charity burbage MIGHT be looking up again. (mugglemethis) wrote in find_horcruxes, @ 2009-09-06 21:51:00 |
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Every inch of the scene that met Doc's eyes seemed to have some inherent quality to start him thinking of his own wedding all over again. Even the bloody ceiling lights were in on that, as he found himself trying to shake the thoughts by studying the details of the ceiling itself. He knew this was bound to happen, and that was fate whether or not it was Charity sitting beside him. There wasn't the specific phrase 'just as friends' used when he asked her to come with, but it seemed understood enough that he had a space for a plus one, and 'plus one' didn't hold prejudice about who accepted its invitation. It worked. That was all there was to it. She wouldn't have to stay back at the house while he went out. They had one another to talk with. Whatever justification made it make sense, Doc had accepted the situation as it was. Old habits died hard. He pulled his eyes down from their only momentary glimpse upward, Doc himself resigned to defeat. It didn't have to be such a bad thing to recall his and Charity's wedding. It was a good day, as much as it all held a different context now. He made an earnest attempt to hang onto that concept as his sight fell on the area designated for dancing. Sooner or later someone that had too much to drink would be out there causing their ancestors to roll over in the ground, but it was still somewhat early for that. Finally, he brought his attention to Charity in the next seat over, nodding to the dance area with a singular head-jerk. "How long do you think before someone smashed starts putting on a show?" The funny thing about being at a wedding with your ex-husband was that inevitably, all roads let to Memory Lane. Charity's first thought had been how completely smashed Amos Diggory had gotten at their wedding and nearly wiped out the wedding cake. Charity wouldn't have cared if he had gone sailing head-first into it, but the memory was bitter-sweet. "Maybe it should be you this time," Charity answered, clearly attempting a joke. "It would be the talk of the town. Your name would be whispered from here until another unlikely suspect managed something completely out of character." For one brief moment, she thought about leaning over and whispering, I dare you, until she remembered herself. That they were here as friends (and nothing more). That it was highly inappropriate. That Doc might actually move back in with Benjy before the wedding was over. Instead, she said, "Or you could start serving drinks to other suckers as encouragement." Doc appraised the suggestion, vaguely giving a humoured shrug in return. "Not me," he replied, thoughtfully. "I worked too hard to convince everyone that I'm boring. That's too many years invested to lose now." His eyes dropped to his clasped hands on the table. Without a drink for himself, there wasn't all that much to occupy his hands with than each other. "Besides, I'd have to give up one of the best seats to watch from in the house." And, there was that part about how Doc wasn't working. No one could blame an off-duty bartender for not particularly wanting to be coaxed into that sort of thing on an otherwise day off. Something about then being responsible for how half the party was smashed came to mind, as well. He didn't want to have to explain that one to Alice and Frank if things went awry. "And it beats watching the evening programmes on the telly," he finished. It was true. Drunken antics always beat out any other form of entertainment, and that was one thing both he and Charity knew well enough. "I don't know, Destiny of the Daleks just started, and I'm dying to know more about Romana's regeneration, myself," Charity countered, propping her head up on her hand and turning to look at Doc while they conversed. Soon, she'd really need to get something to drink; she was parched. "Can't believe she could actually sort through her regenerations. How odd! The Doctor always made it seem so painful, and as if he had no choice on the matter of his appearance." Charity and her brother, James, had been big Doctor Who fans when they were younger -- James more so that Charity. She still found herself in front of the television, if she didn't have other plans, on a a Doctor Who night. "I'm sorry to inform you, Doc, but you've never been boring, and you'll never be boring. Might try cultivating some other sort of persona. Like Benjy and his whole silly James Dean... thing." "With any luck someone'll invent a TARDIS, and missing programmes won't be a problem," Doc remarked as he laced his fingers into a lattice and examined the inside of his palms. It was starting to feel like