "Wait here, and please, keep your hands to yourself," Nessa said as she excused herself. Excusing the last employee, Nessa followed him out of the back door, hurrying him along with her attitude, before returning to the front of the shop. Nessa flicked her wand, letting the front door latch close and the glowing open sign to darken before smiling at Charlie again.

"What sort of potion are you looking for, then?" Nessa asked, deeply curious about what could be so secret he would come all the way here.

Charlie grinned and shrugged. “You might be surprised what can be achieved in nine minutes,” he told her with another smirk.

He hadn’t come right out with it--telling her what he wanted--because he wanted to see how she reacted first. Honestly, a sleeping potion ought not to be such a big deal, but with the way the press were latching onto every little thing he did (or didn’t) do lately, he’d rather not see how it might be spun and then have to deal with the fallout from that, too. Nessa considered him, didn’t give much away with her I see. He wondered if he might have made a mistake in coming here—

Charlie’s eyebrows rose slightly in pleasant surprise, and he quickly brought his hands in front of his lap to make a point of following her instructions. The Irish witch disappeared and Charlie spun on the spot slowly, looking at her wares without touching anything.

He was peering at an ornately carved wardrobe when he heard the door latch click, locking him in. The musician turned to face Nessa and wet his lips. “I—” He glanced away and back at her again, not embarrassed but definitely awkward. “I can’t sleep,” he told her plainly. He paused, before adding; “Not, properly. I need something to knock me out. No dreams, nothing.” When he was sleeping it was restless and he was plagued with bad dreams -- unless he was sleeping with someone, their presence enough to trick him (or his subconscious, at least). And when he couldn’t sleep, he made questionable decisions about how else to occupy his time. He was hoping this might be a first step in the right direction away from all of that.

He caught Nessa’s expression and smiled wryly. “Not the scandal you were expecting?”

"Pleasantly so, it would seem," Nessa returned his teasing with a playful smile, her mind going exactly where he had intended it to, and the prospect was certainly appealing. Still, he had come here for a potion, and as a ridiculous workaholic, Nessa always chose business over pleasure. It only added to her uptight persona. The witch excused herself before shuffling the last employee out of the shop and battening down the hatches. Soon enough, she returned to Charlie, happy to see he had heeded her warning and still had all ten fingers attached before she settled in to hear what he was in the market for.

A sleeping potion. It was relatively standard stuff, sold in every apothecary, but she understood immediately why he couldn't just stroll into a public business for this particular need. The Witch Weekly seemed relentless in its pursuit of Charlie Baker and Banshee related gossip. It was annoying, not that Nessa read those sorts of magazines, but it would be a lie to say her eyes didn't gloss over the titles as she purchased her morning paper. "Not quite, no, but I am glad it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," She told him honestly, instantly relieved he wasn't here for some memory potion or worse. Who knew what those professional artists got up to.

"Come, sit," She beckoned him with her hand to follow her toward the front counter. A few stools were off to the side, where customers could sit while they looked through merchandise catalogs. Nessa took a seat on one of the chairs, crossing her legs, and then spoke again. "Banishing dreams can sometimes backfire; the mind needs to process these things, and dreaming is how we do it," Nessa told him softly, the playful tone gone from her voice and replaced with seriousness.

"Do your dreams force you awake?" She asked, needing to narrow down a few things before she knew which sort of potions would work best for him. "Some potions get rid of the dreams entirely, while others simply keep you from realizing they are happening and remembering them when you awake."

Nessa said she was glad and Charlie smiled -- that was friendly, wasn’t it? Or maybe she was just glad because he wasn’t putting her in an awkward position by asking too much of her -- though from what he’d heard about the Regan family she wouldn’t be the first to put a toe over the line.

Charlie followed her over to the stools and sat awkwardly, smoothing his hands down his thighs before clasping them together in his lap, suddenly feeling that same discomfort one got in a doctor’s surgery. Nessa began telling him dreams were for processing and it took all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. He hadn’t been expecting a lecture, but he supposed she was just doing her job -- covering her arse in case he didn’t understand how risky messing with things like this could be. He wasn’t stupid -- there was a reason he hadn’t done this sooner. He wet his lips, unsure yet if he was being told ‘no’.

Do your dreams force you awake? Charlie flicked his eyes up to meet hers from where he’d been (not-so-subtly) checking out her crossed-over legs. “Er, yeah,” he admitted quietly with half a nod; just this morning he’d woken up sweating and panting at four am and been unable to get back to sleep -- and had decided today was the day he was going to just happen to be in Cork.

He rubbed at the side of his neck, his cheeks flushing a little under her scrutiny -- or what he imagined, at least, he was avoiding her eye now. “Whatever works, I don’t care.” Charlie lifted his head and offered her a lopsided smirk in a weak attempt to lighten the mood, though the expression didn’t quite meet his tired eyes. “I just want a decent night’s kip,” without needing to be blackout drunk to achieve it.

