Tilly stared at the ice-cream carton, which was now dripping its contents like the aftermath of rain onto her relatively-clean coffee table. A silver spoon lay unused beside it. Even sugar couldn’t solve the problem. Not that she’d expected it to. It wasn’t even comparable to the crying she’d done when Tavin had thrown her out of his flat.

Her eyes raked the paper again, willing themselves to find something new-- something to reveal the mistake in the text. Surely she’d tricked herself with the first twelve reads. But Tilly wasn’t the sort of woman who let herself believe lies. Or, she hadn’t been, until now.

How was it possible? How was it possible that Lukas, the man who had spent a good portion of his life as a Hitwizard, had been taken down? How was it possible that Lukas had died before he’d made amends with his son Jasper, before he’d even met his other son, Edward? He’d died with Tilly knowing a secret that belonged to him.

And Matilda had found out by opening a copy of the Daily Prophet while smiling at a customer and turning up the volume on a favorite song.

Shocked, she’d left another employee in charge, and had wandered home in the rain. She’d spread out the newspaper on her table, hovering over it with a bucket of ice-cream, as if it were a silly tabloid she’d misread, and that she could make it all better by reading it again, laughing at its contents. But there had been no laughter, and she had quickly owled Dennis, telling him she needed him to meet her at her place. She worried about him often-- perhaps too much-- and felt guilty about burdening him with this while he was presumably resting between shows and too fast a life. But right now, she needed a friend.

If there was one thing that could be said for your regular, door-to-door postman, it was that they were discreet.  They came, they dropped the letter in the box and then moved on to the next home.  They shared neither the persistence nor the sharp beaks or claws of those pesky owls.  Unlike owls, they could take the hint of closed and locked door. 

Three Owl Standard's first tour with its newest lead singer had wrapped up several weeks earlier and Dennis' days had become even less productive than they had been during the tour.  His usual bedtime had been pushed back to four in the morning and it was a rarity that he slept in his own flat - even more rare that he slept in his own bed.  More often than not, most nights found him at one of his mate's places, playing games or (usually and) partying until he passed out.  And the previous night had been no exception. 

Dennis hadn't even noticed owl that settled itself on the arm of the couch until the bird started tugging, relentlessly at his hair.  Half awake and with an annoyed groan, Dennis batted the bird away and shifted just enough to tug the pillow out from under Mickey (who'd passed out on the floor) and pull it up over his head.  It hadn't been until after the owl's frustrated hoots had roused Mickey enough to shake Dennis awake that Dennis had freed the bird of the letter. 

While receiving an owl from Tilly wasn't exactly unheard of, there was something unsettlingly different about the vague and short summons.  Hesitating only long enough to down a hasty (though entirely necessary) cup of old, reheated coffee Dennis tugged the collar of his leather coat up against the cold, light drizzle and to Tilly's apartment.  Using a spare key, he let himself in. 

"Sure hope this rain doesn't stick around," he said from the front hallway after hanging his wet coat on a peg by the door.  "Got any soda?  Or aspirin?"  He asked, crossing the small dining room towards the kitchen.  One of the distinct advantages of squibs; they were far more likely to keep muggle supplies around their flats - unlike Mickey who, despite Dennis' insistence - had yet to believe that something that looked like a simple half-sized sugar cube could be as magical a cure for a hangover as anything at St. Mungos.  Or, perhaps, it was just the squib friends of Dennis. 

Ever deficient in that distinctly female school of observation, Dennis had made it halfway across the room before noticing the shell shocked expression on the Tilly's face and the carton of ice cream in her hand that showed the tell tale signs of long term neglect.  "Tilly?"  He asked, hesitantly, moving towards the table and, only then, noticing the Daily Prophet spread out on the table.  "Oh, Tilly.  I've told you before, there's nothing but self-promoting egoists and their depressing theories in that -"  Finally, Dennis noticed the newspaper and the headlines. 

Instantly, Dennis' head seemed to clear and his breath caught in his chest.  He lowered himself into the chair next to Tilly and put the top back on the carton of ice cream, moving it from her line of sight.  His hands shook slightly as reached out and wrapped his arms around Tilly, drawing her gently to him and holding her tightly.

Tilly heard the click of the key, Dennis’ footsteps, and questions. She couldn’t pry her eyes from the paper, though; she needed confirmation. She had never been in a situation where reality didn’t feel like reality. She’d always accepted the truth. But here it was hard, and she felt five again, realizing that she was a bit too late, that the magic wasn’t going to come.

