Sadderdaze

"I'm worried about them," Euphemia murmurs as they walk out of their old friend's, Florean Fortescue's, Ice Cream Parlour. Diagon Alley is as crowded as ever, more so now that school's out, they can barely walk one step in any direction without ending up in the path of an energetic teenager. 

Fleamont is least bothered, preferring to occupy himself with his tall ice cream cone: strawberry, and watermelon-flavored. He loves it, even if it is peculiar and he's been bullied by his wife, and sons, about it. In fact, he dares anyone to get in between him and his beloved strawberry-watermelon-flavored ice cream, hell, he'd dropkick Voldemort into his next life for this ice cream.

"About who, love?" He happily licks away at his ice cream and Euphemia glares at him over her cup of mint chocolate. Fleamont bristles defensively, "What? Oh, bloody hell! Can't a man enjoy his ice cream?"

"A man can enjoy his ice cream once he's talked with his wife about his sons," Euphemia emphasizes, making Fleamont scowl like a child. She pays him no mind, preferring to continue the discussion, "I'm worried about them, Monty. I don't think I've seen them in the same room since they returned from Hogwarts."

Taking a bite out of his ice cream - yes, a bite, oh the horrors! - Fleamont muses, "Yeah, 'pose that's true, innit? They had dinner with us the first night, and then that fight at 5 in the bloody morning and they haven't talked since!"

Euphemia frowns, "What fight?"

"Didn't I tell you?" She shakes her head and he makes a face, "I thought I did, ah well, doesn't matter. It was two days after break began, and I was leaving for the ministry - for that meeting with Shacklebolt - when I heard 'em going at it upstairs, didn't sound pretty, let me tell you!"

Worry-stricken, she asks, "Did you go up there and stop 'em?"

"No," At her look, he raises his hands in defense, "Well, I wasn't plannin' on losing an arm at five in the bloody morning, love!"

"Fleamont!"

"Mia!" He mocks her shout and she swats at his arm, making him grin wide. 

A gust of wind passes between them, knocking her greying hair against the side of her face. He picks a strand of hair from her lips and she lets him, huffing, "Did you at least ask what the fight was about?" He doesn't respond and she tilts her head back, groaning emphatically, "Fleamont!"

"It was five in the bloody morning, love!"

"So you've said," Euphemia rubs her forehead and he loops an arm around her out of habit. She leans against his side, shaking her head, "Just 'cause it's five in the bloody morning, doesn't mean we stop being parents, Monty. Those boys have always been so close, and now suddenly they aren't talking, and, worst of all, they're refusing to talk to me!"

His hand finds a familiar resting place in the small of her back, and his thumb rubs soft circles as he says, "Don't worry too much, darling. Things like this happen, boys grow apart as they grow up, it's natural, and it's nothing to worry about. A'the end'a the day, they're our sons - they're brothers."

"I know, I know, but just look at Sirius, these days. He's sickly and gaunt - and, Merlin, those eyebags!" She says, sighing, "I want to ask him what's wrong, but I don't know if I can, if I'm allowed."

"You're his mother, love. You're allowed." Fleamont smiles softly.

"Sometimes, I don't think he knows that," Euphemia admits, looking up at her husband. 

The day is spent wasted. 

James' room is empty and so is Sirius' heart (and stomach), so he fills it with the firewhiskey he was planning to share with Prongs and the others come November 3rd; he doesn't think they'll want to be around him even then. He smells like death, looks like it, and feels like it, as he lounges on his bedroom floor, star-fished on his back, looking up at the ceiling. 

He exists for a moment or two. The moment turns into an hour, and then two. His hand remains curled around the neck of the firewhiskey bottle he has emptied halfway, and his hair sticks to his face - he washed it... two, no, three days ago. Normally, he would balk at such negligence for personal hygiene, but he doesn't have it in him to get up, stand under the shower, and remain there for 10-15 minutes without trying to drown under the constant stream of water.

Then, once the moment (hour) passes, instead of existing, he begins remembering. 

"Crucio!"

Ah, such a pure memory for a 17-year-old boy (turning 18 in a few months) to have of his seventh birthday. 

