Magical Hogwarts

Clem was never in Wales, she never had reason to be–except maybe now because of Keela, whose boyfriend Damien owned a bar with Cormac McLaggen (gag) there. Being a professional athlete was so exhausting that Clementine sometimes found herself shirking her responsibilities, but she always seemed to find the energy for a good social gathering or a party–as long as somebody she genuinely liked was involved.

She turned around in the mirror to observe the back of her skirt, then bent over in an awkward squatting position to make sure that no one was going to see her entire ass if she moved about freely at the party. Seemed okay. Clem faced her reflection again and cinched her belt up tight, finishing the ensemble with a quick smear of red lip stain that would (hopefully) last the whole party without the need for a touch-up. She supposed that she cared about her appearance to a certain extent, but not enough to constantly be checking and re-checking it throughout the night, so a one-and-done was her best bet.

“Alright, er…. Do I need anything else…” Clementine murmured to herself in a hushed tone, walking frantically in small, aimless circles around her bedroom to try and jog her memory and–ah, of course. She slipped her huge denim jacket over her shoulders  for warmth and grabbed the pack of cigarettes lying open on her nightstand to shove them into her front pocket, then apparated to the Wyvern with a loud crack.

Immediately, Clem swore and shuddered, having been totally unprepared for the much lower temperature outside–she’d dressed for fun, not for function, and she was going to have to live with the ramifications of that choice, but the bar would be warm. Pulling her jacket more tightly around her body, she tottered along the uneven sidewalks and was very pleased to find its inviting entrance a couple of blocks down.

Clem flung the door open and stepped inside in one motion, heading right up to the bar to take a look at the menu. She supposed she could save the hard liquor for later and do beer for a little pregame, especially because some of these local brews looked pretty enticing. “Any recommendations?” Clem asked Keela casually, whose back was turned behind the counter, wanting to surprise her.

@Keela Doyle @DJ Conway

The Wine-Red Wyvern, Merthyr Tydfil, Wales  ||  Thursday, 17th March 2005

As anticipated, it had shaped up to be quite the busy day.

Her Captain had held practice extra early today in favor of giving them more time to enjoy the holiday (more than half of roster were Irish, after all), for which K was thankful – but that also meant more time awake, and it was absolutely going to be a long night. DJ had scheduled himself as manager at the Wyvern today (where she was headed the instant she was showered and changed), and at sundown (around 6:30pm) she and Clem were headed to Tess’s party.

Ordinarily, Keela wasn’t one to go over-the-top with themed outfits, but today felt like it warranted a bit of an exception. Besides, as a member of the Irish National Team she could hardly not wear her country’s paraphernalia on one of its most salient holidays… especially when she was going to be out in public for most of it. She’d never hear the end of it from PR or, probably, the media.
Consequently, she was dressed in a billie skirt in the Irish national tartan and a simple blouse, upon which she wore her Irish National Team pin on one side of her chest and a themed rosette on the other. (She also had brought a change of clothes for Tess’s.)

It was now late-afternoon, and the pub had essentially been at capacity all day – but, at least from what she could tell, everything seemed to be running more-or-less smoothly. Most people hadn’t recognized her (or, if they had, they’d kept it to themselves), but she’d entertained the few that had approached her and all had gone well. Only a few small almost-heated exchanges that had been easily disbanded, without anyone needing to be kicked out. The waitstaff looked busy but not running haggard, and DJ mildly stressed but not out of his element.
She was proud of him – he’d done his research and due diligence, even on such a short timeline, and had worked tirelessly to bring it all together. And it was evident that it was paying off.

While the thought occurred to her, she decided to tell him so. ‘Words of affirmation’ were rarely her preferred expression of love language, but she knew it would give him a pick-me-up to hear it. As soon as she slipped behind the counter (probably a no-no, but she was feeling bold), however, she spotted him talking to one of his staff so she paused, leaning her back against the counter as she waited.