Lukas wasn’t going to come back.

Only when the ice-creams lid was replaced-- she’d convinced herself she was going to eat it before it melted!-- did Tilly look at him, or his shirt, rather, and just in time for a much needed embrace. She breathed heavily against Dennis’ neck and squeezed her eyes shut. “There’s aspirin in the kitchen. Top left of the farthest cabinet,” she murmured, as she put her own arms around him.

“How did this happen?” She asked at length, after indulging in the much needed-contact. She felt grounded, to be with someone else, especially someone she cared about and trusted. “I don’t understand... He spent years chasing danger, and then he switches jobs-- goes to work at the school!” Wasn’t it the safest place in the Wizarding World? How terribly ironic that Lukas had been defeated after making the switch. Tilly wanted to laugh, which made her want to cry more. She choked in vain.

“I’m sorry,” she said, breathing and laughing a bit hysterically. She pulled back, her eyes freshly wet, and smiled weakly at him. “I got your shirt all wet.” Her wattery, bright gaze moved up to his hair, and she grinned further, despite the terrible sadness that had threatened to take hold of her. “But the rain got your hair.”

Heaving a bit with another sob, she shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense. He was... I just saw him. He was fine...” It was a weird sort of twisting of time, like someone wringing a clock. “What will Jasper do? His mother is in St. Mungo’s... and I...” She was twenty-four, and definitely not any teenage boy’s mother. He could live with her, though. She wouldn’t blink once in protest. Jasper needed someone to take care of him, even if he didn’t think so. But that wasn’t the only thing racing through Tilly’s mind. “He has a brother,” she confessed suddenly, looking Dennis in the eye. “I’m the only one who knows. Lukas didn’t even know.” But now Dennis knew. Tilly’s face became pained again. “I should have told him.”

She reached for Dennis’ hand, and exhaled deeply. “Thank you.” She didn’t have to say why; he’d come. She’d asked him, and he’d come, and even while she was usually the one of the two more prone to worrying, if either of them were, she knew she could depend on him. “Do you want anything? Did you say soda?”

He couldn't help it.  A few quiet tears slipped out from under Dennis' eyelids as he held Tilly firmly in his arms.  It was a horrible feeling - a miserable one and one he knew all too well, though he put a lot of effort into hiding from it.  He shook his head as Tilly answered the question about the aspirin between sobs.  That could wait.  In a matter of moments, his headache had become far less important. 

"Oh, Tilly," he said quietly, shaking his head slightly.  What could he say?  There wasn't really anything anyone could say at times like these.  He'd always resented those people that insisted on apologizing - as if they were somehow to blame.  When, really, that was, unfortunately, impossible.  If there was any reason for the ones apologizing to feel guilt they were expressing, chances were there wouldn't be a need for it.  The ones that caused the pain were, rarely, the ones who were willing to apologize.  "Ah, bloody ... feck," was all he managed. 

The questions were easier to answer.  Only because they had no real answers.  "There's no understanding it," Dennis said, shaking his head as Tilly pulled away.  "You can't understand it nor do you want to.  It just sucks," he offered in conclusion.  There was, really, not more one could say.  Not without looking or sounding like a complete arse. 

"Don't apologize - the shirt'll dry," he said, brushing his hand over the wet spot on the shoulder of the Queen band t-shit.  He supposed he could be a good wizard and whip out his wand but, even if magic made it easier, laziness still meant that going the laziest route (in other words not doing anything) was usually the chosen path.  He grinned slightly and rubbed a hand over his head.  "That's the beauty of air.  It dries things." 

Dennis pulled out a chair and settled himself in it, drawing the paper closer to him so he could read the article.  As he read, he slowly shook his head.  "Does he know?"  He asked, referring to Jasper.  He was certain the school would tell the boy.  Of course, the news about another child - an illegitimate one - was a surprise to Dennis.  Though, thankfully, in that boy's case, he presumably had a family to return to.  "He'll - you'll both find a way.  You may not know how.  You may not know until you get there.  But, somehow, things keep going on."  And, it wasn't like Lukas would know the difference now about the unknown son, the cynical side of Dennis reminded him. 

"I just ... yeah," Dennis said.  Soda.  "Something for this bloody headache.  It's just sticking around for some reason."  But, he didn't immediately get up from his chair.  He hunched over the table, reading the article, slowly shaking his head as the story progressed.  "Bloody hell.  I ... Who do they think, you know, set it up?" He asked, unaware that the information in the article was all that Tilly had. 

