she who entangles

betwixt_rpg & euphorialane: Character Name Meanings

I haven't done this in a while, so here are more meanings of my characters' names (at betwixt_rpg and euphorialane - emphasis in italics).

Johnathan Troy
Johnathan: Hebrew origin, variant of 'Jonathan.' "Gift of God." The son of King Saul, Jonathan was noted for his manliness, generosity, and unselfishness. He saved David's life when Saul would have killed him. My ex-boyfriend's spelled his name this way, so I immediately was drawn to this character. I've also always loved the story of David and Jonathan in the Bible as well, so he was made as a very good friend to Joel Cresswell in the game.
Troy: Of Irish and Gaelic origin. "Descendant of the footsoldier." It was a surname given to those who migrated to England from the French city of Troyes after the Norman conquest of 1066. As a given name, Troy may derive from the ancient Greek city where the Trojan wars were fought. (link)

Justin Finch-Fletchley
Justin: Latin origin, derived from 'Justinus,' which is from 'Justus.' "Just, upright, and righteous." Saint Justin (second century) was a Greek philosopher who wrote of the moral values of Christianity. He was later beheaded in Rome.
Finch: English origin. The bird itself is a small songbird with a short stout bill adapted for crushing seeds (link). In the Middle Ages this bird had a reputation for stupidity. It may perhaps also in part represent a metonymic occupational name for someone who caught finches and sold them as songsters or for the cooking pot. The surname is found in all parts of Britain but is most common in Lancashire. (link) The term "finch" is slang for "to swindle a simpleton". (link)
Fletchley: Origin unknown. Means "field of arrow-heads" or "maker of arrows."

There's a very interesting description of Justin here, which is quoted below:

Justin Finch-Fletchley holds out the hand of friendship to Harry Potter in the first week of their second year, but it will be another three years before this friendship ripens. In a very few words, we have a strong portrait of Justin: to his core, he is an aristocrat of Muggle society, a very English gentleman, whose good manners are as natural as his breathing. His parents are probably a ‘Sir’ and ‘Lady’, and they almost certainly own a country estate – let’s say in Northamptonshire, where the squires and spires, the green hills and flowing rivers, are a couple of hours (in the Rolls Royce) away from London. Attending Hogwarts means that Justin has to miss out on many of the local community events: the Rothwell Fair and the Crick Boat Show clash with his annual exams, while the British Grand Prix is held in the autumn term. But the Northampton Balloon Festival would remain a highlight of his summer holidays.

Justin was once on the waiting list for Eton College, the ultimate aristocratic boarding school – he would have been two years ahead of Prince William. When he persuades his parents to let him go to Hogwarts instead, he knows he will be entering a world in which his aristocratic connections will be worthless. Indeed, the Malfoys, self-styled aristocrats of the wizarding world, will despise his Muggle ancestry, and even try to kill him. However, Justin is not asking for special treatment. While Draco is always boasting about his wealth and important connections, Justin never mentions money. Not only is it vulgar to refer to one’s own affluence, but money is not a subject that occupies Justin’s mind, because he really doesn’t believe that having Old Money makes him a more important person than someone who has newer money or less of it.

Justin’s prognosis is not very good. ‘Justin’ is a Latin name, indicating the ‘justice’ of this person’s character. However, I have a sneaking suspicion that he was named after St Justin Martyr (AD c100-165), a very polite gentleman who was murdered for refusing to abandon his convictions. The point of the surname ‘Finch-Fletchley’ may simply be that it’s double-barrelled, a sign of upper-crust ancestry. However, a ‘finch’ is a small bird, while ‘Fletchley’ (which I haven’t been able to find on any list of real surnames) literally means a ‘field of arrow-heads’. Here is a suggestion of a vulnerable person who will meet a violent death.

euphorialane: Justin & Vicki Backstory, Part 4

Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Victoria Frobisher (for euphorialane)
Where: In the Magic Bean, during morning rush hour.
When: Sometime in the late summer/early fall, 2003. Justin's still living in his crappy flat.
What: Justin's landlady dies, leaving him desperate for a place to live. Vicki sympathizes.
Rating: G.

It was only a Tuesday, but Justin had already decided that this was the week from hell. His landlady had passed away two nights ago, leaving her house (and consequently, the room Justin was renting). Mrs. McGillicuddy's daughter had come over the night before and told him that he had to find new housing, because she was selling the house.

Justin was at a loss to find new housing. He would have preferred to find someplace on Euphoria Lane, but even the cheapest housing was above his budget. He'd have to room with someone if he could afford it, but Justin wasn't comfortable with the idea of rooming with a strange person.

Thus, he was more thoughtful and quieter than usual as he took care of his order that morning.

Vicki got to the front of the line and tilted her head at Justin. He'd barely looked up from the till or the coffee as he served the other customers, and his normally infectious smile was nowhere to be seen.

"Why so glum there, coffee boy?" She offered a smile of her own, hoping to encourage one of his.

"Hey," he replied with a small smile, looking a bit more like himself. Scratching the back of his neck shyly, he shrugged and said, "Well, I'm not having the best week so far." He paused slightly, and then remembered where he was. "The usual?"

Victoria nodded. "Sure, the usual...what's the matter?" Her nose scrunched in concern. Coffee aside, she was really beginning to think of Justin as a friend. Not to mention the little flirtation hanging over them...that offer of dinner that still lingered in her mind every time she thought of him.

Justin just shrugged again as he grabbed a cup and started pouring her coffee. It was embarrassing to admit that he was broke and worried that he couldn't find a place to live, especially since Victoria seemed to be doing much better financially at the Ministry. "Just... having some financial issues. And flat issues, too." He grinned at her again as he turned to get the milk. "It's nothing important, really."

Vicki knew broke much better than perhaps Justin thought. After all, a single mum hardly ever started out completely on her own two feet. She gave him a sympathetic glance as she took the cup and paid for it. "I'm sorry, Justin. Are you...going to have to move?" She seriously hoped not. Her morning cup of coffee would be an awful lot more boring without him.

Justin gave up the pretense and let out a long sigh. "Yeah, I do," he admitted as he counted out her change and handed it back. "I just don't know where I can go. I'd move out here on Euphoria, but I can't - well, I can't afford most of the rates." He gestured at the counter before him as he continued, "This job doesn't pay as well as I'd like."

It was a distinctly nervous Vicki that looked back at him. "But you won't have to leave, will you? Surely there's someplace nearby, isn't there?" She cleared her throat and composed her features. "I'd hate to see you leave, Justin."

Justin was so preoccupied that he didn't even pick up on the subtle vibes coming from Vicki. "I really hope not. I love this job," he turned a little red at admitting this too, but it was the truth, "and I can't think of a better place to work. Hopefully I can find something.... Do you know of anything? Any free rooms someone's willing to let?" Justin used his puppy eyes just in case someone else on line was listening in.

At the glance to the line behind, Victoria cleared her throat. "I wish I did, love. But I...I'm not sure, really. I'm sorry you're having a difficult time, Justin. But I'll...get out of your way," She moved to the side with her coffee, chewing a bit on her lip.

"It's okay, really," he said, smiling a little. He honestly didn't think that she knew of anyone, since Vicki seemed like the kind of person who'd tell even before he asked. But he couldn't really continue since he had a job to do. "What would you like, love?" he asked the very nice elderly woman who was a regular.

As he was filling out her order, Justin realized that he felt so much better now that he'd actually told someone. Maybe it was time for him to tell Vicki everything about the situation.

"It was a pretty bad situation all around, actually," he said as he sprinkled some cinnamon on top of the drink. "My landlady died, and her daughter was a right b-" thankfully Justin realized just who he was handing the drink to before he cursed, "-er, bint about it. Told me I have two weeks and then she'll be selling the place."

Vicki frowned in consternation. "Oh that's terrible! I mean, I feel sorry for her that her mum died, but...well it does seem like a rather dreadful situation all around," She sighed a bit and continued watching him. "Have you had a chance to start looking at places? You might get a flatmate, you know...that would save on rent."

Justin was already in the middle of making a Zapuccino when he replied, "Yeah, I was thinking of that. But I feel odd letting a flat with someone I don't know. At Hogwarts it wasn't so bad, but now..." He made a face as he stirred the last of the sugar and handed over the counter to the waiting customer.

Finally, the line was gone and everyone at the shop had already been served. Justin grabbed a wet towel and wiped the milk steamer as he said, "I'll think of something, don't worry. If not, I could probably shrink my boxes and just sleep on someone's couch until I find a more permanent spot."

"Well, maybe you can find an old friend from Hogwarts..." A slight shadow crossed Victoria's face and she sighed. "That is, if you're not a terrible person like myself who fell out of contact with nearly everyone," She tried to soften her statement with a smile, but it was clear the issue bothered her.

"Still, with that smile I'm sure you can find loads of couches to sleep on!"

Tossing away the towel, Justin rested his elbows on the counter and replied, "Well, I did the same. During the war I was in the Muggle world." He scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment as he continued, "I definitely lost touch with a lot of people. Sometimes I feel like I'm still out of touch with them."

Victoria nodded, cheeks coloring a bit. "I ah...did the same," You had a baby, Vicki. That's a damn sight different than just losing touch, the inner voice continued much as it usually did, and Vicki sighed. "Well. You're back now, aren't you? And right here where so many people seem to be. I'm sure you'll find someone."

Victoria nodded, cheeks coloring a bit. "I ah...did the same," You had a baby, Vicki. That's a damn sight different than just losing touch, the inner voice continued much as it usually did, and Vicki sighed. "Well. You're back now, aren't you? And right here where so many people seem to be. I'm sure you'll find someone."

Glancing at the clock, Vicki realized that Justin was completely right. It was time for her to leave, and it seemed she'd be having coffee on the go today. With a small rueful smile, she shrugged. "Duty calls, but you're not boring me. I'll expect a full report tomorrow morning. Have a good day!" With a cheery wave, she was out the door and on her way to the Ministry.

