Skylar:

The Laurence incident leaves me in a happy afterglow for several days. I march into the bar on time every day (sometimes even a few minutes early), feeling like I can do anything. Charlie's proud of me, I can tell.

But this unbroken high is suddenly shattered when a little piece of my past comes moping through the door one night.

x x x

Charlie:

I'm rinsing out shot glasses when he comes in. It's eleven o'clock, and at first shock is the only thing that registers, because I can see he's just a kid, and I know the Hogwarts curfew is earlier than that. But his pale blonde hair and pointed, pureblood nose flash across my vision as well, and I subconsciously ball my fists as I realize who he is.

He's a Malfoy.

Draco, to be specific. I've heard Ron speak bitterly of him almost as many times as my father has spoken ill of Lucius. So naturally I'm suspicious. Especially since he's underage.

I go on washing the glasses, but I watch him out of the corner of my eye. My eyes follow Malfoy as he swaggers across the floor and sits right in front of Skylar. I see a shock of recognition in her eyes, and a sudden tension settles across her body.

Being a pureblood, of course, Malfoy doesn't even spare her a second glance. From across the room I see his lips form the word "firewhisky."

And then I see Skylar shake her head.

x x x

Skylar:

I know who he is the moment he walks into the room. One flash of his white-blonde hair and I'm transported back through time, almost exactly a year ago, to memories of a bouncing ferret and Cedric, laughing.

It was only when he asked for alcohol with that annoyingly condescending voice of his that I snap out of my reverie. Mostly because he's so blatantly underage, and he's practically flaunting that in my face. And I know where underage drinking can lead a person.

"Do you have ID?" I ask calmly, trying to keep my tone polite.

"No, but if you're any sort of witch, you'll know I'm a Malfoy." He pauses, apparently for dramatic effect. "And Malfoys usually get what they want."

I raise an eyebrow. And there's the most conceited thing I've ever heard. Without another word, I pour him a shot of Gillywater, sliding it across the bar to him and watching as he raises the glass to his lips, daring him to question it.

The moment it hits his tongue, he wants to spit it out – I can tell. But for some un-Malfoy reason, he gulps it down along with his pride.

"I dunno why I wanted firewhisky anyway," he mutters, more to himself than to me. "My dad drinks it."

A strange sensation flashes through me – could it possibly be sympathy? I bite my lip, debating whether to speak or not.

"You… you have something against your dad?" I ask hesitantly.

He glances scornfully at me. "Wouldn't you like to know."

I turn around and begin to rearrange some bottles, trying to seem preoccupied. "Honestly I don't care. Just curious, really."

He regards me suspiciously over his glass, not offering another word.

Draco tries to make it seem like the bar is beneath him, but he's back the following night.

"Another Gillywater?" I suggest as he strides through the door.

"Whatever." He shrugs carelessly. "I know I'm not going to get what I ask for."

"Nope," I reply cheerfully, giving him his drink.

Draco gives me a sullen glare in response, and that's all there is to it. This goes on for a few more nights – although he acts like it's no big deal, he keeps coming back for that Gillywater.

"Why d'ya put up with it, Skylar?" Charlie asks me as Draco saunters out after the third night.

I gave him a thoughtful look. "Because I know he needs someone to talk to," I say. "And sooner or later, he's going to speak up."

In the end, he doesn't crack – not exactly. But the next night, after he's had the usual Gillywater, he looks up at me.

"Hypothetically speaking," he says, "do you think… do you think someone could break the mold of a stereotype? And not be just like their… parent?"

"Is this about a friend of yours?"

He pauses. "Yes."

You're so transparent, I want to say. But I don't. "Who you are is your choice. That's really all I can tell you."

Draco's silent for a moment. Then, irrelevantly, he exclaims, "Hey! You're… you're Skylar Clark."

"Well, yeah. I am," I say, uncomfortable now that the conversation has turned to me.

"You graduated last year. I know a friend of yours, I think."

The satisfaction I got from assuring Draco is slowly starting to disappear. "You probably do."

"Maybe I'll mention you to him sometime." He stands up, smirking. "Goodnight, Miss Clark."

"Goodnight yourself." I watch him slip on his cloak and walk out.

Charlie practically materializes beside me, making me jump. "Are you alright? You seem tense."

"I'm fine," I tell him, trying to shake this strangely foreboding feeling. "I'm fine."

x x x

Charlie:

After that night, Malfoy doesn't come back. Skylar still seems worried, but I'm not sure why. I overheard the last part of their conversation – apparently Malfoy recognized her from school. But why would she be upset about that? Is she worried someone else from Hogwarts is going to come and find her here?

I only have to wonder about all this for a day. Idle chitchat fills our conversations – they are empty and pointless, and I can tell that she is preoccupied with something.

Then, that night, he comes.

I know it sounds cliché, but the atmosphere feels a thousand times heavier the moment he steps into the bar. My head snaps up right away, and I proceed to judge him by his appearance. Everything from his dark, messy hair to the very way his clothes hang on his skeletal body screams of something horribly, horribly wrong.

Of course, I see Skylar's face and all my assumptions are solidified.

"M-Marcus Flint," she stutters. "What're you doing here?"