Poppi shot a sideways glance at her fellow bartender, Ramona, who grimaced in a way that was screaming 'yikes!' to anyone who had the misfortune of witnessing it. A blonde woman who seemed like the kind of person who'd slit your throat just for bumping into her, marched into the bar, slamming the door shut behind her. Poppi was sure Mikey, the wimpy bouncer, would be all over her in a second or two. Escorting her out while trying desperately to flirt with her, as he so often did.
Blondie stomped right up to a patron sitting at the bar, tapping her toe aggressively behind him. He was staring forward, but based on the sudden rigidity in his body and the widening of his eyes, he was well aware she was there.
Ramona slid down the bar to the other side, where Poppi was washing glasses for the next customers.
"I love domestics." Ramona groaned sarcastically.
"Where the hell is Mikey?" Poppi wondered aloud, glancing around the dimly lit pub.
"Probably off with another smoke." Ramona rolled her eyes.
"He really needs to quit that habit." Poppi muttered absentmindedly, waiting for the knut to drop. It surely would any second. The patron closed his eyes briefly as if gathering himself, then spun around coolly on the stool, face to face with Blondie.
"What do you want, Eva?" He said clearly exasperated.
"Is that it then?" She hissed, voice more nasally than Poppi could tolerate.
"Is what it?" He seemed so weary of this conversation. Ramona, however, seemed even more weary. Domestic conflicts seemed to always drag themselves into this pub. Or in this case, march right in and tap its probably perfectly pedicured toes. Smashed glasses, police, shouting. It's too routine to tolerate.
"You're just going to walk out of my life? For what? Some whores in a skeazy pub?" She spat. Poppi took a moment to tear her eyes away from the trainwreck waiting to unfold and glanced around the bar. There were maybe three girls, all rather nice seeming and all with other people. She hardly thought he's going to find any whores here.
"How did you even find me?" He looked bewildered, suddenly patting himself down. He pulled out his wallet, removing a picture and eyeing it suspiciously.
"You wouldn't." He narrowed his eyes at her.
He pulled out his wand and tapped the picture, exhaustion turning to inflamed anger. The picture caught alight. Apparently she would.
"A tracking spell? Really? You need to leave. If you come near me again, I'm getting a restraining order." He threatened, swiveling around on his barstool to have a sip of his firewhiskey. Ramona, bored with inaction, poured another glass for another patron.
Eva, the blonde she-devil, stood flabbergasted behind him before doing the unthinkable. She pulled her wand out and pointed it at his back. Without thinking, Poppi shot a bat-bogey hex in her direction. Several large, black bats flew from her nasal cavity as she screamed and swatted at them. Poppi hopped over the granite countertop and grabbed her roughly by the arm.
"That'll teach you to hex someone when their back is turned!" Poppi growled.
Poppi escorted her out of the bar, ignoring her shrieks of protest. She kept trying to jerk out of her grip, but she wasn't playing today. She spent all morning at the Department of Mysteries and she spent all night at the bar. She was ready to go home and finally catch up on sleep.
Poppi shoved her into the alley causing her to stumble back, wand pointed directly at her face.
"If I ever see you here again, you'll wish that I called the police. Do you understand me?" Poppi threatened. In reality, she would just call the police, but she didn't need to know that.
Mikey, smoking in the alley, hurried over to the scene, nearly tripping over a loose shoe string.
"If she comes back inside, I'll make sure you don't have a job tomorrow." Poppi narrowed her eyes at him.
"Yes ma'am!" He saluted sending a cheeky wink to Eva.
"You'll pay for this," she said suddenly, frigidly, wiping a few tears off her cheek.
"I doubt you could take me." Poppi answered cockily. She promptly spun around and went back in the pub.
"Good one, Poppi!" Ramona congratulated her behind the bar.
"Well, you cleaned up the last one!" Poppi grinned at her, returning to the counter. The last domestic involved a very large woman that actually ended up wrestling Ramona to the floor and putting her in a choke hold until the police arrived. It took five of them to drag her out.
"Don't bloody remind me." She sighed.
The patron that brought the domestic here tapped his glass against the bar, signalling he'd like another drink. Poppi grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey he'd asked for previously and filled up his glass.
"So." He began uncomfortably. Poppi shot her eyebrows up at him, waiting for him to complete his thought. "Uh, thanks I guess." He grinned at her sheepishly.
