_{This post was written in part by SJ, who is awesome. Continued from HERE}

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Those... are really high. Imma stay right here

Sophie Fli—Nix Sullivan—hugged the banister. Which was, Deus—Ace—realized with a resigned sigh, sort of the problem. The red heels that had transfigured her into a twenty something version of herself were in his hands. NOT on her feet. Which meant he should have been looking at a sixteen year old pixie of girl, and he wasn't. It would wear off, he didn't doubt. But there was no way in hell he could take her home looking like, like, his mind failed him, for once. So he was taking her to one of the Kelpie hideouts, a little apartment not too far from the concert. She'd be…

His mind scrambled. With her wrapped around the banister like a static sock, that little excuse for a dress was…

Nope. Pure thoughts.

He had them so rarely, surely that meant he'd saved enough up to get through this night.

It was going to be a long night.

"Naw, sugar. Naw, come on," He pried her off as gently as he could, picked her up and plonked the heels in her lap so he could balance her more easily. Merlin, she was light as a feather. "Come on," He said again, carrying her easily up the steps, shaking his head with wry amusement. He left her lone for a minute—one minute and she was doing shots with two guys with too many tattoos. He hadn't been surprised, not really. And he hadn't stopped her—she was a big girl. Or well, not so big, which is why he had stepped in when it became apparent she wasn't going to be able to keep up with her partners…

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'Come on, Nix, time to go home.'

"I don't know whyyy you're fussing. Tiny and Pudge are very nice for men covered in more ink than the M'ns'try Libry"

Sure they were, Deus had thought to himself, amused as punch.  And never mind that Tiny was anything but, and Pudge was the skinniest stick of a string bean Deus had ever laid eyes on.

'Yes. Yes they are. Now say g'night, Nix.'

"E'rr'body wanted to buy me drinks! Boobs are awesome."

'Yes. Yes they are. Now say g'night, Nix.'

"g'night Nix!"

---

"Atta girl." Deus murmured, holding the girl with one arm to mutter the unlocking spell on the door. Don't think about her curves, kid. Don't think about it. "Come on…"

Home sweet home. It was, in away. Deus used it more than most of the other Kelpie residents. The permanent ones didn't leave that much, and the ones who drifted through usually had their own flops. There wasn't much to it, it was small. There was a small fireplace with a cauldron, a closet that had some of Deus's clothes in it, a little bathroom that had seen better days, and a box with a freezer charm that had a few beers and some beef jerky. And one bed.

It was going to be a long night.

Sophie had taken her transformation from tiny and insufficient to leggy heartbreaker in stride, totally in stride. Right. Yep. It wasn't as if being Nix Sullivan flipped some switch in her brain and suddenly she thought she could do more than awkwardly hold a beer... only that had basically been exactly what happened. The bassist was six sheets to the wind by the time the band took the stage so the concert was less than she had anticipated. Of course when he caught sight of her leaning against the bar he'd been the first to offer her a drink. Deus didn't seem phased by it and really why would a grown woman be in a bar if she wasn't going to drink. That had been sound logic at the time, at least that was how Sophie would look back on it later.

Somewhere between beers one and five she had made the friendly acquaintanceship of two roadies who thought it was hilarious that she called them Tiny and Pudge. She was pretty sure it was the way she looked in the dress and not actually because she was funny; but she had been thoroughly irritated when Deus was distracted by a groupie in a short skirt. The next thing she knew she was taking shots of something and getting down with her bad self, or at the very least getting comfortable with her bad self. Of course she would have to figure out a better way to get his attention than getting drunk every time Deus Deres got distracted by a damn short skirt... not that she wanted his attention or anything. That would go strictly against their agreement.