It just sucks.

Well, that was the truth, wasn’t it?

Nodding silently, slowly, as if being drawn from a Pensieve, the young woman pushed a messy strand of hair from her damp cheek. Somehow, it was much better an explanation than any of the excuses less familiar people would have offered.

She gave another weak smile, continuing to glance over his shirt and hair. She’d never paused for very long to think what the girls who screamed in front of the stage, or loitered behind it, would give to sob on Dennis Creevey’s shirt. They’d been friends for so long that those female fans were usually just another thing to discuss humorously, teasingly, or vaguely, or with casual and friendly admiration.

Shaking her head and looking at him helplessly, she spoke. “I don’t know. I just found out. I just... you’re the first person I wrote.” Even if he’d been on tour, she probably would have done the same. It was lucky for Tilly that he wasn’t. “And he’s just started his seventh year. He’s got all of those horrible exit exams to think about-- he’s Head Boy,” she said, another breathy laugh escaping. Though she’d gone through Muggle school, Tilly had never been so enamored with traditional education. It was another thing, in addition to an undying love of music, that she seemed to have in common with the tired young man beside her. Rubbing her palm down the side of her cheek, she heaved her shoulders in another deep, distressing breath. Dennis’ answer quite logical, and Tilly clung to it as she headed for the kitchen, grabbing the ice-cream carton to steady her hand.

“How long have you had the headache?” She asked as she moved away, glad to have something to discuss that didn't revolve around her dead cousin. She knew the answer, however, and it was really a pointless question. Replacing the ice-cream in her Muggle freezer, she opened the fridge and pulled out two sodas. Caffeine would do them both some good.

“It doesn’t say, does it?” She asked, pausing suddenly in the middle of her tiny kitchen. The sodas in her hand made her fingers feel numb. “No one from the Ministry has contacted me. You would think... well, no, I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, her voice threatening to become a murmur. She held the sodas to her chest and reached for the cabinet, grabbing a bottled aspirin. "I hope it wasn't one of those scumbags he put away."

Going back to the living room, she held out one of the sodas to Dennis, and set the aspirin on the table beside the newspaper... gently, as if it might shake the perfectly-sturdy table. She was wary of the article.

“Whiskey sounds good now, doesn’t it?” She laughed, despite the fact that it was the last thing her friend probably needed at the moment. But, really, everyone needed a good bit of alcohol in moments like this. It was ironically sobering.

Tentatively, Dennis reached his hand out and gently brushed the stubborn lock of hair back off of Tilly's face.  This was, yet, another of those times when Dennis wished he could be more spontaneously eloquent with his words.  There were some - like Trina - who could, at the drop of a hat, come up with the proper, elegant thing to say.  That had been a major factor in the band's decision to take on their first female member.  If Dennis were give a few hours to nurse a drink and hover over a piece of parchment, the words would eventually come.  It was why Dennis had sought his own comfort and form of expression in songwriting. 

But, that wouldn't prove very helpful now.  All he could hope for was to avoid saying anything too stupid. 

She was studying him again.  Despite the situation, she seemed to be on the search for something - anything - to fuss over.  If only his mother really knew how truthful he was when he assured her that someone had quite effectively taken over much of the doting duties.  Not that that appeased his mother much.  However, given the situation, Dennis did manage to avoid giving the young woman across the table from her grief for the doting. 

"How surprising," Dennis said, with sarcastic bitterness.  "Family notifications have never been high on the Ministry's priority list.  Bastards."  Apparently, there were times, the Ministry seemed to think the Daily Prophet or gossip served well enough as official notification.  The family still found out, right?  And, it was a step up from writing it in chalk on the family's front walkway.  "And, you have no idea if he knows?"  Of course she didn't.  Having read the article, Dennis now knew as much as she did.  There was the first stupid comment of the afternoon.  He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger.  "Sorry.  I'm sure someone there will tell him.  And, he has other family, too, right?"  From what he had always gathered, the Quinns had always seemed to be one of those wizarding families that just never seemed to end. 

Dennis reached out and rested his hand gently on Tilly's shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze before the young woman pushed herself to her feet.  Thanks to an uncharacteristic moment of wisdom, Dennis managed to delay the slightly bemused snort response to Tilly's question until she was all the way to the fridge?  "Woke up with it," was the easy and literal answer.  "Been on - you know - vacation since we finished with the tour."  In other words, unless he was drunk or sleeping, the headache was pretty much a constant companion since the tour had ended.  But, even though Tilly could probably guess it, Dennis figured that wasn't news she, necessarily, needed to hear. 

