Call me Chuck.
“Another one, Miss…?”
“Emilie. Yes, please.” The brunette flashed a pretty smile toward the aging bartender, a man who had introduced himself as ‘Tom’ two drinks prior. “I’m on a miniature vacation. In town for a wedding.”
“Ah! You must be here for the Weasley wedding. Many of our guests are.”
“Oui.” The woman said with a small smile. “As the date of one of the groomsmen. I haven’t met the couple personally.” She explained, leaning forward.
Date of one of the groomsmen… right. Or, as she would rather call it, the fake girlfriend of the best man, Oliver, who was sorely in love with his best friend… who was getting married to some girl that Ollie absolutely hated.
Same thing, really.
“Ah, well if there was ever a family that deserved a celebration of some sort, that would be the one.” Tom set another glass of whiskey in front of her. “Cheers, lass.” His words hung heavy as he ambled away from her small spot in the corner of the bar.
If there ever was a family. Emilie hummed softly to herself as she raised the glass to her lips and took a long sip of the amber-colored liquor. She didn’t know the Weasleys personally, but their names had been all over the Daily Prophet after the battle at Hogwarts. Everyone in the United Kingdom - hell, everyone in Europe and maybe even beyond - knew about the battle that had occurred two years prior.
Emilie had been out of Beauxbatons and a member of Puddlemere United for precisely three weeks when she witnessed the attack on the muggles at the Quidditch World Cup. She’d made the reserves team with then-rookie Oliver Wood, and the two quickly bonded over their love for the sport - and the fact that they were from two completely different worlds. He was a loudmouth from Hogwarts who had been the star of tryouts, while she was the quiet one from Beauxbatons who never even thought she could make the team. And just like that, a friendship was born.
Emilie would be the first to admit that she had a tiny crush on Oliver at the beginning of their friendship. Who wouldn’t, after all?! He was tall, well built, and had the most charming smile and adorable Scottish accent to charm quite literally anyone who walked into his life. And for a brief amount of time, Emilie thought she had a chance.
Boy, had she been wrong.
May 5, 1998 would be a night that she would remember for a long time. It was the night that Emilie learned that Oliver Wood loved her like a sister and a best friend… and it was the night that she learned that Oliver loved his best friend, Percy, as a lover. Oliver had shown up at the door to her flat, drunk as a skunk, and had broken down in spectacular fashion. He loved Percy, and he was pretty sure Percy loved him. And Percy was broken. Percy believed he had been the reason his brother died, and he was down in a way that Oliver didn’t know how to fix.
Emilie did the only thing she knew how to do - she was there for him. Just like she was now.
She almost said no to this monstrosity. Really, ‘be my fake girlfriend at my best friend’s wedding because I told him I was happy and in love too’ was crossing the line just a bit. Emilie didn’t want to put on a fake show. But, as Ollie put it, she had nothing else to do this weekend. She knew no one who would be there, and she would probably never see them again. So why not have a bit of fun?
Lost in her thoughts, Emilie finished her glass of whiskey. It was Tom who brought her back to earth once more as he offered her another beverage. “Another, Miss Emilie?” Why not? Oliver had gone to bed early in their room, wildly upset about the nuptials this weekend to even come down for one drink after they arrived.
Emilie gave the man a sweet smile, leaning forward. “Please, Tom. Thank you.”
“Put that one on my check, Tom.” A deep voice from the other side of the pub caused Emilie’s head to turn. Sitting clear across the room in the near-deserted pub was man who seemed so familiar, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why. He looked a bit older than her, but not by much. And the smile on his face? Well, it gave her butterflies.
“Really, that isn’t necessary. Thank you, though. I don't want to burden.” Emilie said with a polite smile, but the man seemed to not hear her. He walked towards her and leaned against the bar next to her, allowing Emilie to take him in completely. He was stocky, but it seemed to be all muscle. His red hair was shaggy and slightly unkempt and his light brown eyes seemed to shine even in the dull, dark pub.
“Are you sure?” He asked as a charming smile crossed his face. “I don’t bite. You just look like you’re having a difficult evening, and I want to help. You hardly seem like a burden.”
“Au contraire, I’m actually on a sort of vacation. No difficulty at all.” Emilie responded. “But, since you made the trek over here one drink couldn’t hurt.” At least that’s what she was going to tell herself. She too deserved to have fun on this little trip instead of playing the role of Oliver’s little puppet all week. And this man? He surely looked like fun. Especially since she would never see him again.
“In exchange for a name, of course. I don’t share a drink with strangers.” Ah, there was that tiny bit of flirtation Em was good at. Just enough, paired with a good smile, to woo damn near anyone. She might not have been the most experienced when it came to charming drinks out of men, but she was surely not a novice.
The man pulled a stool up next to her and chuckled quietly as a hand ran through his hair. “Vacation to The Leaky Cauldron on a Monday? Well, you seem like quite the partier. I’m on a sort of vacation as well. I live in Romania. My friends call me Charlie… but you? You can call me whatever the hell you want.”
Well that was... straightforward. Clearly this was not about to be just a polite conversation over a glass of whiskey. “What about Chuck? Can I call you Chuck? I like to be different. Stand out from the rest... be memorable, you know.” Emilie turned her body on the stool as Tom set the new drink in front of her.
The man cracked a grin as he turned to face her as well. Em could practically see the wheels turning in his head as she flirted right back. He almost seemed to have been expecting it. “Sure, why not? Call me Chuck. And you are?”
“I’m Emilie. Pleasure.”
“Oh no, Emilie. The pleasure is all mine.” Charlie said as he leaned forward and closed just a tiny bit of distance between them. “Is that a French accent I hear?”
“Oui. Born and raised.” Emilie lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip of it, unable to hide the smirk forming behind the glass.
“Tell me more, Emilie. I want to hear all about how a pretty little French girl ended up in the Leaky Cauldron for a night cap on a Monday.”
His voice was smooth and calming. His smile was sweet and playful. His eyes were bright and full of mischief. But the way this man spoke to her? Sweet Merlin, Emilie was done for now.
“Ask me anything you want, Chuck.”