Magical Hogwarts

 Yeah, he said. She had said all of that and he had only a yeah to spare. He couldn’t make it more obvious he didn’t believe her–her reasons why she had yet to tell her best friend about her shiny new boyfriend–but she didn’t know what else she could say, couldn’t figure out what, exactly, his problem was. Honey had already told her brother, and honestly, wasn’t he the more judgmental one? Her smirk slipped into more of a smile, and not a very enthusiastic one, at that. She reached for her drink, watching a woman cross the street.

She was mid-sip when Charlie finally said something else, and she laughed into her glass. “Aye,” she said (once the laughing and drinking and risk of choking had passed). “Quite pushy, aren’t you?” She smirked again before she took another sip of her drink, pleased to not be thinking about telling Grace or how to do it or why she hadn’t done it already.

Their server was back before Honey had to think of anything else to say–which way to pivot the conversation–and she ordered the spag bol (after making sure it didn’t have mushrooms). Charlie ordered the lasagna, which was also a good choice; it wasn’t one of the weirder things on the menu–mushrooms–and she figured she had rights to his food now, being the girlfriend and all.

They were left alone after another few seconds, and there was another beat of silence, another bout of staring at the man seated across from her, trying to decide what to say next. She thought ahead to after dinner, after letting Grace in on the Honey-Charlie not-so-secret secret, and assuming Grace didn’t leave the moment she spotted Charlie and got filled in on the details: “Grace might stay over.” She nodded, picking up her glass again– it was almost time for a refill (already). “Not apparating,” she elaborated with a shrug, as if that should have been obvious. “And she’s far too important for the floo network,” she added, hiding her smirk with her glass as she took another sip.
 

 Charlie shrugged one shoulder and his smirk slipped into more of a lopsided smile. “Only when you want me to be,” he countered.

Their waiter appeared at that moment and Honey ordered spaghetti bolognese – Charlie smiled to himself when she asked about the mushrooms – and then he ordered his lasagne.

And then it was quiet again. Not around them, so much – the other tables were very talkative (and he could make out most of it, which he thought he would have had less luck with in Glasgow) – which only made their silence more obvious, again. Charlie had a sip of his wine, glanced at Honey, then had another sip because at least that could be used as an excuse for not having anything to say—

He blinked. “Oh, right,” he said, largely because he was caught off guard (again). Not apparating, Honey explained, and then made fun of his floo situation and he forced a (slightly more convincing than the last one) smile because he knew she was trying to keep this light but… what did she mean by not apparating? That was their thing, their excuse – or was it? (Admittedly, he hadn’t exclusively used it with Honey either but that wasn’t the point right now.)  

“Do you mean like…” he paused and wet his lips; he didn’t know if it was his place to highlight the intricacies of their special friendship, but he’d have to be blind and stupid not to notice. “On the settee or what?” he asked, flicking his attention to her and then away. “I just– I’d rather know now than be surprised, s’all,” he added in a casual tone.
 

 Right. Right, indeed. This was going well, exactly as planned.

But did she mean like– he wasn’t finishing his question, and she wasn’t filling in the blanks for him. She raised her eyebrows instead, thinking of at least one direction his mind could be going in. She laughed, about to say something when he went on; she waited for him to finish before she grinned. “Are you saying surprise threesomes aren’t a good birthday present?” It wasn’t as if it had never crossed her mind, with Grace or with Charlie, but she knew Grace well enough to know that it would never be a Grace and Charlie sort of situation.

And somewhere along these lines–maybe not as far–was the main reason she needed to tell Grace about Charlie, about dating him, properly, needing to manage her best friend’s expectations about staying over now and for the foreseeable future.

Honey waited for Charlie to look at her before she rolled her eyes. “She can stay in the loft if she can make it up the ladder.” It wasn’t a total joke– the ladder took some level of coordination to navigate. Still, there was her parents’ bedroom (that Honey would never take for her own) for Grace to use, but the actual logistics of their sleeping arrangements were boring.

She picked up the bottle of wine and poured a bit more into Charlie’s glass, hoping he’d take the hint and lighten up a little bit because he was being so fun. “Wonder if Ferg’s told his hen about his huge crush on Grace,” she said, changing the subject, only wondering after the fact if Charlie had known about it before Honey had blurted it out.

