Playing the Cards You're Dealt
Who: Charlie Weasley
When: Late Afternoon of 23 February, 2001
Where: Covent Garden, London
Status: Complete
Polyjuice didn't keep forever, especially when toted around in a too-large rucksack by a man who seemed to find trouble as easily as another man would find a nice place for an early supper. Which this just happened to be; The Spice of Life was a fairly popular pub that he had occasionally frequented when he was younger and more apt to be filled with the sort of misguided adventure young wizards seemed to have when around muggles. It had seemed dangerous at the time, a great risk to drink a pint or two where non-magical folk could see you... but now it seemed like perfect guise.
He really didn't need to be polyjuiced.
It wasn't really about the disguise, he rationalized, but about the feeling of being in someone else's skin for a few hours. Even if the thick potion tasted foul going down. Even if the tight feel of this other man's flesh made him squirm a little, and his pants no longer fit quite right. It was nothing a few pints couldn't help. And by the look he gave himself in the mirror that stood behind the bar, he could use some help.
The man had been an almost random choice; indeed, it had been on a flight of paranoid whimsy that he'd decided to whip up a batch of polyjuice potion in the first place. And now it sloshed around in a beaker he'd pinched from someone's bin, plugged up by an old wine cork.
Now he was all white hair and too-thin cheeks, with eyes that bulged from sockets set wide apart. Queerly colorless, eager eyes that seemed to demand answers for who-the-hell knows what questions. But their heights were vaguely the same, give or take a centimeter, and he seemed to fit in well with the local crowd of darkly dressed youth and old beatniks.
It felt good.
After a few drinks, he stood with a his half-finished pint, and wandered from the bar to find a an empty table. A kid was warming up on the piano, playing snippets of popular songs thrown in with a goodly amount of improvisation. He liked the sound. And with the promise of a jazz band to follow, he was loath to move.
In the meantime, however, he broke out an old tarot deck and began to shuffle smoothly from hand to hand. He didn't actually know how to read the cards, but all the same he liked the pictures, the promises of fate outlined with simplicity, yet veiled in shrouds of subtlety in every little detail. It appealed to him on an inner level he hardly understood. It was just like being able to sit in a pub on a Friday evening as someone else - it was freedom. Another thing he didn't have to worry about. He liked his tarot, and that was that.
Idly he dealt the cards in lines, playing a sort of nonsensical solitaire that depended on his mood just as much as any sort of rules he'd come up with. Overall, it really didn't require that he watched his cards, though he did glance once as the man on the piano began to play something slow and nice, setting the mood for the room.
"Hey... want to read my fortune?"
He jumped slightly, but gave the woman who'd approached his table a warm smile to cover it. "I don't think I could, to be honest."
"You can't, or you won't?" She smiled, giving him a mischievous look as she brushed short black hair behind her ear.
"Can't. I'm afraid I've never learned how." He returned the smile, but his was a little more wary.
She regarded him for a moment before grabbing a chair from a nearby table, and flipping it around. She sat on it backwards, and gave the cards laid out the table an appraising glance. "Certainly looks like you know how." She clucked her tongue, and gave him a look from beneath the cover of very fetching bangs. "Tell you what. Read my cards, and I'll buy us both drinks?"
He smiled, willing to play along. "Alright then. Um... first thing, tell me your name."
She laughed, leaning forward. "Nope. Read it in my cards."
"If you say so..." He rolled his eyes dramatically as he gathered up the deck, and shuffled it. "But only on the condition that I get to walk you home should the spirits decide to commune tonight."
She laughed, and put her hand out. "It's a deal. Pinky swear?"
"Pinky swear." He stuck the littlest finger of his right hand out and hooked hers, shaking firmly. "Now to business, eh?"
With a theatrical flourish, he tossed the cards from one hand to the other, then dealt five face down in rapid succession. With a thumb and a forefinger, he flipped the first one a little, so that he could see it and she couldn't. "Hmmm. Interesting." He gave her a sidelong look. "Huh. I think I may have something... just a moment..." He played at putting the card to his forehead, and humming deep within his chest. The girl laughed, smacking his hand lightly.
"C'mon... stop it. I paid good money for this."
He grinned, and set the card face up, then flipped the others as well. For some reason it didn't feel quite right, so he dealt another card, this time face up. "Lets see... The two of Wands, The Empress, The Knight of Cups, The Hanged Man, The seven of Cups... and the Hermit." He frowned for a moment, trailing off. Something wasn't right. He looked at the cards, the smiling girl, and the cards again. "Love... did you come here alone tonight?"
