Bristol slowly zig-zagged through the packed crowd of The Leaky Cauldron. His youthful face had recently seen something of a makeover; his eyes, just two days before, had been blackened by a wayward bludger during training. Thankfully, the resident Hogwarts healer of the time had reduced the purple bruising. And, on a whim, the Slytherin graduate had buzzed all of his hair off. His mother had cried.

But that night at the pub was no memorial to missing locks. Bristol had rounded up his most loyal comrades for a night of dancing, boozing and revelry. In just two day times, he was to fly across to Washington to try out for one of the stateside teams. It was just too much to bear. All of the broken bones, broomsticks and bravado - it would all be worth it. And what better way to gain a little pre-trial confidence than a final night of partying?

"Get me a drink in!" he roared to some fellow Slytherins, trying his best to reach the toilet in the throng of faces. The Leaky Cauldron was exceptionally busy for a Saturday night, and the old boots of Diagon Alley had been pushed into a corner. That night was for the young'uns. And Bristol was thrilled.

His white t-shirt, emblazoned with the latest wizarding band (one that he would hold much embarrassment of in later life), clung to his rakish body with sweat. He was already five drinks in, and after being pulled down from the bar mid-dance, he was in exceptional spirits. It was going to be one of those nights.

Bristol tried to edge between two larger wizards - and failed miserably. They were at least a third taller than the young gun, and were too intoxicated to even realise someone was trying to get by. Before he knew it, Bristol had been elbowed backwards and winced as a dull pain rang in his back. A wayward elbow clipped a stranger, and he grimaced as he felt a splash of alcohol. If he was wet, god knows what had happened to this stranger. Ugh, man...

"Cheers, lads" Bristol retorted to the two brutes that refused to let him past. And, despite a tinge of sarcastic iciness, his words fell on deaf ears as they carried on conversing. He turned to the stranger, a man probably a few years older than him with a face he vaguely recognised.

"Sorry man, complete accident," he apologised, his Essex/East London drawl much stronger back in those days. Bristol then narrowed his eyes, both of them scanning the stranger. This was no stranger at all. "You're Andromeda's brother, right?" Bristol closed his eyes in embarrassment, just hoping he wasn't too drenched. "I'm so sorry."

Saturday night in the Leaky Cauldron and the place was packed. Cepheus, 22, snaked his arm between people to reach for his pint. He was out with new work colleagues from the Ministry. Although he’d joined the great numbers joining the Ministry to get the magical government back on its feet last year after Potter finished Voldemort, he had only just been appointed to the Goblin Liaison Office. His parents were rather pleased, the office was held in high regard. Ceph’s time at Gringotts during the war had helped get him in. Goblins didn’t much phase him, and he had made efforts to learn some of the language there, conducting as much of his interview in it as he could in an attempt to impress them.

It had paid off, and now the married bloke who sat opposite him in the office was buying the round and trying not to notice that it was probably time his wife expected him home. Ceph had laughed politely about comments about the ball and chain, but his drunk colleague just seemed to be a stuck record about his wife which was getting tiresome. Still, a pint was a pint.

And then it wasn’t much of a pint.

“Great…” Ceph uttered, moving backwards, though there was not much space. He was now wearing a third of his pint.

“Sorry man, complete accident,” the face that turned round had to be barely out of Hogwarts, thicker lips, ramrod straight nose, eyebrows set low over eyes so he looked like he could be a bit of a bruiser. Ceph instinctively went for placating, judging in a split second that the owner of the elbow which had smacked into his pint was far harder than the weedy Liaison Officer.
“It’s al-,” Ceph began to say, pretty much inaudible in the pub as he shook out his shirt sleeve when the other wizard gave him a strange look of recognition.