he ought to stop being so against getting up to get that drink. Being at a wedding and having his thoughts continuously fall off into regret and reminiscing and a few other re- words -- it wasn't helping to be completely dry. Some days begged for alcohol to come included. "Personally, I'd settle for a K-9." As a matter of living with Charity now, Doctor Who nights had nearly become a thing between them again. Actually, it was luck that he had that night off, and it was only once, but there were would be moments that felt like things hadn't changed. Still, Doc knew better. Next topic. "And I wouldn't dream of encroaching on Benj's territory," he added, trying to keep his thoughts moving along. Doc took a brief look around the area for the other man, recalling seeing him before with Greta Catchlove. He even almost smiled about that one as he remembered that night when Greta had come to him so upset and how different she looked with Benjy in that moment. After a few seconds, he gave up the search though. There were enough people around, and most had their groups dispersed around the party. "But you are biased, you know," Doc told Charity, looking back to her with his brows lifted. "Well, wizards already have a time machine, don't they? Somehow I can't see them allowing them out for television, but..." Charity answered with a shrug. To tell the truth, she honestly didn't mind sitting this wedding out; most of the crowd was so much younger or older than she was. Stuck in some sort of middle ground that wasn't quite middle. A K-9. Doc usually wasn't one for completely frivolous gifts, but maybe something as outlandish as a little model K-9 wouldn't be considered too extravagant come December. "Robotic K-9? You're trying too hard to be predictable now. And I'm hardly biased." Her eyebrows shot up. "Am I?" "I don't know. I think Mugglekind is due in for some advances in technology. Why not a TARDIS?" It was entirely silly to be talking about, but that was only because so little of what Doc ever said was just for the sake of talking. Sad as it was, he fell out of practice some time after the divorce, and he knew it. He wasn't ever much of a talker, but there were lower levels to be reached, and he found those before finally accepting what happened. Doc narrowed his eyes, looking downward, but not in avoidance. "It's easier to convince the younger kids that walk into the Inn of things than it is someone I've known almost a decade, Char." He quirked a brow at her. "Unfair advantage." "Then Amos Diggory has the worst unfair advantage in the history of unfair advantages," Charity teased lightly. She laughed under her breath, tilting her head to the side as she watched the crowd dancing and socialising. What a pair of old fuddy-duddies they were, sitting off at a table and not mingling as they were. Pulling her elbow off the table, she scooted her chair out. "Right then. I'm going to fetch some us some drinks, and then I think we ought to not be the losers sitting in the corner. Either we're dancing, or we'll mingling with other people. Which one is it going to be?" A glance to the space around them, and Doc tugged the corners of his mouth outward. It wasn't really the corner, but that was a minor argument. It was corner-ish, he thought, which was one notch above being the losers in the corner. Somehow that didn't console. "I'll come with," he offered, gathering himself to his feet. It was a small (minuscule by the standards of someone who wasn't Caradoc Dearborn) smile he offered in return. "I'm not aiming for 'loser' to be my thing." He paused, listening in to the music for a moment before answering, "If it's going to be dancing... I only request that it not be to ABBA. Sorry, I have my limits, Charity." "I knew you weren't a dancing queen, Doc. I'd never make you dance to ABBA, anyway," Charity answered coolly, though she was smiling in amusement. After making their way to the refreshment tables, Charity ordered herself a gin and tonic before turning back to Doc. He had gone out for this event, which was necessary, obviously, as a grooms-man. Turning then, she realised she hadn't made any sort of comment on it. Instinctively, she grabbed his forearm. "Think I forgot to mention something," she blurted out, then realised that it was going to come out awkward. Turning a shade pink, she shook her head. "I meant to say -- just not quite so forceful -- that you look handsome tonight, in your suit. You even brushed your hair, Doc." The bartender held her drink out, which gave her a convenient excuse to remove her hand and turn away having said that. Waiting on his screwdriver, and with Charity's hand still on his arm and distracting his thoughts enough, it took a few seconds for Doc to recompose after her small