Inviting him to the counter was the easy part, figuring out which potion would be the most useful was obvious the more difficult task. Charlie didn't give her a whole lot to work with, but Nessa had done more with less, so she wasn't frustrated by the lack of information. She wasn't a classically trained healer; she didn't work for St. Mungos, where forms and paperwork were gospel. Her clients rarely gave her all of the details, and the concierge healer had learned how to work with what she was given. "I see," She said with a slow nod, the wheels so obviously turning behind her eyes.

Nessa moved away from the bar, turning her back to him as she used her wand to unlock the large cabinet behind her. The worn oak frame and stained glass windows were a clear indicator of how old the curio was. It had been here longer than Nessa had, and she was fairly certain some of the vials inside were just as ancient. She reached above her head, standing on the tiptoes of her high heels, to push some of the bottles around. They clinked together, and she sighed before using an accio charm to summon what she was looking for. "Here it is,"

Returning to Charlie with a small smile on her dark lips, she set the vial down on the counter between them. The contents inside swirled like a blue and black galaxy full of stars; it was clearly potent. "This should help," Nessa smiled and then added, "And the best part? You can drink before you take it with no side effects," Giving him a quick wink, she reached under the counter, the neckline of her blouse pulling slightly, and produced a bottle of Dragon Whiskey.

"Unless you'd better be going?"

Charlie was doing a good job at avoiding Nessa’s gaze, but when she got off her stool he chanced a glance and was rewarded with her retreating backside. He kept his eyes on her (backside) as she reached into the cupboard. He briefly thought about getting up and offering to help--any excuse to get a little closer--before realising he wouldn’t know what he was retrieving, he didn’t want to get distracted and knock anything over, and that the view was much better from here.

After a moment the witch summoned a vial and brought it to him. Charlie looked at it on the counter, tempted to pick it up but just as wary of doing so without being given an explicit invitation. It was inky blue and spattered with tiny white and purple-ish specks, swirling even without any encouragement. “What is it?”

His dark eyes flicked to hers, the hint of a scowl on his features--was that a dig? He’d come here to avoid judgement—

Nessa pulled out a bottle of whiskey and set it on the counter, next to the potion. Charlie smirked, realising it was an invitation. He wet his lips, forcing his eyes up from her neckline to her face. “I’m not in a hurry,” he drawled. He picked up the vial and scrutinised it. “But before we get carried away, how much do I owe you?” he asked, wiggling it between his fingers.

Nessa waved her hand dismissively when Charlie asked what it was that she was offering him. Were he any other customer, she probably would have left it at that or given them some snarky answer like 'It's a sleeping potion', but after a second thought, she supposed she could give him a little bit less sass. "A little bit of chamomile, a touch of valerian, and some eschscholzia," Of course, Nessa couldn't just say 'Poppy'; everything had to be more specific than that, especially when it came to ingredients. "An anxiolytic, it will help with anxiety and let you fall asleep quickly," Nessa spun the little vial around once more, and the little galaxies swirling inside followed the motion in a dreamy sort of way.

"And a few dreamless ingredients, of course, but those are trade secrets," Smiling at him as she made the motion to zip her lip and toss the key behind her, Nessa popped herself back up on a barstool. She offered him a drink but was no opposed to settling up for the potion first, "Three galleons," She told him steadily; Nessa was not the sort to offer a 'friends and family discount,' and waited patiently before pouring them both a drink.

"It should last you about a month, and you shouldn't take more than a sip or two at a time."

Charlie recognised chamomile and valerian--from the supermarket aisle and his N.E.W.T. level potions class, respectively--but he simply grinned at the third ingredient as she said it; “Gesundheit.” An anxiolytic, Nessa told him. He could have made the assumption, but nodded all the same when she clarified it was for anxiety. He didn’t think he was anxious about anything, but maybe he was -- or maybe it was something else entirely, but all of those problems were sort of linked in one way or another, weren’t they? And if he couldn’t treat the source he could at least treat the symptom. He wasn’t about to go and see a therapist about it, anyway, so if this would do the trick he’d take it.

Charlie smirked up at Nessa as she mimed at him. “Secret’s safe with me,” he told her, thinking it was obvious he wasn’t referring to her trade secrets. He hoped his secret was safe with her.

“Three galleons?” he repeated, more pleasantly surprised than shocked at the price, and reached into his back pocket for his wallet -- leaning forward on the counter to steady himself on the stool as he did so. He flipped it open and withdrew three large coins, setting them on the counter one-by-one before sliding them towards her as he returned his wallet to his pocket. “Now that that’s settled,” he smirked again, pulling one of the glasses nearer once she’d poured into it.

Charlie’s dark brown eyes flicked up to meet Nessa’s deep green, another smirk on his lips. “I’ll just have to come back in a month.” He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and set the glass back down on the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the glass. “You didn’t die of food poisoning then,” he said observationally, referencing their impromptu brunch date in Dublin.

It was hard not to smile back at Charlie when he had that look on his face, that devilishly handsome smirk that brought back the few memories Nessa still had of him. What they had been was never very much, and it was so long ago, but when they bantered back and forth like this, some part of it felt familiar. Nessa had never cared for nostalgia, though, and was thankful when the gold coins on the counter brought her back to the present, to the transaction. Nessa deposited the galleons into the pocket sewn into her skirt. Now that the business was handled, Nessa moved around the counter to sit next to him instead of standing across from him and crossed her legs as she did.