"I hope it's not connected," Dennis murmured to himself.  Potential stupid comment number two.  Popping three aspirin into his mouth, Dennis popped the can open and chased the aspirin down his throat with a healthy dose of caffeine.  "Thanks," he offered, glancing up from the paper to Tilly.  Following the line of her gaze back down to the article, he quickly folded the paper and dropping it on the floor, out of view. 

Dennis offered Tilly a slight smirk that could, quite easily, be interpreted as: do you even need to ask?.  "You know I'm rarely one to refuse such an offer."  Dennis considered his friend for a moment.  Yes -  at times like this, whiskey - and the mindless oblivion that followed - were profoundly tempting.  He never would have imagined he'd be the one saying, Dennis felt ironically compelled to point out, "But, yes, there are times when a drink is warranted.  But, you should know.  It doesn't make it go away.  The pain just sits there, waiting for you to sober up."  Unfortunately, Dennis had no words of advice as to the long term solution.  Obviously, he'd never figured it out himself.

Tilly could only offer a strange, half-shrug of a smile that was more of an agreeing frown... and also a sympathetic one. She was sure that Dennis was remembering too much of his past, the death of his brother. Though he’d been there to see it, the young woman found herself wondering how his parents been notified... the school? The Ministry? Poor Dennis himself, as only a teenager who had just survived the muggleborns’ brunt of the war? “I just hope whether he’s found out, or however he finds out, that they use common sense...” It was the last thing Jasper needed to hear; his hormones were already on a tightrope walk. She placed her hands over her face like a visor. “But he needs to know the truth.”

Nodding, Tilly again let her mind race over the family tree, the names she knew better than the personalities that matched them. Of course, she was quite close with Ferris, who was the son of Lukas’ favorite sister. Surely he would be of comfort to Jasper, even if it tale told that Slytherins and Hufflepuffs didn’t exactly mesh. “He has a cousin there. A fifth year, Ferris.” Tilly would remember to write to both of them. “And Lukas’ ex-girlfriend... the headmistress.” She shuddered at the thought, having heard rumors of the controversial shift in administration.

“Mmhmm...” Was all she managed, more to herself than to Dennis. He didn’t need to see her face or hear her voice to know her reaction. Granted, it was mellowed now, struck by a heavier and more permanent worry. Trying to look after her old friend as if he were a delicate five-year-old seemed almost foolish at the moment. But it was also peaceful, and something to do.

It was an unpleasant thought, but one she had to confront-- one the whole family would have to confront: that Lukas’ career had invited enemies, hatred, and revenge, a sick chivalry from those related to the Dark wizards he’d been hired to deal with.

She was glad to see the paper disappear, and raised her own soda in slight cheers before taking a sip. It burned pleasantly, the cool carbonation tickling her throat on its way down. It was always things like sugar, sodium... alcohol... which made dealing with tragedy easier. But Dennis was right, it wasn’t a mask to hide behind. And it was uncharacteristic of Tilly to invite such avoidance into her life. But then grief was a strange thing.

“I know,” she said, her voice soft, but rejuvenated by the liquid. She thought again of the pain he must have dealt with in losing his brother. Being an only child, Tilly couldn’t quite imagine. She took another sip and set her soda down carefully before getting up again to wander toward the shelf where she kept a bottle of Firewhiskey and glasses. She carried it back, balancing it in her arms like a slumbering kitten. “We’ll just have a bit...” Settling back beside Dennis, she hesitated before asking, “Do you still think about him all the time?” She couldn’t help it. She needed to know.

"I'm sure they're better organized about it nowadays," Dennis said, hoping the words bore more comfort to her than they did to himself.  Today, there wasn't the death toll nor the massive, confused chaos there had been when his brother had died.  Which, really, only meant that the Ministry didn't have the excuses it did back them to botch things up.  But, Tilly was well aware of Dennis' lack of confidence in the Ministry - she didn't need to hear him bringing it up now.  Common sense wasn't, exactly, something Dennis trusted the Ministry to have in large supply.  They also seemed to have a knack for misplacing it right when it was needed the most. 

Poor kid, Dennis couldn't help think to himself, shaking his head.  Loosing a brother had been rough.  He couldn't imagine loosing a parent.  Dennis ran his hands over his head, passing his fingers through his hair, drawing it back from his face.  He was certain the effect was of one rather straight out of bed.  But, then, substitute "couch" for "bed" and it wasn't that far off the truth. 