outburst. The whole reaction wasn't anything more than his expression shifting to something bemused -- carried mostly by the movement of his brows and eyes -- until he heard the compliment. Another faint smile recaptured his mouth. Charity had turned away, leaving him to wonder if she didn't want him to reply, but Doc thanked the bartender with a nod and went on. "I can't take credit for the clothes, but thanks, Charity." He slipped around to her side, nudging her softly with his arm. "Come on, maybe we're not the corner losers, but we're getting into that territory of being the ones that stand around where the alcohol is." "Well, we are English," Charity countered, her voice almost on the verge of a pout. She hadn't thought they'd been standing there that long, and better to be the ones at the punch bowl, then sitting in a corner staring sorrowfully after everyone else. They stopped near the edge of the dance floor, mostly because Charity knew that if she sat down again, she'd likely forget all about the dancing. This way, she had convinced herself, they'd finish their drinks quickly, and then she could remind him. Alice's cousin Adelaide passed by them, grinning like she had some sort of inside joke as she passed by them. She gave a thumbs up to Doc before heading off to her giggling group. "You know, Doc, when I suggested someone younger..." Doc nodded to Addie as she walked by, unable to fault her for taking the chance as she saw it to do that. He noticed the young girl stop once reaching her own group across the room over the rim of his glass as he took a drink, but his attention was with Charity, still. He was more than able to keep cool, even despite wanting to laugh at the odd insert into their conversation that was Banges. A faint note of amusement was the most Doc had to offer around his drink. "Don't worry. I passed that advice along to Benj," he replied as he lowered his glass and nodded to Benjy Fenwick and his date, both of whom were spotted some moments before. "That was Addie Banges, by the way. You gave me that line about her before, remember? On the journals." "Oh, that was your fan then?" Charity's eyebrows rose as she watched the girl head back to the depths of youth. Ah, to be young again... Well, no, not quite. To look young would be better in Charity's mind. As it was, she didn't mind the crow's feet or the little laugh lines around her mouth. Most days, anyway. Another sip off her glass. "Nice to see her. Too bad she didn't stop to say hello. She looks thrilled, though, and I think I see girl-talk. She's got news. I've got five galleons that says it's a boy." Doc gave a modest shrug in response, as he was already into his drink when it was his turn to reply. "Just a regular," he offered. "She broke up with some bloke not long ago, but if she's smiling, then maybe something turned around for her." He didn't feel that broke any unwritten privacy laws about the information he gathered behind the counter being something to lock up tight and never speak a word of. Keeping it vague made for a comment that wouldn't incriminate anyone; whatever Remus Lupin had done was his own fault to contend with, after all. There was barely much left in his glass by then, and Doc swirled the drink, stalling slightly before finishing it off. "Good to see her smiling again, though." Charity set her glass on a nearby table, still listening to Doc as she did so. (Somewhat) summer weddings were always so nice. Everyone got to wear lighter clothing, and occasions seemed much less formal. It was September now, and soon everything would turn that hazy grey of winter. Cardiff was on the coast, and it rarely snowed, but everything sort of white-washed together during the winter months. Never one to put the blame on either party -- though she did tend to wonder what the girl had done, for obvious reason -- Charity deigned comment on the topic. "Hope those are dancing shoes, Doc." Sliding his glass -- he'd gotten the hang of how much force was needed to send drinks down the counter to the point that it was second-nature, no guessing needed -- Doc's lightly clinked into Charity's. He gave her a steady nod. Dancing or not, those shoes were heading to the floor as the sounds of some catchy pop tune blared overhead. "We'll find out in a moment," he returned as they found a clearing. And, naturally, that was when the song ended. Doc inclined his head a bit at the following quiet, looking to Charity as they waited for the next tune to start up. When it did, his heart dropped. Strings, light percussion... of course it would be a slow dance now that Doc and Charity were ready to join in. If Doc's heart dropped, Charity's was positively on the floor. Though it was irrational, she almost felt as if she'd