Emmeline was confused. Everything was just confusing. Why was this man being so nice? He didn't even know her. Knew nothing of her other than her name and that she was likely a drunk. She wasn't, but how was he to know that. He'd found her crying on the ground and then she'd stumbled and clearly given away her drunken state. It just..didn't make sense.

And of course, her mind started whirling with all the possible outcomes as to why he was helping. Obviously there was some sort of ulterior motive. There always was with men, she was quickly coming to find out.

She looked up to him, glaring somewhat despite the watery eyes. She didn't know if he could even see her with whatever he'd done. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice a little quivery as she tried not to cry but there was still a hardness to it likely not expected to come from her.

---

He felt her body tense as she refused to move and felt her body shift, her voice quivered as if she was about to break down again. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have made her invisible but this was a slight overreaction. Waving his wand toward Emmeline, he uttered ‘finite’ under his breath and then did the same to himself. Then he took a step back and shrugged, “I thought it’d be easier to get you home.”

Pausing for a moment, Charles turned toward where they’d come from and then back to her, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Miss Woodcroft. I can leave. I’m just not one to leave someone in a situation where harm could get to them. But if you do want me to go, I will.” He said firmly though the concern in his voice practically dripped from his words.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this himself but he was sure was that if he’d left her and something had happened, it would be on his conscience. He wasn’t a good person by any stretch of the mark, but he was the kind to help. After all, was that not part of why he wanted to be an Auror? Not that he had been able to become one, mind you.

Apparently he didn’t have the right personality for one.

---

Emmeline shook her head. She didn't care about the disillusionment charm. That was hardly an issue. It had been a good idea. It was the kindness he was showing her. It didn't make sense. As much as she had liked to believe the good in people, she'd quickly begun to learn that it just wasn't true. People weren't all good. Strangers didn't go out of their way to help other strangers when they were clearly losing it. Her best friend, yes she'd probably considered Handsome her best friend, had plied her with firewhiskey then kissed her. A lot. And it wasn't because he liked her, she couldn't believe that. And now this stranger was insisting on walking her home with his jacket around her. It was making her head hurt, all of the confusion.

"It's not that," she said quickly, still looking up at him, "Why are you being so nice? It doesn't make any sense. You don't even know me."

---

“And I don’t know half the people I meet,” he shrugged. What did it matter if they knew one another? It didn’t seem to matter when he’d saved that boy from that man who seemed intent on causing nothing but pain. It didn’t seem to matter when he met the dark wizard who gave him his first scar. And it certainly didn’t matter when he wandered into The Three Broomsticks a few months ago and smashed a glass over some fat guys face, “doesn’t mean I can’t be nice. And anyway, being nice isn’t something you should think about doing. You should just… erm, be. I guess. Be nice, I mean.”

He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in that moment and decided to move to a nearby bench, shaking his head a little. What on earth had she been through that caused her to think being nice was a privilege? Sitting on the bench and putting his wand away, Charles watched her mannerisms. Her behaviour. He was trying to figure it out.

So this night surmounted with her crying because of her friend – and she’d been drinking. His temples flared and he exhaled deeply, gripping the air against the bench. Ex-best friend. Alcohol. Uncontrollable sobs because of it.

Charles knew what men were like when they’d been drinking. He knew what he was like and though he was most definitely not the best man to be around when he’d been drinking, he would never do that.

“Have you been hurt?” He asked bluntly.

---

It still clearly wasn't sitting right with Emmeline. She watched him cautiously and seemed to keep her gaze on him no matter what, even as he moved further away from where she was to sit on the bench. She didn't move. At least not right away. She stood there, clutching his jacket around her petite frame to try and maintain as much warmth as she possibly could. It wasn't enough. She was starting to wonder if it would ever be enough.

She looked sharply at him when he asked if she'd been hurt. She felt her eyes burning again but she didn't want to cry so she simply shook her head no in response at first. But, she had. In a way anyways. She'd likely never speak to Handsome again. Even if his motives hadn't been what she'd thrown at him, what had happened between them had ruined any chance of a friendship. It would be tainted and awkward no matter what happened.

With a sigh, she wandered over to the bench and sat down on it with a humph but made sure she was at least on the other end of it. "No," she finally said, tipping her head back to look up at the sky, "Not really. I apparently focus on the negative and ruin everything." A bit melodramatic, perhaps, but she certainly felt it was the truth.

---

No, she had said and if those words weren’t enough, her very animated shake of her head spoke to him. Screamed at him what she was trying to say.