She gave him a playful look, "Depends on how you'd like to leave."
He shook his head, and grabbed her hand across the table, "No. I'm serious. Did you come alone?"
She laughed nervously. "Cor... I don't think I ought to answer that. Actually, I ought to go. Um, thanks." She tried to stand, but he had a firm grasp on her wrist, and pulled her back down.
"No. I'm not fucking kidding. Or... or being a creep. I've got a feeling." He looked at her scared face for a moment, looked away, then looked back. "I think someone's following you, yeah?"
She returned the gaze, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh, really... and I suppose now you're going to be the hero and walk me home. Or better yet, walk me halfway there, with a stop in an alley or sommat halfway along to rape me and slit my throat and make off with my money HELP THIS MAN IS GOING TO RAPE ME!" She pulled away violently, managing to break his grip, sending tarot cards flying everywhere. The man on the piano stopped on a discordant chord, and everyone watched as the girl hastily shouldered her bag and walked out the doors into the early evening, her face white. He made to follow, but a burly man stood from the bar and barred his way.
"Oh, no you don't. May be she's telling the truth, may be you're her lad, and she's fed up with you. If that's the case, runnin' after her will do you no good, boy. And if the first one's right, I'd rather die than know I could've stopped a thing." The man gave him a look to end all looks, and pushed him toward the bar. "Now have another drink or two, and if you're still keen on gettin' the girl, have at it.
He didn't have time for this.
With twitch of his arm, his wand came to hand, and with another flick he sent a stunning spell crashing into the burly man's abdomen. He went reeling backwards, hitting the bar and slumping to the ground in a long, smooth movement. Charlie set to gathering up his tarot cards, stuffing them into his pocket and running through the door before anyone could react.
He was suddenly in very deep shite.
The girl had gone left after leaving the pub, and Charlie ran that way, wishing he hadn't drunk so much. It felt as it were all threatening to come back up, both because of the sudden exertion, and the knot of dread that seemed to be lodged in his intestines. He knew where she was going. He knew because it was the same place he'd run if he were her, running from a strange man with violently white hair and buggy eyes.
He knew because... well, he just knew. The same way he knew she was in danger. It was stark certainty that frightened him with a positive knowledge, stronger than belief. Stronger than opinion or faith or anything else that couldn't be proved... this was truth. This was how things were going to be.
The knot in his stomach tightened as he hurled himself down the stairs, hopping the turnstile to the sound of a surprised policewoman and incredulous people. Down another flight of stairs, and onto the tube platform. His eyes darted wildly, searching the milling crowd of people waiting for the next train. He didn't see her. The knot tightened, and he began to shove his way through the sea of muggles, eyes darting everywhere. She was here. He knew it. He felt it now, just as he'd felt it in that one horrifyingly clear moment at the pub. Right... oh God.
He began to run, shoving people aside, trying to make headway. The sound of the train approaching sounded from some distant curve, and the crowd turned as one in expectation, making it harder to push his way through. To her. To her and the man who had her gripped by the arms, holding her against him in what looked to be a sick pretense of lovers embracing. And only a few feet from the tracks.
A solitary light came 'round the bend, and as Charlie fought the crowd, he watched as the man pushed, as the girl with the dark hair and lovely eyes stumbled backward, trying to catch her balance on the curb. Watched as she fell.
No.
A woman cried out, a boy laughed, and for a moment Charlie watched as a man with a briefcase looked on incredulously, as if women falling on the tracks were a personal affront to him and his normally gore-less life.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" It came out in a rush, poorly inflected, but good enough to lift the woman in the air, and set her feet back on the concrete. The train passed a hairsbreadth behind her, screeching to a stop. The doors opened with a rush of air, and people piled out and people piled in and she simply stood. The man who'd held her took a frantic look around, turned, and began to work his way through the crowd, away from his failure.
His aim was surely to escape. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Charlie. Who was smiling darkly. His wand flicked out, and with a whisper, "Petrificus Totalus." The man looked surprised as he fell forward, totally rigid. Charlie caught him, and dragged him through the crowd to a bench. The policewoman from before saw him, and narrowed her eyes. When they came together, he simply tipped the man into her arms. "He's had some kind of seizure, I think. Got to run!" He turned, and made his way back to the train just as the doors began to slide shut. Grabbing the girl by the arm as he passed, he pulled them both onto the train, into the press of bodies inside.
