to the top

Sturgis shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothing beyond the fact I like it quite a lot. 

“There’s a Thai restaurant my family frequents around here. It’s not Mongolian beef, but it’s great if you’re looking for something authentic.”

Reed didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until after the exhale, after Emma gave her approval. He’d learned over the years he needed to read through the lines, and not rejecting the drink was akin to getting a compliment. If only he could mix up his words as well as he could mix alcohol. She was always leaps better than him at that. “I consider that a win,” he grins. “I s’pose I probably couldn’t convince you to indulge me some more by going to a Quidditch match with me one of these days? The Harpies are real solid this year.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You already know I can’t say no to Quidditch. Pick a match and I’ll see where it falls in my schedule. I can’t promise anything, especially if we get a new client, but I’ll see what I can do.” Sports were an easy topic for Emma to handle. She knew Quidditch well, and loved it intimately. Even the coarseness of the sport didn’t dissuade her. There was something about being good at something that immediately made it worth loving.

“Oh, I’m serious about tea. That, firewhisky, and Mongolian beef.”

“Bit of a strange trio of things. Is there a reason behind the Mongolian beef?”

Reed nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Mulling on the options for a moment, Reed reaches into the cooler for grapefruit juice, cherry syrup, and  Prosecco. He grabs a clean Champagne flute before combining the ingredients, garnishing the top with a Maraschino cherry and a grind of grapefruit. “Here you go. If it’s awful, you can spit in my face.” 

“Spit?” Emma was almost annoyed at the insinuation that she would do anything of the sort. Spitting was beneath her. Instead, she reached towards the drink, and eyed it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. She did enjoy some kinds of alcohol, but disgust was just a part of her personality. Emma picked up the glass and took a sip, her mouth immediately happy with the concoction. “You can let down the guard on your face, I won’t need to spit on you.”

“It’s nothing short of blasphemy.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or agreeing with me. I’m very serious about tea.”

“Tea-making is a serious business.”

“It is! And some people don’t properly appreciate it enough. They have a cuppa and that’s the end of it. Can you believe that?”

“I sort of figured that out on my own since I’m not completely clueless on what prices our fathers charge.” Reed may be loose and juice with his own alcohol intake and his own life in general, but he wasn’t so careless with others. Especially not with Emma. He knew how important it was to her that she keep her head clear and straight. “Just one,” he agreed readily. “I could get you something nice and breezy, like a sangria? Or a Bellini? Or a spiked Arnold Palmer?”

“And here I thought you hadn’t learned anything.” Emma might have been one of the few people that recognized that Reed had more potential than he let on. It was exasperating to no end. “Go on then, surprise me. If I’m going to have one drink, then you better make it count.”

“So I’d qualify for a discount, huh?” Reed flapped his arms, choosing to hang onto the few words that he actually liked and putting his own spin on them. Even if her fees did seem rather exorbitant. She probably ought to charge him more for all of her troubles over the years when it came to having to deal with him. “Since you are here on your leisure, why don’t we actually relax, hm?” He gestured toward the array of liquors. “We don’t have fine wine or anything, but I can whip you up something, if you like. I promise you that this gig here is one thing that not even I can probably screw up.” 

“Technically it’s an up-charge, but I figured I’d lie and call it a discount.” Emma tapped her fingers on the counter, already uncomfortable. It wasn’t public spaces that made her uncomfortable it was the necessity that others had for talking. She liked quiet, and silence, and the ability to think things through. There wasn’t a reckless bone in her body. “One drink, Reed. I’m serious. I have work to do later and I’d rather not be spinning around the room.”

Reed wasn’t disciplined enough for Quidditch at a professional level. His coach had told him as much. He was too much of a ticking time bomb. “Guess I missed the one opportunity I had then, huh?” It’s not as if Reed was hurting for money, really. Outside of his drinking habit, he wasn’t someone who spent an exorbitant amount of money on fancy things, so he had been building a nice nest egg, planning to use it for a vacation. He was stifled here; he needed a moment to breathe more fresh air. “And how much is this advise session costing me? I like to think I’m not so piss poor and beneath you that I can’t afford an hour of your leisure time.” He didn’t know why he was pushing his luck with his loose-lipped words. Then again, there was rarely much rational thought behind his actions, as Emma had just pointed out. 

There was nothing more frustrating to Emma than someone unwilling to live up to their potential. It felt like a waste, and with Reed it was more acute than ever. He wasn’t stupid, but he was reckless, and angry, and didn’t have the temperament suited for most jobs. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. “My leisure time and my advising time are entirely different things. Right now you’re getting it for free. If you wanted me as your lawyer, it’d be 450 galleons an hour, with a discount.” None of the rates were even close to that for the average person. Usually 100 galleons an hour was the tipping point, and anything beyond that it was assumed that it was a corporation, not a single person.