somehow tricked him onto the dance floor, just for the music to turn into some typical wedding day love-fest. Even worse, the song was an oldie. Old enough to have been played at their wedding (though it was relatively new then). Standing around on the dance floor wasn't making anything less awkward. In fact, awkward seemed to be airborne. Glancing around at all the sudden couples, Charity made up her mind, albeit hesitantly. Swallowing, she stepped a little closer. Her arms rose a little, as if she was going to do something with them. Except she didn't, they sort of froze waist level and ended up smoothing down the front of her dress. "That's... fairly typical, isn't it?" "That we picked this song?" Doc asked, as he looked over to the DJ, wondering if it was somehow plotted. It had to be coincidence, but of all the songs in all the world and of all the times in the whole of eternity... They were simply that lucky. He pulled his focus back to Charity, watching her falter and then carry on as if she meant to fix her dress the whole time. She moved to him; he knew that was a step, and her hands nearly reached over. He couldn't possibly risk offering to step off and wait for another number -- it even sounded like a poor idea in his head, and he didn't want to discourage her if she was willing. Never mind that he was willing. "Yeah, I guess so." He extended a hand, giving her the chance to take it if she wanted to, trying to block out the pounding of his heart in his ears. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Not that he didn't wish it came down to that, but... her move, either way. She couldn't help the way her spirits suddenly plummeted, not when he looked so thoroughly unhappy about the situation as it turned out. Of course she knew that he wouldn't just walk off the dance floor, no matter the speed or tone of the song. But he would have held his hand out for anyone who happened to be on her side of the dance floor from him. Her hand was cold when she slipped it into his. At the instant of contact, the rest of the ballroom sort of came rushing at her at once, sounding all together too loud and too muffled as she stepped in as close as the music required (judging by the other couples). "This is... awkward. Next thing you know, we'll find out it's an episode of Candid Camera or something..." She wouldn't know that any hint of unhappiness she was reading was merely an effect of Doc's thinking that -- more than dragging her here -- he was once again putting her in a place she might not be comfortable with. He knew he was doing that a lot lately, but, Merlin help him, he didn't mean for this. He shifted his hand a small bit to properly make the fit of hers inside his clasp easier, and as was only customary, so had his other hand reached around her waist. "It's not all that bad," Doc ventured, trying to reassure her some. Himself, as well. "Besides... any minute now, we'll have someone of the Amos variety come romping onto the floor. Worst thing that can happen? We'll live." No, actually. The worst thing that could happen is that Death Eaters storm the place like they did Kings Cross, Charity thought, but refused to say out-loud. Doc's whimsical reply eased her slightly, and she forced herself to relax as they began to sway to the music. Her heart ached as she caught the scent of Doc's aftershave. "Therein lies the candid part of Candid Camera. Said Amos type would barrel through the dance floor, knocking people over and you'd end up Benjy on top of you. Or something." Conversation while dancing so close was more like whispering. No need to shout when Doc's ear was right there. At least they were moving in sync now, Doc considered. It was easy enough -- a step, a sway -- and the conversation was drawing away from any such feeling of oddness about dancing with his ex-wife when she'd been invited along not exactly as his date. Well, it sort of was. In all fairness, when Charity was on his mind like this, other feelings often took hold directly when the spots were freed up. He hoped it wasn't showing on his face too much that being this close was almost beginning to feel hopeful. If she looked up, he wouldn't know what to say for himself. Her voice at his ear wasn't helping on that front. "Benjy?" he asked, still keeping tabs on her words despite his thoughts. "Really? Out of everyone in this room, I'd have to go for the most unsettling..." A pause. "Barring Frank's mum." "At least Dung isn't here; Frank's mum is the least unsettling of the potentials," Charity said with a laugh, pulling back enough so she could make eye contact. The laughter nearly died when she caught his expression, however. Whatever else she might have said quickly vanished to the place all forgotten thoughts went when