"They've got a new Headmistress?"  Dennis looked up.  Way to sound on top of the news, Dennis.  But, he'd never been one to crack the Daily Prophet on a regular basis and Tilly certainly was aware of that.  "They canned Greyfriar?"  Stupid comment number three.  Dennis offered a sheepish, apologetic scowl, shaking his head.  "Well, that's good, though - right?  He's got people.  Right there - at school.  But, you said ex.  Well - maybe."  How smooth, bloke.  But, still.  Despite Dennis' inability to keep up with the facts, at least the kid wasn't alone - right?  He had someone.  At a minimum, this Ferris kid. 

His words of warning about the alcohol had already stretched the limit of his sense of responsibility.  At least she knew it wouldn't be the fix all and - after all - Tilly was smarter and stronger than him.  Dennis was certain she had the where with all to know that taking another shot wasn't the solution when the grief came flooding back.  Feeling he'd, officially, fulfilled his obligations, he nodded his head as he helped her set the collection of glasses and the bottle on the table.  "Just a bit." 

Dennis poured a healthy measure of firewhiskey into each glass and hoisted his to eye level.  "To Lukas!  The bloke that took up the frontline for us.  He'll be missed."  Perhaps after a few shots to chase away the previous night's hangover, his toast might have been more eloquent but - well - that wasn't how toasts worked, was it?  He tipped the contents of the glass down his throat and set the glass on the table just as she posed the question. 

"Colin, you mean?" he asked, his voice slightly cold and detached.  In the past, inquiries about his brother by friends were usually met with terse and, sometimes, angry reproaches - harsh enough to discourage future inquiries.  It was an off-limits topic and, under usual circumstance, Tilly's question would have been met with the same.  At this point, even saying his name felt a little foreign.  Despite the habitual desire to toss the question back at anyone, he was able to understand where her question came from - and that it wasn't just out of morbid curiosity. 

But, he still felt the need to refill his glass before answering.  Even holding the shimmering, amber liquid was a source of comfort. 

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back slightly.  "I try not to," he admitted, turning the glass on the table as he spoke.  "But, everything seems to be trying to remind you.  But, if you dull your mind, it goes away."  He scratched his head with his free hand.  "Norm and Tony and I were still on the run in County Kerry when - when the battle broke out.  We'd been separated from Colin and Mick back in the Spring.  It was mid-June before they were able to find us and tell us it was over."  The original Three Owl Standard.  When their single track recordings were just little snippets on Potterwatch.  But, he'd digressed from her question. 

"But, yeah.  You always think of 'em.  Part of you hates it and part of you is terrified you might stop.  And, then what's left?  Ah, feck."  Dennis tipped the second glass of whiskey into his mouth, shaking his head as he set the glass down again.

Tilly raised both brows, appraising him for a moment before her own face melted into a smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “I don’t know whether he was sacked, or if he left-- I think they’re making it out to be the latter, but I’m not sure since Analiza Snark was appointed...” Tilly admittedly didn’t know the woman, but she definitely knew the name. “It’s a big change. Head of the Department of Mysteries to Headmistress? I don’t know whether she’s ever taught children before.” Not that it always mattered. Some people were good with children, others weren’t, and it was often an incurable trait. Besides, Lukas had seemed to be fairing well in his drastic career change... until recently. “I’m not sure if she and Jasper are...” What was the word? Close? “Or Jasper and Ferris, really...” She frowned again. But things like this, like death, often brought people together.

Once they’d started on the whiskey, it was clear who was the veteran. Tilly could hold her alcohol alright, and she’d known a good number of parties in her short life, being both a free spirit and a member of London’s tight-knit wizarding music community, but Dennis was obviously the expert where speedy consumption was concerned. She shadowed his toast silently, and took a wonderful, burning gulp from her glass, half of the liquid disappearing like... magic. Curling her legs up and holding the glass pensively, she listened to him, not stirring as he refilled his own whiskey. She was glad she could ask these questions of him; how many people had tried, or not tried when they should have tried? She knew it was a sore subject, and one which he often avoided... one which even Tilly, a lover of truth and verbalizing things, had even managed to avoid for the most part of their decade-long friendship.