"Lets get you home, yeah?"
When: Late Afternoon of 23 February, 2001
Where: Covent Garden, London
Status: Complete
Polyjuice didn't keep forever, especially when toted around in a too-large rucksack by a man who seemed to find trouble as easily as another man would find a nice place for an early supper. Which this just happened to be; The Spice of Life was a fairly popular pub that he had occasionally frequented when he was younger and more apt to be filled with the sort of misguided adventure young wizards seemed to have when around muggles. It had seemed dangerous at the time, a great risk to drink a pint or two where non-magical folk could see you... but now it seemed like perfect guise.
He really didn't need to be polyjuiced.
It wasn't really about the disguise, he rationalized, but about the feeling of being in someone else's skin for a few hours. Even if the thick potion tasted foul going down. Even if the tight feel of this other man's flesh made him squirm a little, and his pants no longer fit quite right. It was nothing a few pints couldn't help. And by the look he gave himself in the mirror that stood behind the bar, he could use some help.
The man had been an almost random choice; indeed, it had been on a flight of paranoid whimsy that he'd decided to whip up a batch of polyjuice potion in the first place. And now it sloshed around in a beaker he'd pinched from someone's bin, plugged up by an old wine cork.
Now he was all white hair and too-thin cheeks, with eyes that bulged from sockets set wide apart. Queerly colorless, eager eyes that seemed to demand answers for who-the-hell knows what questions. But their heights were vaguely the same, give or take a centimeter, and he seemed to fit in well with the local crowd of darkly dressed youth and old beatniks.
It felt good.
After a few drinks, he stood with a his half-finished pint, and wandered from the bar to find a an empty table. A kid was warming up on the piano, playing snippets of popular songs thrown in with a goodly amount of improvisation. He liked the sound. And with the promise of a jazz band to follow, he was loath to move.
In the meantime, however, he broke out an old tarot deck and began to shuffle smoothly from hand to hand. He didn't actually know how to read the cards, but all the same he liked the pictures, the promises of fate outlined with simplicity, yet veiled in shrouds of subtlety in every little detail. It appealed to him on an inner level he hardly understood. It was just like being able to sit in a pub on a Friday evening as someone else - it was freedom. Another thing he didn't have to worry about. He liked his tarot, and that was that.
Idly he dealt the cards in lines, playing a sort of nonsensical solitaire that depended on his mood just as much as any sort of rules he'd come up with. Overall, it really didn't require that he watched his cards, though he did glance once as the man on the piano began to play something slow and nice, setting the mood for the room.
"Hey... want to read my fortune?"
He jumped slightly, but gave the woman who'd approached his table a warm smile to cover it. "I don't think I could, to be honest."
"You can't, or you won't?" She smiled, giving him a mischievous look as she brushed short black hair behind her ear.
"Can't. I'm afraid I've never learned how." He returned the smile, but his was a little more wary.
She regarded him for a moment before grabbing a chair from a nearby table, and flipping it around. She sat on it backwards, and gave the cards laid out the table an appraising glance. "Certainly looks like you know how." She clucked her tongue, and gave him a look from beneath the cover of very fetching bangs. "Tell you what. Read my cards, and I'll buy us both drinks?"
He smiled, willing to play along. "Alright then. Um... first thing, tell me your name."
She laughed, leaning forward. "Nope. Read it in my cards."
"If you say so..." He rolled his eyes dramatically as he gathered up the deck, and shuffled it. "But only on the condition that I get to walk you home should the spirits decide to commune tonight."
She laughed, and put her hand out. "It's a deal. Pinky swear?"
"Pinky swear." He stuck the littlest finger of his right hand out and hooked hers, shaking firmly. "Now to business, eh?"
With a theatrical flourish, he tossed the cards from one hand to the other, then dealt five face down in rapid succession. With a thumb and a forefinger, he flipped the first one a little, so that he could see it and she couldn't. "Hmmm. Interesting." He gave her a sidelong look. "Huh. I think I may have something... just a moment..." He played at putting the card to his forehead, and humming deep within his chest. The girl laughed, smacking his hand lightly.
"C'mon... stop it. I paid good money for this."
He grinned, and set the card face up, then flipped the others as well. For some reason it didn't feel quite right, so he dealt another card, this time face up. "Lets see... The two of Wands, The Empress, The Knight of Cups, The Hanged Man, The seven of Cups... and the Hermit." He frowned for a moment, trailing off. Something wasn't right. He looked at the cards, the smiling girl, and the cards again. "Love... did you come here alone tonight?"
