walden macnair

Either way, the beer he was drinking wasn’t much better than piss, but if Barty was feeling generous, there were few things better than spending someone else’s money. 

“Oi, I am not!” The boy protested, lifting his glass once more in an effort to hide his burning cheeks. “I’ll happily go back to skulking around with a sour look on my face and stick up my arse if it pleases you. I won’t make the mistake of so much as cracking a smile ever again, don’t worry.” Even as he promised to refrain, his face betrayed him, and his smirk slowly returned. “I’m drunk.” He lied halfheartedly, slapping his mate on the back affectionately, “Let’s see if we can get you the same, yeah?”

“Oh calm down, don’t be dramatic, you twat. No one likes you when you sulk. It’s why you have so many bloody enemies already,” he said, and though he could easily tell the younger boy wasn’t actually drunk, he let out a laugh anyway. He wasn’t going to turn down getting drunk. 

“Possibly,” Barty muttered, self-consiously readjusting his scarf under Walden’s scrutinous gaze. “Oh come on, Walden, just because you’re not getting any doesn’t make it any less exciting for me. Unless you’re holding back on me?” He raised an eyebrow, curious to inquire about the other man’s own potential conquests. “Amycus wasn’t bad at all- But by your standards, I’d say he’s preferable.”

“What on earth would make you think that anything exciting would happen before I get here?” Barty scoffed, smirking as he lifted his drink to his lips. He let out a bark of laughter at the man’s obvious confusion regarding the boy’s almost cheery demeanor- Barty had not been the most inviting person over the course of the past two weeks, but his change in fortune had left him in a downright pleasant mood. “Believe me, Macnair, you would know if the man was dead. I wouldn’t be able to talk about much else. Can’t a man just be happy?”

For the first time in weeks, Barty found himself in a crowded pub not out of loneliness and a desire to wallow in self-pity, but rather in search of a genuine good time. The scarf wrapped around his neck hid the evidence of the extent of his good fortune, but the grin on his face was enough to reveal the change in the boy’s outlook in a mere matter of days. 

Spotting a familiar face, Barty took a seat next to Macnair with his own drink in hand. “Bored, are we?” He asked lightly, making note of the vacant expression dominating the older man’s features.

“Was hoping there’d be something lively happening while I waited,” he grumbled, looking over at him, the blank look on his face quickly shifting into a grin at the sight of him. “Since you’re always bloody late.” 

Octavius bite his lip. He hated to admit that Macnair’s insistence, no matter how nonchalant, actually meant something to him. “I’m not going to kill myself over it… I mean, I do have enough Wolfsbane for this full moon… but cheers, really. For the curry, and that,” he said rather awkwardly.

“Well, don’t get all sappy on me, now, yeah?” he said, pushing his chair back from the table and standing up, clearing the bags off with a flick of his wand. 

“I don’t care what he thinks,” he said, realizing as soon as he said the words that it sounded like an utter lie. “Whatever. Have to get through the full moon first before I can even think about fucking off to San Juan or anywhere else, for that matter,” he said, as Macnair rose from the table. It was actually kind of astounding how quickly he had inhaled his food.

“You know you can still come even if yer a werewolf, yeah?” he said, nonchalantly. “I mean, if you don’t off yerself first. I don’t bloody care.”

“A lads holiday?” he asked, slightly confused. It wasn’t like that was the sort he did, had ever done, but there was something tempting about the offer even if it was Mulicber and Macnair. “I sincerely doubt Mulciber would appreciate you inviting me along for your lads holiday. But, I mean, San Juan would be nice. If I’m not … you know.”

“Well, take it up with him if you care that much what he thinks,” he said, shoveling the last few bites of rice into his mouth and shrugging as he pushed himself back from the table. “Or, y’know, just happen to show up in the same place.”

“He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about gingers, just like most people enjoy reminding me constantly. But I don’t particularly care what Mulciber does or doesn’t think, what I can say, though, is what he’s not compensating for,” Octavius said matter-of-factly. He paused for a few minutes to eat in silence. He had to admit that Macnair was right; it was a bloody good curry.

“Well, if you don’t turn out to be a bloody werewolf, we’re having a bit of a lads holiday in San Juan. You could come along, if you wanted.”

He tried to ignore the way Macnair dug into the food like he was a starving child, but it was hard to do that when he talked despite an utterly full mouth. Octavius, on the other hand, sat down and put the food on his plate, taking a polite bite. And he was the one who might’ve been a fucking werewolf, not Macnair. It was beyond him.

“Chinese Fireball. Lovely. Not terribly creative, though. And he’s still stuck on my fucking hair after all of these years. Although, he didn’t mind it so much a few weeks ago, but that’s neither here nor there,” he shrugged. “At least that means there was fear there. I’d rather be feared than loved any day.”

“I’d say he’s just jealous of ye, but you and I both know that’s a damned lie. Not to mention he’d be devastated if he thought either of us thought that. Course, he spends half his bloody time compensating for something or the other, so maybe he wouldn’t have time to be bothered.”

At the very least, Macnair didn’t just burst into his flat this time. He muttered a few spells to break the protective charms and let them both in, closing the door behind them. “Part of me wants to believe you’re joking, but I wouldn’t be surprised if that was true. If that’s the worst either of you called me, though, I’m absolutely fine with that,” he said, setting the bag of food down at his kitchen table and summoning some plates for them.

“Oh Yaxley, don’t be dull. That’s what we called you on good days.”

He dug into the food quickly and expertly, famished from the walk over there even if the fresh air had been nice. And, mouth full, he continued talking where most people probably would have thought it wiser to stop.

“Chinese Fireball, that was one. When you’d get angry. Oh, and one time he turned his boggart into you. Gave us a right laugh.”

Octavius rolled his eyes as Macnair smacked him on the back, and then started down the street again, without waiting for him. “Well if that’s true, I definitely can’t have a curry a day. I have an image to maintain. Angsty, brooding Yaxley. That’s me. One curry can’t hurt, though,” he said as they came back to his flat.

“Oh no, you found out our nickname for you from back in school?” he joked with mock panic, leaning against the wall as he waited to let Yaxley open up the flat this time. “Mulciber’ll have my head if he hears. How did you know?”