No, said the boy to stealing the toy as it fell out of his pocket.
No, said the man to falling over as he stood up from the ground.
No, said the girl stood before the Hit Wizard as her eyes were red with tears.

He hadn’t trained as a Hit Wizard for nothing; he hadn’t followed those training to become aurors in the hopes of one day becoming one himself. He knew people; he could see them. He understood people and when they said no twice, though in very different ways, within the space of a few seconds in the way she was saying it; without so much as a prompt to say it more than once, it was clear as day you usually meant the exact opposite.

Thou dost protest too much, methinks.

Had she said no and left it at that, he wouldn't have pressed on. But she hadn't.

Frowning a little, Charles turned on the bench and watched her closely, “Rather, you highlight the bad to sweeten the good.” He shrugged.

Sometimes it was necessary to shed light on the dark to see the detail in its shapes. It was important to bring to surface the dreadful things, Charles thought, because if you didn’t; they would grow. You had to look at them sometimes, point them out, and say ‘This is bad, but I can make it better’.

Add a bit of white paint to a black ball and the ball won’t be black anymore.

“Did he tell you that? What else did he say?” He asked, if nothing more than to comfort the girl so she wasn’t in such a state when she got home.

And when she did, maybe he’d finally get his drink and find the bastard who thought it funny to reduce a girl to tears.

---

Another sigh. Emmeline didn't really want to get into it. He wouldn't understand. He probably thought her some silly girl who didn't know how to control her drinking. Which, in truth, she didn't. She'd never drank before and she'd just as much admitted that to Handsome. But did she really want to tell him all of this. This..complete stranger. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. She'd never see him again, after all.

"No," she answered again but she didn't move from where she was or from the way her head was tilted back to look at the stars.

"He asked if I wanted a drink," she started, shrugging slightly, "I figured why not. What harm would one do? Firewhiskey is awful if you didn't know." She was smirking at that, a soft laugh even at the thought of just how awful it was. "Anyways, one turned to four. And then we were walking away and talking," she continued, fighting the urge to cry as she thought about it all again, "But then we weren't. And he was kissing me and I was kissing him back. It was fine, really. Until he told me he liked me."

She sat up abruptly and looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "Surely you don't want to hear all of this," she said, waving her hands to emphasize what she was saying, "A bunch of trivial, nonsensical silly school girl drivel."

---

Charles listened. And it wasn’t the kind of listening one did just so they could get through the conversation and await their turn to speak, it was the kind of listening one did when they wanted to know what was going on and were genuinely interested. It was the kind of listening that Charles responded to with nods and a quick shift in his stature, though no words. However much he wanted to remark on her drinking firewhiskey.

Not that he cared if she was drinking but it was firewhiskey. To him, it tasted like what imagined charcoal mixed with water and then put through a strainer and set on fire, thrown in the trash, and allowed the juices to set for a few days before bottling it tasted like. To cut a long story short; she’d made a terrible choice. Muggle rum was much better; the navy rum he’d often found in London. Now that was the good stuff.

“Trivial, nonsensical silly school girl drivel that has clearly caused you a great deal of upset, Miss Woodcroft,” He huffed lightly, “Of course I want to listen and I shan’t be happy until I’m content you have calmed yourself down.” Shifting in his seat a little, Charles narrowed his eyes slightly before sighing, “What happened once he’d made his… feelings clear? Were they feelings or intentions?”

Truth be told, Charles could feel his blood beginning to boil at the thought that someone may have tried to take advantage of this girl – or any girl for that matter. He may not have been on any interrogation or investigation team within the Ministry, but his job was different and sought after in its own unique way. Disposing and despatching of… undesirables was part of his job. Sometimes.

Now he really wanted a drink and the temptation came out in the form of him scratching at the back of his hand casually.

---

Emmeline laughed. She'd gone and made a mess of things further by being rude is what had happened next. And then he'd gotten mad. Whether what she had said had been true or not, she didn't really know. She'd left. That had been it.

"I called him a liar," she said with a simple shrug, "There had been other girls throughout the school year so clearly if he really did like me I was nothing special." And that hurt. He knew personally how she'd felt about Mr. MacFusty. Knew how insecure she'd been about it all so if he really had had feelings, he'd gone about it all wrong. He should have known better.

"And then I told him that he only said that cause he thought working class girls were easy skirts," she said, finally looking away from him, her cheeks blushing, "That he probably thought if he got me with child he could just pay me to go away and that would be that." She'd been cruel and while she hoped it wasn't actually true of him, that Handsome was better than that, she couldn't help that part of her mind that thought it was true.

