Mandy gets credit for helping me with Atticus's nickname for Adrian. Originally, it was 'Rian, but Mandy suggested I change it, since "'Rian" could be read as "Ryan" instead of "Ree-an". Ade is an actual nickname for the given name Adrian, and in my head, I pronounce it "Ah-dee".

When I first wrote this chapter, Bridget MacMillan was created merely to be Atticus's fiancée, but as the story progressed, she came into her own and I ended up having to flesh out my version of the entire MacMillan clan. Bridget is a cousin to Ernie; her father and Ernie's father are brothers.

~EA

Paris

August 1996

The catacombs of Paris were a famous Muggle tourist destination.

Adrian hated tourists, Muggle or otherwise.

For that matter, he wasn't overly fond of Paris, either. Paris was always too crowded.

Fortunately, the entrance he sought to the catacombs was not the one the Muggles used, but hidden away in a small cemetery in one of the quarters, virtually invisible to muggles and eerily empty. As he stood before a stoic statue of the archangel Gabriel and drew his wand to prove he was a wizard, the angel shifted just slightly. Its right hand moved a fraction to the side and the door of a nearby vault slid open; the sound of marble against marble scraped with a dull, low, thrumming noise and the scent of stale death hit Adrian's nostrils.

He wasn't afraid of the death surrounding this place, but he did find it rather unpleasant for other reasons. It was hard to see why Atticus enjoyed spending days on end below ground in the dark, tight, low-ceilinged crypts with limestone dust perpetually floating in the air.

As soon as he passed through the narrow entrance, the door scraped shut behind him, closing him in darkness. Tiny baubles flickered in the black void, and Adrian followed them down two levels of enclosed, low-ceiling ramps until he came to a large underground room where a meager handful of witches and wizards worked alongside goblins. At a small desk next to the entrance sat a young, blonde French witch wearing trousers and a button-down, making notes in a ledger.

"Excuse me." Adrian presented his wand. "I'm here to see Atticus Pucey."

The witch looked up; for a moment, her eyes glazed over a bit before she smiled. It was a sultry, sexy smile with fluttering eyelashes. "Oh," she said, her French accent heavy. "I can see zee family resemblance. You are trés beau, just as he is…"

He ignored her flirting. His looks were sometimes an occupational hazard of being Adrian; women were easily attracted to him. It didn't help that, just a week earlier, Kenneth Fucking Towler had brought up a bunch of delicious memories of Alicia, after Adrian had buried them deep in an effort to move on. Damn it.

Pointedly, he asked, "Can I go below and see him?"

"Mais oui…" She stood up, arching her back slightly to accentuate her cleavage through the shifting V of the button-down she wore, clearly hoping to take him down into the labyrinth herself, but then a different voice interrupted.

"Adrian!"

It was deliciously Scottish and he smiled in relief as Bridget MacMillan appeared out of nowhere and hugged him. "Merlin!" she cried happily, stepping back to hold him at arms' length and look him over. "You're the last person I was expecting to see! What on earth brings you to Paris?"

"I happened to be in France on holiday. Thought I'd visit my brother," he said offhand. But the smile he gave her was genuine. "I'm glad to see you too, though."

She laughed. "You're a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure. He'll be so surprised! Come with me."

The French witch looked extremely put-out when Bridget added, "Merci, Clarice, I'll take him down. I'd like to catch up with him."

Adrian ignored the blonde witch as he followed Bridget towards an arch in the far wall. She lit her wand and Adrian did the same. As soon as they passed through the opening, he immediately had to duck to avoid scraping his head on the low ceiling of the catacombs.

"So, what's he doing?" he asked, referring to his brother.

"His mentor had a hunch there was a particularly well-hidden tomb in this quadrant that's escaped notice for centuries, even though this area has been pretty well pilfered," Bridget said cheerfully. "Atticus has been searching for it for months. He finally found it three weeks ago and it's taken him this long to remove the wards and curses just from the sealed wall. It's been horrendous. Which, of course, has everyone excited. Early medieval wizards didn't put those kinds of wards and curses around a tomb if there wasn't something important inside. It was beyond well hidden; I've never seen anything like it." She continued to lead the way ahead, bending slightly herself. The ceiling was very low, but Bridget was also tall for a woman. She added, "I think you're safe to go into the outer chamber, but he hasn't gotten past that yet. Be careful, yeah? Atticus would have my head if I let his little brother get cursed to oblivion."