 Charlie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he glanced around their immediate vicinity to check if anyone had overheard Honey casually bringing up a threesome. “No,” he said, a little too quickly – that particular surprise sounded like a very good birthday present, in fact – but: “We both know Grace wouldn’t let me near her with a ten foot pole.” He paused to think about it a bit more. “If it were up to Grace, she wouldn’t let me near you, either.” And that was more his point – that he wanted to make sure what the hierarchy was here (and shouldn’t it be him first, obviously?)

Honey said Grace could stay in the loft – Fergie’s old room – if she could make it up the stairs. Charlie almost offered to carry her up them himself (it wouldn’t be graceful) if it meant he got to retain his place in Honey’s bed – and it wasn’t like he was threatened by Grace, but there was definitely something between her and his girlfriend that wasn’t purely platonic, and Grace hadn’t treated Honey the way he had in the past, so he was definitely handicapped if it came down to it.

Honey topped up his glass and Charlie took the hint; he picked it up the moment she set the bottle back down and had a couple of sips. He blinked. “Does he still fancy her?” It had been obvious in school, but he’d assumed it was a phase – just one of those crushes that happened when you were in close proximity to your older sister’s fit mate(s) – and it wasn’t like Charlie had kept his crush on Fergie’s sister under wraps, either. “Thought he got over that when he started with that blonde girl.”
 

 No, he said, and Honey smirked. Thought so. He went on and Honey shrugged; he was saying exactly what she was thinking. (It was nice that they were at least on the same page about something.) But he went on some more, saying Grace wouldn’t let Charlie near her, if Grace had the choice. Again, he wasn’t wrong, but Honey rolled her eyes. “Oookay.” It wasn’t worth arguing with Charlie about, anyway, assuming Grace was going to be cross with her later. She didn’t want to spend the night (on her birthday, no less) with no one.

She shrugged when he asked if Fergie still fancied Grace; she was fairly certain he didn’t, considering Edith, considering he was better suited to monogamy than most people she knew. But saying no, wasn’t as interesting, nor as fun. “We agreed not to fancy each others’ friends, so–” that meant no just as well. But who could blame him if he still did? In Honey’s experience, those who fancied Grace didn’t get their feelings returned. She finished her drink, setting her glass down with a small smirk.

Honey’s eyebrows drew together when Charlie mentioned the blonde girl, her forehead smoothing out again once she figured it out. “Oh, you mean Caoimhe.” Honey’s best employee, the first blonde woman she could think of– the only blonde woman she associated with Fergie in her mind, considering the history. Except that–Fergie and Caoimhe–was after Geneva, after Grace, too, had been away for years. “Wait–” Not Caoimhe.

She tried to think about it again, reaching for Charlie’s glass as soon as he set it down. “You mean the girlfriend.” She took a sip of his wine, trying to think of her name, making a face as she set the glass down again. “Poppy?”
 

 Honey shrugged and Charlie’s lips pulled into an amused smirk – it didn’t sound like Ferg didn’t still fancy Grace, which would make tonight interesting, given Edith was on the guest list (which he’d been glad about, because if anyone was going to be on his side, it might be Edith). His smirk widened into a lopsided grin at Honey’s follow up; now it really didn’t sound like Ferg had gotten over it, given Honey fancying him (absently, he wondered at what point that had become a thing – but then he didn’t want to think about it too much, because it was probably only after he’d become famous and therefore attractive by default).

Caoimhe. Charlie’s head jolted backwards a fraction and his brow furrowed—wasn’t that the girl who worked for Honey?—He kept his eyes on his girlfriend as she seemed to puzzle through it, and at her wait, he waited, expectantly, sipping at his wine. He set the glass down and Honey picked it up; his eyes followed the glass to her lips, flicking up to meet her gaze. Poppy? “Yeah, something like that.” Charlie was still half-convinced that Fergie had only asked her out because she was the least likely in their year to say ‘no’. He’d practically done the same with Maisie, before a better offer had come along; presumably, Fergie had just been too moralistic to take the better offer.

But, more interesting than their schoolboy girlfriends was the fact Honey had mentioned her (and technically Fergie’s, too) employee: “Does he have a thing for Caoimhe too?” he asked, his Yorkshire drawl distorting the name. She was fit, in a plain sort of way, he supposed. “She coming tonight and all?” he smirked, taking his glass back.
 