A pang of guilt did overcome her when Dennis closed his eyes. Tilly swallowed, let out a breath, and took a small sip from her glass, reveling the feel of the wet, strongly scented object against her mouth. It was a good way to avoid things. A genius tactic, in fact. She could almost understand, even if she constantly worried, why Dennis might hide behind a bottle.

Finally draining her own glass, she set it down on the table and leaned in closer to him as finished his story. “That’s a terrible thing to live with,” she whispered, almost miserably, but softness won out. “You shouldn’t have to forget him, though. There are good things to remember and... to look forward to.” Weren’t there? Tilly desperately hoped so. She hated to say things she didn’t believe. If nothing else, she hoped Lukas’ death would bring some grounding to various branches of the Wizarding World. Things that had happened ten years ago were still happening today, if not on the same scale. Neither Colin nor Lukas had died in vain.

Before the awkwardness of the situation could grab hold of her, shake her, tell her to snap out of it, Tilly reached gently for Dennis’ glass and pulled it from his hand, setting it down almost blindly beside her. She offered him a tiny smile and let her fingers, still cool from the glass, brush over his cheek. She needed the closeness, and she wanted him to need it, too. She’d always tried to take care of him in some way, but here she needed each them to take care of each other. He was the only person who could have helped her in this moment, she believed, and he had, in admitting a sort of pain that it seemed only they could feel.

She leaned closer still, putting her arms around his neck, stretching clumsily over him and burying her face for a moment where she had cried only a while ago. But instead of wetting his shirt again, she breathed deeply and drew back, her eyes shutting as she found his lips with her own. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, unsure why she was apologizing... his brother’s death, her need for his company and reassurance, the whiskey as a means of curing last night’s whiskey,  or the kiss that she hadn’t really ended.

Whether it had been an intentional gesture on her part, Dennis was grateful that Tilly had elaborated on who this 'Analiza Snark' woman was.  It saved him from having to express his ignorance, yet again.  Department of Mysteries.  He agreed that it seemed a strange decision on the part of Hogwart's Board of Governor's though it wasn't unprecedented.  That Umbridge woman hadn't had any experience with education before she got shuffled over from the Ministry of Magic.  Hopefully, that was where the relation between these two women ended. 

Dennis refilled his glass a third time but sat, staring at it.  The breached topic was continuing to break through the numb wall of the alcohol and long suppressed emotions were threatening to surface.  It was settling in Dennis' gut in an angry, writhing mixture of anger, grief, guilt, doubt and regret.  Like someone had surgically implanted a pair of eels in his middle, his insides twisted uncomfortably. 

He quickly down the third shot but, as glass clinked back down on the table, he recognized the all too familiar trace of pain behind Tilly's eyes.  Perhaps, now, Matilda understood - the drinking might be a weakness but it wasn't, entirely, a choice.  Sometimes, at the end of the day, it was simply the best he knew to do.  Were there good things to look forward to?  How did one know that?  Already, just hours after her loss, she was already showing her strength - where she found her unending optimism, he could never guess.  But, despite his own doubts, he smiled at Tilly sadly, nodding his head.  She didn't need to be dragged down with his pessimism again.  He just regretted that it took this turn of events for her to gain an understand. 

Again, he moved to refill his glass but before he could do so, her fingers slipped the glass loose from his hand.  Confusion arched his eyebrow and, for a moment, he assumed the gesture had been a change of mind on her part.  Her optimism had helped her wise up to the alcohol.  But, his eyes quickly softened and he leaned his cheek into her hand.  He turned his head, slightly and pressed his lips against her cool palm. 

Did she have any idea how much she'd meant to him over the years?  Amidst the chaos and the countless foolish choices over the years, Matilda Quinn had been a solid, constant presence in his life.  One his carelessness probably never expressed a full appreciation.  She'd always been his strength and his most trusted friend and he couldn't really remember when he first fell in love with her.  But, as messed up and unstable he kept his life, he'd always accepted she deserved better - he always did his best to keep his feelings hidden behind the platonic friendship.   

Expecting to be comforting her through another wave of grief, he slid his arms around her shoulders and he held her gently as Tilly rested her face against his shoulders. But, rather than shaking with quiet tears, Tilly's shoulders remained still and her face was dry when she pulled away.  "Somehow, it does get -" he'd started to offer some words of comfort but, before he could finish, Tilly's lips pressed against his own.  He kissed her back, his hands around her shoulders hugging her firmly.   