He remembers that day vividly. His mother was just getting into the habit of whipping her wand out for anything, and his father continued doing what he did best, ignoring everything around him. The spell had been meant for Regulus, the punishment had been meant for Regulus, but damn Sirius and his bleeding heart (reserved only for his brothers; both James and Reggie), he had jumped on his mother, tried to wrangle her wand away and had been granted a slap across the face and 15 minutes under the spell for his trouble. 

That wasn't the last time she used that wretched spell on him; but at least, it hadn't been the first time she used it on Reggie.

Feeling the phantom effects of the curse traveling up his arm, he pukes his guts out and finally takes a much-needed bath.

Fleamont and Euphemia return to find Sirius' door locked, and James' open with its occupant sprawled out on his bed, sleeping like the dead, with a blanket tucked up to his shoulders in a way that James couldn't have managed himself. 

Two days later, James ventures out again. 

It's simply because he's bored, the house is empty (his parents are off on important Auror business) and Sirius is the only company he has, but he doesn't count because James is not talking to Sirius - ever! (Or at least until Moony forgives him because James would rather die than stop talking to Padfoot).

But, of course, once he enters Muggle London, all he can think about is the strange girl from the record store. She was so ordinary and yet so peculiar, he supposes she was just confusing, and that's why he's thinking about her now; not because her laugh made him feel a swell of warmth in his chest, or because of how she had spoken his name, or because of how enchanting she had been.

Nope. Definitely not! No, siree.

But, of course, all this doesn't stop him from wandering toward the old record store and checking every aisle to see if she's there. Once he comes up empty, he stays in the record store, loitering pointlessly because he's already there. You never know when you'll find a breakout band at that store ("What sort of band's called Sex Pistols? Merlin! "; He buys the record and then begins devising a way to hide the graphic cover art from his mother). 

No one pays him attention as he lurks around the store, keeping quiet for more than a few seconds consecutively (it's a fucking achievement, innit?) and then he stumbles into an aisle that wasn't empty when he came through 15 minutes ago. A dark-haired pair is making out at the end, the guy towers over the girl, his hair shaggy and dark, his hands veiny as they cup the girl's face. 

James pauses dumbly, not because he's a prude, Merlin knows he's done and seen (hats off to Sirius) worse - way worse, but because the girl looks familiar. No... it... it can't be -- "Weird boy?"

He snaps to attention, spinning on his heel to face whoever called him; he regrets it a second later when he realizes he just responded to 'weird boy'.

It's Charlotte, wide-eyed and short-haired. She's dressed as she was last time, with the addition of a thick grey scarf around her neck. James immediately relaxes, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face, "I thought we agreed on handsome?"

Charlotte snorts, opening her mouth to rebuke him, predictably when -- "You're the bloke Charlie's been talking about since yesterday? Bloody hell! You were right, Lottie, he is fit."

Her face sours and James glances at the dark-haired male who is now wiping away lipstick residue. James' eyes widen. The girl held against the wall by the boy's body looks startlingly similar to Charlotte, save for a few minute details: her hair is a shade darker than Charlotte's, her eyes are green, not brown like Charlotte's, and her height—she's taller than Charlotte. 

The unidentified male notices James' gaze and extends a hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, mate. I'm Sebastian Hart, Charlie's oldest friend." The girl in question mutters something intelligible under her breath. Sebastian pulls the unidentified girl closer and gestures to her with an incline of his head. "And this is Elisabeth Treadway, Lisa, Lottie's baby sis, and the love of my life!"

The girl - Elisabeth - waves at him, grinning, "Don't be fooled by my height, mate."

"Alright, that's it! Need I remind you that I'm financing this little trip to the shop?" Charlotte huffs, folding her arms to her chest, hoping that her cheeks aren't noticeably flushed (spoiler alert: They are, and they're definitely not the reason behind James' satisfied smile). " And that I'm your secret keeper? Or would you like me to inform Mum about this clandestine make-out session? I could even have photos drawn up!"

Elisabeth scowls, exaggeratedly folding her arms to her chest, "Oh, bloody hell, fine! Fine! No need to have such a big stick up your arse!"