OOC: After this conversation occurred, Justin's friend Theodore Nott offered him a room to rent at his own flat. On the day Justin moved in, he began writing in his journal again.

euphorialane: Justin & Vicki Backstory, Part 3

Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Victoria Frobisher
Where: In the Magic Bean, during morning rush hour.
When: Sometime in the late summer/early fall, 2003. Justin's still living in his crappy flat.
What: Justin flirts and Vicki gets jealous! They even manage to express their interest in each other.
Rating: G.

It was a bright, sunny morning, which was certainly a rarity in England. Justin could practically feel the sun beat down on him, even though he was currently indoors and well away from the windows.

The line of customers was longer than usual, but it seemed to fly by for Justin. He had a cheery smile for everyone, and even flirted a bit with some of the females, including the twenty-year-old brunette standing in front of him right now. He smiled at her, but when she blushed his smile grew wider. Justin was only human, and therefore he loved to feel that rush of pride that came when a girl looked at him appreciatively.

He finished her Zapuccino in record time and muttered, "That'll be 7 sickles, 2 knuts, love," adding that little endearment at the end for kicks. Of course it hit its mark, and the poor thing nearly dropped her purse while she looked for change.

Indeed this was turning into quite a fine morning.

Victoria hurried in the door, frowning a bit at the line of customers snaking around the side of the counter. The smile that always tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw Justin behind the bar was replaced with a sharp stab of something incredibly unpleasant as she witnessed a particularly -friendly- exchange between him and a girl who couldn't have been far out of her teens.

As the younger girl hurried away from the counter clutching her Zapuccino and practically giggling, Vicki twitched her nose a bit in distaste, unsettled by the distincly jealous nature of her current feelings. Telling herself quite sternly that Justin could smile and flirt with whoever he wanted, it was a somewhat distracted and cool Victoria that ended up at the counter.

"Just coffee this morning, please."

"Good morning!" Justin grinned affably at Vicki, but his happy expression gradually fell away when he realized that she wasn't very happy herself. Justin sort of hated himself for how much his mood was affected by hers, but he really couldn't help it. He'd gotten so used to seeing her smile in the morning that he couldn't imagine what would make her upset in the first place.

So, Justin was in a much quieter mood as he poured the coffee for her. "How are you?" he asked in a normal voice, glancing up at her periodically as he added the milk and sugar as she normally liked it.

Vicki couldn't quite meet his eyes. She wasn't sure what her own expression would show, and until she could explain her jealousy internally, she certainly wasn't going to try and explain it to Justin.

"Just fine thank you. How much?"

At that tone in her voice, Justin definitely knew something was up. He really wanted to get her to talk to him, but the line continued after her and he couldn't keep them all waiting. So he placed her coffee on the counter and muttered, "Five sickles, two knuts." Maybe he could catch her at her table later once things slowed down a bit.

Victoria nodded, and even knowing that she was being silly, handed him the money without a word. She was being ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She had absolutely no claim to Justin, no reason to worry about him talking to other girls, but some time in the last few weeks she'd started feeling possessive of him. He was her friend. Her barista. With a quick glance at him, Vicki headed for the table furthest from the counter to pretend to read her Prophet.

Justin didn't say or do anything as he watched her walk away. Then, shaking his head to clear it, he mustered up a smile and served the other customers.

As he worked, Justin kept an eye on Vicki as she read the Daily Prophet. He'd spent so much time wondering what was going on that he accidentally mixed up an order. After he'd apologized for it and hurried to make the right drink, Justin resolutely pushed all his thoughts about her to the back of his mind until he had the time to think.

Thankfully, that time came in about 20 minutes. Grabbing a wet cloth, he grinned at the cashier and said, "I'll clean the tables." He started working on the ones closest to the counter, working his way to her. Hopefully, she'd be in a better mood by the time he got there.

By the time a few minutes had passed and Victoria had a little coffee in her system (and it really was made perfectly...just enough cream and not too much sugar), she was feeling a little bit uncomfortable about her cold shoulder to Justin earlier. Still, her female pride wasn't letting her feel quite bad enough to turn around or smile at him, despite the fact that she was acutely aware of his presence.

She sighed and finally allowed herself a glance around the shop, halfway relieved when she saw that it was nearly time for her to head to work. Catching sight of Justin finally, she felt a rather ashamed blush rising to her cheeks.

Justin thought for a bit while he cleared up, trying to decide what to tell her. Finally, when he was near her, he noticed that it was about time for her to leave. So, instead of a long apology or striking up a conversation, he just smiled and said, "Have a good morning, Vicki."

He lingered as he cleared the last table, wondering if she would say something.

The simple greeting nearly did her in. Combined with Justin's smile, it was quite a difficult thing to be up against. Vicki was momentarily speechless, just berating herself for acting like such an idiot. Of course he had the right to talk to and flirt with whomever he wanted...Vicki just wished he wanted to flirt with her more than the little giggly girl. But then again, he hadn't sought the girl out to speak to her, instead here he was lingering and obviously trying to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Thank you, Justin. You too. The ah...the coffee's perfect, as usual," She smiled at him then, trying to replace whatever unpleasant feelings he might have gotten from her earlier.

Justin's tentative smile grew more relaxed when he saw that the time apart had obviously helped. And now that Vicki wasn't upset, he could feel his irrepressible happiness about the day affect him again.

Twisting his mouth a little, he replied, "Good. At least I haven't lost my touch just yet."

"Hardly. I think you'd be hard pressed to make me a bad cup of coffee," Victoria stood as she finished her cup and smiled as she folded her Prophet and put it back in her bag. Freeing her hair from underneath the shoulder strap of her bag, Vicki hesitated only slightly before continuing.

"It's really just a shame they don't have curry here. If you can make a good curry, you might be my perfect man," It was forward, perhaps, but then again Vicki had always been forward. And if she was going to go and be jealous, she might as well make it clear that she was interested in staking some kind of claim. What kind of claim, she didn't yet know, but...it was worth a shot anyhow.

Well this was certainly a first for them. Justin stood still for a moment, absorbing the fact that she actually considered him near-perfect. That meant that the attraction was mutual, and that he wasn't imagining things.

This day really couldn't get any better.

"I've never made curry before in my life," he admitted, "though I'm certainly willing to try! I'm not a bad cook overall." He picked up his towel, weighing it in his hand as he thought for a moment before he said, "In fact, I'm sure you'll agree if you try it. I'll have to cook for you sometime." He would have suggested tonight, but that would have been too forward and much too eager on his part. Thankfully, Justin had some dignity left.

"Oh, I see. I might have to take you up on that," Victoria wasn't quite ready to commit to anything just yet...after all, there was the small matter of her daughter to consider. Still, it never hurt to make one's point known. "That is, if the little giggly girl doesn't get you first," She shot him a rather pointed look but softened it with a grin. It was time to go before she said or did too much.

"I'll be late for sure. See you tomorrow, Justin."

Justin blinked, then blinked again. So that was what had bothered her before? Justin barely remembered what he'd even said to her, let alone what she'd looked like.

On one hand, he was flattered that he'd inspired jealousy in a woman as beautiful as Vicki. Yet, it also startled him a bit that her jealousy or bad mood in general was enough to dampen his spirits as well. He'd be more worried about how fast he was falling for her if she hadn't presented him with the perfect evidence that she liked him too, maybe just as much.

Instead of saying all of that, Justin just smiled again and said, "See you tomorrow! Stay safe out there." That last bit came out of nowhere, but he didn't regret it.

With a small wave and one last smile, Vicki headed off to work with a bit of a smirk on her face and a definite spring in her step.

euphorialane: Justin & Vicki Backstory, Part 2

Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Victoria Frobisher
Where: Out on Euphoria Lane, late at night.
When: Sometime in the late summer/early fall, 2003. Justin's still living in his crappy flat.
What: Justin bumps into Vicki on the street. Also? Justin's still a dork.
Rating: G.

Justin was exhausted as he waved his wand at the door of the Magic Bean, shutting it and activating the wards for the night. He was working the late shift, yet again. While he loved his job (it was certainly a sight better than what he'd left at the Ministry), he really hated the hours sometimes.

Whistling slightly off-key, he shoved his hands into his pockets and began the long trek back to his flat. He hated living so far away from Euphoria Lane, but he really couldn't afford even the cheapest flats here. He would have searched for a roommate, but Justin didn't want to take his chances with someone he barely knew.

So he rounded the curve headed towards Diagon Alley, not noticing anything around him. When he looked up briefly under a streetlight, he noticed a woman coming towards him. She looked vaguely familiar, even from that distance, and she seemed to be in a rush. When she approached, he noticed the familiar blonde hair and knew exactly who it was.

He managed to muster up a smile from somewhere before calling out, "Hey, Vicki!"

Vicki was hurrying down the lane, a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She'd missed two days of work, and in a turn of events that seemed almost intentional, had returned to huge piles of work that had to be completed TODAY. Consequently, she was rushing her exhausted self first to the babysitter's and then home and hopefully to bed. She almost stopped short when she heard her name, a bit startled. Looking around, she finally noticed Justin a few feet away. Hoping she didn't look too frightful, she smiled back.

"Justin. Hello. Almost didn't recognize you, I'm sorry."

He shrugged lightly, too tired to really quip about it. "It's all right. It's too dark, anyway." He inched towards her as he grinned a little and continued, "It's a bloody miracle I can see where my feet are taking me!" He would have gone on in that vein (since he was apparently in a rambling mood) but she seemed very preoccupied. "Sorry if I interrupted something," he added hastily.

Summoning up a better smile, Vicki convinced herself to stand up straight. "No, you didn't. I just wasn't paying attention to where I was going. It is a bit dark here, isn't it? Shame there aren't a few more street lamps..." It was a testament to her exhaustion that the most interesting thing Vicki could currently speak on was streetlamp distribution, but she didn't even really notice.

"Yeah, it is," Justin replied noncommittally as he watched her clearly putting up an effort to carry on the conversation. "I meant it, you know," he grinned again, but more understandingly this time. "You seemed to be in a rush and I was just going home. I don't mean to bother you, honestly."