He rested a hand gently against her cheek, stroking the side of her nose with his thumb.  But, even as she kissed him, she apologized.  Was she regretting the kiss?  Was she fearing she was overstepping her boundaries?  He pulled back, slightly, his hand still on her cheek as he searched her eyes for what he assumed had to be regret.  "I'm not," he admitted.  Following his own whim, Dennis leaned in towards her again, renewing the kiss.

Tilly found that she didn’t really mind Dennis’ drinking when he was doing it right next to her, where she could still watch after him, join him. At least not at the moment. He seemed perfectly fine. Perhaps more in control of his own wits than she was of hers... until she’d brought of Colin. But she’d needed to ask, and his response had been both painful and... oddly therapeutic. It was strange, how one human’s pain could evoke response in another. Tilly hated to see her friends in pain, especially the closest ones, but it was a comfort knowing she wasn’t alone, and that behind the glass, Dennis felt it, too. Despite a knack for perception, or digging toward the truth, she had no idea that at the same moment he perceived her to be the stronger one.

His soft mouth was warm, almost hot against the sensitive skin of her hand. It grounded her and made her breath out deeply.

It was a safe and secret feeling, to be held by a friend. For most people, it was probably a shock-worthy feeling to realize that that same friend was a rock musician, fond of partying and living fast, and the very gorgeous object of many fan’s affection. But for Tilly, he was Dennis before he was Dennis Creevy, rockstar. And that was how she liked it.

The kiss was longer than she’d intended. At first, she’d thought it was a bleary mistake, a shot in the dark, a fever. But when he responded, she fell into it before murmuring the apology. It felt good. It felt... thrilling... to kiss Dennis, and not just because-- she thought, though she wasn’t thinking too deeply-- he happened to be the person comforting her.

She didn’t question him after he spoke. She didn’t want to know whether it was just the alcohol, or whether it was Dennis. It actually didn’t occur to her. She simply went with it, letting what felt good and most natural in the present guide her actions. Free-spirited, though perhaps not always to the same degree as her friend, she pulled him down toward her, her eyes closing with heavy pleasantness as her lips enjoyed his. Her fingers roamed blindly, finding the warm back of his neck, rubbing it gently, but with urging.

After a moment, she broke away to kiss his jawline, feeling dizzy with newness but also warm with fervor.

He didn't give it much thought.  The lips pressing against his own were Tilly's and the body that pressed up against his own was, likewise, hers.  The warmth, the softness was her. He knew he'd spent years envisioning himself in countless fantasies where, by fate or chance, he'd found himself standing right here.  Where his arms were wrapped around Matilda Quinn and she was kissing him. 

Those facts were about as far as his consciousness was really delving.  Whether it was the lingering hangover from the previous night, the new dose of ethanol settling into his brain or his reluctance to find any reason to interrupt this leaving, breathing, existing fantasy seemed irrelevant.  There was no reason to approach this any differently than anything else he faced in life - enjoy the moment and don't spoil the fun with anything like worrying about the next day or the consequences. 

In that moment, the warmth of her physical touch brought an intense comfort.  His eyes fluttered closed and his arms, finally, circled around her pulling her firmly against him.  He followed her lead, pressing into her as she pulled his head down.  His own hands mimicked her roaming fingers until, eventually, they slid down her arms and interlaced her fingers with his.  He didn't want to give himself time to think - to come to any sense of reason or responsibility.  Perhaps part of him didn't want to give her that opportunity, either. 

Such things were much easier - much less complicated with those numerous, nameless fans.  There was a simplicity - and ease to it.  His lips finally left Tilly's.  Without a word, he turned and led her towards the bedroom.

Tilly followed without protest, latching onto Dennis as if she needed his touch in order to breathe properly. He was the one steadying presence on this rainy summer evening. She paused only in the doorway, pressing him lightly into the frame to steal more kisses and tug at the hem of shirt. Blindly, she roamed under it, feeling his warm abdomen and finding his trousers. Moving clumsily backward into the room, she took the lead and pulled him along and onto the bed, where she continued to kiss him and pull at his belt.

There was nothing to say, nothing either of them really could say, but the feelings were heated and kept out the cold of the Prophet’s clinical news. Her best friend had become her momentary lover.



***

Light selfishly shone its way past the airy, white cotton curtains that decorated the old-fashioned windows of Tilly’s bedroom. Her head was in no good state; perhaps it had to do with last night’s dinner of soda, a few sips of whiskey, and only the scent of melting ice-cream. And Lukas... the death of Lukas.

