Glass and Greed
Two things I knew far too much about.
Glass because I worked with it every night.
Greed because I saw it every night.
I worked at a neglected but timeless bar on Main Street. I saw the same faces all the time, and knew them all by first names, but on the rare occasion, there was a new face. A stranger.
He sat in a small booth to himself, twiddling his thumbs as his arms rested on the table. He had his pale blue button-up shirt folded at the wrists, and pushed up to his elbows. His arms looked defined, and the muscles moved as he continued playing with his thumbs under the rubbish, dim light of the bar. I wondered if he was meeting someone here and they were late, because he looked rather impatient as he ran an annoyed hand through his thick, messy, black hair. I dropped off a Bourbon and a Scotch at Charles and George's table. They smiled at me ravenously.
"Thanks doll." Charles said, winking.
"Anytime, old timer." I replied back. George and Charles laughed, taking their drinks in between their shaky hands. They were regulars and basically my two biggest fans, but they were also about eighty years old. "And watch it, that's your third already." I warned them seriously, poking an intimidating finger at them. It wasn't even late yet, and I knew how out of hand these two could get on a Friday night. "I'm going to have to cut you off."
"I'm going to die soon anyways." George muttered to Charles, who laughed. I smiled, shaking my head tiredly at the pair and making my way up to the lonely stranger.
"Hello." I said graciously. He looked up from his thumbs at the sound of my voice. "Can I interest you in anything?"
"A better menu. Is this all you've got?" He stared in disgust at the list of options.
I stared at him, balancing the empty tray on my hip. "This happens to be the best-stocked bar in this town." I said informally. Actually, it was the only bar in this town, but he clearly wasn't from around here and he needn't know that. Who did this bloke think he was anyway, insulting my bar like that?
Granted, this wasn't exactly my bar. I worked for Carlton Brown, whose family had owned this bar for years. He never came round during the week, except for five minutes every Friday to drop off my paycheck and have his regular shot of whiskey. As if I even needed a paycheck. I made myself a living on tips alone.
"I've never seen you here before." I said casually, as he looked like he wasn't going to reply to my previous statement. "What's your name, stranger?"
"Churchill." He stated simply.
"Churchill, huh. As in, Winston?" I raised an eyebrow, smiling, temporarily putting the empty tray in the booth beside his.
"As in James. James Churchill." He lifted his right hand off the table to stick it out to me in introduction.
I smiled. "Evans. Lillian Evans." I shook his hand. This bloke had to be around my age, so I couldn't help but wonder what brought him here. This bar usually brought in a—shall we say—more mature crowd. People my age usually drove to the next town over to go to the new bar that had been built there. Loud music played and people danced. Lord knows why they even bothered to call it a bar. More of a nightclub, or so I thought.
"Lillian, huh." He said, just as I had. "That's a pretty formal name."
"For a formal companionship." I said unassumingly, shifting my weight to my hip.
"I'd rather call you Lily." He told me. I shook my head, smiling just a bit at the table.
"I'd rally rather you not to call me Lily." I said, staring at the small crack in the wood on his table. I ran my thumb over it softly. This place was falling apart.
"Lily it is, then."
I looked up from the crack. I found myself asking the same question again: Who did this bloke think he was? "Fine, Churchill." I called him by his last name. I didn't like the way he spoke, as if he knew me already. He may call me whatever he liked, but I was determined to keep this relationship strictly one of business. "What'll it be, then?"
"Mmm. Whiskey, I think." He said, shoving the drink menu aside. I stared at him for a moment.
"That's all?" I asked resignedly. He smiled, locking his fingers together on top of my cracked table again.
"That's all." He sung a bit.
I took the tray off the other table and took my time going to the bar. This wasn't a nightclub and I didn't rush orders around here. He was clearly in the wrong place waiting for his date and he would figure it out soon enough. I wasn't changing my habits for this bloke who thought he ran the world. Or more importantly, ran my bar.
Behind the bar, I was at home. I ran my fingers over the—contrary to Churchill's belief—many different alcohol bottles, stopping on the one I grabbed every Friday for my boss.
I looked at the glasses, and realized something.
"Oy, Churchill!" I shouted. He didn't turn. "Churchill!" I tried again. This bar was not huge and the music played softly. There was no way in hell he couldn't hear me.
I looked at the glasses in front of me after glaring at him for a full twenty seconds. The most expensive it was, then.