Adrian rolled his eyes at that, but thankfully, Bridget didn't notice.

Ten minutes later, after traversing several twisting, black passages, she stopped by a low opening in the wall of the very dark, musty corridor and bent down. He could see the flickering light of a lantern from within; aside from their wands, it was the only source of light. He couldn't see more than a few feet ahead or behind. It was almost as though they were on another planet, as isolated as they were.

"Hey, Att?" she called.

There was silence, and Bridget huffed in irritation. "Atticus!" she snapped, her voice sharp and louder.

His brother's deep voice suddenly echoed from inside the tomb. "Oh, sorry, Bridge. You know I get too focused sometimes."

"I know," she answered dryly. "How's it coming?"

"Slowly," Atticus drawled.

"Well, take a break. You've someone to see you."

"Fine, send them in, but they can't come past the door. There are still an insane amount of wards and curses, and I'm trying to decipher the next layer. This is madness…"

Bridget stepped back, leaned over, and whispered, "He's facing the other way. Give him a shock, yeah? I always love shocking Att. It doesn't happen often."

Adrian smirked and nodded once before he ducked into the low opening, almost having to crawl in on all fours. The outer chamber of the tomb was only four or five meters square, and he couldn't stand up. Crouching by the door, Adrian looked at his older brother's back.

Atticus was six-foot-three and, just like Adrian, he favored their mother with black, wavy hair. Unlike Adrian, however, he had their mother's deep blue eyes, the color of the Mediterranean on a perfect day. He wore dusty trousers and a faded button-down that had been rolled up to his elbows, heavy dragonhide boots that were well-worn and scuffed in all the right places, and he didn't seem to care that he was covered in the gray dust of the catacombs. Knowing how Atticus could get, he'd probably been down here for two days without taking a break. Adrian didn't know how the hell his brother could stand it.

"So," Adrian drawled. "What do you think the arsehole hid behind all these walls of curses?"

Atticus twisted abruptly, wand in his hand, but when he saw Adrian, his face split into a grin. "Ade! What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Adrian laughed. "Sorry, Bridget put me up to it. Startling you, I mean."

"If that's not just like her." Atticus rolled his eyes and flicked his wand to the opening behind Adrian. The doorway shimmered with a privacy barrier, and Adrian shifted inside a fraction more.

"I definitely wasn't expecting you." Atticus sat back, surveying his brother closely. A flicker of worry crossed his face. "Are mum and dad alright?"

"They're fine."

Atticus visibly relaxed. "Cheers. Then what brings you to Paris? I know how much you love Paris." He smirked at the joke; their entire family knew Adrian wasn't fond of Paris.

There was no sense beating around the bush. Adrian took a deep breath. "Professor Dumbledore wants to recruit foreign wizards against the Dark Lord. Charlie Weasley is helping in Romania, but that's over two thousand kilometers away. Dumbledore would like someone on this side of the continent to reach out to possible supporters, too."

Atticus's smile deepened in his eyes. "So he sent the one person who hates Paris? Bill always said that man was mental. I'm starting to believe him."

"He sent me," Adrian said through gritted teeth, "to talk you into it. Not for me to do it."

Atticus burst into laughter. "Oh, wait! So if I'm understanding you correctly, you came all the way here to recruit me to the Order?"

"No." Adrian kept his voice cold. This was certainly no laughing matter. "Dumbledore does not want either of us to officially join the Order. It's too dangerous."

"Truer words," Atticus snorted. "And what makes you think I would agree to something that insanely dangerous? You know how father feels about the Dark Lord and war in general."

"That's a good point," he responded dryly. "Since we're on the subject, do you know why father left Britain during the first war?"

Atticus arched an eyebrow. "To get his family away from it, you dolt. We all know that."

"Wrong."

It was worth bantering with him just to see Atticus's surprise. After a moment, his brother said warily, "Excuse me?"

"Back then… the Dark Lord was apparently looking for… potioneers," Adrian muttered, glancing towards the door. Just because Atticus had thrown up a privacy charm, he was still nervous.