A small bit of regret crept into Victoria's subconscious, along with a stubborn desire to stay put and talk to Justin. "No, you're not at all," She smiled at him a bit more animatedly. "I'm just going home as well. It was...a longer day than usual at the Ministry," She wasn't sure what it was that made her bite back her original comment, which was to say that she had to free up the babysittter, but for some reason the Ministry excuse slipped out first.

Justin definitely understood that. "Yeah, the Ministry can be beasts when they decide they need you."

A momentary shiver travelled down his spine and Justin was suddenly hit with the urge to invite her somewhere indoors. But the Magic Bean was closed, and to invite her to his flat was disrespectful. Not only did it hint at sex, but no one deserved to be cooped up in the closet of an 'apartment' with him. So that meant that they had to endure the slightly chilly night air.

He decided to try a different tack. "I suppose our paths never crossed the past few days, did they? I missed you at the shoppe." The teasing grin on his face made that risky statement completely harmless.

Pulling her scarf a bit closer against a cough that threatened when the wind blew, Vicki shrugged with a small grin. "It's been terrible, really. My coffee is rubbish, but I was hardly fit company for the rest of humanity, you see."

"I'm sure it has been," he said in a mock disappointed voice. "I don't like to boast, but everyone knows my coffee's the best. Even in the shoppe." That wasn't necessarily true, since the other baristas were just as good if not better, but Justin suspected she already knew that.

Vicki laughed with a small cough and shook her head. "It is, it's very true. I've been desolate without it. I would have been by this morning, but I was running so late it just wasn't possible," She grinned at him, her mood already lightening a bit, though she was quite aware of the lateness of the hour.

Justin wasn't sure how much of that was flattery and how much of it was the truth, but it was flattering nevertheless. She'd at least wanted to stop by before work, hadn't she? "Where do you work in the Ministry, if you don't mind me asking?" He scuffed his shoes a bit on the sidewalk, trying to keep the blood pumping.

"Oh! Just a...tiny little department really. We're with accidents and catastrophes, but it's really just a good cover for Charms work and experiments," Vicki shrugged almost as if embarrassed. "You know the type. Tiny office, lots of papers, a few desks jammed in."

"Really?" Justin asked before he could stop himself. "I used to work at the Ministry, actually. But that was years ago, in the Department of International Magical Cooperation." He laughed, watching his breath puff out into the night air as he continued, "I was a very, very, very junior undersecretary in the International Magical Trading Standards Body. That basically means they had me writing up reports about the lengths of unicorn tail hairs."

Vicki tilted her head in interest. "From the Ministry to the Magic Bean? That's quite a change of pace. What brought that on?" Standing still made the night seem a bit cooler, and Vicki shivered a bit as she tugged her scarf more snugly around her throat. Shifting her feet a bit, she hugged her arms around herself.

Justin shrugged before he replied. He got that from time to time with girls he dated, so he didn't mind answering. "Hated it, actually. I wasn't involved in the war, but my time during it taught me that the next day could be my last. And really, unicorn tail hairs can hang themselves for all I care. I want to at least enjoy my life a bit."

He stamped his feet to get some blood flowing through them and added impishly, "Besides, I love coffee! It was a win-win situation right there."

Victoria nodded. Her experience with the war had been quite different than most, but she certainly understood the sentiment. "Well, that makes sense," A momentary wave of sadness, or perhaps regret, washed over her as it did sometimes...thinking of what her life might have been like had she not had Elisabeth. Still, she loved her daughter and couldn't imagine life without her...

Vicki shook her head to clear it and focused on Justin once again. "And I for one am incredibly glad you like coffee. It makes my life just that much better," She grinned at him, the sadness dissipating quickly.

Justin watched her curiously as her face changed when she mentioned the war, but he didn't think too much of it. Most people had had their own difficulties with that time and he just thought it was something along those lines.

"Yes, I'm glad I make coffee too. Not only does it make your life better, it's..." He really couldn't believe he was about to say this, but he took a deep breath anyway and said it. "It's made mine better too, by getting to know you."

Vicki blinked. It was really the only reaction she could formulate instantaneously. The old Victoria wanted to smile cheekily and make a leading comment, but the thought of Elisabeth held her back. There weren't many men interested in the mother of a toddler. Still, she couldn't help a grin from spreading across her face. "I'm flattered. Really..." She hesitated then.

Suddenly a clock chimed somewhere, and Vicki realized once again the lateness of the hour. "I ah...should go. Or I'll never wake up in time to get my coffee in the morning," She hoped the implication that she'd see him in the morning would dull any rebuff he might have heard in her reply.

Justin bit his lip and mentally cursed himself eight ways from Sunday. This was bad, really bad. He wanted to tell himself that he was just joking and he didn't mean it, but the truth was that he was starting to look forward to seeing her every time he had the morning shift. Work wasn't all that busy then, and she was much nicer to look at than half the people at the shop.

"You're right, it's freezing. I'm sorry I kept you out so late... and from whatever you were about to do," he said, stammering a little in the middle of that. Thankfully some shadow fell on his face so she couldn't see how red his face had turned.

She'd made him nervous. Vicki could tell, and she did feel bad. Smiling warmly, she reached out a hand to touch his forearm. "Don't apologize. I'm quite glad we ran into each other," It was true, too. Though she gave a small internal sigh at the knowledge that the relationship could hardly go anywhere, she could certainly enjoy his friendship. Pulling her hand away, she gave him a slightly more playful smile. "I'll see you bright and early, all right?"

Justin wasn't expecting her to touch him. But when she did, he felt as though he could feel her warm hand even through his coat and jumper. "All right, I'll see you in the morning!" he smiled half-heartedly as he gave her a sketchy wave and walked away towards his flat. Inside, he still felt like a fool but maybe something could be salvaged from this if she didn't end up hating him for fancying her so much.

Victoria returned the wave before hurrying down the sidewalk. Elisabeth would surely be cranky by this point, seeing as it was nearly eleven. Still, Vicki had a warm feeling in her chest. It seemed she was on her way to making a new friend, and it felt good. Despite the marathon day she'd had at work and the lingering fatigue from her cold, she couldn't help smiling...nor could she wait for her morning coffee.

euphorialane: Justin & Vicki Backstory, Part 1

Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley, Victoria Frobisher
Where: Magic Bean
When: Sometime in the late summer/early fall, 2003. Justin's still living in his crappy flat.
What: Justin finally starts a conversation after months of just smiles. Also? Justin's a dork.
Rating: G for ridiculous cuteness.

Victoria walked down the Lane after dropping her daughter off for the day, enjoying the slight chill in the air that heralded the end of summer. It was a Monday, and Mondays were never her favorite, but the lifting of the oppressive heat gave a spring to her step and put a smile on her face. She always looked forward to her jaunt into the Magic Bean; it was perhaps the only part of her day that belonged fully to her. For the rest of the day she was bound to her child or her boss, but the Magic Bean...it was her place. She walked inside, her smile growing at the comforting smell of the coffee beans. She didn't mind the queue, it gave her a chance to regroup and read a page or two of the Prophet. Once she reached the counter, she smiled at the barista...her favorite, really...he always made her drinks perfectly.

"Just a latte this morning, please."

"Right," Justin replied with an easy grin. He wasn't exactly sure who this very pretty lady was, but she was definitely a sight better to look at than most of people in that place. Not to mention, Justin easily got bored, and lattes were pretty easy to make.

While he bustled around behind the counter, Justin let his brain zone out for a while. The drink was ready in no time, and set it on the counter. "Nine sickles, two knuts, please," he said with another smile.

Vicki found the sickles easily, but spent a moment searching for knuts. Coming up short, she shrugged and handed him ten sickles instead. "I'm sorry, almost out of change this morning," She liked to give exact change (mostly because it eliminated the clanking in her bag), but it seemed that her daughter had gotten into her change purse over the weekend.

Justin just shrugged it off and replied, "Doesn't matter, don't worry about it," as he rang up the sale and counted out the change. Just as he was handing it back, he took a glance around and noticed that, even though there'd been a long line before her, there was no one behind her. He seized the moment and said, "I can never find change, either. Ruddy coins give me such a headache that I just horde them in my flat and leave them there."

Vicki's smile grew a bit as she tucked the change away. "I feel like I'm always trying to get rid of it, to be honest. Makes such a terrible clanking sound," She tucked her hands around her mug and took a sip, savoring the warmth and comforting taste. "And this is a wonderful way to get rid of it indeed."

"It is rather good, isn't it?" Justin asked smugly. It was strange that he was pretty unassuming normally, but he definitely gloated over his coffee. Probably because it took him so long to actually learn how to make it.

He turned slightly and picked up a towel to wipe off the extra milk froth on the steamer. This was a strategic move, since it partially hid his face and how red it was guaranteed to turn in a few minutes. "So, it's a pity that we see each other so often and haven't been properly introduced, isn't it?" He sent another grin her way, not pushing it in case she wasn't interested in getting to know him.

Vicki, for her part, also turned a bit red. Still, some part of her rejoiced quietly that she still had it. She'd been quite the flirt in school, but this time she had to acknowledge that she hadn't even been trying. "Guess you're always busy hiding behind that coffee machine," Putting her coffee mug down, she reached out a hand. "Vicki Frobisher, loyal customer and coffee addict."

"Justin Finch-Fletchley at your service, Ms. Frobisher," Justin said in his best tutor-taught manners as he shook her hand. "The pleasure is all mine." And it certainly was, considering how pretty she was when she flushed. Maybe turning red wasn't such a bad trait after all?

Suddenly, Justin realized that he'd heard that name before. "Do we know each other? Hogwarts, perhaps?" he hazarded a guess.

Nodding a bit, Vicki took another sip of her coffee. "Of course, that's it. You were a year ahead, I think. With Harry Potter and the rest of the lot, yes?" She glanced at him a bit curiously. His name was one she recognized from school, but she was fairly certain it hadn't been one in the papers. Still, she was admittedly out of the loop during most of the war, so she could easily have been mistaken.

Justin smirked a bit but it came out as a twisted smile. It was no surprise that everyone lumped his class as the one with Potter in it, but it was a bit surprising that she knew his name anyway. "You must be thinking of that Chamber of Secrets rubbish. I was petrified during it."

