achilles come down | harlan

june 2004

Nessa wasn’t altogether sure why she had come to this event, but it’d be a lie to say it didn’t have something to do with the man of the hour himself. She was far from the first witch who had been smitten with Harlan Bellamy at some point or other, but Nessa wasn’t a teenager anymore. She’d moved on from the time they had spent together, and until they’d run into one another a few months back, had barely thought of the wizard. But things had shifted a little after he’d rescued her from an awful date, shown her a good time, and then reminded her of everything about the two of them that had never worked. They were both too headstrong and capable of jumping to the wrong conclusion for things ever to be simple.
 
Since the night a few months ago, she had found herself thinking about Harlan from time to time, even following the finals of the Quidditch Cup to see how his team did, and Nessa could not have cared less about Quidditch. And when they won, she was happy for him. And when she heard of an event the Griffins were holding in Kent; she’d decided to go. Not because she thought she’d be able to talk to Harlan or that he’d even notice her among what she assumed would be hoards of fans. He had been her friend once, too, and in some way, she wanted to support him and his success.
 
The crowd gathered around the makeshift stage where Harlan and a few other players were seated, none of whom she recognized. Nessa watched as they answered questions, leaning into the microphone and taking sips of water to avoid things they didn’t want to talk about. She wondered who decided which reporters were allowed to ask questions, and after a few, Nessa realized it was just whoever could speak first. The disorganization of the event irritated the witch, and she found herself frustrated with the repeated questions. And it seemed she wasn’t the only one.
 
Even though she was far back in the crowd, barely close enough to see his face, she recognized the tone in Harlan’s voice. She could remember the way he sounded when he was irritated like it was her own voice. And when he stood up, Nessa slinked toward the corridor and managed to intercept him before his publicist could, and she smiled. “Looks like your date is going worse than mine,” The dark witch said, referencing the date he’d saved her from. Her eyebrows wiggled playfully as she held her hand out to him, offering an escape in the form of apparition.

@Harlan Bellamy

"And the rumors of your dating Prophet heir—" Harlan didn't even catch the last of the question. His heart was in his head, blood pumping, and his glass of water at his mouth if only to keep it shut. He made it no particular secret that personal questions, particularly after a team win that had nothing to do with his fucking love life, weren't received well. His steel glaze (even the one eye black with a fresh bruise) scanned the press room for Madeline in a futile attempt at safety.

She was nowhere to be found.

"You're taking the piss, yeah?" Harlan straightened up in his seat. There was a palpable shift in the air. A tension. While he was aware he'd created it, he was (as usual) surprised by how quickly it encompassed the world around him. The reported stammered, then started again. Harlan was quick to interject. "Unless you've got any questions about the match?" He was already halfway to his feet.

It was only on the way out the back door that he noticed Mads out of the corner of his eye, ready for damage control.

In the corridor, a familiar voice caught his attention, and Harlan turned on his heels. Nessa. His eyes widened, then narrowed on her, giving her a once over, slowly and deliberately. "Hardly could compare the two, now could we?" He scoffed but was quick to follow her lead. He wrapped his hand around her open palm and immediately felt the pull.

Any escape was a good escape, he figured.

Nessa leaned away from Harlan as he said they couldn't compare. Over her shoulder, the witch peered into the room he'd just left. Her eyes rolled over the reporters until she noticed the one who'd asked the question that sent Harlan packing, and she turned back to the Griffins wizard with a smirk growing on her face. "Ay, you are right; your date is much cuter than mine was," She raised her eyebrows playfully and held her hand out for his hand. The Daily Prophet reporter had been average height, with a slight build, black hair, and a sweater-vest, and he had been the absolute opposite of what Nessa preferred in a man. (Coincidentally, he also had looked nothing like Harlan.)

When she felt his hand in hers, Nessa willed them to another place entirely and leaned closer as the world folded around them. While it was true Nessa had never imagined this was where the day would lead, it didn't take her long to decide on where to take them. As the space beneath them shifted, and Nessa felt her heels firmly back on Irish soil, she couldn't help but smile as she waited for him to figure it out. It shouldn't take long, she expected, as her heels clacked down on the worn cobblestone street. Despite the time, it was still a bit dreary, clouds covering the sun and oil lanterns casting shadows on the old stone roads. Buildings lined the alley on both sides, built right up against each other as if they were holding the next one up, and every other shop was a pub.

"Do all the press things go that way?" What were they called? Press meetings? Conferences? Nessa considered them to be more like inquisitions after what she'd just witnessed. She let go of his hand and smoothed her blue-black dress down gingerly. She wondered how anyone dealt with that sort of invasion of privacy regularly. If someone had the nerve to ask her about her personal life in her line of work, Nessa would probably set them on fire.

Harlan only just rolled his eyes before he was able to process the movement of time and space.

They landed in another world, and Harlan blinked, steadying himself upright. No matter how often he'd done it, apparating always found new ways to surprise him. It didn't help, of course, that he had no idea where or what Nessa was getting him into. "A warning next time, perhaps..." He tutted as he a ran his hands over the nonexistent wrinkles of his Griffins pullover. "I don't even have my wand—" Harlan patted at his pockets distractedly, realizing his wallet was left Gravesend as well.