Atticus swore in a low voice and shifted to lean against the wall. "What on earth for?"

"Professor Dumbledore said he can only speculate and he didn't share his ideas with me. But it was on his advice that father left Britain for France."

"Does he think the Dark Lord needs potioneers this time? Father rarely practices anymore."

"Dumbledore doesn't think so. But the Death Eaters know the Pucey Family wasn't in Britain back then, don't they? No one in Slytherin ever mentioned it while I was at school, but I suspect some of them believe father didn't want to join them."

His brother's brow furrowed slightly and he was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said in a dark voice, "Likely." But he did not elaborate. Instead, he said, "But even if the Dark Lord doesn't need Potioneers this time, he would certainly be after fighters. Wouldn't he?"

"I suspect so."

Atticus's eyes cut at Adrian, pinning him where he crouched awkwardly by the door of the tomb. "He'll want you, Ade. You're bloody fucking brilliant at Defense."

"Professor Dumbledore already told me that. I'm being cautious."

"It's more than that. If the Dark Lord wanted father during the first war, and father slipped through his fingers, he won't want to be thwarted twice. You should stay in France and recruit people yourself." There was a hard edge to his voice.

"The fuck I am," Adrian snapped. "Either you do it, or no one does."

Atticus sighed, his shoulders dropping. "Does Dad know you're helping Dumbledore?"

"I… haven't told him yet, no. I just told him I was visiting you for a while. But if you agree to help, I can't keep it from him for much longer."

"Well." Atticus looked skeptical. "Let me think on it."

"That's all I can ask. Thank you."

Abruptly, his brother reached towards the wall and grabbed an old, dusty satchel leaning against the limestone. "This was going to be a Christmas gift," he said, quite at random. He withdrew a leather-bound diary. "But I may as well give it to you now, especially in light of this discussion." Almost carelessly, as he seemed to do everything, Atticus tossed it to Adrian.

Adrian deftly caught it and opened the little notebook. His brother's neat, careful, cramped handwriting filled every page. And it was all in bloody French, damn it. Not that it would be difficult to cast a translation spell over it (or even read without the spell), but still. Joking, he said, "No offense, Att, but I don't want to read about your love life."

Atticus hit him with a light Impediment Jinx before he knew what happened, and Adrian fell backwards on his arse, whacking his head into the crumbly wall of the tomb.

His brother drawled, "Don't be a prat, Ade." Then, more seriously, as Adrian picked himself up and glared furiously at him, Atticus went on softly, "What you learn at Hogwarts… it barely scratches the surface, you know." His eyes lost some of their focus, as though he were seeing things beyond the tiny, cramped outer chamber he was sitting in. "The curses most British wizards use… well, that's just it. They're British. A handful of Death Eaters are from the Eastern Bloc countries, but most are British. My point is, wizards have to adapt. That," he nodded towards the diary, "is full of curses and jinxes I've discovered working in the catacombs for Gringotts. The Death Eaters would never use anything like those because they probably have no idea they even exist. I suspect many can be adapted to fighting. And catching your opponent off guard is essential. You might find them useful."

"Why are you telling me this?" Adrian licked his lips quickly. "You know damned well that dad won't let me fight openly —"

His brother gave him a sharp, shrewd look. "Always be one step ahead, Ade. Always. Father would tell you the same. You cannot sit there and tell me you're not going to fight if it comes down to it. I always wondered why you didn't pick Gryffindor."

Adrian bristled. "Thanks for reminding me why I prefer only seeing you once a year at the hols, Att."

He turned to crawl back out of the tomb, but Atticus said softly, "Adrian."

That made him pause. His brother rarely said his actual name.

"Just… be careful. Please. I know you're incredible at Defense. And the Dark Lord is certainly keeping tabs on everyone who graduates from Hogwarts these days to see who he can recruit, too — just like Dumbledore is. You're a prize. They both want you."

"I'm so glad to be objectified," Adrian snapped sarcastically.