 They were talking about Poppy–whatever happened to her?--but Charlie asked about Caoimhe, and Honey went back to thinking about her (and Ferg). “Nooo,” she said with a little wave of her hand, Fergie didn’t have a thing for her. He did, at one point–Honey had probably made it obvious with the very believable no she had offered–but that was ages ago, and she wasn’t going to be there tonight, either. “No, it’s just us.” Us, as in them, Fergie and Edith, and Grace. Close to an us.

She didn’t have a drink to distract herself with; she watched another woman cross the street, another couple holding hands as they walked toward where she and Charlie were sitting. “They used to shag,” she said, looking back to Charlie with a soft smirk. “But I think Fergie’s moved on.” Because of course he had; he was the sensible sibling, after all. (She could, at least, keep it to herself that she knew there had been some overlap with Poppy.)

Caoimhe hadn’t moved on, but it didn’t interfere with her work and Fergie wasn’t technically her employer, so it was fine.

Honey drummed her fingers on her thigh, uncrossing and recrossing her legs. She had told him about Grace not knowing about them, which had been the main thing she needed to talk to him about, didn’t have any food in front of them to distract them, had done literally nothing else besides work since she had last seen Charlie that morning. “Er–” She crossed her arms on the table and leaned forward, giving in to the question she hadn’t wanted to ask him earlier. “What’d you do today?”
 

 Charlie tilted his chin down and kept his eyes on Honey – that nooo wasn’t suspicious at all. But it was just them, and he sipped his wine again. The guestlist was certainly smaller than her birthday last year—the one he’d received a last-minute invitation to—and he wasn’t mad about it. It had been different then, anyway – just sex, basically sneaking around, so the larger group had helped with blending in. No hope of that this time.

He hadn’t realised he was staring at her (and thankfully, neither had she – she’d been people watching) until Honey spoke again. His eyebrows rose, and it took him a minute to remember they were talking about Fergie and Caoimhe, not Fergie and Grace. (Still surprising, in its own way.) “Really?” he asked, though his tone was rhetorical, borderline impressed. It took him another minute to click that Honey hadn’t said Caoimhe was over it, which was a delicious bit of information but not all that interesting, really – not enough to comment on.

Charlie picked up the bottle of wine and topped himself up, glanced over his shoulder to see if someone was coming by to give Honey an opportunity to order a second drink (they could always floo) – but the waitstaff were all occupied. He drank, and lowered the glass back to the table. His eyes flicked to Honey’s and he licked his lips. “Erm,” he started strongly, unsure how to answer with something more interesting than the truth – but what harm was there in it? It wasn’t some big secret that he had nothing to do all day.

“Not much. Got your present the other day,” he added with a soft smirk, not admitting he’d bought it two weeks ago and been praying since that they wouldn’t suddenly break this off. “So just,” he inhaled sharply through his nose and readjusted how he was sitting, “odd jobs around the house and that. Sent some stuff over to the boys.” Anything to distract himself from the impending birthday celebrations, really.

“You?” he asked, before he remembered she’d been working, obviously. He pressed his lips together in a silent nevermind, I’m an idiot sort of way. One of the waiters was approaching at speed and— walked right past, delivering to the table behind.

 

 Honey shrugged; really. It didn’t really sound like Charlie wanted more details, and besides, Honey hadn’t had enough to drink to divulge anymore of Fergie’s secrets.

She asked him about his day and already regretted it, thinking ahead to what she would say about her own day when he inevitably asked her, what she could say that wasn’t work, because she had stayed at Charlie’s as long as she possibly could that morning, and then he had shown up before the shop closed, and— she nearly missed his answer, too focused on hers. She returned the smirk, trying not to think too much about her gift, or that he had bought it in advance, or how they were doing that now, at all. (And she wanted to know if he’d bought it before or after she had told him about the birthday drinks, if he had remembered her birthday, but of course she wasn’t going to ask him.)

“Right.” Big day, she thought, but she kept it to herself, along with her wondering what she would do all day if she didn’t have the shop. Die, probably (and she didn’t think she was being dramatic).

