Leon’s first response to someone knocking at the door straight after lunch was to ignore it. It wasn’t something he would usually do, but he’d just started working, and he’d already learnt that door to door salesmen were not exclusive to the muggle world. At least none of them were offering to help him reclaim mis-sold PPI insurance. Wizard door to door salesmen had much more interesting things to peddle.

Interesting, but unwanted. Leon stayed put, taking a gulp of coffee before picking up his tools again so he could knock knock knock.

He put them back down. Much as he wanted it to be a salesman (so he would be justified in ignoring it first time round), they normally disappeared quickly. And, even at such an odd hour, there were people who it could be. He stood up with a sigh.

When he opened the door, he frowned. The woman standing in the doorway, wielding a walking stick in a way which surely didn’t aid walking, was far older than any of Rick’s acquaintances that he’d met, and definitely not someone Leon wanted to greet while wearing a pink t-shirt saying Stop looking at my cock. He had a niggling sense that he should recognise her, but he didn’t, and if she was someone important then he would find out who very soon.
“Hello,” he said, “Are you here to see Rick?”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at the weasely white boy who answered the door. "It took you long enough." She quipped, staring at Leon as if he was idiocy personified. How could he not know who she was? She was the matriarch of the esteemed Donovan family. She had hexed many a grandchild. She raised her children to respect her, with just a little bit of fear mixed in.

"This is Garrick's home, is it not?!" She barked, hitting his legs with her walking stick as she let herself into the room. "You would think he'd teach his boyfriend to answer the door with haste when his grandmother is waiting." She paused and looked for a proper place to sit. "He's never been as bright as his sisters. The women are exceptional in our family."

Charlie hobbled over to a chair and eased herself into it, glaring at Leon as she did so. "Go on, get me a drink. You know where my buffoon of a grandson keeps the good stuff. If it's watered down, I'll taste it."

Leon hopped and clutched at his shin, biting his lip to stop himself from swearing. This felt like a nightmare, except his shins were still in pain, so he knew without pinching himself that he wasn’t dreaming despite the fact that this strongly resembled nightmares he’d had in the past.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that you were coming over today,” Leon said, wishing that Rick had told him so he could have at the very least worn a different t-shirt. He didn’t respond to the comment about Rick’s intelligence, even though he thought that aside from completely failing to warn or prepare Leon for meeting his grandmother Rick was really smart. But, since it was Rick’s grandmother and Leon was wearing a highly inappropriate t-shirt, he wasn’t going to say anything on the subject. It hadn’t exactly been rude, just an unfavourable comparison, and basically everyone would come off unfavourably in a comparison to Rick’s sisters.

He did know where Rick kept his alcohol, but since this was a house and not a bar, it wasn’t watered down. He was also sure that pointing this out would not be well-received. “What do you want to drink?” Leon asked instead, “would you like anything to eat?” Hopefully he could do something for his shin, too, but it wasn’t serious. Just painful.

“And, um. Rick isn’t here, if… you came to see him?” Leon tried to suppress the note of hope in his voice.

She got herself comfortable-- or as comfortable as one could be with an aching back, and stared up at Leon with the bitterness of 100 crushed up aspirin. "You didn't realize I was coming over because our beloved Garrick wasn't sharp enough to figure it out." Charlie retorted, waving her cane in Leon's general direction-- a not so subtle threat. The man better hurry and get her a drink.

"Well oaked whiskey." She replied, as if it were the obvious answer. "Well oaked. If he doesn't have that, rum will do. Neat." The witch was silent for a good minute or two while Leon rummaged for the drinks. "Your shirt. Where did you get it?" She asked brusquely, "I need one for myself."

Charlie, no! She imagined Rick saying.

Charlie, yes. The voice in her head replied.

Charlie’s declaration had Leon frowning. Why would Rick need to figure it out? Why would he be able to figure it out? Charlie’s arrival seemed completely random – it was certainly out of the blue for Leon, and apparently Rick hadn’t been expecting her either. That didn’t mean that he didn’t blame Rick for not telling him, even if his grandmother’s expectations of people seemed… high.

He decided against asking, or against saying anything about consuming hard liquor in the afternoon, instead making Charlie her drink (feeling a little like a waiter, but there was no use worrying about that), and getting himself apple juice. Even if it felt childish, it was far better than being even slightly drunk around Charlie.

He almost dropped the drinks when he realised what Charlie was asking. He’d been hoping, desperately, in light of his many other failings, that the t-shirt might not get commented on. He wasn’t sure why he’d bothered.