She gave him a playful look, "Depends on how you'd like to leave."
He shook his head, and grabbed her hand across the table, "No. I'm serious. Did you come alone?"
She laughed nervously. "Cor... I don't think I ought to answer that. Actually, I ought to go. Um, thanks." She tried to stand, but he had a firm grasp on her wrist, and pulled her back down.
"No. I'm not fucking kidding. Or... or being a creep. I've got a feeling." He looked at her scared face for a moment, looked away, then looked back. "I think someone's following you, yeah?"
She returned the gaze, cocking an eyebrow. "Oh, really... and I suppose now you're going to be the hero and walk me home. Or better yet, walk me halfway there, with a stop in an alley or sommat halfway along to rape me and slit my throat and make off with my money HELP THIS MAN IS GOING TO RAPE ME!" She pulled away violently, managing to break his grip, sending tarot cards flying everywhere. The man on the piano stopped on a discordant chord, and everyone watched as the girl hastily shouldered her bag and walked out the doors into the early evening, her face white. He made to follow, but a burly man stood from the bar and barred his way.
"Oh, no you don't. May be she's telling the truth, may be you're her lad, and she's fed up with you. If that's the case, runnin' after her will do you no good, boy. And if the first one's right, I'd rather die than know I could've stopped a thing." The man gave him a look to end all looks, and pushed him toward the bar. "Now have another drink or two, and if you're still keen on gettin' the girl, have at it.
He didn't have time for this.
With twitch of his arm, his wand came to hand, and with another flick he sent a stunning spell crashing into the burly man's abdomen. He went reeling backwards, hitting the bar and slumping to the ground in a long, smooth movement. Charlie set to gathering up his tarot cards, stuffing them into his pocket and running through the door before anyone could react.
He was suddenly in very deep shite.
The girl had gone left after leaving the pub, and Charlie ran that way, wishing he hadn't drunk so much. It felt as it were all threatening to come back up, both because of the sudden exertion, and the knot of dread that seemed to be lodged in his intestines. He knew where she was going. He knew because it was the same place he'd run if he were her, running from a strange man with violently white hair and buggy eyes.
He knew because... well, he just knew. The same way he knew she was in danger. It was stark certainty that frightened him with a positive knowledge, stronger than belief. Stronger than opinion or faith or anything else that couldn't be proved... this was truth. This was how things were going to be.
The knot in his stomach tightened as he hurled himself down the stairs, hopping the turnstile to the sound of a surprised policewoman and incredulous people. Down another flight of stairs, and onto the tube platform. His eyes darted wildly, searching the milling crowd of people waiting for the next train. He didn't see her. The knot tightened, and he began to shove his way through the sea of muggles, eyes darting everywhere. She was here. He knew it. He felt it now, just as he'd felt it in that one horrifyingly clear moment at the pub. Right... oh God.
He began to run, shoving people aside, trying to make headway. The sound of the train approaching sounded from some distant curve, and the crowd turned as one in expectation, making it harder to push his way through. To her. To her and the man who had her gripped by the arms, holding her against him in what looked to be a sick pretense of lovers embracing. And only a few feet from the tracks.
A solitary light came 'round the bend, and as Charlie fought the crowd, he watched as the man pushed, as the girl with the dark hair and lovely eyes stumbled backward, trying to catch her balance on the curb. Watched as she fell.
No.
A woman cried out, a boy laughed, and for a moment Charlie watched as a man with a briefcase looked on incredulously, as if women falling on the tracks were a personal affront to him and his normally gore-less life.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" It came out in a rush, poorly inflected, but good enough to lift the woman in the air, and set her feet back on the concrete. The train passed a hairsbreadth behind her, screeching to a stop. The doors opened with a rush of air, and people piled out and people piled in and she simply stood. The man who'd held her took a frantic look around, turned, and began to work his way through the crowd, away from his failure.
His aim was surely to escape. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with Charlie. Who was smiling darkly. His wand flicked out, and with a whisper, "Petrificus Totalus." The man looked surprised as he fell forward, totally rigid. Charlie caught him, and dragged him through the crowd to a bench. The policewoman from before saw him, and narrowed her eyes. When they came together, he simply tipped the man into her arms. "He's had some kind of seizure, I think. Got to run!" He turned, and made his way back to the train just as the doors began to slide shut. Grabbing the girl by the arm as he passed, he pulled them both onto the train, into the press of bodies inside.
"Lets get you home, yeah?"