“Just a month?”

“The time before now is when I complimented someone on their tea-making. Which, if I’m being honest, is one of the highest compliments that can be given.”

Reed brought his drink up to his lips, swallowing the liquid and his previous mirth. He was never good at talking in circles. He always wound up tripping over his own feet. So he dropped the pretense. “And what, exactly, should I think about?” He’d squandered all his opportunities at a young age and now his fate was set. Everything in their world was connected to how well they’d done in school, connected to their N.E.W.T. scores. There weren’t any do-overs, so he may as well stick to what he was good at. “Not all of us are cut out for the high life, Em. There’s gotta be people at the bottom to keep the rest elevated, right? Who would lawyers defend if there were no fuckups?”

Emma scoffed. “You were fairly good at Quidditch if I remember right. You could’ve pursued that more. But you didn’t.” She was never in the habit of coddling or actually making people feel better. Instead, Emma liked to see results. There was no reason except his own lack of motivation that he had to be stuck working as a bartender. Her own prejudices seeped through at the thought, but she couldn’t help it, and didn’t bother trying. “Besides, my hourly rates would be too expensive.”

It’s not like Reed didn’t know that alcohol led to piss-poor decisions. It’s one of the few things he did know and one of the many truths that Reed ignored. Besides, sometimes, it was fun to be contrary just for the sake of it when Emma was around. He found that, normally, it kept her around longer so she could prove her point. So maybe he liked taking advantage of that. “Split-second decisions aren’t all bad. Maybe some people spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing.” He wanted to ask if that was why she was there, if she’d realized she spent too much of her time cooped up in her thoughts, in her readings. He refrained from questioning why she was there only because a tiny part of him worried it may make her leave sooner, make her go back to her books where, too often, she seemed beyond his reach, even if that didn’t stop him from trying. 

She could feel the words as they hit her. There was no denying that he wasn’t just talking about some people. He was talking about her, and her ambition that never seemed to die out. Every day she wanted more, and the only way to get more, was to push herself. She could feel other people in her field gaining on her, biting at her ankles, waiting for her to stumble. But she wouldn’t fall, not now. Especially not for a boy that preferred the bottle to a pen. “Maybe some people should actually think.” Emma watched as the man that had been in the middle of this started to shy away, drink in hand. This wasn’t what he had signed up for.

Reed popped off the lid of the beer, handing it to the customer who stalked out without giving much thought to either his or Emma’s comments. Face breaking out into a grin, Reed leaned over the counter, bouncing excitedly on his feet over Emma’s appearance. “I can’t make any tips if you tell all my customers to go home,” he teased. “And, anyway, I’d say alcohol opens up the mind. There has to be a reason why people say things they otherwise wouldn’t when under the influence of alcohol, right? Some kind of brain chemistry shit. I’m sure you could tell me all the science behind it.” 

“No, it opens up lips. Not minds.” She sat, already exasperated at having to disclose why alcohol was so dangerous. “Rational thought is important when you’re dealing with a major problem. The only thing alcohol does is give you stream of conscious thoughts, none of which will be properly organized or thought through. That means you make more mistakes, you don’t fix anything. Maybe it’s nice if you want to be a blubbering idiot and start drooling on someone, but other than that? Best take one drink and be done with it.”

“I’m just saying, no matter what you’re upset about – there’s nothing that a good drink can’t fix.” Reed continued to clean a line of shot glasses. “So, what can I get ya?” Whatever it was that they ordered, Reed was going to make it a double and treat himself. Fifteen minutes into his shift and he’d already broken up a brawl. His skin was itching, blood boiling after resisting the temptation to join the fight rather than end it  — he needed to get the edge off. 

“That’s the worst advice I’ve ever heard,” Emma sat down, already regretting the fact that she had come. “If you want to fix what you’re upset about--” Emma turned to the man next to her who Reed had been talking to. “--You might want to try going home and thinking clearly, instead of letting him talk you into muddling up your mind.”

Sturgis chuckled and then brought the drink to his lips, which were curled into a smirk.

“What a compliment.” 

“That’s the nicest thing I’ve said to someone in over a month.”

“Listen, I know I said I was quitting but- I made it a whole week. Almost. I’m celebrating.”

“You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

“Do you have a death wish for me?”

“You know, I don’t think I do.” Emma contemplated that fact, wondering why she wasn’t as annoyed with this person as she was with most. She decided that it must’ve just been a good day. “With most people I’d probably feed them the drink in hopes that they’d at least leave me alone. But you, oddly enough, don’t make me want to slam my head through a door.”