“Any recommendations?” came a voice from behind her, and Keela instinctively turned to point this person in the direction of one of the bartenders when the voice register clicked in her brain. By the time she’d turned fully around, she was already grinning.

“Hi!” she greeted, slipping back out to come around the front of the bar. “Still working my way through the whole list,” she began, passing Clem a drink menu, “but I think you’ve got to start with one of the staples.”
Keela tapped the ‘Double Dragon’ and raised her eyebrows, tacitly asking her approval.

The smirk she was unsuccessfully smothering bloomed quickly into a grin when Keela whipped around and greeted her with one of her own. “Hey,” She responded in kind, warmly, much more warmly than she’d do for any stranger–not that Clem was cold in any sense, it was just that she had a particular fondness for Keela.

Her eyebrows shot up as she surveyed her friend, mildly impressed with how bright the shade of green in Keela’s skirt was and how appropriately dressed she looked. “Aye, you look especially Irish today,” Which made complete sense, you idiot, it was St. Patrick’s Day–  “And I…. Am not wearing a single piece of green, you know that?” Clem shook her head. Perhaps that had been the other thing she’d forgotten before leaving the house. “Good thing we aren’t in the U.S., I hear they barely party and pinch each other instead…”

She took the menu wordlessly out of Keela’s hand and frowned in concentration, brown eyes scanning wildly up and down the columns until her friend came through with a recommendation–that was good, that meant she didn’t have to think about it too much, and there was plenty of reason to celebrate today, it was a holiday, and an important one to Irish history(she wasn’t Irish)–

“Yeah, let’s do it. Go with that.” Clem put the list down onto the bar with a decisive nod. “I trust your judgment. You’re not gonna light it on fire, though, are you? I haven’t been practicing the pyrotechnics,” She waited another beat before she asked another question, “You need, what? Bout another hour?” Clementine wasn’t in any rush, just wanted to know how quickly (or not) to drink her beer.

DJ hadn't been sure about opening the pub even just the one hour early for Patrick's Feast Day, but he had to admit Steffan had been right (he didn't mind admitting it, the man had experience in the industry). In Wales, they didn't really celebrate the day as they did in other places, mostly Ireland. Patrick had, by all accounts, been a Welshman before being stolen by Irish slavers, and the national saint of Wales was Saint David (whose feast day was on March 1st instead).

But, like all good Welshmen, his patrons never passed up the chance to drink, so the Wyvern had enjoyed a business boon in the form of already-tipsy Cymry coming in as early as 3pm, acting very much like overexaggerated Irishmen. DJ didn't do anything as gauche as colour his beers green, or orange, or even red; if someone wanted to do that they could Colovaria their own bottle and be done with it. Still, he'd done some minimal decorative tributes to the "holiday" - the eponymous wyvern on the wooden sign outside was wearing a flat cap for the day, and the bases of the candle sconces had a few small clovers affixed to them. Business had been steady, and he was glad he'd had the foresight to schedule Steffan (his lead bartender) and Skyla (his head cook) both today.

In fact he'd missed Keela coming in because he'd been backing Skyla up in the kitchen, but gave her a tight hug and a long kiss to make up for not being at the door to greet her, before heading back to work. So it was only by chance that DJ saw Clem come in. As a Gryffindor he hadn't associated with her too much back while they were in school (Keela, and briefly Reece, being the obvious exceptions to the rule), but Keela spoke highly of her and so she was definitely all right in his book. He had to finish his conversation with Steffan, however - making sure that the patrons that had spilled their Magic Lagyr in the dining room had actually come up and taken care of it, Galleon-wise.

Once that was done, he turned around (noting Keela had come around the employee side, presumably to see him) and caught part of Clem's tease. "Keela, light something on fire? She's usually kind enough to take that outside," he teased his girlfriend, kissed her cheek, and then stuck a hand out over the bar to Clem (he didn't know what she thought of him and didn't want to go around for a hug if it was going to be awkward). "How's it going, Clem? No green?" he observed. "Me neither. I think our resident Irishwoman has enough for us all." He looked at what Clem was pointing at on the menu, at Keela's recommendation, and added, "First one's on me. Bottle or glass?"