"Your drink." I placed the largest glass we had in this bar directly in front of him. He looked up at me, smiling.
"Won't you sit?" He asked warmly, gesturing to the empty seat in front of him. Surprised by his change in behavior, I shook my head no quickly.
"I've got to work." I said, gesturing to the full bar of people.
"Oh go on, doll face!" George called from across the room. I winced, turning slowly to him. I'd forgotten how every conversation in this place was easily heard from across the room. It made calling for orders easier because you never had to raise your voice, but it made private conversations... well, it made them not so private after all.
"Yeah, Red!" Walter Kane called. Every regular had a nickname for me in here.
I sighed quietly as the entire bar filled with shouts of agreement for me to take a break. I shook my head, grinning at them tiredly.
"I can't! I have to wait on you old coots!" I called jokingly to the crowd.
"We old coots have decided it's high time for your well-deserved break!" Martha Kane, Walter's wife told me.
"And the younger coot agrees." James Churchill said quietly from behind me. Although I stared into the crowd and couldn't see Churchill's face, I knew he was smiling.
"Fine." I said to Churchill and the bar. My regulars laughed and turned back to their conversations as I turned to Churchill. "But you're buying me a drink."
"So long as I can make it." Churchill raised his eyebrows, leaning on the table with his forearms. I stared down at his intertwined fingers and cocked one eyebrow at him. "And you have to guess what it is. And if you're wrong, I get to buy you another."
"And if I'm not wrong?" I challenged, impatient to hear this.
"You get to drink another." Churchill grinned. I chuckled, impressed by his confidence.
"Deal." I decided, knowing I'd already tried every possible drink in this bar. I experimented everyday with new flavours. I knew every drink we had in this run-down bar and I was positive I was going to win. It wasn't the prize I was particularly interested in, of course. I just wanted to see the look on his face when I guessed easily what he had prepared for me.
He stepped down from his booth and we shook hands. I stared deeply into his eyes, grinning. He grinned back, his dark hazel eyes glittering. He walked over to the bar and jumped over the counter, instead of just using the counter door. I stared at him in suspicion.
"No peeking." He warned me playfully. I shook my head in disbelief, but I sat in his booth, and stared at the wall.
My eyes drifted to the side of the booth he'd sat in before. I spotted his black jacket. Bored, I reached over for it to check the label, it looked pretty expensive. Something fell out of the pocket. I jumped under the table to retrieve it, seeing his feet walk up to the table as I grabbed it and slid back to my seat. He gently placed the drink in front of me, sat across from me, and put his hands under his chin, watching me. I smiled at him and looked down at the object in my hands. It was a stick.
"Er, I believe this is yours." I gave it to him confusedly, watching him carefully. His eyes widened at the stick, as he snatched it from me quickly.
"That's er..." He paused, obviously frantically searching for an answer.
"It doesn't matter. It's none of my business anyhow." I waved a hand, staring down at the drink he'd placed in front of me. "Can I—?"
"Go ahead." He waved me on, putting his stick back in his jacket and muttering something to himself under his breath.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone through your stuff—"
"Yeah, you shouldn't have." He agreed, shaking his head in disbelief. I frowned and he looked up at me. He sighed. "Drink up, then."
"Right." I said, wrapping my hand around the cool glass. I brought it up to eye level, examining the colour. I shrugged, and sipped it.
"Jesus!" I gasped, not expecting the burn it left on my throat and tongue. Some of the drink spilled in my lap in surprise. I stood from the booth, placing the glass on the table and cursing. I grabbed a napkin and wiped my thigh, sighing.
"Er, you okay?" Churchill asked worriedly.
"Bloody perfect." I answered, rolling my eyes at my luck. I still had hours until the bar closed, what on earth was I supposed to do?
"I... might be able to help?" Churchill said quietly, as if not totally sure if he could. I stared at him, the spot on my trousers visibly noticeable, as he looked at his stick confusedly.
I sighed a huge sigh, stared down at the spot again, and it was completely gone.
"Merlin's pants." Churchill whispered. "How'd you do that?"
I shrugged, not completely surprised. This sort of thing happened so frequently, I hardly even gasped anymore. "It sort of happens a lot." I said quietly, scooting back into the booth slowly. He watched me with wide eyes.
"What happens a lot?" He asked carefully.
"Er..." I paused, staring at him crazily. How to explain this without him thinking I was completely mad? Then again, he carried a stick around with him. Maybe he was the madder one here. "In seventh grade, I er..." I blushed a bit, I'm sure, but went on. "Matured."