---

Charles nodded with her words about the other girls. He wished he could empathize but the extent of his romantic adventures typically ended with an empty bottle, blurry vision, and some knickers in his bed. No face, usually. Or name. Hair colour? Who even knew.

Her next words however, caused an audible laugh to escape his lips. That was exactly the kind of wit he’d seen coming out of his mothers mouth on occasion but never from a girl like this. It actually had brightened his mood a little and as quickly as they came, all thoughts of the other man and what he could have done had subsided. It was drunken arguments. Oh, those were always fun.

Especially with his brother, Charles mused.

“I’ve said similar to my brother,” He nodded, “Sad thing is, he agreed with me.” Charles sighed and looked to the floor, his hands now picking at his clothes.

“So I punched him.”

His gaze then turned back to Emmeline, “Never said it again, though. But you’ll be fine. Alcohol makes people say things they don’t mean. And feel things, too. I should know.”

---

Emmeline was still very much blushing but his laugh made her smile. She looked up to him with that smile, quite liking his laugh. But..then again, the alcohol had made her think a lot of things so she didn't really know what was real anymore. And then the thought of not seeing this guy again hit her. It didn't matter what she really thought of him because surely they wouldn't see each other again.

"I don't know," she answered, "The look on his face." She shuddered slightly at the thought. He'd been mad. And then she'd left.

"And then you know the rest," she added with a shrug, "I ran from the Three Broomsticks which, by the way, I will never go to again. It's clearly bad luck for my family. And now we're here. Sitting on a cold bench in the middle of the night." She took in a deep breath and blew it back out, blowing the stray strands of hair that had fallen into her face in the process. "Such a lovely night," she said, her tone dry and sarcastic, "I'm sure it's exactly what you pictured it be like, is it not?"

---

The Three Broomsticks? Bad luck? He was going to come back to this. That pub was perhaps his most favourite pub he’d ever been to. How on earth could it have been bad luck? Well, Charles supposed, every time he’d gone he had lost half of his night but could that have been considered bad luck or simply happy moments left in the dark? Who was to know? Not Charles, he was often blacked out.

He hadn’t been in about two months though and had been hoping to go but this… this was a nice alternative. It was a kind of nice feeling helping a drunk sober up a little. He didn’t want to make a habit of it though: actually getting drunk was far better though this company was enjoyable.

“Honest? I was on my way to The Three Broomsticks for a beer but I’m glad to have bumped into you if nothing less than to ensure you were home safe,” he said as he kicked himself up from the bench, “and speaking of, you ought to get home. It is late and cold – like you said.”

Holding out his arm once again for her to take, “How far to go? I don’t want people talking. Gossip. And I won’t charm you again . Mostly ‘cause – because - I hate the feeling.”

---

Emmeline felt a bit guilty about ruining his night. She was grateful to him, truly. But she doubted she'd get the chance to repay him in anyway. It would be a one night thing. Not a legitimate one night stand as her skirts had still stayed down to her ankles, thank you very much. But, she had to admit, she was quite pleased with the turnout.

She stood up with a smile and took his arm. "Not much further," she said, "Just a couple blocks down the road. And when we get there, you're taking your jacket back." She wasn't going to keep a man's jacket under any circumstances. Especially if they never saw each other again.

---

With Emmeline having linked arms with him, Charles smiled politely, “Of course.”

For all the things his night was turning into, the Hit Wizard was quite pleased he’d found this girl. He said he’d stay until she had calmed herself down and if that meant sitting on a cold bench late at night whilst she did so, then he was more than happy to do it. He wasn’t even bothered that his fingertips felt a little numb.

Once she’d gestured for him to stop and looked over to her house, Charles nodded and smiled, “Well, it was lovely to meet you, Miss Woodcroft. And don’t fret over your friend – he will see sense.” He smiled softly once again and turned on the balls of his feet.

He’d only managed to go a few steps before he stopped and turned back around, standing in the middle of the road. Charles smirked, making a point of looking her directly in the eye and not his jacket.

Opening his mouth, Charles spoke, “It’s Charlie.”

And with that, Charles’ body contorted into the unnatural shapes of apparition and he disapparated to where he’d met her first. Waiting a few minutes, Charles grinned and flicked his wand.

Putting the wand in his pocket, Charles held out his arms and awaited his jacket. It didn’t take long before the thing flung back onto him like a piece of metal would a magnet. He reached into it to grab his handkerchief.

Oh, great.

This was not his handkerchief at all. He reached into his other pocket with his spare hand and pulled out his wand before pulling out the second wand.

Well, he supposed he'd have to find her again now.

---