Charlotte cringes at the crude words coming out of her sister's mouth, biting her lips to keep from sounding like a massive hypocrite (god knows she's taught Elisabeth every dirty word she knows), or worse yet, sounding like her mother! 

"So," Sebastian hums, throwing an arm over James' shoulders (noting silently how massive they are and sending a secret wink to Charlotte), "What brings you back to the record store so soon, mate? Lottie saw you here just two days ago! You a big music fan?"

James, ever the social butterfly, doesn't flounder as he throws out an excuse, "Me? Nah, my brother, Sirius, loves music so I just... wandered back to the shop to get him some records, if I don't bring him back something today, he'll throw a fit." 

(It isn't a lie but a delusion he's voiced out loud. He can't call it a delusion because it's startingly accurate.)

"Sirius, huh? That name doesn't suggest an interest in anything but drab old classical music!" Sebastian chuckles, tilting his head in consideration. James laughs with him too and Charlotte grins at someone mixing so easily with Sebastian. The male claps James' back loudly, "Alright, don't fret mate, we're gonna find you something perfect to take back for your brother!"

"What does your brother like?" Elisabeth asks as Sebastian leads them down the aisle, throwing an arm over her shoulders and kissing her forehead. "Any specific ones?"

James shrugs, "Nothing specific, just anything that sounds cool."

"Really?" Charlotte raises her brows, "No band at all? That's weird, I'm afraid we've found someone weirder than you, James!"

The hazel-eyed boy does his best not to feel too giddy at her using his name so casually, clearing his throat, instead, "Well... I suppose he likes Queen a lot -- keeps singing their songs around the house, not to mention school. M- God knows, he's driving us all mad!"

"Queen, eh?" Elisabeth hums appreciatively, pausing before a particular record, from the looks of it, and gently tugging it out, handing it to Sebastian for safe-keeping, "Haveta say, your brother's got good taste."

Sebastian makes a face, "Doubtful," Charlotte sends the boy a look and he's quick to raise his hands defensively, "Look, not to say that Queen's a bad band or anything, they have so bloody amazing songs! I just don't like listening to them much, what with their complete and utter dominion over the radio and telly!"

"You taped that TV special," Charlotte narrows her eyes at him.

Sebastian flushes, "I told you, I was trying to tape something else!"

"Really?" Charlotte tilts her head, "Then how'd the tape get worn out from you replaying it so many times, you fuck?"

Sebastian flounders for a moment, before grabbing James' shoulders and physically pulling him away from Charlotte (who he had subconsciously been straying to), "You know what, as punishment for acting like a total cunt and trying to ruin my reputation in my territory, I'm going to be taking away for your boy toy," -- James, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, grins blindingly, making Charlotte flush -- "For the rest of the evening, young lady!"

"Your territory? What are you, a dog?" Charlotte sputters at the 'boy toy' bit and tries (and fails) at masking it as her exasperation. 

"If the shoe fits!"

"That's not how that analogy works!"

After buying Elisabeth 4 records, and buying James 6, they get muggle ice cream, and though the drab-colored, sugary scoops of chocolate he's licking away at can't compare to Fortescue's ice cream, James is enjoying himself (that might be more because Elisabeth and Sebastian are off making out with an ice cream scoop between them and he's finally alone with Charlotte)

London is as cold and rainy as it always is during summer. They're on an elevated street, leaning against a shared street light as they look out at the rest of the city. He's a long way from home. He'll have to take a muggle bus to get near the ministry telephone booths before he can get to the chimneys, and though he's dreading the walk home, he's dreading leaving this moment more. 

(Because back at home, all that awaits him is a drab and dead-looking Sirius, who he wants to talk to but can't; out of the goodness of his heart, and the bro code that he upholds more than actual laws)

He glances at Charlotte out of the corner of his eye and snickers. Charlotte's gaze snaps to him, "What's so funny, huh?"

Her mouth is lined with chocolate in the messy way a toddler may line their lips with their mother's lipstick, and on top of that, she's clueless about it all, which makes James close his eyes and double over. Charlotte, despite herself, laughs with him, swatting at him, "Bloody hell, mate, what! What is it!"