Scoffing at his words, Nessa waved her hand in front of her and replied. "I was as surprised as anybody, honestly," Nessa knew she had been dramatic about the whole meal, but that didn't mean she was going to stop now. It had been surprisingly good, despite being awful for her health, and the company hadn't been bad either. "I'm not making it a habit or anything, but, I found a diner in London run by some American that has far better pie." She'd almost cut herself short, but after prolonged conjunction, she told him about The Delicatessen. Nessa was careful to leave out key details, like the fact that she had ordered delivery three out of four nights already this week.

"And they deliver, so, no sticky seats," Nessa let out a soft laugh as she brought her glass to her lips. After a sip and a pause, Nessa spoke again. "So, are you going to tell me what's keeping you up at night, or should I start guessing?" Smirking mischievously as she took another sip, she wondered if they might make a game out of it, but more importantly if she could win.

Charlie’s dark eyes followed Nessa as she moved around the counter, closer. He had another sip of whiskey and licked his lips, grinning lopsidedly. “Glad you made it out alive,” he said, as close as he’d get to saying it was good to see her again -- and it was. He probably ought not to mix business (sleeping potions) with pleasure (not sleeping), but she’d obviously been bouncing around in the back of his mind since popping back onto his radar, or how else would he have ended up here?

“Well, if it’s in my neck of the woods you’ll have to let me know next time you’ll be there,” he suggested; not in a date sort of way--Christ--he was just being polite, but if it lead to something after hours, he wouldn’t complain. “Is it a muggle one or run by a wizard?” he asked curiously, given Nessa’s discomfort in the non-magical establishment in Dublin. If this diner was in Diagon there would be no surprise that Charlie didn’t know it -- he avoided the main wizarding high street quite intentionally.

His eyebrows rose, impressed, then his expression shifted into something more wolfish. Sticky seats, indeed. He had another sip of whiskey.

Charlie almost choked on the amber liquid but managed to swallow it down without drawing too much attention to himself. And there he’d thought he’d escaped an interrogation. He caught that look and returned it. “You can guess, if you want.” He glanced at the (locked, at least) shop doors, wondering how much was visible from the outside through the windows. He brought his attention back to Nessa, shifting slightly on his stool. “If you guess right did you want some sort of prize?” he smirked.

"Just barely," Nessa quipped, a small laugh escaping her lips as she brought her glass up like a toast. It hadn't been as dramatic as she wanted it to be, but most things weren't. Nessa was the type of witch who was never satisfied, never satiated, she was high maintenance, and she knew it. Charlie's words brought a smile to Nessa's face until she realized she didn't quite know where his neck of the woods was. "I will have to take you up on that," Nessa replied because, in the end, it didn't matter where he lived thanks to magic. "Some awful American wizard runs it, but the food is good quality, and the prices are reasonable. Certainly worth a trip to Hackney."

While Nessa didn't have the same qualms about Diagon Alley that Charlie did, nor did she know about them, the dark witch did not spend as much time in London as she had in years prior. The more she worked, the less she partied, and the less use she had for the wizarding districts of London. Though she supposed she could find a reason to let her hair down if Charlie did want to grab dinner in Hackney sometime, Nessa mused silently, the smile lingering on her face. Charlie was a lot different than the teenager she remembered, and she liked this version much better.

Sitting up a little straighter as he gave her the go-ahead to start guessing, Nessa looked forward to the game. The dark witch set her half-empty glass on the counter and turned back to Charlie. Idly she traced her finger around the brim of the glass, thinking about what to ask first, as Charlie spoke again. "If you guess right did you want some sort of prize?" . With a devilish twinkle in her eyes, the Slytherin alumna answered honestly. "Why else would I want to play?"

Returning to the matter at hand, Nessa paused for a moment before asking the first question. "Have you lost your ability to sing?" Dramatically she placed her hand over her heart like it was breaking at the mere idea. "What will the hoards of your fanwitches think?" Silently, because it was too crass to say without at least one more whiskey, Nessa wondered if the fangirls were called Bang-shes.

An awful American wizard -- he wasn’t sure why but anything American sort of set him on edge (or rather, he knew why, it just didn't make any sense). Still, he had found their diner food to be up his alley, it was kind of the closest thing they had to a pub. Sort of. Whatever, he could go for dinner if it resulted in a shag afterwards. “Hackney?” Charlie had another mouthful of whiskey, taking the time to savour it a little before swallowing. “Not exactly in the neighbourhood but I suppose I can make a special trip,” he smirked.

Nessa sat up a little straighter, and by contrast Charlie rested one elbow on the table, slouching sideways and propping his head up as he gazed at her with a lopsided grin on his features -- giving her his undivided attention (she’d earned it, at least). “Alright. You guess right, you pick the prize. You guess wrong, I get to pick.” He was all about being fair, after all.

The Irish witch offered her first guess and Charlie laughed. “No, not yet,” he answered with an easy smile. “I imagine they’d be distraught, don’t you?” The musician pointed at her glass with the hand holding his own; “Drink up,” he said, insinuating that that was her forfeit for guessing incorrectly.