He tried to busy himself with doing something behind the counter. The whole incident was still embarrassing for him, even after all these years.

Vicki tried to think back, and vaguely remembered what he was talking about. "I suppose," She shrugged and smiled at him. It was obviously embarrassing for him for whatever reason, and she was more than ready to let it gloss over. "I don't remember much about the first few years, really. I was too busy figuring out how not to kill people with my wand."

Her candor brought a smile to Justin's face, and he laughed at the idea of a little blonde girl running about hexing people, her hair flying. "Why, were you such a little terror then? I'm sure I would have noticed if people began complaining about you!" This flirting thing was starting to get easier and easier. Justin wasn't sure if he should be worried or elated. He opted for the latter.

She shrugged, grinning mischeviously. "My roommates were a little sick of me, really. But I figured it out eventually. Besides, who notices some terrible little girl a year below when your own year is so interesting?" It was almost a good sign that Justin didn't seem to remember her reputation. Granted, the older kids at school were never much interested in her, but she was certainly well known by some of the younger years.

"Well, our year was loads of fun but that doesn't mean we lived in a bubble or something," he said fairly, still smiling. "We were in the common room, Great Hall, and on the Quidditch Pitch. Believe me, we would have noticed..." He paused a little, wondering if he should go on. Then he took the plunge. "Especially someone as pretty as you."

A blush certainly rose then, and Vicki dropped her eyes. It had been a while since anyone had been so frank about it, though she knew she was pretty. She supposed having a child on one's arm tended to stem the flow of compliments. "Oh, I was there, don't worry," Victoria glanced up and then shrugged. "I chose charms over Quidditch though, so maybe I faded into the tapestries," She smirked then. Vicki had -never- faded into any tapestries.

Justin's eyebrow shot up. "Somehow, I doubt that!" he said with a little snort. She stood out by a mile, even in the coffee shop.

Speaking of which... "Oh, I'm so sorry to be blathering on," Justin said politely. Of course he could have gone on all day, but she was probably bored of him by now, "You must be wanting to sit down or finish whatever plans you had."

Victoria smiled at him again, nodding a bit. As much fun as adult conversation was, she needed a few minutes to be still and quiet before work. "I enjoyed the blathering. Just need to read the Prophet before heading into work...but I'll see you in the morning?" She found herself hoping it was true as she asked. There was very little time in her life for adult friends, much less a bit of harmless flirting, and Vicki thought that it might not be an unwelcome addition to her morning routine.

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," Justin quipped, and instantly felt stupid. "Err, bosses won't allow it either. I'm afraid I'm at your mercy, Miss Frobisher." Somehow that ended up sounding worse! Justin gave up and decided that he really wasn't smooth at all.

Vicki couldn't help but laugh. Not -at- him, exactly, just...ok, sort of at him. "I'll look forward to it. Have a good day, Justin," She turned and made her way to a table near the window, purposely sitting so that she couldn't stare at him, because that might be awkward and she knew she would.

She was laughing at him, and Justin knew it. He could feel the blood rushing to his face again, but thankfully she didn't mention anything about it. "You too," he called with a small wave as she left. He was relieved that she'd taken a seat where she couldn't see him, because he didn't think he could stand the embarrassment.

Two minutes passed by, and Justin found himself wishing that she'd been facing him after all.

memories1975: Character Name Meanings

These are the meanings of my characters' names at memories1975 (emphasis in italics).

Elisabeth Sharon Isaacs
Elisabeth: Hebrew origin. "God's oath." Elisabeth was the mother of John the Baptist. Interestingly enough, I was born on St. Jean Baptiste Day, June 24th
Sharon: Hebrew origin. "Fertile plain." The 'flower of Sharon' is a common theme in the Song of Solomon, a book of the Bible.
Isaacs: A Scottish family name. There is an Isaacstown in Australia, which was named after Sir Isaac Isaacs, 'who was the first Australian born Governor-General (1931-36), Attorney-General (1904-06), Justice of the High Court (1906-31 and Chief Justice in 1930. Sir Isaac was born in Melbourne, the son of a Jewish tailor from Britain whose ancestry was Polish-Jewish.' (link)

Barnabas Cuffe
Barnabas: Greek and Aramaic Origin. "Son of consolation." In the Bible, Barnabas was a missionary who accompanied Paul in his travels, and was also the uncle of Mark, one of the Disciples.
Cuffe: Middle English origin, used to refer to a 'maker and seller of gloves, or a nickname for a wearer of particularly fine gloves.' It is also the anglicized form of Gaelic 'Mac Dhuibh,' which means "son of the black one." In Cornish, the word 'cuf' means 'dear' or 'kind.' (link)

Davy Gudgeon
Davy: A variant of David, which is of Hebrew origin. Can also be used as a girl's name. "Beloved." David is probably one of the most popular figures in the Bible, as he was raised from the status of a lowly shepherd boy to a king, and an ancestor to Jesus.
Gudgeon: There are a lot of theories out there about how this name refers to a gullible person. It's very true in his case, but I found some other interesting things. It's of English origin, and is based in Essex where 'they were anciently seated as Lords of the Manor.' (link) Also, the gudgeon is the 'eye hole for the setting pins that attach the rudder to a ship.' (link)

Fabian Androclus Prewett
Fabian: A variant of Fabius, which is of Latin origin. "One who grows beans." It was also a Roman Clan name.
Androclus: A variant of Androcles, which is of Greek origin. "Glorious man." In Latin mythology, Androcles was the Christian slave who removed a thorn from a lion's paw. Later, when Androcles was thrown into the arena with that lion, the lion set him free.
Prewett: This has origins in Wales. It means "a proud or brave person." (link)

(All other name information found here)

I will admit that Fabian's middle name was intentional, and I'd looked up the meanings of his surname and first name before. However, I am absolutely STUPEFIED by Barney's name. His 'dear' affectation was a complete lark,and the fact that he's the Gryffindor 'traitor' was unexpected too! Yet, his name seems to have fated him into life. I'm a little scared now XD

lost_generation: Theodore Nott & Blaise Zabini

Who: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott (for lost_generation
Where: A random Muggle bar.
When: After the war. Blaise/Marietta never happened, and their meetings at the bar on Friday nights had become a weekly ritual.
What: Blaise and Theodore get drunk, end up at Blaise's house, and start talking. Really talking.
Rating: NC-17 for future scenes, if completed - currently PG-13.

Theodore sat at the bar, hand to his mouth, eyes on a glass of brandy in front of him. He chewed the sleeve of his jumper, telling himself that, no, he would not pick up that glass and drink its contents. He knew how he got when he was drunk, and he knew even better that it didn't take a lot to get him drunk. When it came to alcohol, he was a lightweight, which was why couldn't figure out why he was sitting in a Muggle bar drinking alcohol, except that, somehow, it became a weekly tradition between him and Blaise.

"Mm. Don't want anymore," he mumbled, pressed the heel of one hand against his eye and rubbed it while pushing the glass away with the other. He was already feeling out of sorts from being watched so much. How he thought alcohol would help, he didn't know. He felt like his hair was standing more on end than it already was, and, was it him, or was his skin crawling? Merlin, he hoped it was the alcohol. Or cabin fever. Cabin fever seemed likely. Regardless, he refused to take another sip. Which is exactly why he reached over, picked up his glass, and finished it off. He then set the glass as far away from him as amr's length would allow.

Blaise was taking his sweet time getting to the bar where his weekly meetings with Nott took place. Not that they were actually 'meetings' - they both just drank and commiserated about their common positions now that the war had ended and Voldemort was defeated.

The disguise Blaise donned for these meetings bothered him to no end. Even with the constant surveillance, he was accustomed to softer fabrics and finer materials; the coarse cotton shirt and dirty jeans beneath his shabby coat ridiculed him just as much as the Wizarding world in general did these days.

Finally, he'd arrived. Pushing the door open, he squinted in the smoky and dim atmosphere of the bar. Finally, he found Nott chewing that infernal jumper of his while leaning heavily against the bar. Apparently, the other had started drinking without him.

"Nott," Blaise greeted with some asperity as he joined him, while raising his hand to get the bartender's attention. Once he'd ordered his typical gin and tonic, Blaise looked over at Theodore and remarked, "You've started without me, I see."

"Zabini," he offered in return by way of greeting. He'd almost called him Baked Ziti, and he had to wonder a moment if that was Cockney for Blaise Zabini or not. The thought amused him, and he gave a small snort before tucking his hair behind his ears. Should he get it cut, he wondered. He should get it cut before his father's trial, but, at the same time, he wondered which presented a better image: Him with short hair, prim and proper, or him all dishelved and looking something like he normally did. He thought he oughtn't find such images as a gasping courtroom so funny, but he did.

"Yeah, but you can finish without me if you want," Theodore said, turning to face his... companion. He eyed Blaise's wardrobe choice this evening, and he had to say (though he didn't) that he absolutely loved seeing him in Muggle clothing, if only for the demeaning picture it presented. He wished he had a camera to take a photo of it every time he saw the other out of wizarding clothes.

Blaise had already intended to.

When he had downed his first drink and started on his second, he looked over the rim of his glass and found Nott amused about something. Raising an eyebrow, Blaise asked grumpily, "What's so amusing?" Hopefully, it wasn't something to do with Blaise himself. Just in case it did, Blaise plastered on a frown as he waited for an
answer.

"Just the alcohol," Theodore said, shaking his head. He glanced over at the bartender and considered ordering another drink, but he shook his head, looking back at Zabini. He'd settle, for now, with watching the other get drunk. At the very least, it could prove interesting. After all, nothing else in the dingy bar seemed to be interesting, and he wasn't about to go talk up some Muggle.

The bartender passed them, and Theodore waved him down, ordering a bottle of water. When he got it, he didn't bother with the glass, quite fine with sipping from the bottle.

Blaise snorted at his own foolishness and returned to his drink. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the alcohol as it burned its way down his throat. Firewhiskey didn't hold a candle to the strength of Muggle liquor. His pleasure in it was disturbed, however, when he felt Theodore's eyes fixed on him. Raising an eyebrow, Blaise looked over and asked, "Really, you must have had only one drink, and you're already smashed?" He didn't want to ask outright why Nott was staring at him, because that would imply that he cared to know. And Blaise really didn't - or so he told himself.