But Atticus didn't even blink; in fact, if anything, his expression grew cold and unfeeling. "You've already been objectified, Adrian. The Dark Lord does not see any of us as humans. We either possess talents he wants to use, or we are nothing to him, in which case we run the risk of being eliminated. You have talents he can use — make no mistake about it. To the Dark Lord, you aren't more than an object; a powerful, magical object that he can use to further his goals. I'm serious: Be careful." He sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair. "I'll likely agree to do what I can here for Professor Dumbledore, because he was good to me when I was in school and because he and father are on good terms, but I still want to think about it. If I agree, we need to be able to communicate when I have information. Letters can be intercepted."

"Oh. That's easy. Send a Patronus with a message."

His brother's eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"

"A Patronus. What, can't cast one?" Adrian couldn't help taking the mickey.

"I will hex you again, brat. Of course I can cast a Patronus. I just didn't know they could carry messages. Mine is a falcon, what is yours?"

"A goshawk."

Atticus laughed. "Sometimes it's disturbing how similar we are!"

This time, Adrian hit him with an Impediment Jinx and sent his brother sprawling. He was out of the tomb before Atticus had righted himself, but a moment later, his brother's voice came around the corner of the opening.

"Bridget's is a field mouse! Just in case you need to know. I'll be home in a few hours. You can wait for me here, or you can go enjoy Paris in your downtime!"

Adrian gave him a two-fingered salute over his shoulder and kept walking.

Bridget met him at the intersection of the next corridor. "Did you two have a nice chat?" She smiled knowingly.

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Who the hell knows."

She chuckled. "Well, I'm sure he was still happy to see you. Do you want to hang around here until his shift ends?"

"No. I'll go find a bookstore." Anything, he thought, even traipsing through wizarding Paris, if it meant getting out of the catacombs. And he would use his two-way mirror to touch base with Towler and let him know he arrived safely, though the idea that he had to check in with Towler rubbed his nerves just as raw as Atticus and Paris did.

Adrian intended to spend a few days at his brother's townhouse, which was located in a small, quiet neighborhood lined with upscale homes. His brother had a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower at night from the upper floors, but then, for all Atticus liked to stay holed up in the catacombs, he also had a distinct flair for the elegant. That was their mother coming out in him.

"Do you ever think about moving back to England?" Adrian asked, leaning against the glass doors to the first floor balcony and watching the lights twinkle across the skyline. The view was better from the second level, but it was still quite pretty from the first. The lights sparkled behind the tall trees along the rear of the back garden, giving them the appearance of having fairy lights among the leaves.

"No, and certainly not right now with the Dark Lord gaining power again." Atticus handed him a cognac.

"I've wondered if dad would move back to France this time."

Atticus frowned. "It's hard to say. You mentioned something earlier, in the catacombs, that made me think back to my time at school. As a matter of fact, I do remember some other Slytherin students making snide comments to me when I first arrived. I didn't realize it at eleven, but I understand it better now. They were parroting what they heard from their parents. Some of them believed father left England to escape recruitment."

Adrian sighed. "I can't say that surprises me. No one ever said it to me, but…"

"Well, you were a lot younger. But I started Hogwarts the year after the Dark Lord disappeared, remember? I caught hell for father's decision." Atticus looked grim. "I fought some of them, lost a good bit. Learned what it felt like to be bullied. Hated every second of it. Sort of wish I'd been sorted differently more than once. Mind, I never mentioned any of it to father or maman. And no, I'm not angry at dad. It's just the way things happened. But it certainly makes me see Death Eaters in a different light. The Dark Lord was gone, but I was still bullied because father protected his family instead of joining their forces. It made me hate them, honestly."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Atticus shrugged and sipped his cognac. "You were a loner at school too, weren't you? Perhaps for the same reason, perhaps not. But my point is: if dad left England now, the Death Eaters would absolutely know he was running from them and they would likely target him for elimination. Dad knows that. So, I suspect he'll stay in England this time, even if he doesn't want to. That makes it all the more imperative that you be careful, Ade. Between that… and your skills at Defense…" His eyes lost focus. "I'm just worried. It was one reason I moved here when I graduated. Father and Dumbledore believed the Dark Lord would return one day. They were sure of it. I decided to get out while I could, during a time that wouldn't arouse suspicion."

"There was no way for me to do the same."

"No. There wasn't." Atticus sounded resigned and a little sad.