He can't resist the urge to reach over and wipe her face for her, so that is exactly what he does. 

His hands are larger than hers, by a long shot, and rough with calluses. But, they are startlingly gentle as his thumb traces the outer line of her lips, coming away with chocolate residue, and her cheeks flush. 

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," James snickers, "Don't get me wrong, I think you made an amazing raccoon look-alike, but I think your brethren are big on the eyeliner, not the lipstick."

Her embarrassed and flustered flush turns into an annoyed one as she delivers a swift punch to his arm, "Oh, fuck off, mate!"

James' mischievous snickering dissolves into soft giggles as he leans his head against the street light, never breaking his gaze away from Charlotte. She sneaks glances at him in the middle of having her ice cream, it takes 23 seconds before she looks at him head-on and James doesn't dare shy away. A little taken aback, she tilts her head, cataloging everything about him. His strong eyebrows, his hazel eyes, the developing smile lines, the hint of dimples on his cheeks, his slightly curly and wind-swept brown hair with (slutty) strands falling into his eyes. 

"Why don't you take a picture?" She asks, finally.

"It'd certainly last longer," James nods, breaking their eye contact, looking down at his feet momentarily before looking right back at her again. His lips lift into a smile that's never felt easier, "The thing is, I don't have a camera."

"You? The preppy-looking bloke in front of me? You don't have a camera?" Charlotte stresses, and James laughs, sounding just as rich as he looks. 

"I have one at home, but I don't think you'd like it," On account of it being magical, and so completely unbelievable that you'd call me crazy and check yourself into an asylum if you knew half of my world, He adds that in his head. 

Charlotte concedes with a nod, humming as she looks back at the city. James still doesn't look away, cataloging her side profile and practically committing it to memory. Her nose curves upward at the end, her lips are bow-shaped and thin, her canines are sharp when she smiles, a half-formed dimple on her left cheek, and her eyes are hooded.

"You don't look depressed now,"

James hums, not daring to look away from her, scared something will happen if he does, "I told you, I wasn't."

"And I told you that you looked depressed," Charlotte looks back at him, smiling, and he feels his heart bang against his rib cage. A lone wind blows between them, pulling loose a lock of her hair from behind her ear, she wastes no time in tucking it back where it was, and even that movement enchants James with its simplicity, "But, you don't look depressed now. Tell me, is it the magic of spending an entire day with someone as amazing as me?"

"Bloody hell, how do you handle having such a big head?" James teases, recalling her exact words from two days ago and Charlotte laughs, tipping her head back in the same carefree way she had the last time they parted. 

"I'm learning it all from this airhead I met a couple of days ago, mate," Charlotte snickers and James narrows his eyes jokingly at her, "But, hey, I've got to say, he does have some very big muscles."

"Oh, yeah?" James' patented smirk practically glows in the setting sun.

Charlotte shakes her head rather than dignify his ego with a response, instead, she asks, "Did you have fun today?"

James brightens with excitement, (like a puppy does, Charlotte thinks, miserably) "Loads! Today was brilliant, Seb's great, your sister's great, you're amazing -"

"Just me? I'm the only one that's amazing?" Charlotte imitates his suave smirk and James refuses to admit that it's attractive, even to himself. 

" - No," -- Charlotte raises her eyebrows, and James panics -- "No! I mean, yes, I mean, all of you are amazing, so, by extension, yes, yes, I suppose you are also amazing," 

Charlotte snorts at him, poking his side, "Aw, thanks, James, I know I'm amazing, but you didn't have to repeat it all that much," James rolls his eyes, making a face at her, and Charlotte grins, nudging his arm with her elbow, "If its any consolation, I think you're amazing, too."

(Inwardly, he's screaming like a little boy, flushing red) Outwardly, he snorts and nudges her back, "You're so bloody cheesy, Charlie."

He realises he's called her by a nickname a second late, and he begins freaking out, but Charlotte's expression doesn't sour the way Lily's did when he called her Lilyflower (though to be fair, Lilyflower is a terrible nickname) instead she brightens, and then sticks out her tongue, "Oh, hush! You love it!"

(He does.)