James raised an eyebrow. I went on.
"I used to get all my older sister's hand-me-down's, but she's always been a stick and up until seventh grade, I had been as well. But that changed, and her old clothes didn't fit anymore. My mother fretted because we didn't really have much money at the time." I explained. James nodded slowly. "So then, I decided I'd try the clothes on one last time, just to make sure for the third time that they were all too small. And all the sudden, they weren't small anymore. They fit me perfectly, actually. Ugly clothes, but they fit amazingly. I got great compliments." I paused, realizing I was rambling now. "Not the first time something like that had happened, and not the last time, as you've just seen."
"Anything else?" James asked curiously. He seemed intent on my stupid stories, though I couldn't understand why.
"Um, I had cavities as a kid. Went to the dentist scared for the needle, and they told me my cavities were all gone." I said. "When I first started working here I messed up nearly every order, but the customers never seemed to mind by the time they got their drink." I smiled to myself. "I get fabulous tips. But I'm not sure that's part of it. Most people would say I have quite the..." I smiled coyly. "Enchanting personality."
James smiled confusedly. "And you're a mug—a um..." He paused, clearing his throat. "Which school did you attend?"
I smiled. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"How could you tell?" James asked, frowning.
I leaned my forearms on the table and stared at him carefully. "You've made a drink that I can't place and I'm almost positive you're even madder than I am." I paused. A small smile was growing on James' lips that was absolutely adorable. I found myself extremely attracted to him. I softly touched his forearm. He looked at it. "Around here, those are sort of the two things I pride myself most on and you seem to have stolen them from me."
James' smile grew a little wider. "I'm sorry." I knew he wasn't sorry in the least though. But, I wasn't angry in the least.
"I like you, Churchill." I said. James grinned.
"I quite like you, Lily." James replied brightly, taking a casual sip of the glass that he'd made himself. I looked at him crazily.
"That stuff is pretty strong. And coming from a bartender, that's a rare sentence to hear."
James simply smiled coyly. "Firewhiskey." He told me. I raised my eyebrows in confusion. "That's what it's called."
"An original?" I guessed. I'd never even heard of such a thing and again, coming from a bartender—especially one and experienced as me—that's a rare thing to hear.
James shook his head. "Very popular where I'm from."
I looked at him in awe. This was all so much to take in. He seemed so foreign, but he was clearly from around here by the sound of his accent. I looked down at the crack in the table again for lack of something better to do.
"Say, Lily," James started. I looked up expectantly. His eyes were so open and warm and welcoming... I wanted to be closer to him. His jawline was downright sexy and his lips—which were now forming into a grin—were to die for.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Churchill?" I asked suddenly, unable to stop myself. God, his face was so attractive when he grinned like that.
"Used to. Not anymore." He answered. I watched him carefully as he took another sip of his Firewhiskey.
"Would you like one?" I offered. He choked on his Firewhiskey, sputtering. I grinned.
"You mean—" He coughed once more. "You?"
I shrugged simply. He stared at me for a moment in awe.
"I knew the moment I saw you that you were different. Not any madder than me, no, but mad, nonetheless." He told me. I smiled.
"We can be mad together." I offered again. I quite liked his personality. He was clever and a fast-thinker and challenging and unique. "But first, you have to tell me about that stick." I pointed to where he'd put the stick, poking slightly out of his jacket pocket.
"I'd love to. But you'll think I'm lying."
"I'd never think that." I promised. "I'll believe you."
He looked around the bar. So did I. I gasped. Everyone had left, leaving their money on the table. I stared at the clock. It was only twelve, and on a Friday, my bar was never empty. It just never happened. I looked to the door to see that they'd flipped over the Closed/Open sign to Closed.
I walked over to the tables, collecting the money and reaching Charles and George's table last. I picked up the money and shoved it in my pockets, but I saw a white bill. I picked it up curiously. It was a note.
Hey Dollface,
We all left you two to each other. Be good, we'll all be back tomorrow to hear how things went.
-Your Regulars
I grinned at the note, loving my job and my customers more than should be allowed. I walked back to James' booth, sitting beside him this time, rather than across from him. He was close enough to kiss. I pushed that thought away from my mind.
"Tell me about the stick." I demanded. Nobody else was here, and we were all alone. For some reason, this changed things a bit. Of course, we had been alone the whole time, but I hadn't noticed. I'd been too consumed with James to notice my own customers.
