There was something oddly alluring about the scent of stale alcohol and the wretched tang of sweat. Fabian didn’t particularly like either smell, but it was what places like these allowed that he had come to love. These little dive bars, hidden between prominent shops or down precarious back alleyways, were a place of refuge. No one inside the dingy bar expected anything from him. The bartender did not expect some grand performance, the patrons did not need his protection nor his loyalty, instead he could simply be.
In his current state, Fabian wasn’t all that exciting. He scarcely had the energy to lift the beer to his lips, but he liked that no one here expected him to do so. He didn’t have to say cheers or keep up with the others. Instead, he could watch the bubbles that formed in his glass. He could mourn Dumbledore’s loss in peace. Hell, he could consider what the fuck had happened to him that had fucked him up so badly. Had he been put together wrong? Or had that Slytherin boy really done so much damage that even now, even years later, he still hadn’t managed to recover from the attack that he’d endured in his youth? Here, in a bar whose name didn’t matter, he could be whoever he wished to be.
No matter how sad or lonely, angry or stubborn, joyous or heartbroken, he could be himself. To unmask himself, to let his shoulders slump, was something of a gift.
All of that changed, however, when Aurora had stepped into the little bar. There was something strange about her presence, a feeling that she was out of place here, and Fabian wanted to shield her from this shitty little bar. She didn’t need to see him like this, to have the bartender glower at her, nor the other patrons ogling at her from across the bar. She was too good for a place like this. Admittedly, he didn’t know Aurora, but he felt certain that no one deserved to be inside of a place like this unless they were as desperate and forlorn as he was.
And, selfishly, he wanted to keep the delicious loneliness all to himself.
He watched without another word as she settled into the seat across from him, trying not to make his discomfort apparent. It was so damn hard to hide when his companions stared him straight in the face. How could one possibly lie when his eyes, his every little twitch, showed what he truly felt? Fabian tried his best to put his guard up, forcing his smile to grow just a little bit wider as she settled in there, and he let his chin rest in his hand atop the table. Was this what casual looked like? He’d very nearly forgotten after all of this time. Would she be able to tell that he was merely an actor (and not a particularly good one at that)?
“To unsettle me?” He laughed and shook his head slightly. The corners of his eyes crinkled, his lips turned upward, but there was no light in his eyes. Not as there had once been anyway. “I’m afraid to tell you, Aurora, that it’ll take a lot more than a familiar face to unsettle me.” A pause, and then he added in a confidential tone. “Not unless Bellatrix Lestrange walked in to this bleeding bar…” He grinned, trying his best to appear conspiratorial, and he glanced sideways at the door as though he expected just that to happen. “Seems we’re in luck,” he added and then leaned back.
“What would you like? This one’s on me.” The offer was meant to be kind, generous even, but there was more selfish reason behind it. If she was a bit drunk, tipsy even, maybe she would consider his stilted motions, his acting, as mere oddity. Better to be odd than to be miserable, after all.
Aurora was used to making people uncomfortable. Therefore, it shouldn’t hurt that she did so now, and when it did, she only grew more furious with herself. How was it, she wondered, that every human interaction was incredibly confusing and draining? There were so few people she talked to without difficulty ( terror, her mind supplied, but she rarely faced that truth ) that she wondered, for a moment, if it was wise to talk at all.
Unspeakable, they called her.
In that moment she almost coveted the word.
The only thing that overcame her social... dislike, of course, was her drive to see things through. To accomplish her goals, however small, was essential to her being. She pressed on, positive she was going to have nightmares about her own foolhardiness and yet, as always, unwilling to waver. Fabian made a good enough showing, of course; it was his eyes that did him in. Even she, not quite adept at people most of the time, could see it.
Aurora couldn’t help but be pleased he’d remembered her name; that vain animal in her chest settled a bit at the sound of it. ❝ Good, ❞ she said decisively, because it was. A soldier who was unsettled was often dead, and Fabian carried himself like a soldier, though of course, she could never be sure. It was... something in the way he walked, some long-formed habit that told those around him to stay close. That if anything were to happen, he would pull them behind him in an instant.
A quality she’d never possessed,
and one she might not have valued in anyone else.
She mirrored his body language, unable to figure out ‘casual’ on her own but understanding that he knew best how to put others at ease. Her head was tilted slightly into her palm, her fingers occasionally tapping on her cheek as she studied him. She hadn’t allowed herself to look this long before; she was shocked by how intense he seemed, how withdrawn and warm at the same time.
Aurora clapped her other hand over her mouth as she laughed, surprised. It was rare that someone managed to make her laugh at all; and considering her teeth, she had long-since perfected the close-lipped smile. It was just that the thought of someone like Bellatrix Lestrange walking into a place like this was so absurd that she had to laugh, caught off guard at the image of her sheer loathing and distaste his words invoked. ❝ No Lestrange would be caught dead in here, ❞ she agreed, ❝ or is that not the point of coming ? ❞
While Aurora got on fine with the other two Black sisters, to varying degrees, Bellatrix had always seemed far too disorderly for her tastes. When one was not sure what to expect, one was never safe, and that applied all too well to Bellatrix Lestrange.
At the offer of a drink, she shook her head, though a sense of longing swept through her anyway. It was not alcohol she craved, not really; it was the flavor that so often spiced it in her home. The rich flavor of a dash of blood paired with just the right wine was more succulent than she thought most humans would ever understand, and nearly a month away from her last feeding, she nearly pricked her tongue against the small, sharp points of her teeth.
Still, she declined, attempting to blame it on snobbery. ❝ I don’t really think they’d have a vintage that suits, ❞ Aurora answered, ❝ and they wouldn’t take kindly to me summoning one from the family cellar. I would, however, buy you one instead; that was my original purpose, I think. ❞ If her skin was not so dark, he might have caught the way her face warmed at the slip — she wasn’t supposed to mention getting distracted from her original goal by watching his eyes for signs of emotional turmoil. But then, he’d always been a most fascinating study; if pressed, she would admit to that much.