"'m a lightweight," Theodore admitted with a sniff. "But I had... three drinks, thank you." He gave a nod to punctuate his point before finishing off his bottle of water. He studied it a moment before setting it down on the bar counter by the unused glass. He then put his hand to his mouth, chewing his sleeve once more, and looked out around the pub.

Not that many people were there, and, of the few that were, they were cluttered in groups of threes and fours in different booths toward the back. He couldn't make out their faces, and he guessed that was good enough as he really didn't care what they looked like. They were just shadows as far as he was concerned, and, no matter how interesting Muggles were to him at times, they were insignificant to him in the long run.

Blaise ordered his third drink and only started feeling a slight buzz, as he had a high tolerance. It was inconceivable to him that Theodore had such low tolerance, though.

"Didn't you even drink wine with dinner while growing up?" Blaise demanded, his posh accent losing some of its brittleness due to the alcohol. "Haven't you ever drunk a bit much one night at a dinner party with your cousins, and ended up completely sloshed after two drinks? And haven't you ever kept at it every chance you could?" Clearly, these hypothetical questions were also telling a story. Blaise wasn't drunk at all, so even he was surprised that he'd shared so much. But, as that particular dinner party had been a very good memory, Blaise felt like sharing it in a round-about way. Good memories were so hard for both of them to find these days, as it were.

"Half a glass at best at dinner, and it wasn't very often," Theodore muttered. He picked up on the other questions presented to him, but, right then, they were just words. They held very little meaning to him. So instead of processing the deeper meanings, he just answered them as if they were truly posed to him.

"No dinner parties with cousins. My aunt hates me. She would never willingly invite me over unless she was being paid," he explained in monotone. "And no, I wouldn't keep at it because..." He shook his head, realising he was slowly moving into the overshare zone. While he thought he could have gone on quite easily just then, he doubted it'd matter much anyway. As far as he knew, Blaise Zabini didn't give two knuts about him, and Theodore didn't give one back.

Blaise twirled his now-empty glass in his hand as he listened to Theodore's sporadic answers about his past. To be honest, Blaise didn't think he'd even heard Nott say this many words at once. It was disconcerting, but all very interesting.

"Your aunt sounds a bit like my curmudgeon of a grandmum. The woman is bloody mental about everything." He paused, trying to collect his increasingly scattered thoughts. That's when he remembered that Theodore's voice had trailed off. "Hang on. Why wouldn't you keep at it?"

"Maybe the two should get together and have tea. Bet they'd have a lot to talk about," Theodore said with a snort. He could easily imagine his aunt politely gossiping (and oxymoron, he thought) with a group of ladies about her dearly departed sister's horrible husband and her good-for-nothing son who would, no doubt, turn out exactly like him. After all, just look at the situation he was in! He glared at the floor, thinking she'd probably done just that, and it took him a moment to realise Blaise had said something.

After processing it, he looked back at the other and cocked a grin. "Because I don't want to end up a lush like you, Zabini," he said, amusement in his voice. LIke hell was he going to divulge anymore information without a few more drinks. However, it did get him curious about why Blaise had even bothered to ask. Eh. Probably the alcohol.

If there was anything Blaise liked more than sex, it was a good challenge. In fact, when the two were combined, he was in his element. For now though, he smelled a challenge in Theodore'sreticence. "Come now," he began while signaling the bartender for another drink. "Another for my mate as well, thanks," Blaise told the man behind the bar.

Once they'd both gotten their drinks, Blaise continued, "We both know I can hold my own with alcohol. And, I can tell you're hiding something, Nott." He pointed at the other boy with mock accusation. "'Fess up, then."

Theodore eyed the latest drink warily. If he had his way, he would not drink it. It would just stay there and grow too hot to taste good and too stale to keep down. And he definitely would not be revealing anything else to Blaise Zabini. "So can a drunk, Blaise," he said, shifting his attention from the glass to the other boy. "Quid pro quo, Zabini. What have you got to offer?" Even with alcohol in play, Theodore wasn't an idiot. And he wasn't about to spill his heart and mind without an equal exchange.

Blaise had to think about that for a bit. He had done quite a few stupid things in his life, but nothing absolutely note-worthy or particularly embarrassing. And that's when he remembered...

"I'll tell you how I showed my first sign of magic," Blaise replied in a calm voice. There was a slight blush creeping up his cheeks just at the thought of divulging that secret. "Right embarrassing it was, too, so you'll be happy. You'll finally have good blackmail on me." Blaise looked away and took a swig of his drink, shocked at his own willingness to share that. Theodore's secret had better be good.

"Go on then. Tell." Theodore motioned with a hand, picking up on the light blush. He may have been more willing to share information if he was getting information in return, but that didn't mean he was going first. He settled into his seat, waiting for Blaise to tell his story. He even picked up the glass of alcohol and took a small sip.

Blaise really didn't want to tell his story first, but as Theodore was now sipping from his fourth drink, he decided to tell it. Unconsciously, he gripped his glass tightly as he searched for the courage to begin.

"I was seven, I believe," he began. "Parents were celebrating their wedding anniversary and had invited other people to join us. This all happened in Italy, mind you. At our family villa in Tuscany."

Now that he'd gotten the background out, Blaise took a nice long drink, coughed as the alcohol burned it way down, and quickly continued, "M' aunt Concetta, my father's sister, was young then. Maybe in her thirties. I- err, fancied her a bit." He took another swig. "Thought she was pretty an' all. Decided I- erm, wanted to, ah, look up her skirt."

The alcohol was finally affecting him, but it was his embarrassment that made him stammer. He flushed again as he quickly blurted out, "Made her skirt fly up. Problem was, bloody thing wouldn't come down again. She 'ad to change into my mother's clothes." Blaise looked away and muttered, "Right embarrassing. But at least we knew."

After he'd finished off his glass, he glared at Theodore. "Right then. Wos yours?"

Theodore gave a snort at the beginning of Blaise's story, covering his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing. But it didn't do much good as he was outright laughing by the end of it. He'd forgotten his drink, and, instead, he was working to picture the incident Blaise described. It didn't work very well, because he had no idea what Blaise's family looked like, so he was stuck with an image of Blaise in a dress for his Aunt Concetta. And that just made the whole thing funnier.

It took him a minute to stop laughing enough to remember he was supposed to share something. And then he had to think what he'd be sharing. He knew what had been originally asked, but the question at the end of the story hinted at finding out the first time he displayed magic. Honestly, though, he couldn't remember when he first showed signs of magic. He sighed inwardly, taking another sip of the drink.

"My dad's a piss poor drunk," he started, furrowing his brows. "He's a great man. Bloody genius. Just a piss poor drunk who resents his son for looking like his dead wife." He stared at the glass on the counter, squeezing his hands together tightly in his lap. "But it's really just stupid hearing it outloud," he added quickly, putting a happy grin on his face.

Blaise was miffed when Theodore obviously found his story amusing, and was all set for snarking about Theodore's own story when he heard the bit about Nott, Sr. Blaise was certainly no stranger to a father's disappointment.

Pushing the glass towards Theodore, Blaise said, "Drink up, mate. Stories like these deserve drunken antics, and I - for one - do not intend to be a lonely drunk sod."

He watched it a moment longer before picking up the glass and draining it. Theodore winced at the burn of the alcohol, pointing to Blaise. "You get to start the drunken antics if we're doing drunken antics," he informed the other. Not that there was much they could do in a dingy bar, which was mildly reassuring, actually. He wondered how long until that bit of comfort was yanked out from underneath him.

Blaise looked around at the rest of the bar. By now, a couple of the already few patrons had left. There really wasn't anything of interest that could be done here, and he said so. "I'll be glad't start us on 'em, mate," he said, slurring his words just a tiny bit. "But I don' think there's any fun to be had 'ere. We ought to go somewhere else for 'antics."

Theodore blinked thoughtfully before nodding. He stood carefully, using the counter to make sure he wasn't wobbly. So far, so good. He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a few different bank notes, setting them in front of him. While he could figure out Muggle money well enough when he wasn't trying to convert it, doing so while intoxicated wasn't as easy. He looked at the bills a moment before decided to leave one with a 20 on it and one with a 5 on it. He tucked the rest back in his pocket, turning and heading toward the door. What, exactly, they were going to do, he didn't know, but he did feel that damn comfort slip away.

Blaise watched Theodore get up with a wary eye. Thankfully, Blaise was the more sober of the two, and knew enough of Muggle money to see that Theodore hadn't left enough. Fishing around in this pocket, he pulled out another twenty-pound note and laid it down on the counter. "Fanks," he said to the bartender with a sketchy wave before he stumbled after Theodore out of the bar.

Outside, the night was much cooler and less hazy than it had been inside the bar. Blaise stood still for a moment, taking in deep breaths, until he realized that Theodore was nowhere in sight. "Oi, Nott!" Blaise called after the other boy, who was now yards away.

Damn it. He'd tried to escape. He really had. And he'd been so close... or so the part of his reason that was still around thought. He stopped in his tracks and glanced back at Blaise. He wondered if he should be frightened of what a drunk Zabini could come up with or not. The logical side of his brain encouraged him to be wary. The curious side, however, just looked at him, waiting for Blaise to catch up.

Blaise jogged to where Theodore was, and ended up panting by the time he got there. Who knew that alcohol would make him feel sluggish? Before he spoke, he took notice of their surroundings. If the bar was dingy, this street and the decrepit houses that dotted it was even worse. Blaise normally would not have worried about it, as they were both wizards, but tonight they were both intoxicated and more likely to hex each other than an attacker if they needed to.

"Mate," Blaise said, turning to Theodore and trying to focus on his eyes, "I think it's time we went elsewhere. This is a rather dodgy neighborhood. No telling what might happen, and as we're both on our way to becoming royally pissed, we ought to do it in some comfort." Scratching the back of his neck shyly, Blaise muttered, "Why don' we go to my place? No one's there."