She rolled over, trying to escape the sunshine, which just as often stirred her into a cheery start. She squeezed her eyes and reached for a pillow to shroud her face. But one tug made her blue-green gaze flutter open against its will. She blinked the sleep away and found herself staring at Dennis, whose legs were still entwined with her own, and whose handsome profile looked peaceful in a state of unconsciousness. Or maybe it was just Tilly’s imagination.

“Hey,” she whispered after a moment, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Memories, ones having less to do with newspaper headlines and more to do with mouths, and sticky limbs, and heartbeats, flooded her mind’s eyes with more force than the treacherous sun.

She had slept with Dennis.

Frowning a bit, she continued to stare at him. She had never expected this to happen; it had never crossed her mind... sure, he was a dreamy bloke, and a brilliant musician, and a great person to have fun with, and someone to look after, pour her attention into... but he was Dennis. He was a friend, someone to hug when she was down, to kiss chastely on the cheek when he seemed to need it, and to joke with when groupies tried to corner him in a pub. And now he was someone she’d brought into her bedroom and shagged like a friendly stranger from a wild party.

Dennis was vaguely aware of the pillow under his head shifting, slightly.  Lying on his stomach, his face half-buried in the shifting pillow, he groaned, his mind only reaching enough of a conscious level to groan and shift, turning his face away from the offending light.  With the speed and efficiency that only came from regularly sleeping in well past noon, he slipped quickly back into sleep. 

Again, the depths of sleep rippled as a voice whispered in the back of Dennis' mind.  Something - or, rather someone - brushed against his cheek.  Resigning himself to temporary wakefulness - Dennis' eyes fluttered open once and snapped shut again as the overly bright light throbbed against his eyes.  But, in that moment, Dennis had seen Tilly's angelic face gazing across her pillow at him. 

He was lying, naked, next to Tilly in her bed.  He held his breath.  In the fraction of a second his eyes had been opened, it had been impossible to evaluate Tilly's expression enough to garner her reaction to what had, obviously, been an unexpected turn of events. 

Dennis finally forced his eyes open - and to stay open.  Slowly, he freed a hand from underneath the sheets and tenderly brushed her hair back from her hair back from her temple.  But, about then, he noticed the slight frown tugging the sides of her mouth.  It was all he needed to see.  Pessimism had already primed his mind to jump to what seemed like the obvious conclusion.  She regretted it.   

Feck!  What had he done?  Would she blame him?  He'd never been a very good friend - and he didn't exactly have a lot of real, legitimate friends.  Fans, followers - yes.  Those that strove to claim they were his best friend - yes.  But, those that legitimately cared for him were few and far between.  And, with all the times she'd watched over him when he'd done something stupid or drank himself senseless, some might say he was a pretty miserable friend at that.  Now, he'd slept with her when she'd asked him to help her through the grief of Lukas' death.  Would she resent him? 

Though part of him would prefer to remain in the dark, he needed to know that damage done.  "Are you sorry?" he asked, quietly, carefully. 

Tilly didn’t know whether to further frown or to smile when Dennis’ eyes opened and closed again. She knew his gaze by heart, but interpreting it at this hour-- early morning, though it clearly mid-afternoon for everyone else in London-- and after such an unexpected turn of events, was near impossible.

Her own gaze fluttered dangerously between sleep and consciousness when he finally looked at her, touching her hair and face. It felt good to be touched, but she felt guilty, too. She loved Dennis, she’d always loved him, but she had never thought she’d loved him like this. She was confused. And attracted to her best friend, obviously. They’d made it all the way to the goal post, so to speak.

The bigger question in her heart was what this meant to Dennis, who, though Tilly was more of a worrier than a judge, seemed more accustomed to these sorts of things. (Minus the whole slept-with-my-best-friend bit, which was probably new for the both of them.)

“Are you sorry?”

“I...” Was she? Her head hurt, but not from alcohol. Newspaper print crept into her mind with the sun’s unforgiving light. She curled closer to him, looking at his chest. “I don’t know, Dennis,” she admitted. Honesty was the best policy. She needed time to evaluate this. Her feelings for him, and the lingering hurt from Tavin. From Lukas. “I didn’t mean for this to happen-- I guess I was sort of lonely, and...” She wanted to cringe. How terrible did she sound? How cruel a person would do that to a friend? “Not like that. I--” She was usually better at being straightforward. “It was definitely g--” Not the best time to focus on the details, either. “I love you. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

But...

“Are you?” Her voice almost lost itself and she caught his eye again. She put her arm over his warmth in a sort of half-hug.