"It's my wand."
"Beg your pardon?" I asked curiously.
"Wand. Magic." He pointed to himself. "Wizard."
"Get out." I said, the corners of my mouth rising into a grin. He grinned back.
"You believe me?" He asked, surprised. I could understand why he was so surprised. I don't know why I believed him. I'd sort of always suspected magic existed though. If not in the form of wands and broomsticks, then in the form of simple miracles that happened everyday.
"I believe you." I replied honestly. His eyes watched me carefully as I took a small, deliberate sip of the Firewhiskey. This time around, it was slightly more bearable, but it still felt like I was drinking well—fire. Taking another small sip, I became more comfortable and started drinking bigger sips. And then gulps. The insane burning sensation never went away, but it only dimmed slightly, making the taste just as powerful, but the drink more manageable. I loved it.
James watched me the whole time as I continued drinking my Firewhiskey, a small smile dancing across his lips. I couldn't help smiling as I knew that smile very well.
Although I'd always been drawn to a more mature group, I did go to school with kids my own age and I had my fair share of dates. The blokes I met never gave me the same thrill and fun as my bar did though, and after two weeks or so, I'd break it off.
But before they'd ask me out, they'd have that exact same smile on their lips and I'd know exactly what was coming and when it would happen. James was going to ask me out.
"I think I love you."
I choked. Again. This time, the Firewhiskey glass was almost completely empty so although it did slosh around in the cup, it didn't spill over. I coughed a couple of times before looking up at him desperately. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.
"What. The. Hell?" I sputtered, brushing the wisps of my red hair from my face.
"I think I love you." He said again, smirking.
"I don't know you."
"You're the only muggle that I've ever met that knows my biggest secret." He explained. "And I've fallen in love with you in these past three hours."
"It has not been—" I looked at the clock. God damnit. "Go make me another Firewhiskey." I shoved my cup at him. He smirked again and was off to the bar, fixing two more drinks.
I stared after him carefully. Of all the blokes I'd ever dated, none of them had ever told me they'd loved me. Maybe because I always broke it off so soon, but still... I'd never heard anyone other than my best mates and my family say those words to me, and it felt good.
My chest ached for more Firewhiskey. I was losing the sense of warmness that it gave me. I couldn't help myself as I stepped down from the booth and walked to the bar, sitting on a stool and watching him as he made the drinks.
"Am I allowed to sell these here?" I asked carefully, not wanting to offend him in anyway. I had my fair share of original drinks here and I sure as hell didn't want anyone copying them. They were Lillian originals. Nobody else was allowed to sell them.
"After I take you to a place with real Firewhiskeys. Using wizarding liquor." James told me. I smiled at the thought of old wizards getting drunk. It was probably no different from Charles and George on their regular nights, but instead, I pictured them with big pointy hats on. I giggled.
"Like a date, then?" I asked. He looked up from the drinks.
"Exactly like a date."
I smiled to myself as he continued making the drinks. "Hey, Churchill," I started. I honestly didn't know why I kept using his last name, but it was sort of funny now, in a way. I hadn't liked James when I'd first met him, but now... I liked him more in three hours than I'd liked any boy I'd known my entire life.
That meant something to me. And he was now a wizard... Everything I'd once thought possible, well, now it was. But why could I do the things I could? I wasn't...
"Am I a wizard?" I asked, staring at the bar counter. I couldn't even look up as I asked it.
"A witch." He replied. I looked up, studying his face as he placed my drink in front of me. I couldn't decide if he was joking or not. I took a large gulp of the Firewhiskey, feeling calmer now that I had the heat in my lungs.
"I don't know why you didn't get your acceptance letter because it seems to me that you can do magic, and you've been doing it for a while now." He frowned. "And you've always thought this was all normal?"
"Normal enough." I shrugged. "But I don't want to be a wizard. I want to continue being human."
"Wizards are humans." James chuckled. "You're a muggle."
"Is that an offensive term?" I narrowed my eyes. I wouldn't know, but it didn't sound like a pretty name for someone who was normal. Then again, to them, maybe we weren't.
"Not in the least. Just a term. For you."
"Well, then. Good. I'm a muggle and proud." I said, sticking up my nose and taking some more drinks of Firewhiskey. We didn't speak anymore. I finished my glass before him. He grinned.