"Don't mention it," she said seriously. She really didn't want to get involved in his drama. He was incredibly handsome and somewhere deep, deep down Poppi couldn't entirely blame the crazy girl for causing a scene over him.
"She wasn't always this bad." he started, warm eyes looking just jaded.
"I'll let you in on a secret." Poppi whispered conspiratorially. "The stereotype about bartenders giving you thoughtful advice on your domestic disputes, that's all rubbish. If we had our shit together, we wouldn't be in a job where we have to talk to other human beings on a regular basis."
"So you have no soulful wisdom to supply?" He grinned cheekily.
"Get a more thorough background check on your potential mates next time?" she offered.
"Maybe hire a private investigator?" he suggested.
"Why stop there? How good are you at legilimency?" Poppi countered.
"Rubbish, sadly." He laughed.
"Well, that's unfortunate." Poppi grabbed his hand that was firmly on the bartop, flipping it over so the palm side was up, "I've got some seer blood in me and based on your loveline here, I predict another crazy girlfriend in your future." She traced the indention in his hand. He gazed up at her in a way that told her she should not have done that. The last thing she needed was another patron trying to follow her home.
"Only if she's y– he began, but Ramona saved the day.
"Poppi, can you get the customers at the end of the bar? I'm covered up!" she called. Sure enough, she was covered up. Six new patrons had plopped down since Poppi had started talking to the troublemaker.
"Let me know if you need anything," Poppi said curtly, excusing herself to serve the next customer.
Three a.m. hit all too soon, the lights flicked on, and everyone shuffled out of the bar looking worse for wear. It was Ramona's turn to stay and clean, so Poppi filed away all the receipts and shuffled out the door with the intoxicated patrons.
"One last time, I wanted to thank you. She might have actually avada'd me if you didn't step in." The troublemaker patron followed her out onto the cobblestone road.
"You're not going to try to follow me home, are you?" She asked suspiciously as he fell into step beside her.
"Nothing like that! It's just dangerous for a girl like you to be out at night is all!" he said, causing her to quirk an eyebrow.
"You realize that I do this nearly every night. Somehow I survive," she said sarcastically.
Suddenly a flash of dizzying lights and flashes from everywhere disoriented her.
"Oh dear Merlin!" she groaned, covering her eyes.
"James, who is this with you?"
"James is it true Eva Whitworth broke it off with you for having an affair with this mystery woman?"
"James what do you have to say for the rumors that you are engaged to Myron Wagtail?"
"Isn't Myron a bloke? An old one at that." she asked the man with the camera. He shrugged. "I suppose you could be very open minded." She examined the troublemaker, James, beside her who looked exasperated at best.
"I never get ten bloody seconds to my bloody self." James muttered angrily. He grabbed her hand, pulling her down an alley with him. The camera people, she supposed paparazzi, chased after them, but not as quickly since they were lugging large film gear.
"Hold on," he said, disapparating them on the spot. The familiar crushing of every cell in her body followed by the nasty feeling to be sick everywhere put her in a foul mood when her feet planted woozily on the ground. She tried her best to choke back the nausea, but instead ran over to some bushes to hurl.
"You should have just disapparated yourself. I've worked too many hours to apparate safely! You're lucky I wasn't splinched!" she growled, trying to take in her surroundings.
A looming stone manor stood impressively in front of her, which just spurned her urge to run as far away as possible.
"Come in, I'll get you some tea for your stomach." he offered, gesturing toward the door.
"No thanks, you're probably a serial killer." she insisted, preparing to call the Knight Bus.
"What if I promised I'm not a serial killer?" he countered.
"That's precisely the kind of thing a serial killer would say." she accused.
"We aren't even at my house. This is my parents' house. The paparazzi can't make it through these wards very well."
"What's your name again?" She asked apprehensively. She vaguely recognized him and he was apparently very wealthy. Unfortunately wealth didn't always translate into stability.
He looked at her with surprise before answering, "James Potter."
"The one quidditch guy?" she asked, vaguely recalling.
"Puddlemere's keeper and the eldest son of Harry Potter." He answered with a mixture of offense and surprise.
"Oh. You should probably lead with that." She decided to definitely spring for the Knight Bus, nausea be damned.
"Come on, one cup of tea won't hurt." He grabbed her hand and gave her an obnoxiously pouty look.
She relented despite her better judgment, "just a cup of tea."