“It’s Rick’s,” he admitted, flushing red as he did so. When Charlie had her drink, he went to sit down himself, suppressing the urge to fidget, or to sit on his hands to prevent fidgeting. “I think he got it online? But you’d have to ask him to know for sure.” Leon paused, unsure if he was allowed to ask questions, but then decided to make the leap, "Why should Rick have worked out that you were coming?"

She accepted the drink graciously, nearly giving Leon a smile. "Well then, make me a copy of it boy." She took a sip of her drink and nodded. It was satisfactory. It wasn't watered down. It was then that she decided that she liked Garrick's boyfriend. He didn't complain or protest.

"Why should Rick have worked out that you were coming?"


Charlie stared up at Leon and shook her head. "Because, darling, I sent him letters. Clues. He knew." Or he should have known... And was probably horrified. She enjoyed imagining the look on his face when he opened her letters.

"Now, make me a copy of that shirt. I must get a permanent one made." Perhaps she'd gift copies to all of Rick's siblings for Christmas. "And while you're being useful, tell me who you are. What you are."

Leon was beginning to think, as the pain faded, that he was trapped in a nightmare. And that Rick surviving childhood was something of a miracle. “I’ll… see what I can do,” he settled on. He didn’t want to say that he would give her a copy, because breaking promises to Charlie seemed like a terrible idea, but his shin did not want him to say that he wouldn’t give her a copy, either.

He nodded, even though he still wasn’t entirely sure that he understood what she meant.

“You want the copy now?” Leon asked. It sounded like she did, but he didn’t want to geminio something that he was wearing, and he didn’t want to take off his shirt. Also, he had been hoping that he wouldn’t have to give her a copy. He didn’t want to have to explain that to Rick.

But then, Rick had supposedly known Charlie was coming. “I can make a copy of the design for you, if that would be okay?” That, at least, would not require shirt removal.

Leon had absolutely no idea how to answer that question. Did she mean what he was to Rick? What he did for a living? His blood status? Rick wasn’t bigoted, but… “I’m a sculptor,” he said, with a firmness which he wasn’t sure he felt, “and a barista at Alohomocha.”

"A design is most certainly not what I asked for!" She rebuked him sharply, waving her glass in his general direction. "You're lucky that Xiomara isn't here. She would set you straight." Charlie narrowed her eyes at Leon. "No, you need to give me a copy of that shirt. And you must not say a word of it to Rick, it'll be part of his Christmas surprise." The witch rolled her eyes, "If you are feeling modest or insecure about your body, just go in the other room and change."

A sculptor? And a barista. So he worked with CC.  She didn't dignify his answer with a response, not until he dealt with the shirt situation.

"What are you waiting for? Hurry on. I don't have much time left, don't waste it because your spine is made of jelly slugs."

Leon wasn’t sure who, or what, Xiomara was, but he had a suspicion that he had been threatened with bodily harm. “Of course not,” he agreed, if somewhat reluctantly. He wasn’t sure what the Christmas surprise would be, but he suspected (based on their brief acquaintance) that Rick wouldn’t like it. "I can't make a t-shirt that will last," he said, slightly more firmly, "and definitely not one in the right size." Leon really hoped that Charlie wasn't planning on wearing it, because the idea was terrifying, but nor would he be surprised if she was.

Being accused of modesty was what made him blush, and he wasn’t sure what his expression was doing, but if this was a game of poker, Charlie would be crushing him. He wasn’t sure what to say to an implication of death, so he didn’t say anything. There was nothing you could say, Leon suspected, and he didn't have any more arguments to offer about the t-shirt, so he stood. His retreat from the room was silent, and slightly embarrassed.

When he returned, he was slightly less red-faced, and he’d done something for his leg. He held out the spare t-shirt, mute with embarrassment.

Seated again, he searched for a topic of conversation which wouldn’t result in more humiliation, even if it only lasted until Charlie wanted something. Since his occupation had, mercifully, been dropped without comment, Leon tried to come up with something which wouldn't make him feel like he was being interrogated. "Who is Xiomara?"

Charlie shrugged. She didn't need a t-shirt that would last. She just needed to be able to have it long enough to get copies made for her lovely adult grandchildren. It would be the perfect stocking stuffer. She accepted the spare t-shirt and stuffed it in her red purse. At least Leon finally had the common sense to finally listen to her. A smart man. Rick chose well.

When he asked who Xiomara was, Charlie nodded at him in what was almost approval.

"She is one of the Donovan hounds. My personal dog." Charlie explained, "Rick hasn't mentioned the Donovan hounds? They're bullmastiff mixes. Bred as guard dogs, though they can make wonderful family pets. Xiomara is heavier than I am, but just as fierce."