i call it magic (when i'm with you)

i

Here's the funniest thing about how this whole thing starts back up again: he doesn't actually say no.

Which, when faced with a wizard known for his considerable prowess on the Quidditch field and his legion of rabid fans who behave not unlike a shoal of bewitched piranhas on the stands, isn't really a viable option, like at all. Still, Brett doesn't look up. Takes a leisurely sip of Butterbeer as he glares at the countertop under his fidgety fingers. Anything to prevent the nigh inevitable part of this frankly ridiculous discussion where he answers with a yes.

"Sorry, what was that?" he says into his mug, because clearly, something's wrong with his ears. Must be the aftermath of close proximity to that screechy soprano from the Frog Choir. Or the tuba blasting just millimeters away from his head after a failed music charm yesterday. Or the—

"I said," coming from the man perched precariously on the stool beside him, syllables slightly slurred as they roll off the inebriated tongue, "please be my date to the Yule Ball. I mean, pretend to be my date. Partner. In the holiday fancy dancing. Yeah, that's it, what I meant to say, heh."

Gods, what a disaster. Brett forces himself to chug down another mouthful of his drink before answering, in the hopes it can drown out the phantom pains clawing at his heart. "Why in Merlin's name would I ever do that?"

Eddy tilts his head like he's actually giving this some proper consideration for once. For once in all the months of their strange, eventful acquaintanceship. Friendship? They're probably long past that point, especially where Brett's heart is concerned, and no, he is not going to go there, not while he's dangerously close to being drunk. "Because—because you're a kindhearted soul, and you wouldn't think twice about helping a poor, desperate man out?"

"Nope, try again."

This time, Eddy doesn't hesitate. "Because you're the handsomest man in your year, and I need arm candy?"

Brett resists the strong urge to slam his tankard down and the even stronger urge to slam his own face down into the countertop. He resists rather valiantly, if he does so say himself. But also, he doesn't fancy getting told off by Madam Rosmerta, and he doesn't fancy visiting Madam Pomfrey anytime soon, so.

"Edward," he says, and it's a little cruel, relishing the tiny flinch that blooms on the other man's features at that, but he'll take whatever small victories he can from this situation that's so heavily skewed in Eddy's favor anyway. "We've already been through this. Why are you asking me?"

"Because I," Eddy pauses for a moment, and in the span of a single breath, Brett can already tell he's gearing for an attack Brett has no defenses for, the cheeky bastard that he is. The other man moves closer, and oh, that gentle touch at his elbow is just icing on the godsdamned cake. "C'mon, please? You promised."

And, well. That's the fucking kicker, now, isn't it?

*

The first time he becomes aware of the existence of one Edward Chen, the boy had been a nobody. Or, truth be told, as much of a nobody as a foreign student from the esteemed Australian House of Chen can be, really, which is to say: he takes one step into Hogwarts, and already, half of the student body knows of him.

He'd felt a twinge of envy at the reception the other man had received, if he's being truly honest with himself. Brett's in the same boat as him, having also been a First-Year from Australia the year prior, and he never received the same treatment. But then again, he's not the one who comes from an illustrious lineage of Quidditch royalty and got a Hatstall that had almost caused two Quidditch captains nervously watching the proceedings an apoplectic fit. Even the Headmaster had looked impressed, or as impressed as the grumpy old fart could ever look.