It was all just fun and games - and he let her have her fun. Then he had tried to quietly lead her out of the bar but tipsy!Nix was like Sophie in a lot of ways. Nothing a Flickwick ever did was quiet. Ever. She had blown kisses and tried to get away from him at least twice. If she hadn't fallen off her damn shoe when she was skipping away from him the second time he might never have caught her. Of course she did fall, landed squarely on her ass too. It was then they found that removing the shoes didn't turn her back into a pumpkin. If she had not been drun-tipsy, she might have panicked. As it were she felt it was an excuse to try to go back to the bar. Deus had other ideas however and had slung her over one shoulder until she'd started squealing about her knickers showing.

Somehow - despite several attempts to distract him, they had made it to wherever he thought it was he should take her to let the effects of the alcohol and enchantment wear off. At some point being a naughty goat ceased to be fun and she let him lead her "home", only putting up a fight when he tried to beckon her up the stairs. It was with a sudden rush she plopped herself on the first step and clung to the aged and rickety banister, knowing without a doubt if she took two steps up she would be sick. Her head was getting awful spinny. He apparently had no intention of leaving her where she was quite happy to sit and once more she found herself in his arms. They were nice arms to be in truth be told - not that she would ever give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"You know you just carried me over the threshold like we are married people," the tone of her voice was amused as she tried to flail herself out of his arms. Her cool and calm persona was long lost on the way to this little safehouse. She was fully back to being Sophie in a grown up body she did not completely know what to do with. Bare flat footed (when he finally released her) Sophie found that the boy still towered over her, "Huh. I thought I grew... well besides out, like up," she pursed her lips to one side as she placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder again. "I know you think it's cute, but by the time I'm fifty having Abuelita's ass is going to be bad. I have seen what happens to it after sixty," brown eyes nothing less than forlorn as she turned her face back to Deus.

If Sophie had been trying to get his attention, even just a teensy bit, Deus certainly hadn't noticed. The girls he usually dealt with fell into one of two characters; the Hogwarts girls who neither took him seriously nor expected seriousness from him, and the secretive criminal witches whose plans were as short term and self-centered as his own, and neither was exactly clamoring for his presence. He was usually pretty observant about people and their feelings about things, but for all his surprising aptitude for that sort of thing, he was a kid, and he had blind spots.

He might have been jealous. Maybe a little. If it weren't for the fact Tiny could have been her dad—or at least a much older brother, and Pudge…well, Deus was pretty confident he could take Pudge. But even the short skirt he'd been cozying up to hadn't been able to distract him. Not entirely. He'd kept finding his  attention wandering back to an entirely different short skirt in way that wasn't completely borne of responsibility and brotherly concern. A fact evidenced by the fact that he had no problems snickering—not unkindly—when she landed on her ass, even if he did quick tie his coat around her waist to keep anyone else from getting a show.

Wands and cauldrons, what did he do now? He ran a hand through locks of hair that still swung at his chin even in his transfigured form. This was not, repeat not, how nights when he got a girl up to a bedroom usually went. At least she was acting like Sophie. If she'd still been pulling that sassy little seduction act she'd pulled at Hadley's…well. Deus was many things, but "saint" was not one of them. He had a limit to how much good behavior he could stretch, and the short hemline and slim legs were pushing it big time. Having her squirming around in his arms hadn't helped.

Really. REALLY hadn't helped.

Deus shoved his hands in his pockets, distressingly uncomfortable enough as he was. She ain't sober. She ain't sober. She AIN'T sober, keep yer 'ands tae yerself. FEHCK Tiny. FEHCK Pudge. She's ain't sober, Merlin's bleeding bloody boggarty blue balls!. It was a litany. And he was sticking to it.

"Ye wannae play house, Missus Deres?" He cracked, and because he decided he deserved a reward for his good behavior up this point, he leaned to place a perfunctory peck on her lips, keeping his hands to himself. And then because he needed some distance before they had a repeat of earlier, he slipped into the bathroom and returned with a tankard full of cool water. "Drink."

It wasn't a request.