Theodore stared at Blaise a moment, slowly processing what he said. Something about his place and getting royally pissed. "'m not drinkin' anymore," he muttered but he nodded to the rest. "We gonna Apparate or walk?" Both options sounded a bit risky to him, but the former mostly because they could splinch themselves, and that didn't sound like good drunken antics to him. But, then again, he wasn't someone who normally took part in drunken antics, so he really didn't know.

Tucking his hands in his pockets, he looked down the street, squinting slightly. His stomach felt strange, he couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or a gut feeling that the night was going to be one hell of a night. He gave a one shoulder shrug to himself before waving with one hand. "Lead the way, mate," he said, looking back at Zabini.

Blaise had to shake his head at Theodore - he was really looking quite ridiculous at this point. And how could the prat refuse a perfectly good offer for a comfortable couch and plenty of free alcohol? Really, Nott was the oddest bloke sometimes...

"Right," Blaise nodded his head as though agreeing, but made sure to firmly grip Theodore's elbow and steer him in the opposite direction. "We'll walk. Incidentlally, I live in this direction, you daft sod." It was far too easy for Blaise to get a little more aggressive than he usually was once he'd had a few drinks.

"'m not daft. I just don't care to pay attention to where you live," Theodore muttered, sounding sulky. He really wasn't a sulky drunk. It was the grip on his elbow that made him feel sulky. He didn't like it. He tugged his arm toward his body a bit, trying to get free. He also furrowed his brows, trying to watch where he was going. So far, so good.

"You know, if you wanted to touch me or hold my hand or something, you could have asked," he informed Blaise. Not that he necessarily would have agreed to it, but it still would have been nice if Blaise had asked. Especially since Theodore didn't really like most people touching him. Or invading his personal space for that matter.

"You are rather daft at the moment, Theodore," Blaise answered calmly as though he were talking to a recalcitrant child. "And Merlin, I don't intend on holding your hand like a pouf, you idiot. I'm trying to keep you from falling or making a fool out of yourself."

However, when the reached the end of the block, Blaise suddenly let go of Theodore, allowing the other boy to stumble a bit. "Since you asked so nicely," Blaise mockingly conceded, "I'll allow you to make a fool of yourself."

Theodore really didn't want to get into a fight, especially not in the middle of Muggle London in such a dodgy neighbourhood. But no matter how much his reason screamed, he really couldn't seem to stop himself from opening his mouth.

"Right, because you're so bleeding sober, what with your keeping at it and all. Guess maybe you've just built up a damn tolerance. Alcoholics do that, don't they," Theodore said, glaring at Blaise. He had no idea why he felt suddenly angry or where it had come from. He'd never considered himself an emotional drunk (if horny and happy didn't count), and he couldn't figure out what was causing him to be so right now. Still, he rounded his shoulders and turned to fully face Blaise Zabini.

"And another thing; why the hell do you care all of a sudden? Out of no where you start giving a damn! Yet you never once bothered to show an interest before." He punctuated the words of his last sentence with a few finger jabs at Blaise's chest. Nothing hard, though. He just had no idea how to take the possibility of Blaise spending his thoughts on him.

Blaise turned around to face Theodore, and crossed his arms over his chest with an amused smirk. He could barely make out the other boy's eyes, but he blamed that on the night and focused as best as he could on them anyway. "I'm no alcoholic, Nott, whatever you choose to believe otherwise." He swayed dangerously at the end of that statement. With a sheepish grin that came out looking extremely goofy, he added, "Nor am I sober, but I'm certainly more sober than you are right now." He didn't intend to address the second part at all, because he wasn't drunk enough to admit his reasons. Not yet, at least.

Theodore's nostrils flared a little, and he poked Blaise's chest once more with feeling. While he might not have been sober, he didn't consider himself drunk just yet. After all, he was still relatively coherent, and he knew when he was good and drunk he tended to completely drop out of English. He also wasn't satisfied with Blaise's reply, but his brain wasn't currently working as fast as he'd like, so he settled for returning to his original argument of being touched.

"Well, if you're going to touch me because I'm more not sober than you, tell me. And don't grab so hard, git!" And why do you care?! he added silently, still glaring, though it was lost in the lack of lighting on the street.

The look on Blaise's face was pretty close to horrified at this point, but held a clownish tinge to it. "I don't WANT to bleeding touch you, you prat!" he denied hotly. "And quit poking me - I don' need a bleeding massage, right?"

"You grabbed me. Grabbing is touching. You said you were trying to keep me from falling. And to do so you grabbed my elbow. That's still touching!" Theodore reasoned loudly. It made perfect sense to him. "And just lead already!" He pulled his hand back, bringing it to his mouth to chew on his sleeve.

Blaise raised his eyebrows at that and wanted to laugh. Instead, he shrugged and turned his head to the left and right to check for traffic before crossing the street.

The pace he set wasn't very fast at all, but he never made a point to wait for Theodore. It was stupid, really, especially with how drunk Theodore was, but Blaise was feeling very offended at the moment.

When they finally reached the wards to his family home, Blaise finally turned around and said, "You can only enter with me. So, you first."

Drunk or not, Theodore had managed quite well for himself. He'd stumbled all of once the whole way, and he didn't veer too much from the path Blaise made. But at the wards to the house, Theodore just stared at Blaise, trying to figure out what he meant.

Ok. He couldn't enter without Blaise, so why was he going first? Maybe he was just thinking too much into it. Still chewing on his sleeve, Theodore hesitantly went first. Silently he promised to hurt Zabini if something happened to him.

Blaise noticed the hesitation and fought the urge to roll his eyes. Really, one would think Blaise was inviting Theodore to his death, the way the other boy was acting! He was merely inviting the other boy in, because otherwise, the wards would have painfully expelled him or simply Confunded him.

Instead of making a scene, Blaise just followed Theodore and quickened his steps so that he reached the door before Theodore did. The door was automatically opened by Blaise's house elf Squibby, who began stuttering a greeting. Instead of allowing the creature to invite them in, Blaise simply pushed his way in, pulled off the light coat he was wearing and flung it at Squibby. "Drinks in the library, Squibby," Blaise said carelessly as he beckoned Theodore to follow him.

Theodore looked at the little house elf with obvious distaste. He never went out of his way to be particularly cruel to house elves, but he didn't exactly like them. He thought they were dirty creatures that shouldn't be allowed inside. They should all be set free to wallow in their agony, no matter how useful they could be. They annoyed him, nad he hated them. But, again, he never went out of his way to be mean to one. He just gave the elf a nasty look before following.

He wondered what was so special about a library for drinks. Didn't people have drinks in dens of sorts? He always thought they did, but, really, he didn't know the first thing about happy hour at other people's homes.

The library itself was rather nice. He took the room in very slowly, walking along one wall to glance at books sporadically. He reached out with one hand, letting his fingers run along the spines as he passed, stopping eventually in front of a desk. Theodore stared at the large, green chair, trying to imagine Blaise sitting there, looking like the smug prick he was, but he couldn't do it. For some reason, Blaise didn't belong in that chair, and he couldn't figure out why. He furrowed his brow, shifting his gaze to the desk itself.

Blaise breathed in deeply when he opened the door to the library. This room was his one sanctuary in this whole house. The cathedral-like ceiling, the books, the warm, comfortable furniture was far more appealing than the cold austerity of the rest of the house.

The only part of the room that wasn't as inviting was the desk where his father used to sit. It was still as imposing as ever, and every time Blaise sat in it while taking care of estate business, he felt just as cowed as he did as a first year.at Hogwarts.

Ignoring that, Blaise waved lazily around and muttered, "Sit wherever you'd like."

Theodore's eyes drifted back up to the chair at Blaise's words. Under normal circumstances, Theodore would have had the foresight to just walk away and not bother with it. He'd have picked up the vibe rather quickly and ignored the desk and its chair completely. Under normal circumstances, he also wasn't drunk and could keep his curiosity at bay a bit better. However, tonight was not a normal night, and he found himself moving to try out the chair and look at the view from there before he even realised he'd wanted to.

You realise this is stupid, he told himself, and he nodded in reply. He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. Theodore felt a bit like his dad sitting in that chair, and memories fast forwarded across his eyelids. They made him uncomfortable, and he opened his eyes quickly, standing and moving away from the desk. "I don't think I like that chair," he declared to the room as a whole before slipping on a sofa happily away from the chair of bad memories.

Blaise paled when he saw Theodore taking that seat, of all seats. No one else had ever sat in it before, and it seemed like sacrilege to see someone who wasn't a Zabini in it. Blaise raised a finger and swayed a bit where he was standing, but at that point Theodore had gotten up and left it.

"Right," Blaise coughed as he weaved his way to the sofa that Theodore was sitting at. When he'd finally plopped down on the other end, Squibby appeared with a loaded tray of different kinds of alcohol and two glasses. Blaise leaned forward to say, "I'll have a tonic and gin, and," he turned to Theodore, "what will you have, mate?"

Theodore eyed the house elf warrily, thinking of his drink options. None would be a good one to pick. Two vials of a headache potion, a glass of water, and a nice bed also seemed a good option. But, instead, he said, "Just a brandy. Small brandy."

Blaise rolled his eyes this time, but allowed to Squibby to pour their drinks. He handed Theodore his brandy and took his own drink, waving Squibby away.

Once the house elf had left them with the rest of the gin, tonic, and brandy, Blaise looked at Theodore and asked, "So. How are they treating you?" He was referring to the idiots from the Ministry who were watching them, but couldn't be arsed to explain that.

"They won't let me see him," Theodore said without thinking, his voice soft. "I just want to see him. I haven't seen him since before fifth year. Three years? I don't know... I just want to see my dad." He stared at the glass in his hand. He hadn't meant to say any of that, and he chewed his lower lip, trying to figure out why he had. Of course, blaming the alcohol seemed like a good idea just then, so he did. It was all the alcohol's fault. It and it's stupid mind-altering abilities and inhibition-killing ways.

Blaise couldn't help but stare at Theodore after that. He certainly hadn't expected hearing that; hell, if he was going to hear it, he though it would happen after a lot more alcohol. Yet, it had happened. That meant Blaise needed to respond in kind.