Adrian decided to change the subject. Earlier, he had noticed something and now it came back to him. Curiously, he asked, "Does father know you plan to marry Bridget?"

Atticus wasn't even surprised; he merely shrugged. "I haven't told him yet, no."

"When are you going to tell him? She's wearing a ring the size of —"

"Christmas hols, I expect."

Adrian hesitated. "And what if he doesn't approve?"

Their father had always instructed them to speak to him first before bringing a girl home, if they thought they were serious. The MacMillans were technically considered blood traitors, but they were also wealthy blood traitors and they were generally left alone by other purebloods as a result. Bridget had been two years below Atticus and in Hufflepuff; they hadn't dated or even moved in similar circles while at school, and had only gotten to know each other while focusing on their professional careers.

Adrian did not want to examine the reason he was asking this particular question of Atticus. He had locked a specific part of his life away in June and there was no use dwelling on it, but something made him ask anyway. Probably that damned conversation with Towler.

Atticus chuckled. "She's a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Ade. Even the infamous House of Black intermarried with the MacMillans at one time."

Adrian bristled angrily. "That book is a piece of rubbish and you know it."

"I hope to Salazar you weren't so open with your opinions while you were in the Slytherin common room."

"Of course I wasn't, I'm not an idiot. But it's still rubbish."

"Many purebloods don't think that way, though." Atticus's expression grew serious.

That brought to mind something else, and Adrian couldn't help but bring it up, even though a part of him didn't want to. "Father always confuses me," he said quietly. "He says he's privately supportive of muggle-borns, but he's also made it very clear that you and I should marry purebloods."

"This isn't about me at all, is it?" Atticus's eyebrows contracted.

"Of course it's about you, why would it be about me?" Adrian glared at him. "I'm only eighteen, for fuck's sake, and it's certainly not as if I have a girlfriend walking around with a rock on her hand."

"Are you interested in someone?"

"No! I just said, I'm only eighteen. Why would I want to get married?"

Atticus didn't look convinced. "You're not interested in a muggle-born, are you?"

"Definitely not." At least that wasn't a lie.

"Then you're interested in a half-blood."

"Enough, Atticus," Adrian growled.

"Touched a nerve, did I?"

"I will hex you."

Atticus put his hands up defensively and grinned. "Calm down. Why don't you tell me about her?"

"There's nothing to tell. Drop it."

"What's going on?"

The new voice was Bridget's; she walked into the room wearing a stunning gown of slinky, black material that shimmered as she moved and glimmered in the light of the baubles at the ceiling. It had thin straps over her shoulders, she was wearing a sleek pair of black, open-toed heels, and her hair was done up fashionably. She didn't look anything like a curse breaker who spent her days underground in stale dirt.

Her dark eyes narrowed on both of them. "Are you two ready? I thought you wanted to go to a jazz club, Att."

"We're ready. We were waiting on you. Oh, and Ade here has a crush."

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Salazar's arse! I do not!"

"He's in denial," Atticus added conversationally, putting his empty glass back on the sideboard.

"What's she like?" Bridget asked, her eyes sparkling as she looped her arm into Adrian's.

"It's nothing! It was just a… school fancy, if you even want to call it that." He grimaced. "She and I agreed to end things back in June when we graduated. It doesn't mean anything."

"She's a half-blood," Atticus called over his shoulder as he exited the parlor for the landing.

"So?" Bridget fired back.

That was one reason Adrian liked Bridget. She didn't adhere to blood purity nonsense. Atticus didn't either, but Atticus saw both sides from a more neutral standpoint, and sometimes played Devil's Advocate. That drove Adrian a little nuts. But then, a lot about Atticus drove Adrian a little nuts.

"So?" Atticus waited for them and smiled before he started down the curving marble and wrought-iron stairs to the entry. "Father won't particularly like that."

"Good thing you're planning to marry me, then. That frees Adrian up to marry who he wants."

"No, it doesn't," Adrian muttered, realizing where Atticus was going by bringing up Alicia's blood status again. "Look, drop it, both of you. And don't you dare say anything to maman or dad, Atticus. I'm never going to see her again."

"In that case," Bridget said, her voice businesslike, "you won't mind that he set you up with someone."