The return question came, and Honey shrugged, then immediately felt bad about it when she saw Charlie’s expression change. “I did Grace’s cake,” she said quickly, offering up something (and not mentioning that it was more of an apology cake than a birthday one, because she didn’t want to think about needing to tell Grace about Charlie again). “Got some stuff done I needed to do tomorrow.” She shrugged again, not getting into the details— not boring details for her, but she didn’t think Charlie cared about confectionery as much as she did.

She spotted a server walking by with a pink drink in his hand, and she caught his attention after he had delivered it to its table. She ordered one before she could remember she had offered to do the not-drinking for dinner, then looked at Charlie with her eyebrows raised, just in case he wanted to remind her.

 

Right, she said, and he supposed there wasn’t much else she could say, to that. Maybe he ought to find a hobby, just for something else to talk about – but that would require effort, and he wasn’t unhappy with how he presently filled his time.

She had made Grace’s cake. Without hesitation, Charlie wondered if he would warrant a cake this year – being her boyfriend, and all (providing he was still her boyfriend in October). Then he wondered if he was going to perpetually compare himself to (read: be jealous of) Grace’s friendship with Honey. Still, he nodded, supportive. “What flavour?” he inquired, if only to seem at least vaguely interested.

He latched onto her next comment, but waited to broach the topic – long enough for her to order another drink, and for him to grin knowingly at her raised eyebrows. So much for apparating them home.

More importantly: “So you taking tomorrow off?” he asked, casually. She normally worked Saturdays, and he normally occupied himself until she was done – Saturday felt like the one day of the week he ought to see his girlfriend, which probably stemmed from normal peoples working weeks involving a weekend. He had, more than once, found himself wishing Honey worked less, if only so he didn’t have to feel like he was always waiting around for her – like some lovesick fool. It was almost embarrassing. He wasn’t—lovesick or always waiting around—but of the pair of them, he had the flexible schedule, so it seemed to work out that way.  

 “Prosecco and strawberry.” The prosecco was more for her, the strawberry more for Grace, but it didn’t seem like Charlie was actually curious so she didn’t elaborate.

He asked if she was taking tomorrow off, though, and Honey shook her head, her earrings tapping lightly at her neck. “No.” Today was her actual birthday and she had worked; why would she take the day after? “I just meant I won’t need to do anything before opening,” she explained. She had planned for a lie in, at least, though more importantly: “Planned for a late night.” Or, later than usual, and that wouldn’t change depending on the outcome of telling Grace about Charlie– either Grace would be fine and they would have a great time, or she wouldn’t, and Honey would drink her feelings back.

She smirked softly, trying to think about Charlie more than Grace–Honey taking tomorrow off was clearly a plus for him–because she would love to stop coming back to having to talk to Grace about this. It was so much easier when they didn’t want anyone else to know they were shagging. Or, dating. They were dating now. She remembered that, usually.

As if her subconscious felt guilty for briefly forgetting Charlie was her boyfriend and not just– she glanced at her empty glass for half a second before focusing on his face again, asking: “Do you want to do something tomorrow night?” Something more alone than drinks with her brother and best friend– and Honey was finally, successfully–though momentarily–not thinking about Grace or how she might need to spend alone time with her if she decided to be mad and– so much for not thinking about it.
 

 

Charlie nodded, not committing the flavour to memory (it was Grace).

Her answer to his next question was even more blunt – fuck him, then, right? He failed to disguise his reaction, and she either noticed it and felt bad, or figured out she was supposed to contribute to the conversation too, because she deigned to elaborate. “Right,” he said, doing exactly what he’d just been mentally chiding her for and giving a one-word response. Charlie had a sip of his wine and smiled, and upon noticing her smirk his lips twisted into one too.

He watched Honey, for want of something else to do (he could stare at other people, but he’d rather stare at her); his gaze followed hers to her empty glass, and he assumed she was wishing she had another, to put up with him. He drank again, because he felt like he needed it now. It had only taken an actual event for them to realise they weren’t cut out for this boyfriend-girlfriend thing, her birthday last year had been easier – no expectations—

Charlie’s eyes flicked to meet Honey’s and he lowered his glass. “Erm, yeah,” he answered, then nodded to seem more enthusiastic about the idea. “Like go out again—” for another meal, because this one was going great, “or I can get something in?” He was automatically assuming they’d go to his if they were staying in – a change of scenery from tonight, but mainly because he had better takeaway options (which was a plus for her too) and they would have the opportunity to (start) watch(ing) a movie, rather than have to make more conversation after failing so spectacularly at it tonight.