"Usually, yeah" Harlan lamented after Nessa  asked if all press events went like the one she was so lucky to have seen.

Belatedly, he realized where they were.

His eyes widened as the village came into focus from where they wandered out of Nessa's alleyway destination of choice. "Really?" He glanced over at her as a grin crept over his features. They hadn't been there in what felt like a lifetime. Then again, when they had been together seemed like a lifetime and a half prior. "This was the first place that come to mind as far as refuge?" He finally finished the eye roll he'd left in Gravesend with his wallet and wand.

“Oh please,” Nessa waved her hand at Harlan and his complaint as if being without a wand was inconsequential. “You’ll survive, I’m sure,” The witch continued, and they began to head down the familiar alleyway. A wand was more than just a fashion accessory, though, and if the roles were reversed, Nessa probably would have done a fair bit more complaining. She should have paid more attention to Harlan’s concern or at least given him more notice before apparating, but Nessa didn’t have many friends for a good reason.

Unfortunately for Harlan, it seemed all his press business was the same, and Nessa almost felt sorry for him. She supposed he was used to it by now, though. “Pity,” she said anyway, and then smiled as he realized where they were. “What I like it here?” It was quiet enough, aside from the occasional drunk pub song, and Nessa hoped no one was sober enough to care why Professional Quidditch Player Harlan Bellamy was in their quaint little village.

“But if you’d rather head back to your meeting, feel free?” Slowly, a mischievous smile crept across Nessa’s face, and she realized that without a wand, he’d have quite the time getting back to Gravesend without her. While she knew he wasn’t truly stranded, and any number of these pubs would likely have a floo, it still amused her.

They made their way through the small, aged cobblestone pathway. It was clear the Irish village didn't have quite the same manicure policy that Hogsmeade had— not that he was there all that much those days. "I like it here," He correctly gently, but firmly. It just brought back a lot of memories, that was all. "Hasn't changed a lick," He commented, nodding to the familiar buildings that seemed stacked on top of each other they were so close.

There were a few strangers milling about, running into the shops or half-stumbling out of one of the pubs, but he and Nessa could have just as easily been the only two people there.

"S'pose I don't have much choice, do I?" The question was rhetorical. Harlan raised an eyebrow curiously as he glanced to her. There were other modes of transportation, of course, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being tethered to her without his own wand. It was a strangely vulnerable place to be in. Particularly with Nessa and how they had left things the last time they had seen each other.

"What's the plan, boss?" He eventually glanced ahead again, wondering if that pub on the corner was still around.

Nessa shrugged and Harlan's notion that nothing had changed and turned to look around them. Same buildings and the same atmosphere, but she felt different from the last time they'd been here together. There had been a time when her whole world revolved around Harlan; he just had that sort of energy that claimed everything around him. And it took a while to get over it -- longer than she cared to admit -- but being around him now felt different, too, like being on the outside looking in. They had history, but enough time had passed now that it felt like it was nothing but shared memories and inside jokes. The rest, anything she didn't want to remember, just sort of fell away for a while.

"Nope, sorry, you don't have a choice," Nessa teased, her turning her head to face him as they continued down to the end of the road. The pub door opened beside her, and a handful of blokes piled out, shouting about a football match and who owed who, and Nessa pulled Harlan toward the door. "No plan," She answered as they stepped inside, and the familiarity of the pub hit her. Everything from the floor wax to the lanterns hanging on the walls reminded her of another time.

"I know, I know," Nessa spun around, her hands up in front of her as she spoke, "So unlike me, right?" Nessa was the sort of witch who had backup plans for her backup plans. Typically there was no such thing as being overprepared, and spontaneity was out of the question, but tonight was different. She felt electric and energized and like pretending she didn't know better.

Her eyes ran over all the old photographs that lined the wall behind the bar, smiling faces, waving hands, as she walked toward an open spot at the end. "So, are you going to drink with me?"

The inside air was warm and heavy. Despite the subtle sensation of suffocation, the place was somehow just as inviting as it had been all those years ago. Pubs of that variety— cozy, worn and clearly home to locals only— held an allure for Harlan that he'd never quite been able to shake. He found himself looking for them in every town he visited. Much like the exterior, things on the inside hadn't changed much either. He followed Nessa's gaze to the wall of photos they strode past.

"That's—" Harlan had opened his mouth to say that the fact that she didn't have a plan (and a backup plan, and a backup plan for her backup plan) was a surprise. "Exactly what I was thinking..." He conceded with a click of his tongue. All of it was a surprise, particularly given the last time they'd seen each other it didn't end well.

He found his eyes following her neck down her back, but quickly snapped up at the sound of her question. "Don't have much of a choice, do I?" Of course, he did, but there was something enticing about the idea he didn't. "You're buying," Out of instinct he shifted her selected barstool for her to have a seat before finding his own. He proceeded to order for them, what once was their regular, then turned so that his legs were facing hers.

"I was surprised to see you today, you know?" He imagined she might.