"Sirius would like you. He's always talking about how girls can't hold their liquor."
I gave James a serious look. "I'm a bartender for God's sake."
James grinned. "And Rosmerta. She's kind of like you. Barmaid, strong personality."
I smiled into my cup. "Who else would like me?" I asked curiously. As crazy as it seemed, I wanted to know his friends. I wanted to get as close as possible to James.
"Remus, he's smart. You seem rather clever." He noted of me. I tilted my head to the side, smiling wider. "Peter. He's a bit shy around pretty girls though..."
"You think I'm pretty?" I asked, surprised. Charles and George and basically all of my other regulars had always called me pretty, but I had never really heard it from someone my age.
James leaned over the bar, his perfect face so close to mine I could almost taste the Firewhiskey on his tongue as he told me that he thought I was positively beautiful.
I stared at him for a second, before sitting up in my stool, inching my face even closer to his.
"I want to kiss you so badly, Churchill." I told him honestly, staring into his beautiful hazel eyes. Gold and green specks of light swam in those eyes that stared right back into mine and I couldn't help myself. I leaned forward and kissed him, hard.
He kissed me right back, placing the drink in his hand on the bar so he could move his empty hand to the back of my head and pull me closer. I pulled back from his mouth, breathing heavily as I took a moment to compose myself. I looked at him again.
He breathed out, taking another sip of his Firewhiskey. I took it from him and placed it down. I climbed onto the counter, sitting on it. He sat on it. I kissed him again. This time, it wasn't rushed or frantic. It was soft and slow, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers in his black hair. His hands held my face close to his. I ran my fingers down his back and he shuddered into me, smiling. I smiled back, kissing his jaw carefully.
"I really like you, Lily Evans." He told me. I worked to compose my breathing, before pulling away from his jaw to stare into his hazel eyes.
"I really, really like you, James Churchill." I told him, stroking his cheek deliberately and gently.
"Er, I've a confession to make." James said awkwardly, looking away. I pulled my hand back slowly, watching him, waiting for him to continue, but not sure what to expect. He had better not admit to having a girlfriend because so help me God I would kill him. "My name's not really Churchill. It's Potter. I'm James Potter." He held out his hand for me to shake. I stared at it.
"Potter, huh." I said, still looking at his hand that he held there for an awkward length of time. "Well Potter, it's very nice to meet you." I leaned forward and pushed his arm out of the way, pushing him down on the counted gently. He lay on his back on my bar counter and the Firewhiskey glasses dropped to the floor, crashing. I didn't even notice. I straddled him, kissing him again on my bar counter in my bar. I could honestly say this was one scenario I had never even thought about doing. Ever.
"Lily." James breathed some time later. I stared at him. "Remember when you asked if I wanted a girlfriend?"
I nodded slowly. He pulled his wand out of his jeans pocket and pointed it at the shattered glass on the floor. He muttered something that certainly wasn't English and the glass mended. He said something else and the mended glasses zoomed into his hands. He filled two of them with water with another mumble, and he handed one to me. He clinked his glass with mine and took a sip. I took a sip of the water as well, waiting desperately for him to continue.
"Well, I believe I do."
"So Dollface, how'd things go last night?" Charles asked me, as I stood behind the bar. I stared at the spot where James and I had held a snogging session and blushed a bit, pouring him another Scotch.
"Alright. I missed my old coots, though." I poured George his Bourbon and brought them over to them. I sat down with them, chatting for a bit as the bar filled more and more with the regular crowd. I was soon on my feet for the rest of the night; never stopping and I ached desperately for a Firewhiskey. Holding two empty glasses in my hands, I walked over to the bar to refill them, when I nearly dropped the glasses in surprise.
"James!" I said, grinning widely. He grinned right back, making drinks behind the bar. I could bet all my tips of the night that he was making a...
"Firewhiskey?" James offered, holding one for me. I took it gladly and cheered with him, taking a quick sip before waiting on the tables with much more enthusiasm now that I knew he was here.
"A keeper, Lillian?" George used my real name to signal a serious question. Charles put his drink down as he listened. I could hear the entire bar quieting as they all listened intently as well. I bent down to the boys' ear level as I watched James help me make orders from behind the bar. He stared back at me with a knowing smirk on his face. I smirked back.
"Better." I answered, seeing James' broomstick lying pretentiously in the corner of my bar. It fit right in, just another sign that he was meant to be here, with me. "A Chaser."