they died. She hadn't counted on doing more than giving him a small smile and returning to her place, and so their faces sort of hovered in-between. In-between what, she wasn't allowing herself to think on. She'd already taken advantage of him once; twice would cement her status as a Terrible Person. "What?" He would have snapped out of it immediately, but there truly wasn't anything to snap out of. In consciousness, Doc had allowed himself to almost visibly slump, and Charity knew his ticks too well. He shook his head at the question, aiming to cover it up: "I was only thinking of being taken down Frank's mother. It's not the most pleasant image." "Not that Dung would be any better," he added, hoping to press on would convince her. It wasn't his right to bring up what he was really thinking. Not by his call. It didn't convince her, but she let it drop almost as soon as she'd said anything at all. The last thing that she wanted to hear was something that would upset her. There was simply too much that would these days. The least of their problems was how she couldn't let it -- him -- go. "Dung would be funnier," she said without mirth, her chin once more over his shoulder. "And possibly more annoying." "Possibly," Doc echoed. An almost noticeable frown across his mouth had settled the moment Charity's eyes pulled away. His view was mostly that of other interlocked and swaying couples, looking entirely natural about the way each member was holding his or her partner. It was an odd place to be in, trying to be close and keep a distance. Doc shifted in, noting that when she'd asked what the matter was, both of them had habitually drifted away. "On second thought, I'll take Frank's mum," he added, although his mind was filled with thoughts kilometres off from that ridiculous point. The song would have to end sooner or later, and in all honesty, Doc didn't know how he felt about it. "At least she's a woman." Weddings were supposed to be happy occasions, but so close to the entire month of August was draining. Still, anything for a little happiness was a good thing. This awkwardness with Doc would go away, Charity was sure, once he'd settled into the house, made her old room for his own. And if she could get over this whole wishing, hoping, thinking thing with him. Other couples looked infinitely happier to be dancing with one another, including the beaming bride and groom, and in her people-watching, she hadn't realised that she was leaning in closer to Doc as they swayed. It was definitely getting to that point where the replies were short, almost meaningless. "Yeah," Doc answered distractedly, all too aware that the gap between himself and Charity was closing now without his help. In an effort to keep their clasped hands from oddly jutting out, and he coaxed her to pull the conjoined set in. The song would be winding down momentarily, and they'd split apart. Back to distances. Doc felt guilty for taking this chance, but it wasn't going to last. Charity rested her chin on the hand at his shoulder. Instead of fighting whatever she was feeling for him, she let herself. Just for ten seconds or however long there was left until the music was over. With her eyes closed, she could almost imagine they were the last ones left at their wedding, still dancing together out on the floor when everyone else was vanishing two-by-two. And just as she was about mention it, to say something honest about what was going on between them, the music came to a close. There were a few more seconds that Doc held on, even as the music cut into something with a bit more zip and zest. Her head almost on his shoulder, him having nearly composed his arms into an embrace around her... but the moment was gone as the rest of the world sped up, and there wasn't any holding on the past. Doc broke away with a step back, trying to figure out where things ought to go from there, but drawing up short of an answer. "I think I see Frank and Alice over there," he eventually managed. "I'd better go offer them my congratulations... before they get swamped again." Clearing her throat, Charity dropped her hands to her side and stepped back, giving him a clean shot toward the bride and groom. There wasn't much else to say (that could actually be said), and she was (mostly) back to her usual self again. She gave him a small smile. "Better go before someone else beats you to the punch. Metaphorical, not the punch table." There was a brief nod from Doc, and he hesitated, looking entirely reluctant to leave her there despite that she shifted away to grant him passage. In a snap, he made up his mind. "Come with," he managed as he nodded for her to step with him. "And check dancing and socialising off the to-do list. Wild party for us, isn't it?" |