“You're Andromeda's brother, right? I'm so sorry.”
“Yeah…?” Cepheus replied, drawing out the word as he tried to place the face. “Oh bugger me, Collins, I didn’t recognise you without your hair!” His face broke out into a bright, wide smile. Bristol had been years below him in Slytherin, but the same year as Ceph’s younger sister, Andromeda. "Gods man, how are you doing? Andie said you were barely off a broom these days. Here, hold that will you.” He shoved his pint at the younger wizard and drew his wand for a haphazard scourgify. “Thanks.”

“Yeah?” he said, and Bristol almost froze with embarrassment. It was one thing being a sibling’s younger friend, but it was another being that sibling’s annoying younger friend that thought they knew you when they really didn’t. The newly-graduated Slytherin was about to turn on his heel and disappear into the crowd, but then, Cepheus began to remember. All was well. Dignity remained intact (sort of).

As he made the comment about his freshly buzzed head, Bristol instinctively put a palm across the bristly scalp that once held a thick mane of hair. He chuckled, still remembering the last-minute decision at the barber.

“Fancied a bit of a change?” he replied, still not sure why he had done it. Bristol always did have luck with the old follicles (Papa Collins was a hirsute man), but the skinhead was a little supremacist Death Eater for most peoples’ liking. “It’ll grow; I guess…” His response was somewhat bashful, almost reluctant. Amongst his peers, Bristol was loud to the point of obnoxiousness, but in front of elders, he was a little unsure of himself. Somebody had to keep him in his place after all.

Realising he wasn’t acting himself, Bristol perked up a little. Shoulders out, head high.

“I’ve been practicing 24/7,” he replied proudly, his Essex wideboy accent returning with full force. “Actually managed to get myself a trial next week in Washington. Should be good, feeling pretty confident…” It didn’t sound as convincing as Bristol wanted it to be. “How’re things with you mate?”

He took Ceph’s pint as the wizard corrected his dampened shirt. Bristol’s eyes glanced over the wet patch as it slowly dried out, an outline of stomach softening from view when the cotton returned to normal. His gaze flicked back up to Ceph’s and he slowly took a sip of the pint, his narrow eyes giving Ceph a quick wink.

“Don’t mind me,” he chuckled, wiping the froth of beer from the back of his hand. Bristol realised they were both down on alcohol, and he probably owed Andromeda’s brother a drink. “Let me get you another? There’s barely a dribble in that.”

“… Actually managed to get myself a trial next week in Washington…”
“Blimey!” Ceph exclaimed at the casual way that Bristol dropped that in, “That’s something! Well done!” Ceph was genuinely happy for Bristol, to have opportunities so soon after Hogwarts, and despite the darkest of years in the middle.

“How’re things with you mate?”

“Nothing nearly as interest- oi.” Bristol had drunk from what remained of his pint. That wink. Damn him. He wasn’t meant to find his little sister’s friends interesting like that. Collins had always been easy on the eye, but younger and cheeky. He hadn’t ever really crossed Ceph’s closeted radar when they were at school, mostly due to the age difference. He’d been distracted, crushing over his dorm-mate Roger Davies, who was already playing in the British league. Not that Ceph had a thing about quidditch players. Erhmm...

“Don’t mind me,”
“Well there’s not much left, you might as well.” Ceph agreed, shrugging and slipping his wand away. His eyes did not fail to follow the way the younger wizard wiped froth from his lips. This was, he supposed, what happened when one had become a little more comfortable in oneself and was bored out of their mind with married colleagues and their rubbish stories.

“Let me get you another? There’s barely a dribble in that.”
“Cheers.” Ceph replied, aware that his accent sounded posh against Bristol’s London one. His mother had corrected his speech from when he was little to eradicate the worst of any west-country accent, resulting in Ceph sounding like he came from somewhere south, but didn’t quite had a plum shoved fully in his mouth. “If you can get to the bar…” He frowned at the way the place was packed, and then looked up at the two tall, broad figures the other side of Bristol. “Ah!"

Ceph squeezed past his newly reacquainted companion, accidentally brushing his hand over Bristol’s hip. He reached up with both hands to grasp hold of the shoulders belonging to the two enormous wizards, which were near pressed together in their boozed up state.