Adrian gaped at her. Atticus had set him up on a date? Bloody fucking hell.

The trouble was, he had no way of getting out of this mess.

The truly annoying thing was, Lisette had beautiful, thick, long brown hair that was only a few shades off from Alicia's, and deep brown eyes that were easy to get lost in by his third drink. (What was Atticus giving him, anyways? By drink number six, he wasn't really sure… it was a pretty green color… Absinthe, probably…? He hated absinthe, but it didn't taste as terrible as it usually did.)

Adrian couldn't really remember how Bridge and Att knew Lisette, either. Did she work at Gringotts, maybe? Perhaps so, but he wasn't sure anymore. All he really knew was that the way she placed kisses down his neck felt good, and between that and the alcohol, he couldn't remember exactly why he'd been annoyed with Atticus when they'd left his brother's townhouse. It had something to do with another girl, he thought. Or his father, maybe? He turned head to find Lisette's lips. She kissed him back eagerly, her hand dragging firmly down his chest, seeking the buttons on his shirt.

It felt odd, though. The kiss, not her hand. The kiss didn't feel like anything, much. He pulled away and sat up. Something wasn't quite right.

"Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?" she murmured, kissing the spot just below his ear.

Adrian fought to remember. Was something wrong? He wasn't in the club anymore; had he Apparated back to this girl's flat? Did it matter? He just wanted to feel good, that was all. He wanted to forget… something. He wanted to forget something that was eating him away inside, something he couldn't have, but wanted so badly… more than anything in the world…

"Je veux oublier…" He sighed against her lips, felt her tongue slip into his mouth.

He just wanted to forget.

The trouble was, come daybreak, what he'd actually forgotten was most of the night before, and how horrendous absinthe was.

What he hadn't forgotten was Alicia.

Goddamn it, he was going to fucking murder Atticus.

"Hangover?"

Adrian fired four hexes in succession, all while gripping his head, and Atticus just did manage to get a shield up. But those hexes had some serious power behind them, and his older brother did get thrown onto his back down the marble entry hall of his fucking townhouse. He rather deserved that, Adrian thought bitterly. He actually deserved to be hexed into an oozing blob of muck. Adrian raised his wand again and hoped his aim wasn't too off because he could barely see straight through the pounding pain behind his eyes, as though someone were beating his brain against his skull.

Of course, Atticus didn't take anything lying down, and a full-fledged duel would have broken out had Bridget not stormed down the stairs at that precise moment and yelled, "Expelliarmus!" at the top of her voice. Both Adrian and Atticus's wands flew up into her hand. She made sure to stomp on every single step with her heavy work boots, and Adrian winced in sheer pain and pressed his fist between his very tightly closed eyes.

"Damn it, Bridge," he gasped. "I deserve to murder him!"

"That is a very fair point, Atticus," she growled.

Atticus went on the defensive. "He walked in the door and immediately started hexing me! I didn't do anything!"

"Oh, please. You gave him absinthe last night on his sixth round." Her voice had a trace of humor in it.

"I fucking hate absinthe," Adrian muttered, stumbling forward and reaching for his wand. Bridget held it away from him. He went on angrily, "He knows that! And you both set me up with some girl! I don't even remember her name —"

"Lisette," Bridget said, and now she sounded tiffed. "Really, Adrian, all we asked was that you be nice to her."

"I am sure he was," Atticus said, and the grin was evident.

Adrian tried to grab his wand again, but Bridget retreated up a few stairs, away from both of them.

"Blaxton," she said calmly.

Atticus's personal house elf cracked into existence at her feet. "Mistress Bridget called?" he asked professionally. Blaxton wasn't ancient nor young, and took his duties seriously. If he was already calling Bridget "Mistress", Adrian thought through his headache, that meant she and Atticus were pretty damned serious.

"Take Master Adrian downstairs for a Hangover Potion, please."

"Ah. Yes. I see Master Atticus got him drunk last night," Blaxton answered, eyeing both of the Pucey boys with a frown. "Sir, 'tis most unbefitting for you to get your younger brother drunk —"

"Blaxton," Atticus fumed. "Skip the lecture. Just take him downstairs for a Hangover Potion, please."