Clem didn’t make a habit of being concerned about other people’s opinions, but there was always something weird about meeting another person’s significant other, wasn’t there? She even felt awkward introducing her own boyfriend to other people if they didn’t know him. Actually, she felt this way about all blind interactions–it was much easier if she had some context, if she’d known the person tangentially, but–the most she knew about Damien was that he’d been a Slytherin. And a Prefect.

Hypocritical it was to assume this combination of things meant he was bad news, and Clem caught that thought before she made it too obvious and ruined everything. Her own boyfriend was a Slytherin. Plus, Keela had better judgment than Clem about 87% of the time and she’d been especially patient with her when she’d been caught up with Dennis. More objectively, Damien didn’t seem bad for Keela, but she was curious to know more, and she intended to ask later on when they were alone.

Clementine zipped up right away when he greeted her and smiled with her lips closed, sticking her hand out (hopefully wasn’t clammy, she hadn’t checked) to shake his firmly. “I’m not known for being the most on top of… physical details, like that, except on the pitch,” She laughed awkwardly and sat on both of her hands. “It’s really nice to meet you. I saw you around some at Hogwarts, but,” Clem shrugged, figuring he would get the picture. Nobody was a stranger to the long-standing rivalry between their houses. “Great setup you’ve got here.” A compliment. A bit drab, not at all inventive, but it had sounded sincere.

“Ah–do you prefer Damien? Or… DJ?” She asked with a quizzical frown, glancing at Keela out of the corner of her eye for half a second. She should have made sure she was calling her boyfriend by the right name before she’d showed up, but Clementine kind of thought that it was a little childish, wasn’t it, to still be going by a… what was that called? Whatever. It was two letters. Damien sounded so much more adult than DJ.

“Oh, glass, please,” Clem nodded sagely, with a very serious frown that settled a moment later into a smile. “Best in the glass, right?” She actually didn’t drink a whole lot of beer, but neither of them needed to know that. It wasn’t that she didn’t like it–it was just–

“She looks pretty decked out, eh?” Clementine changed the subject quickly, obviously referring to her friend’s green garb. “You gonna show up to Tess’ like that?” She grinned.

“Aye, you look especially Irish today.”

She curtseyed mockingly.
“Aye, well… damned if ye do, damned if ye don’t,” she replied, leaning heavily into her native speech. “By the press, of course.” Clem would understand, she knew.

Keela shook her head in mock disapproval when Clem admitted to wearing no green whatsoever, and grinned when she asked about pyrotechnics (“No fire… though that’s not a bad idea for a drink of that name.”).

“You need, what? Bout another hour?”

Glancing over her shoulder at her boyfriend (who was now making his way towards them), she turned back to Clem and nodded: “That should do it, yeah.” She couldn’t imagine her friend would mind – which was just as well, as she wasn’t about to apologize for it either. It had been six months since he’d come out of hiding, but at times Keela still had the strikingly overwhelming sense that they needed to make up for lost time.

Right on cue, he appeared over her shoulder and kissed her cheek. Keela, admittedly, had never thought she’d be one for PDA in any capacity… but perhaps that had been because she’d never experienced it for herself, because she was finding that she rather enjoyed it (in moderation, at least). Absently, she reached up and slightly behind her with her left hand (as it was closest to him) and briefly laid her palm against his left cheek.

She caught Clem’s quizzical look and silently mouthed: ‘He hates Damien’ (which, with her back to him, he couldn’t see), but let him answer for himself regardless. They (she and DJ) hadn’t talked about that specifically in a long time… but, from what she could recall, it had something to do with his mam effectively abandoning him when he was about ten, and his subsequent transition to living with his dad (and, later, Mabel) full-time.