“Mattison! Bainbridge!” Ceph exclaimed, tilting his head back to reach their ears. “Budge over, a man can’t get a drink in here.” One ugly bulbous nosed wizard twisted and peered down at Cepheus with a look of confusion. On recognising his mouth turned into a grin, missing every other tooth, and he exchanged a look with the other sporting a red raw scar across his forehead. The first shoved aside, sending a four-foot wizard perched on a stool flying on the other side.

“Troll supervisors,” Ceph explained to Bristol, dropping back down onto flat feet from tiptoes, unaware of the fate of the tiny wizard, “If you couldn’t guess.” He let Bristol ease into the chasm between the two, so as to reach the bar, and rested his hand on the back of the younger man’s shoulder to say, “It was Dragon Scale, and thanks…”

“Well there’s not much left, you might as well.”
"Not the first time I've been told that," Bristol said with a smirk, planting down the pint glass. His eyes traced Ceph's quite heavily and Bristol was forced to glance at his gang some way across the club, something to purposefully disconnect the stare. They were doing the usual. Downing drinks, laughing, jeering and generally acting like absolute fools. It was why he loved them. He was a fool.

Cepheus called out to the two brutes that had caused this whole exchange in the process, and Bristol raised an eyebrow, about to interject with 'what, you know these guys?' until he felt a hand brush his hip. The Slytherin grad's body tensed up momentarily, not expecting a graze of skin to interact with his cloying t-shirt. Almost as soon as Ceph's paw had met Bristol's hipbone, the exchange was over. He awkwardly scratched his elbow.

Although momentarily entranced by the grotesque barman (who in Merlin hired him?), Bristol wedged himself at the only gap in the bar as Cepheus eased him into place. Their compromising position was by accident, yet Collins stood with his back against Ceph's front. He could almost feel his breath on the back of his neck and Bristol couldn't help but turn around and wink.

"Ooof, comfy, innit?" he laughed and turned to face the barman. He ordered two pints of Dragon Scale and two shorts of Firewhisky - it was the least he could do to apologise. And get smashed in the process. As the grisly bar staff decanted his order, Bristol murmured in Ceph's ear.

"I know you work with goblins at all, but I didn't realise they got jobs at The Leaky Cauldron?" He pointed towards the gargoyle that was fixing their drinks and smirked again, giving Ceph a sly dig in the ribs before assuming his position in front of him.

The four glasses landed with a thud and he held the shot glass up to Ceph, both still wedged together at the bar.

"By way of apology, mate?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and downed his shot in one. "The least I could do."

Ceph laughed at Bristol’s comment about goblins, flinching at the poke in the ribs, only for being surprised by it. He rather hoped the other wizard would do it again.
“Nah, they’re more like the trolls, trust me. Goblins are shorter than me!” Ceph was 5ft9, a good seven inches shorter than Bristol, hence his initial reticence to object to the pint upset a moment before. He’d had to tiptoe to reach the shoulders of his two Beast Division colleagues from Level 4. “Ah him, oh yeah.” Ceph replied, catching sight of the barman. Gargoyle for sure.

“Andie told you then - Liaison Office, told you it wasn’t nearly as interesting.” Ceph leaned forward, hand pressing on Bristol’s shoulder so he could be heard, what with only coming up to the other wizard’s shoulder. He was sweaty, but Ceph could still smell Bristol’s aftershave. Andie would have laughed at him right now, and probably have snuck under Mattison and Bainbridge to get to the bar given her height.

Four glasses landed before Bristol and Ceph’s eyebrows went up. Not just Dragon Scale then! Another push to Ceph’s back from people moving in and out from the bar shoved him royally between the two troll supervisors and right up against Bristol.

“By way of apology, mate?"
“Pft, more than.”

Ceph scooped up his shot too and the pair knocked them back, Gamp a fraction behind Bristol, staring up at the way the Slytherin’s neck looked as it extended up out of that t-shirt… Ceph grimaced as it hit the back of his throat, never a massive spirits drinker, he couldn’t keep a straight face. He hoped Bristol wouldn’t laugh.