"I haven't wanted to see my parents, actually," he muttered, ashamed of himself. "I'm not a good son at all, but... well, life is simpler without them." He took another swig of alcohol to fortify himself before he continued, "Honestly, the only thing that bothers me about this surveillance is the surveillance itself. I'm rather happy with the way things have turned out. Rather, content with it."

"I don't care about the surveillance. I'm not doing anything 'inappropriate' unless spending time with a school mate is now against the law. And I don't plan on leaving the country because I couldn't see my dad if I did that. I'm a bad son, though. And he's an awful dad. He's just the only person I have is all." He brought the glass to his lips and happily drained it. He also avoided looking at Blaise, setting the glass down on the nearest available surface.

Blaise shrugged in reply. He hadn't expected more honesty from Theodore, but there it was. He supposed it wasn't surprising that their parents were arses about the whole 'parenting' business.

When he was finished with his drink, he slumped down on the sofa so that his neck was nearly level with the arm rest. "Suppose I could give you that rubbish about how we're mates and you're not alone, but we both know it's not very true. We just never..." Thinking about it for a moment, Blaise turned to him and asked, "Oi, why weren't we better mates in school?"

"Because going to class drunk was frowned upon?" Theodore sniggered, mostly at the thought of the two of them as first years stumbling into Trainsfiguration drunker than skunks. Honestly, though, it was the only thing he could think of. Had they gotten drunk in school, there was a good chance they'd have actually been real friends. Or at least good drinking mates.

"I mean, thinking about it," he started, twisting to face Blaise. He rested one arm on the back of the sofa, brushing his hair away from his eyes with his other hand. "It takes away inhibitions, right? And Slytherin's the bleeding house of inhibitions! There's no way you can survive if you're uninhibited because they'll eat you alive. So you gotta put up your damn walls and wards. And it becomes part of you to the point you don't even notice anymore that you're blocking out emotions and shite. You just keep it inside, and you keep it inside, and you keep it inside, tucked away because if you let it out, it becomes a weakness, and weakness is just not tolerated." He rubbed at his eye before putting his head in his hand. "That, and you're a total wanker," he said with a lopsided grin.

Blaise grinned at the thought of going to class drunk. Maybe then he would have been able to stomach Herbology. When Theodore started on about Slytherins and their inhibitions, though, Blaise's mouth dropped open with shock. He honestly hadn't known that anyone else had picked up on those nuances, as well.

Ignoring the last bit, Blaise straightened up and leaned his side against the sofa's back as he faced Theodore. "I agree completely, mate," he began earnestly. "Those bloody inhibitions separated us from the other houses, too, and no one could see it. It was right there under their bloody noses, but no one saw it. Made me hate the Gryffs more."

Theodore's grin got bigger when Blaise's mouth dropped. "They didn't see it because they didn't want to see it. People see what they want to see. They wanted to see us all as these awful, dark, evil wizards and witches, and so, they did." He scooted a little closer, almost as if he were explaining a secret to Blaise, though he was sure Blaise knew all of it already. Still, it was nice to have someone to talk to about it. "That's not what ambition is. That's not what Slytherin is. But, because you might have big goals and a drive to acheive them, it's automatically assumed you want to rule the world. Doesn't help that Malfoy's an idiot and the Dark Lord was a Slytherin. But see, my dad was a Ravenclaw, and he's a Death Eater, so that whole theory is completely flawed." He licked his lips and nodded at his own assessment of Slytherin. He had more opinions on the matter, but he thought he ought to let Blaise have a say, too, otherwise it'd just end up being a monologue, and he hated monologueing most of the time.

Blaise watched Theodore's face almost hungrily, listening to the words that came out of the other boy's mouth intently, for they would have been his own words, had he been sober and coherent enough. And when Theodore moved closer, Blaise found that he didn't mind it at all. That was surprising, considering that Blaise loved his personal space. Maybe the alcohol was reducing far more than the traditional Slytherin inhibitions tonight.

"I agree, it's complete rubbish," Blaise said fervently. "We were always put in a bad light. Wasn't Phineas Nigellus a Slytherin and a Headmaster? There have been other Slytherins who weren't 'evil'," Blaise mimicked an officious voice as he said that, "or some rot."

He shook his head and turned his head to the side, so that he was staring at his knees. "I wonder what would have happened if we weren't treated that way. If the other houses hadn't stereotyped us, I mean."

"We'd have not done the exact same thing to them," Theodore said. "Or it would have led to hand-holding and singing and other shite I don't fancy doing with people. And yes, he was, but no one wants to focus on anything positive because, really, where's the fun in actually being happy? Besides, they never remember the good you do; only the bad. Think about it. When you remember things, don't the bad things always stick out a bit more vividly than the happy things," he asked, looking at the other boy curiously.

Blaise snorted at the idea of hand-holding, but there were some birds that he remembered who he wouldn't have minded 'holding hands' with or whatever they were calling it these days... Lost in that little daydream, Blaise completely forgot that he was expected to answer the other boy. "Err, yeah," he muttered, straightening up a bit. "Definitely." There was a pause, and then Blaise said, "I suppose that's a good thing then, that we were so hated. Still," he picked imaginary lint off of his trousers as an excuse not to look at the other boy, "it would have been nice if we'd been friends. Or friendlier."

Theodore's gaze had dropped to watch Blaise's hand. He half listened, but he opened his mouth to reply anyway. And then he stopped, snapping his eyes back up to the other boy's face. "Why? What's friendlier than friends?" he asked, eying Blaise suspiciously. He didn't know why that had struck a cord in him, but it had. He went back to wondering why Blaise cared, subconsciously moving backward away from him a bit.

Blaise was utterly confused. "Wha? Nothin's better than friends, I was jus' saying!" Theodore didn't look like he bought that argument, so Blaise attempted to explain as best as he could with muddled coherency. "I was jus' saying, we'd 'ave been better off as mates, or just being friendlier in general."

Suddenly realizing what he'd just said, Blaise looked at Theodore incredulously and asked, "You thought I meant more than friends?" Shaking his head decisively, Blaise stood up abruptly. His body was still reacting to the alcohol, so that meant he was swaying where he stood for a minute before he actually made his way to the bar. "I don't swing tha' way, mate," he threw over his shoulder.

Theodore snorted, watching Blaise. "You brought that up. I just wanted to know what you meant by friendlier was all," he explained, looking to the empty space on the sofa. Shrugging to himself, he stretched out on the sofa on his back, turning his head to look at the bar. "But, don't worry; you're not my type," he assured him with a grin.

That stopped Blaise in his tracks. Setting down the gin bottle, he turned around so quickly that his head spun, and he had to grab on to the table behind him for support. Once he was sure the nausea had passed, he glared at Theodore and asked, "What d'you mean, I'm not your type?" Realizing the implications of such a question, he hastily amended, "I mean, what- err, would you ever consider a bloke? For... to sleep with?"

His reaction caused a laugh to escape Theodore's mouth. He'd half anticipated something else, but Blaise's reaction was priceless. Trying to gain some composure, he turned onto his side, propping his head up with his hand.

"Now Blaise, why are you asking? Hoping I consider you to sleep with and be friendlier with after all?" he teased, a cheeky grin on his face.

Blaise blinked and gripped the table harder. This he had not been expecting. Nor was he trying to imply it! He was just curious. Yes, just curious.

He tried to recollect himself. "I was only wondering," he said as nonchalantly as he could, straightening up and turning around slowly. With his back to Theodore, he continued, "I never saw you take an interest in birds. Or in blokes, actually. So, I wondered."

"I don't like people; female, male, or otherwise. The company I do keep when I decide to keep it is minimal and selective. It's seen as snobbery, but it's just misanthropic. That aside, there weren't that many people worth taking interest in at Hogwarts. Plus, it's only when I'm drunk do I get horny," he explained, though, really that wasn't entirely true. While alcohol helped his libido, it was mostly a lack of interest that kept his sex drive low.

"That aside, I'd be interested in anyone interesting who caught my interest, female, male, or otherwise."

Blaise had finished pouring his drink at this point, but there must have been far more gin than tonic in it, because he'd just begun pouring the tonic when Theodore started on about getting horny when he was drunk. Slamming the tonic down, Blaise carefully picked up his glass and drank nearly half of it in one swig.

Setting it back down again, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and faced Theodore again. "Well, that's... interesting," He said as noncommittally as possible. Steeling himself, he stumbled his way back to the sofa, but took care to sit as far away from Theodore as he could. He would have sat in another seat altogether, but that would have been rude. Not to mention the implications it would carry with it.

Theodore quirked a brow at Blaise's back, just sort of watching him a moment. When he stumbled back to the sofa, Theodore moved his legs to give him room. He then pushed himself back up, pulling his legs toward him and crossing them. Still, he studied the other, a curious expression on his face.

"What about you," he asked after a minute or so. "Would you ever consider sleeping with another bloke?" Somehow he kept the smirk at bay, and, instead, Theodore looked very seriously (if a bit blurry-eyed) at Blaise.

Blaise was fidgeting with his trousers again, not looking at Theodore. In all honestly, Blaise had never considered sleeping with a bloke before. It just seemed... painful, not to mention bloody odd since blokes certainly weren't as soft and comfortable as birds were. Chewing his lip, he muttered, "No, not really. I mean," he looked up at Theodore with pleading eyes, as though asking him to understand, "I've always wondered what it would be like. It's... fascinating, I suppose. But no, I've never actually considered with the intent to do it."

If he understood, Theodore's expression sure didn't show it. In fact, he seemed rather void of any sort of expression, and he just stared at--through Blaise. His mind, however, was busy processing what had been said, putting them together with everything that had already happened. And, either way he looked at it, it was all very fascinating.

"Intent or not, you've considered Malfoy, haven't you?" he asked out of the blue, still looking quite serious. And still quite through him.

The look on Blaise's face was comical, and a little sad. He was starting at Theodore as though he'd never seen anything quite like the other boy. And he really hadn't. No one ever suspected that Blaise thought about Malfoy in that way, or had even considered him in that way. It was unnerving, really, that Theodore could.