They teased her about her nationalist garb, then, and she wrinkled her nose playfully.
“Oh, fuck off,” she huffed, sticking her tongue out at Clem then shaking her head emphatically at her follow-up question. “Merlin, no. I’ve brought something normal to wear to that that isn’t PR-and-press-dress-up.”

She paused a moment, considering, then grinned.
“S’pose I wouldn’t be altogether surprised if Tess greets us at the door literally wearing the flag, though. She goes all-out when it comes to parties.”

"Coming right up but not from me," he grinned at the ladies and stepped out of the way of Steffan. DJ had not mastered the art of the low-foam pour, nor did he expect to; his area of "expertise" was fry cook. Steffan poured a nice glass of Double Dragon and slid it carefully but precisely between Clem's hands, a performance not of wand magic but of experience, a magic all its own. Little things like that still impressed DJ, so he didn't realise that Steffan was sarcastically holding out his hand for payment. "I'll start a tab," he said drily, and they chuckled before Steffan got back to work.

"So, either is fine," he answered Clem's earlier question about his name, "since DJ kind of sounds like a schoolyard name, not a business name. I just have some bad connotations associated with 'Damien.' But then, who doesn't have childhood trauma?" he smirked, intending to take the sting out of it.

He listened to the banter between Keela and Clem for a little while, adding, "Please get a picture if she really does answer the door like that," regarding Tess' exuberance. Then after a moment he gently slapped the counter and said, "Back to work for me. Good to see you Clem," he saluted her, and kissed Keela's cheek again as he passed by her. "Don't misbehave too bad tonight, I'd hate to have my reputation tarnished," he teased her. Everyone already knew what his reputation was, and she would know he actually wanted her to have as much fun as possible. Then he held the door open for Llew who was just coming out of the kitchen, and went back in himself.

[ DJ out-ish! ]

He was more amenable to entertaining ‘Damien’ than she’d anticipated, which Keela interpreted as a good sign. She wrinkled her nose at the ‘childhood trauma’ quip; who in their generation didn’t, indeed, to some degree or another – especially if school-aged or Muggleborn in the last decade.

"Please get a picture if she really does answer the door like that."

Keela snorted.
“Don’t worry, she’ll never live it down if she does.”

A few more customers entered the pub, then – DJ evidently noticed and announced his leave.
“See you later,” she told him as he kissed her cheek in parting. She rolled her eyes at his teasing comment, sticking her tongue out at him this time.
“Me? Misbehave?” Her tone dripped sarcasm. “Dunno where you’d get such an idea.”

She watched him disappear through the kitchen door before turning back to her friend. Raising her glass, she touched it to Clem’s with a soft clink and a murmured: “Sláinte mhaith.”
Taking a sip, she watched for Clem’s reaction curiously. “What’s the verdict?” she asked teasingly, after giving her a few moments to consider the brew.

Well, he seemed alright, didn’t he? Willing to entertain making fun of himself, anyway, which was something very many men were not especially good at. This was all in her personal opinion, of course, but Clem suspected this had something to do with girls having grown up being made fun of by one another their whole lives. In serious ways, too, not jokey ones.

The childhood trauma quip lent itself to more context–seemed like he’d had a rough life. The bad connotations comment, on the other hand, had piqued her interest much more, and she would definitely be asking Keela what he’d meant by that when they were alone.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too, DJ. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get into too much trouble.” She eyed Keela and smirked knowingly–neither of them were wallflowers at parties, as it were.

Keela raised her glass and said something in Irish–she assumed it was something akin to cheers--and Clementine jokingly mumbled a butchered version of it back to her. “Mhm, lawnchair water,” She laughed into her beer and splattered some of it on her mouth, then managed to compose herself enough for a proper drink.

“Mm, it’s good,” Clem raised her eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgment. “Unless you meant–what’s the verdict on your boyfriend, and I have… a lot of questions,” She kept one eyebrow arched and let the other one back down, taking another big foamy gulp from her glass. “Not all of them bad, though. He seems nice.”