“The least I could do.” Cepheus waved it off,
“Thanks, I can’t imagine what the most would be in which case.” Inwardly he winced, what did that even mean? Perhaps it was the drinks before kicking in, and the fact he was pressed right up against Collins to the extent their feet encroached on each other. “Cheers.” He toasted his pint to the other wizard and took a generous sip, drowning out the fire in his throat. He really should have paid more attention to Andie's friends, he was having to make up for lost time here.

“You heard them live?” The former Ravenclaw asked, and then realised his question was out of context, “them, I mean,” he prodded Bristol’s chest with two fingers and a thumb where the band was printed on his t-shirt. He looked up again for the response, forgetting his hand was still there.

Bristol clenched his teeth as the fiery shot slid down his throat. It was as smooth as smashed glass. Still, he didn't splutter and merely  shook off the pang with a quiet whoop. The same couldn't be said for Cepheus. His face had twisted into what could only be described as a hippogriff chewing a pixie, and Bristol sniggered quietly before giving the man a big pat on the back.

"You alright there?" Bristol grinned, a hand moving to Ceph's shoulder as he stooped down, half jokingly patronising, half genuinely concerned. Andromeda would never forgive him if her elder brother was in St. Mungo's with alcohol poisoning. Bristol poked fun at many people, but the younger Gamp sister was not to be crossed.

As conversation steered towards Bristol's means of apology, the Quidditch player's eyebrow flicked up almost immediately at the words:

“Thanks, I can’t imagine what the most would be in which case.”

It was a forward response from a man that Bristol had always presumed was a wallflower. Still, his thought on Cepheus had always been vague; there was an age gap, and although he was popular, Bristol found himself strangely alienated from the brighter sparks Hogwarts had to offer. There just wasn't much he could contribute to topics such as Arabian transformation draughts and the Yugoslavian giant wars, much to many a Ravenclaw's chagrin.

Still, this seemed an unlikely statement from Cepheus and Bristol's mouth twisted in thought.

"I'm sure you can."

As soon as he said it, his reaction was to silently cheers Gamp's pint and take a sip, as if the refreshingly cool liquid would drown out the words he just spoke. Bristol was a flirt - a notorious one at that - but this was new territory. And he was strangely enjoying it. Although he'd never discussed Ceph's sexuality with Andromeda outright, he had his suspicions and he wasn't too perplexed by the whole thing. For someone who thought lighting a fart was the height of common room comedy, Bristol was quite mature in some ways.

A space opened up behind Bristol as a few young witches and wizards stepped outside to smoke, yet the Slytherin grad wasn't keen to fill the space. He still stood within a centimetre of Cepheus and the only think that broke his gaze was a momentary glance towards friends. They were still clambering about around the bar. It wasn't that he'd be ashamed of being seen touching toes with Ceph, he was more concerned what Andromeda would think. Still, there was nothing to think. Right?

Bristol was sure of that. Until a hand lingered on his chest, as if about to trace the jutting font across his tight, broad chest.

"Mildred and the Mandrakes?" he asked, glancing down at the hand that remained there. Bristol's eyes flicked up, a wry smile blossoming on his face. Lightbulb moment. "Nah, only listened on the wireless. I mean, I've thought about doing it, quite a lot actually, but I've never took the plunge and got myself a ticket. Plus, not sure any of my lot are into them, and I've never had the opportunity to go with someone."

Bristol willed himself to maintain the stare between them, and although he tilted his head innocently, he knew exactly what he was doing. And he hoped Cepheus did too.

Cepheus was oblivious to the departure of the group behind Bristol. Given the height of the other wizard, and his preoccupation in staring at him, a marching band could have gone through the Leaky Cauldron with minimal attention.

