The Evening Before The Night When Nobody Had Any Sex Whatsoever

This Story is a cooperation with Stina, who has no profile on this is why I'm posting it. It was all her idea. It's basically a plotbunny to "Haven't thought of you lately, which is published by RowenaR. Go check on her profile for other interesting stories about OCs.

Disclaimer by Stina:

All recognizable characters and other names are copyright the Awesomeness that is JK Rowling. Orion belongs to rareb, Lynx belongs to Lenalina, Linda belongs to me. The villages of Fenit and Ardfert exist and are worth a visit, especially that pub.

This story is set in a universe created by a roleplay group in a certain German forum with the lovely nickname "Green Hell". The story takes place about 10 years after the current events in our roleplay. I thank everybody involved for creating such lovely characters and rareb and RowenaR for allowing me to hop on their fanfiction train.

This story is dedicated to M., because he hates clichés as much as I do.

Slainte!

The pub was packed, which was unusual for a Thursday night. Linda didn't mind, she sat in her usual corner near the bar, her notebook on her lap, writing in between short conversations with people she knew.

In the five years since she had moved to that little cottage just outside her home town, she had never missed her weekly trips to the pub. It wasn't a very good place to write, but she liked to sit and watch people - and she had to report to her friends about the progress of her latest book.

They wanted to know how the story got along, if any characters were based on them (they were, but she wouldn't tell which) and if she portrayed them correctly. Sometimes she felt as if she should share her salary with the whole pub because all the regulars tried to give some kind of input to the story.

She smiled as she thought back to when her very first book had come out. It had been about racism in the wizarding world, about the strange logic behind the "blood" ideology and the fact that one third of all so-called "pureblood" families were already inbred. This book, written by a pureblood, came out in the middle of the War. Needless to say she didn't have many fans back then.

By the time the War had ended, everybody was quick to annouce that of course they had read her book and of course she was right and that everybody had known it all along. Even those who had written angry letters suddenly agreed with her.

Linda had smiled, nodded and moved on to writing fiction. She wanted to reach a broader audience, muggles and wizards alike, and chose to write about the part of Ireland where she had grown up. It became a series of books, not on the bestseller's top ten, but they brought enough money for her to buy a small cottage near Fenit and move there.

Right now, she was in the middle of the fourth installment of the series. Quite literally - she was stuck in mid-sentence and didn't know how to continue. It was then when Brian, the owner of the pub, approached her.

"I think you should mention that he once rescued a sheep off the top of a cliff," he said, looking over her shoulder at the scene she had just written.

"And why should I mention that?" she asked, trying to stay serious.

"'Cause I did, that year... erm, 1987," Brian answered, eyebrows raised.

She sighed. "Brian, that guy is not you."

"Sure he is."

"No, he's really not!"

"Whatever." He winked at her and returned to the bar.

Linda sighed again and started writing again. After a while, a shadow fell over her as somebody stood at her table. Without looking up, she said, "Brian, honestly, if that guy was you, I'd not only mention the sheep, I'd also mention the time you were half naked out in the fields, claiming you had seen a fairy. You wouldn't want me to write that, would you?"

When no answer came, she looked up. And saw that it was not Brian who was standing in front of her table.