If Charlie was trying to mask his excitement, he was doing a great job with his erm, yeah. The nod was slightly better, and she shrugged at the idea of going out again. If he meant like they were now, the sit down dinner and the conversation that was going so well, then maybe not. They needed something they were better at, like– Honey nodded when he offered to order something in.

“Aye.” That was something closer to normal for them, but what was so different between that and the dinner they were having now that made it so much more appealing? Maybe it was the lack of physical contact, sitting across from each other instead of next to each other, needing to reach over one another to claim the last dumpling. That had to be it, because Honey didn’t want to think too hard about what any other reason might be.

And that would be three nights in a row for them, which would be a first. Was that too much? Honey didn’t ask, didn’t want to be the one to point it out first.

Honey spotted their server with a tray of food–their food, it turned out. It was a good distraction–for a few minutes, anyway–from how awkward this was turning out, but after a few bites it was pretty clear it was going to continue being awkward until they figured out how to talk to each other. “The spag bol is good,” she said, because the only other thing she could think to talk about was Grace, again.

Right, that was that decided then. Charlie scratched under his ear and tried to push out thoughts of how it would make three nights in a row of sleeping over – but it was her birthday, and tonight didn’t really count if Grace was staying too, so he could justify his way out of it if she said anything. She didn’t, though, and he wasn’t sure if that was because she hadn’t picked up on it (minorly offensive) or because she didn’t mind it either.

Finally—it felt like—their food arrived. Charlie picked up his cutlery and carefully readjusted the piping hot baking dish his lasagne had been delivered in – only lightly burning his finger in the process; he shook his hand (as if that would do anything) before sucking on his finger briefly and smirking at Honey, opposite him.

“Good,” he said, when he lowered his hand back to the table and started cutting into his meal, watching as the steam escaped the layers of pasta. “I’ll let you know,” he advised, his lips pulling into a lopsided smile. Impatience won out after a few moments and he speared some onto his fork, blowing on it before eating— his mouth half open as he chewed because it was still too hot. He swallowed his mouthful with the aid of his wine. “S’good, just nuclear.”

They were talking about their food, like boring couples did. Charlie prodded his lasagne a little longer before attempting another go at eating it, all the while trying to think of something for them to talk about. Reluctantly, he figured being nice about Grace might be the best course of action. “So should I be getting Grace a present?” It was telling that he hadn’t already done so, and his options would be limited (booze, most likely) but he was more worried about what Honey thought than Grace.

Honey grinned as she watched Charlie suck on his finger, trying to not let her mind wander too far off course. There would be plenty of time for that later.

But good, yup. Her food was good, and he would let her know if his was. She ate a couple more bites before he brought the suspense to an end: it was good, too. Clearly they knew how to have a good time. Honey nodded twice as she chewed, glancing out at the street because watching Charlie eat was weird. “Good,” she said after she had cleared her mouth, because what else was there to say? She looked at him again, smiled, then continued eating, sans eye contact. Dinner wasn’t this weird the last time, was it? The last time they went out, properly, like this. She had already decided that the last time in Galway, and the only difference between then and now was the monogamy. Or spending too much time together– aye, that one felt easier to blame.

This–the awkward dinner–wasn’t her fault, she decided, because it was her birthday and she had no need for rationality.

Charlie spoke up after another couple minutes, and Honey blinked as she looked at him, still chewing. “No?” she said around half a mouthful of spaghetti. Getting a present for Grace felt odd, right? Almost like he was trying too hard, or something– Honey didn’t know, and she said as much: “I dunno.” She shrugged, looking away from Charlie when she saw movement behind him– their server with her drink. Finally. She tried not to appear too eager for it as she slid it toward herself.

“Did you get her something last year?” She asked before she took a sip from her glass, testing the flavor before taking a bigger swallow. He’d gone to their joint birthday party last year, too, but that had been under different circumstances. Charlie was a little less obvious, then. Still obvious–Grace wasn’t stupid, and Honey had filled her in on things up until that point–but less.  Honey knew he hadn’t bought Grace the same thing he had bought her; she would have never heard the end of it if he had.