“Mildred and the Mandrakes?"
“Mm.” Ceph confirmed, mouth full of beer, still not conscious of his hand.
“Nah, only listened on the wireless. I mean, I've thought about doing it, quite a lot actually, but I've never took the plunge and got myself a ticket. Plus, not sure any of my lot are into them, and I've never had the opportunity to go with someone."
“I would.”

As if a cold drip had hit the back of Ceph’s neck, he blinked, drew himself up and looked down at his hand, blushing and lifting it to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat self-consciously. It was definitely hot in here. Hotter than five minutes ago.
“I mean, er, there’s always bands playing in Diagon, when you’re not glued to a broom.” He gave Bristol a smile, both hands now loosely clasped around his beer, the glass slick with condensation. “I expect there’ll be more than enough excellent bands in America, though. Pity, I’d have liked to have…”

He gazed up at Bristol. Fuck he had a lovely face. Such a strong nose, amazing considering how many bludgers had been aimed at it over his school years. How had such a cheeky, flirty little git like Bristol Collins turned into this without him truly noticing? It wasn’t quite the ugly duckling, but in Ceph’s memory of Collins mucking about it felt like he was gazing up at the magnificent swan.

“I’m keeping you from your girlfriend- friends,” Ceph remarked, apologising without actually saying it, stumbling over his words, making out it was an assumption, when the messages he was receiving were that there was no girlfriend over there at all.

Ceph reached his left hand to touch Bristol’s right forearm. His hands were cold from the pint and a little wet from the condensation, but Bristol’s arm was warm and clammy from the heat in the pub. He was certainly not keeping Ceph from his colleagues. What colleagues? He wasn’t out with anyone.

“They won’t mind will they?”

"Never too late to go though, right?" Bristol asked, flicking up an eyebrow once more. Ceph's hand remained on his chest before clasping a beer loosely, and the Slytherin grad followed suit with a large gulp of his own. It wasn't that he needed booze to be confidence. But this was uncharted waters, and a little Dutch courage had hardly been a hinderance thus far. Again, another gulp.

A silence fell upon them as Cepheus gazed up at the taller Bristol. He merely peered back, taking a deep breath and part-confused, part-excited as to how such a situation had happened, and indeed escalated. Not that it was a situation per sé, but it was beyond the normal dialogue Bristol had with his schoolmates, or anyone for that matter. Andromeda probably wouldn't be best pleased to see the former Slytherin flirting with her big brother, but would she be at all surprised? Probably not.

The Ministry worker was handsome, in his own way. Short, slender, a thick mop of black hair framing a distinctly British yet symmetrical face. It was strange that Bristol stood as closely possible without looking like a lovelorn Dementor. He'd found boys attractive before in the past, sure, he could appreciate good looks - but acting upon it was something different. Thoughts of kissing lips - rough, unpainted lips - were intriguing. Was Andromeda's brother the right person to trial such thoughts with? Probably not. Was that forbiddance the driving motion behind such thoughts though? Bristol was mighty confused. And he loved it.

"No, no girlfriend," he replied, flashing Cepheus a mouth crammed full of teeth. "I'm my own man. For now."

Bristol's smile faded a little, one hand sinking into his jean pocket and the other lifting the pint glass to his lips. The gang were drunker and drunker by the second and although he could hear their shouting some metres away, none of them were sober enough to enquire where the chaser was.

Ceph's hand grazed Bristol's rough forearm, cold, but refreshingly so. A bead of sweat dripped down the nape of his neck to join the hot soak of his collar. Another sip of his pint. Bristol went to the mirror the gesture, a hand moving to Ceph's hip, but he retracted last minute. Although Bristol liked to think nerves didn't affect him, they were very much a part of such encounters.

"They don't mind," he curtly replied. "And I'm guessing your boyfriend wouldn't mind you staying out for a few more drinks?"

Bristol was assuming there was no boyfriend (if there was, he'd done a terrible job of maintaining Ceph's interest). In lieu of his almost-touch to the Ministry worker's hip, he instead placed a thumb and forefinger on the cuff of Ceph's shirt, rubbing slowly. He felt just a graze of the man's rest on his own skin. It was hardly chest-to-chest contact, but it seemed appropriate considering their surroundings.