She stepped into the grand foyer and regretted it immediately. It was three am and she could hear a ruckus ensuing from inside the depths of the house. They followed the sound of boisterous laughter and the clanging of pots and pans into kitchen. She forgot that her hand was still in his. Harry and Ginny Potter didn't stop laughing hysterically when they invaded the sizable room.
"Just in time!" Ginny snorted.
"I see you've brought a friend!" Harry tried to catch his breath, holding the stitches in his side.
"Mom, Dad, this is–"James started before turning back to look at her. She never told him her name.
"Poppi. Poppi Pennington," she supplied.
A light flicked on in Harry's eyes, "I know you! You're the young woman training for the new position in the Department of Mysteries!"
"I can neither confirm or deny that, Mr. Potter!" She shot him a wink.
"No need with the formalities, Branwell has told me all about you!" Harry exclaimed heartily.
"Lovely to meet you, dear," Ginny said kindly. In that moment, something sticky and large fell flat on Poppi's head. Everyone was silent, before laughter erupted. She peeled it off slowly, horrified by the feeling. Syrup laced her hair. A giant, fluffy pancake crumpled in her hands.
"We were wondering if that would ever come down! It's been up there a good twenty five minutes now!" Ginny snorted again.
James exchanged an extremely apologetic look with Poppi. She couldn't seem to wipe the grimace off her face.
"Why don't we get you cleaned up?" Ginny gestured to the door of the kitchen.
"That's alright, I was just leaving." Poppi suggested.
"Nonsense." She shushed her. James just gave her another apologetic look. Ginny ushered her out of the kitchen, up the marble staircase, and to an exquisitely large bathroom. She stared expectantly at her.
"Uh?" Poppi gaped intelligently, unsure what it was she wanted from her.
"I'll go ahead and wash your clothes while you shower. No need for you to be sticky all night." She turned on the faucet for her, testing the water. When she turned back around, Poppi was still clothed.
"No need to be shy, we're all girls here," she said with a cheeky smile. Poppi stripped nearly naked in front of Ginny Potter, only slightly mortified. She, thankfully, let her keep her undergarments.
"Good girl, I'll bring you some clothes until yours are dry!" She scampered out of the bathroom, leaving Poppi to shower in a stranger's bathroom.
'This might actually be weirder than a serial killer.' she mused, quickly scrubbing the sticky syrup out of her hair. Despite how nice the jets felt on her exhausted body, she couldn't get out fast enough. Wrapped in a towel, hair dripping steadily, she glanced around for some clothes. Ginny failed to bring them as she said. She debated briefly before opening the door to the hallway and sticking her head out. No one in either direction. She debated on whether or not to call out for her or try to find her or just apparate the bloody hell out of here, but she was greeted with her smiling face round the corner immediately.
"This should do fine!" Ginny handed her only an oversized quidditch jersey. It was Gryffindor and said POTTER on the back in chunky block letters. Considering how many Potters played quidditch and were in Gryffindor, that hardly narrowed it down. It fit more like a dress than a shirt, but all she had to do was wait for her clothes to dry and she could get out of here.
"There! You look positively radiant!" Ginny beamed when Poppi came out of the bathroom.
"If you say so." Poppi frowned, following her back down the marble staircase into a small family room. Harry and James had a television on, flicking through the channels.
"I figured we could go muggle tonight!" Harry grinned at his wife when we entered the room. James' eyes just widened further at the sight of Poppi, which prompted a strange churning in Poppi's stomach. Ginny snuggled in between her husband and son, leaving Poppi on the edge of the couch next to James.
"This is certainly not what I had in mind." he whispered to her after a movie started.
"I can assure you I had no intention of spending my friday night like this either." Poppi yawned. Her eyes landed on a cup of tea sitting on the sofa table. She'd forgotten all about the tea. James handed it to her hastily.
"Why are you in my quidditch jersey?" He smirked at her wardrobe.
"Your mother insisted." she answered without bothering to hide her distaste.
"Are you wearing pants under there or anything?" he asked hesitantly.
"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" She snorted.
"I'll take that as a no then." He grinned cheekily. She began to think she should have let that girl hex him.
"Why are they up so late anyway? It's almost four in the morning." She scrunched up her face trying to see the clock hanging on the wall.
"Both mom and dad have been working nights lately. I imagine they just got off." he answered after a moment of consideration. All was quiet and still as the plot of the movie thickened. She couldn't keep her heavy eyelids open long enough to watch the movie. Her eyelids finally lost the battle against exhaustion, lulling her to sleep on the shoulder of a stranger.