Bridget found him downstairs ten minutes later, lying on the mercifully cold stone floor of the dark pantry with an ice pack over his head, while he waited for the Hangover Potion to fully take effect. Blaxton said it might take a few minutes, depending on how hungover he was. And Adrian knew he was very hungover.

Bridget was quieter this time, thank Salazar.

"Here's your wand back."

He groped upwards for it, finally catching the handle, and sighed as he felt the familiar magic of his wand course down his arm. "Thanks," he muttered, his hand dropping back to the floor. Blaxton said the cool floor and darkness of the pantry would help, and it did. The elf was surprised Adrian hadn't splinched himself Apparating that morning. Adrian didn't admit this was the first real hangover he'd ever had. He'd had liquor before, sure, but never like this.

"I told him not to get you drunk. But you also kept asking for more. Atticus would tell you no, and you'd demand another," Bridget accused. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Were you at least nice to Lisette? She thought you were so fit —"

"A lot of girls apparently think I'm fit," he sighed. He meant it to come out tersely, but it came out more defeated than anything else.

Bridget hesitated, but her voice softened. "It must get tiring."

"…yes."

"So who is this girl you're in love with?"

He winced. "I'm not in love, Bridge… damn it, don't say it like that."

"Well, then, humor me. I won't say anything to Att. Word of honor."

Adrian paused. Bridget was a Hufflepuff; their word usually meant everything. He wasn't sure how people kept finding out how he felt about Alicia, though. First Kenneth, now Atticus and Bridget… It was dangerous, he needed to make sure this stopped.

Quietly, he said, "She was a Gryffindor in my year. She was a bloody brilliant Chaser and we were prefects together. We were the only two in our year who took ten N.E.W.T.'s. Merlin, she was so fit. You've no idea how gorgeous she was…"

There was a beat of silence before Bridget said sympathetically, "Oh, Adrian…"

"I don't want pity, Bridge." His voice turned hard. "She and I both agreed to end things. I'm just trying to get over her and it's… taking a bit longer than I expected. Last night was my own fault, thinking alcohol and a pretty girl with the same color hair might do it."

Bridget winced. "Why don't you just go back and tell this amazingly brilliant, fit, gorgeous girl how you feel? Maybe she feels the same."

Adrian sighed and lifted the ice pack to meet her eyes in the darkness of the pantry. His tone became dead. "There's a war on. Father wouldn't approve of her social status. My former classmates wouldn't approve of her blood status. She's studying to be a Healer, and I'm in Paris, trying to help Dumbledore. Should I go on?"

Bridget gave him a sad smile. "I get the idea. Doesn't mean I agree with it, but I understand. I'm sorry we pushed Lisette on you. Atticus didn't know you liked someone when he asked her to join us last night."

"Don't be sorry, you didn't know. She probably won't be the last girl I hook up with on this trip. I tell myself that's not fair to them, either… but… maybe one of them will be the right girl."

"Do you really believe that?"

Did he?

Adrian felt his gut clench.

Not really. But Alicia wasn't the right girl either, was she? She was a half-blood, and even though he didn't care about that, and they were in the middle of a war centered around blood purity…

"Listen," he said, trying to deflect the conversation. The potion had finally kicked in and his head had cleared, thankfully. "Apologize to her, for me. I know I'm awful for not doing it myself, but… maybe that's for the best. And I won't stay around here. I'll head to Saint-Tropez. Get out of Att's hair before he and I go at it again."

Bridget sighed. "If it makes you feel better, I'll miss you when you go."

He smiled at her. "I'll miss you too, Bridge."

"Promise me two things."

"Maybe."

She smiled down at him. "Promise me you won't get drunk like this again."

Adrian chuckled. "I can promise that. This sucked. But just in case, I'd better take a Hangover Potion with me."

"And second, promise me you'll stop back by here on your way back to England when you finally leave Saint-Tropez."

"I promise."

"Thank you. Alright, come on. I'll check with le Ministère des Affaires Magiques and see about arranging a portkey for you. It'll probably take a couple of days, though. Can you put up with Atticus that long? I'll make him behave."

Adrian gave her a weak smile. "I'll try."

She returned it. "Good lad. Come on, up you get."