 

“No, no girlfriend,” Bristol confirmed. Ceph’s heart took a little leap, and he wondered if he might be kidding himself, given he’d only ever seen or heard Bristol with girls. Then again, Collins had never seen Ceph with anyone, just friends all the way through Hogwarts, unless his crushes on the other boys had been plain to see.

The conversation was a little awkward, but neither of them seemed keen on ending it and beating a path back to their friends. Ceph didn’t dare glance round and try and see where Bristol’s group was, but he did notice there was more space around them, and there was a steady stream of people milling past them between them and the tables.

“... I'm guessing your boyfriend wouldn't mind you staying out for a few more drinks?"

Ceph’s eyes widened, his pint stalled mid-sip. How did he know? Gamp’s inebriated mind realised that despite not wearing a rainbow flag as a cape all day, people picked up on things and family talked. He didn’t, as a rule, tell people, even good friends. His sexuality was something he had only found confidence to explore in the past couple of years as he entered his twenties, and even then, only in the Muggle world.

“If he existed,” Cepheus replied, after swallowing a mouthful, and lowering the glass, colour to his cheeks. His left hand wavered slightly on Bristol’s arm in his insecurity, but returned a little more firmly a moment later, this time, his pale fingers curling round the quidditch player’s tanned forearm. “Like you,” he tried to steady his voice, "‘my own man’.” A pleased little smile returned to his lips, and he became aware of a tug at the tails of his shirt at his waist. Was Bristol drunk? Cepheus didn’t think so, but he had learned to check that with himself when he thought he was getting positive messages from another man. Drink made people affectionate, removed their issues with personal space, and it made for miscommunication.

Ceph downed a bit more beer, visualising it giving him courage for the question. He neatly chased the taste of alcohol from his top lip with his tongue as he swallowed.
“Bristol,” the former Ravenclaw asked in a leading tone, “you’re not flir… I didn’t know you were interested in, well... what I’m interested in?” He drew in a short breath, his shoulders rising, “not that I would be offended or well…” his hand squeezed, replacing words with a gesture. “Unless you’re actually admiring my shirt.” He gestured with the rapidly emptying pint to Bristol’s hand.

"I'm interested in everything," Bristol replied - honestly. True, he hadn't been with a boy before but there had always been a lingering curiosity. The Quidditch locker rooms, the dorms, Bristol had always held an appreciation for good male form and good male looks. Could that mean something more? He wasn't about to confide in the lads anytime soon. It was probably better to just... find out and go from there?

Ceph's hand lingered on Bristol's arm, giving it a squeeze of either reassurance or angst. Bristol couldn't work out it out. He simply mirrored the gesture, lightly placing a hand on the older man's hip and again, giving it a squeeze. Followed by a grin. The move was subtle enough that nobody would see, but firm enough for Cepheus to notice. He wasn't beating around the bush.

"I'm not saying I'm always gonna be chasing for that team," he elaborated, trying his hardest to discuss feelings of homoerotic interest without sounding too, well, homoerotic. "But I haven't given it a good go, either."

Bristol stared down at the wizard, biting his bottom lip in thought. If things were going to happen (and it certainly looked that way), there would have to be conditions - the main being that Andie couldn't find out. He wasn't ashamed. Or scared. But there was a difference between kissing boys and kissing peoples' brothers. A big difference.

He glanced towards his gang, and they still weren't paying attention. Just as well. Bristol's eyes flicked back towards Cepheus, hand still on his hip as if cemented by some charm.

"We can do one of two things," he began to explain, voice quieter and eyebrows raised in anticipation. It was strangely nerve-wracking, as if Ceph would reject him any minute for being too young, or too inexperienced, or too on-the-fence. Perhaps he wanted someone who knew exactly what they wanted, and Bristol wasn't sure of anything. But perhaps that was the attraction.