There was a very long pause before Blaise muttered, "Yes," in a very hoarse voice. The thrice-damned alcohol had devoided him of any desire to save face.

Theodore's gaze refocused instantly on Blaise, and, if he weren't so shocked, he'd have laughed (and probably fallen off the sofa in the process) at his face. Honestly, he'd just been grasping at straws when he'd asked that, and he just sort of stared at Blaise. Had he really expected anything else with the way things were going? Truthfully? Deep down? No. He'd have probably put a wager on the answer being yes under the right circumstances, and, for just a moment, he considered what he could do with such information.

"Now I have to ask, because I'm honestly quite curious, do you fancy--that is to say, are you attracted to--him, or are you secretly into some kind of queer domination game with you dominating him?" Theodore put his hands in his lap, licked his lips, and waited to see if Blaise would react. And, if so, what that reaction would be.

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at that. "What in Merlin's name are you on about?" he asked, slurring his words a bit. 'Queer domination games? "I've only wanted his power. You know," Blaise waved a hand lazily in the air, "he had the entire Wizarding world at his feet. I wanted that. An' then..." Blaise shrugged as his voice trailed off. "It turned into an - obsession, is probably the word."

"I'm no the one considering Malfoy for anything," Theodore said, raising his hands, palms out, in a defense he really didn't think he needed. "And he didn't have the entire Wizarding world." And that was all he felt like saying to the contrary. "Besides, what's the point of being on top when the only place you can go from there is down? Then you get all paranoid because you can't tell who is honestly on your side and who is on your side until you fuck up. And you're one against a crowd, and the crowd is always stronger than the single one once they realise it." He then sighed for effect, resting his head on the back of the sofa, moving a hand to chew on his jumper.

Blaise thought about that for a minute, but shrugged again. "Maybe. But I still would have loved that sort of power." He gazed at the patterns in the sofa cushions, absentmindedly tracing them with his fingers. "It would have been nice..." he mumbled, and then suddenly shook himself.

"Anyway," Blaise began, clearly intending to turn the tables, "Why are you so interested in me fancying Malfoy? Or not? What does it matter to you?" He was starting to regret letting that slip...

"Nothing. I just own you now is all," Theodore said with a one shoulder shrug. Honestly he was joking, but nothing about his demeanour gave that away, mostly because he was bored of the conversation. "Unless, of course, you're prefectly fine with people knowing such information. If so, bravo, Blaise."

Twisting around, he moved so his back was against the back of the sofa, his gaze toward the ceiling.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at that. No one owned Blaise, or at least he did his best to make sure they didn't. It also irked him to see that Theodore found the ceiling far more entertaining than Blaise.

With an impish grin, Blaise reached for a nearby sofa cushion and threw it at Theodore, aimed precisely for his face.

The extent of Theodore's athletic abilities consisted mostly of running (usually away from something) and a climbing-jumping combo. Pillow catching (or any object in motion catching, really) was not high on the list. It didn't help that he hadn't been paying real attention to Blaise, so the pillow hit him in the face before falling into his lip.

"Ow," he reacted, turning his head to look at Blaise. "Attention whore," he accused, moving to smack Blaise with the assulting pillow. He didn't take much aim, though, and it was mostly just a reaction, something Theodore was good at doing.

Blaise smirked when the pillow soared right past his face. "You've got the worst aim in the world, Nott," he muttered.

Since Blaise really was an attention whore and quite drunk, he decided to move over on the sofa until he was sitting so close to Theodore that they were touching. It was all done so quickly that before Theodore could do anything, Blaise was staring him in the eyes coyly and whispering, "Why are you so interested in my sexuality, Nott? Is there a hidden attraction here that I've failed to notice all these years?"

"Does it really matter? Your self-love's enough to turn the tiniest thing into some great scheme about how much someone fancies you. But, if you want me to fancy you, I can pretend." He twisted in his seat to face him better, moving his hand to stroke his cheek lightly. "I'm really good at pretending," he whispered, tracing the other's jaw with his index finger.

Blinking rapidly, Blaise looked down at the hand that was currently caressing his face, and then looked at Theodore's face. Blaise was completely unnerved by all of it. He was only joking, and in his currently inebriated state, it had been a very funny joke! But the look on Theodore's face stated otherwise.

Thinking that it might be better to continue the joke, Blaise leaned in until his lips were inches away from Theodore's. "My self-love is only fueled by your subconscious desire for me, you know," he whispered.

Theodore leaned a bit closer but stopped just short of touching Blaise's mouth. He licked his lips, however, letting his tongue flick across Blaise's lips. Slowly, he grinned before pushing his hand against Blaise's cheek, moving his head away with a "Maybe in your dreams, Zabini." He turned his own head, resting it against the back of the sofa, and let out a laugh. "Oh my God. You are really fucking gay. You know that?" he said, still laughing, looking over at his companion.

That was the final straw. Blaise hadn't minded the teasing, or even that funny thing with his tongue that Theodore did. It was like a kiss, but wasn't, which was a relief because Blaise wouldn't have known what to do if Theodore had snogged him.

But that bloody smug look and Theodore calling him gay pushed aside all of those relatively-rational thoughts and brought out his temper. Grabbing the other boy by the collar of his shirt, Blaise yanked him into a brutal kiss that that caused their teeth to clack loudly, and then pushed him away just as roughly.

Blaise sat there for a moment, breathing hard as he stared at Theodore incredulously. The kiss was supposed to have been about dominance. Instead, it had been mildly pleasurable as well, and Blaise could still feel the softness of Theodore's lips from that brief contact. But Blaise decided to ignore his own very blatant feelings, and instead sneered as he taunted, "Seems as though you're just as fucking gay, wanker."

To say he had been shocked at Blaise's sudden and violent reaction would have been a lie. It was expected, along with a few other things. The fact that it was indeed the reaction he had just proved something in Theodore's mine that he'd been not completely sure of up until then. Granted, he could have done without the rough handling, and he readjusted himself on the sofa, his whole body facing Blaise.

"Yeah, but do you know the difference between you and me?" he asked, grabbing his chin to keep him as still has he could as he leaned in, putting his lips next to Blaise's ear. "I'm not ashamed of what I am." Theodore then turned his chin to press his mouth against Blaise's.

Blaise kissed him back - how could he not? He really wanted to be revolted by the whole thing and push Theodore away, but a small part of him realized that It had been so long since anyone had actually tried to kiss him. That part also didn't seem to mind that it was a boy doing the kissing, but the rest of Blaise was even more horrified at that prospect. So, unfortunately, the kiss ended again with Blaise shoving Theodore away as fast and as hard as he could.

Once they had separated, Blaise actually moved as far away as he could, until he was on the other end of the sofa, shaking his head furiously all the while. Anyone else watching would have thought that Blaise was having a weird seizure of sorts, but in reality he was trying to clear away the drunken haze in his mind. Not to mention the haze that had settled from those two amazing kisses.

Finally, when he felt as though he had enough control of himself, Blaise stumbled to his feet and stood there, swaying. "'S not right," he muttered, still insisting that the kiss was wrong even though his brain was screaming at him to kiss Theodore again.

Theodore smirked. He'd have been surprised (but not upset) if the kiss had lasted longer. He just wiped at his lips with the black of his palm and settled for watching Blaise's reaction. It was hard to look away, really. It was just so fascinating, and he was torn between amusement and sheer observation. Honestly, he hadn't thought the kiss was that bad.

"Yeah, but was it wrong?" he asked after a moment. He tilted his head, washing away his expression of amusement. "And, if so, how wrong?"

"It was very wrong!" Blaise shouted, stumbling back a bit in the force of his conviction. "It was... was... just wrong!"

At this point, Blaise decided that his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer, so he dropped back onto the sofa, but made sure he was as far away from Theodore as he could get. Rubbing his face with his hand, he mumbled, "This wasn't s'posed to happen. None of it." There were more mumbles, but they were rather incoherent at this point.

Theodore's brows quirked, and he eyed Blaise curiously. "So what was supposed to happen?" He shifted on the sofa to face Blaise, but he didn't bother moving closer or further back. He licked his lips before chewing on the sleeve of his jumper once more.

Blaise's hand still covered most of his face, so his words were muffled when he spoke again. "I- You're not supposed to be here. I'm not suposed to be here, this late at night." He wanted to check his watch, but knew it would only say, 'Time For Bed And A Hangover Potion!' anyway, so he didn't bother. "Fuck, our parents aren't supposed to be in Azkaban. The Ministry should keep their bloody noses out of our lives. And I..." His voice trailed off a bit as he remembered the life plan he was supposed to follow, all those ages ago before he became who he was today. "I was supposed to be married to a nice Pureblood girl. Not snogging you."

"If you're prescribing to the 'suppose to' school of thought, how do you know we weren't 'supposed to' snog, hm? You really have no proof either way, do you?" Theodore asked curiously, if a bit cautiously. The caution wasn't for Blaise, though, however it may have looked. It was for himself. He'd thought of that himself, about what was "supposed to" and what wasn't. He honestly thought what someone else thought, and so he'd asked. He also wondered what kind of reaction it would illicit from Blaise, and he kept the smirk at bay at the thought of a few different ones.

Blaise finally looked at Theodore, but this time his look was a sneer. "I very much doubt you and I were meant to snog, Nott." Looking away again, Blaise rolled his eyes to himself and huffed while continuing, "That's positively ludicrous." It was amazing how Blaise's vocabulary got better with the more alcohol he drank, it seemed.

"Ok. Then why did it happen if it wasn't supposed to but other things were supposed to?" he pressed a bit. He then pursed his lips in thought. "I mean, the whole point of 'suppose to' is that it does. But you didn't marry a nice pureblood girl--and yes, it's an oxymoron--we did kiss--there was no tongue. Getting hopeful already?--and our parents are gone. And the world would be a whole lot different if the things we said were suppose to have happened actually happened, and we wouldn't even be having this conversation," he finished, nodding once. Whether or not he was right--or if he even believed what he said--Theodore didn't know, but, there it was, out to take as and do with what Blaise have.

to be continued