"I don't know if you are, like, interested in me. But if I've got it wrong, and - " Bristol glanced at Ceph's hand on his own arm. "And I'm not sure I have, then tell me to troll off and I can go find the gang and get a drink and that'll be it."

He twisted his mouth in thought, and took a deep breath. "Or we can go for a drink elsewhere, and get drunk, and be somewhere more... private."

Bristol took a deep breath, his index finger daring to travel past Ceph's shirt tails and graze the wizard's bare hip. The Slytherin grad's heart raced.

"Completely up to you."

Cepheus was frozen, eyebrows attempting to make friends with his hairline. Bristol Collins, smooth talking, one to make a witch giggle and blush was actually trying to solicit Ceph’s interest out of sheer curiosity. Curiosity that he’d never done it to a bloke, and he’d chosen now, this moment, and Cepheus to pursue that item on his bucket list.

Was Ceph offended?

… given the lack of luck he’d been having in love… not at all.

Bristol explained two possible plans, clearly not entirely sure what Ceph was going to do. The Goblin Liaison Officer had to remember he was the older man in the situation, though given the height difference it was easy to forget.
“I don’t know if you are, like interested in me.”

Fuck yes, Ceph thought to himself, for longer than was decent. Outwardly his gaze intensified, and he forgot how to blink.

“Completely up to you.”

The rest of Ceph’s beer vanished in a thirsty gulp and he thunked it down on the edge of the bar. Bristol’s fingers on his skin was already doing indecent things.
“Be rude to turn down a request from such a pretty face.” He told Bristol, inhaling deeply, digging deep for courage. “But you’re absolutely sure you’re up for this? If you’re just looking to get blind drunk so you don’t remember, so you don’t feel anything, trust me, that’s not the way.” His left hand shifted from Bristol’s forearm to slide up the back of the quidditch player’s upper arm, gripping with just enough tension to assert his touch. His gaze was sincere. “You don’t want your only experiment to be a limp failure.”

His eyes dropped purposely and moved a little closer. There was absolutely no space between them now, Ceph’s body up against Bristol’s. His heart was hammering in his ribs, but the rush of it all was speeding him along. He’d seen it done by Muggles over and over, but he’d never tried it in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron, flanked by two disinterested troll supervisors.

“Better say good bye to your friends.”

“But you’re absolutely sure you’re up for this? If you’re just looking to get blind drunk so you don’t remember, so you don’t feel anything, trust me, that’s not the way.”

Bristol almost winced at the response. Did he seem that drunk? Did he seem like the type to indulge in something so new, so exciting, and try to shirk out with nine pints of the strong stuff? The Slytherin may have been a prankster, but he was no coward. And, with Ceph's hand creeping up underneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, he'd never felt so sure. The touch itself was new. Not preened, polished nails but somewhat rough, belonging to spindly fingers that were more acquainted with rough quills than robes from Madame Malkin. Cepheus was a man.

"I'm not doing this with the view for just one experiment," he murmured back, Bristol's tongue gliding over his bottom lip anxiously. He felt the need to elaborate, to prove himself. Cepheus, although clearly cautious, was used to this type of thing. Bristol had never even kissed another guy - just a few curious and lingering glances after Quidditch.

"I'm doing this because I want to do it, and I think you want to do it too. And I think people should do what they want."

Minus the West Essex drawl, it was an unusually profound (if not slightly hedonistic) thing for Bristol to come out with.

Cepheus stepped a little closer, their chests grazing one another as each heaved heavily in the heat of The Leaky Cauldron. Bristol's hand moved up the man's hip, sliding underneath a shirt with rough nails lightly dancing on skin. If he'd been two pints deeper, there would've been a kiss. At the very least.

"Accio bag," Bristol whispered. His navy canvas knapsack slid off a nearby bar stool and landed in the young wizard's hand. A little  bashful all of a sudden, he felt the rush of blood surge into his face that he reasoned as being the temperature as opposed to his own nerves. No goodbyes were necessary.

"Let's go."