He felt utterly out of his element. Never, not once in his life, had he had to take care of anyone. The drunks at the Kelpie usually just got flooed home with strict orders that they could collect their broomsticks when they were sober. What was he supposed to do? To offer her? His mind was more than a little fuzzy—and it wasn't from any alcohol he'd imbibed.

"Yer Abuelita is a fine lookin' lass." Or at least, she probably was. Deus hadn't met a woman he didn't think was beautiful. "Ahn ye'll put 'er tae shame."

Sophie was still preoccupied with her behind when he asked if she wanted to play house, subsequently when she turned to ask him what it was he had just said and was met squarely on the lips with the second most chaste peck she'd ever received in her life she wasn't entirely sure she understood what was going on. Her brain was also muddled with drinks and a strange sort of euphoria that came with doing something very badly and getting off almost scot-free (save the little problem of her not turning back into herself when the shoes came off. She made a small noise in the back of her throat and went to wrap her arms around his neck but she was left only clutching air - that seemed symbolic, or at the very least foreshadowing.

She blinked once then twice before shrugging it off (it was an easy thing to do when one had ingested as much alcohol as she had in such a short amount of time, with next to no tolerance for that sort of thing). Looking around the small flat she felt a little sad for Deus that this was, from what she could tell, the place he called home. Not so sad that it killed her buzz however, actually she felt herself sway on her feet as she wandered around the room barefoot. If she had been sober she might have been more worried about where her feet were stepping but she was blissfully unaware as he emerged from the bathroom. First she looked at him then she looked at the water and shook her head, "You mighta put something inn'at".

She swayed on her feet, pressing the tip of her finger into his chest, eyes narrowed, a smirk tugging on her lips, "You're th' one who lectured an' lectured me about not drinkin anythin I didn't watch get poured". She stuck her tongue out at him then and continued her swaying tour of the tiny space. "Asides, I'm not thirsty," her feet shuffled lazily away from him, face turned toward the ceiling as though it were painted with the most intricate patterns (in actuality, water stains). Sophie giggled to herself (knowing Deus was trying to corner her) as she pulled on the neck of her dress. Without thinking she started to tug the black material over her head. Of course between the tie and the zipper in the back it wasn't long before she was a hunchy tangled mess,"HALP! I'm stuck...but you can't look! We're not really married, so you can't see my knickers".

You mighta put something inn'at.

Deus felt a headache coming on.

A very strong headache.

A pint-sized pixie of a headache.

But closing his eyes to rub his temples in bemused exasperation proved to be a mistake, because no sooner had he done so than did Sophie let out a cry for help. His hazel eyes immediately flew open and he took a step forward.

Deus sucked in his breath.

And experienced a slow, inevitable meltdown.

He groaned, a sound of the utterly damned, and closed his eyes, "Nae, love. 'Fraid I can." He murmured under his breath, with regards to her knickers. He wasn't sure, at the moment, if he wanted to strangle Hadley or sing her praises. The woman had a knack. The snowy white lace was sweet and charming, and, on that figure, absolutely lethal.  And it was a bridal enough to be a blatant reminder of who he was dealing with. There weren't a lot of girls Hadley would put in white. "All righ', all righ', donnae get yer knickers in a twist." Or, ye know, do. Either way. Deus kicked open the closet with his wand out (you never knew, in this place, and it had been a few months since he'd last flopped here), and when nothing immediately attacked him, dug out the longest, biggest, baggiest piece of clothing he could find.

Then, not even pretending to close his eyes, he tossed the sweater over his shoulder and went to his damsel in distress. "Allright, allright, stop wavin' yer rear around, love, it's distracting." Wonderfully distracting. Horribly distracting. Not sober. Not. Sober. He shimmied the hem back down, unzipped, untied, and untangled as swiftly as he could, getting enough of a glance of white lace to discern she had a matching set, and his hands froze.

Long night.

Long. Night.

Taking a deep breath—which didn't help, because she smelled like warm sun and sweat and the faint spice of spellworks the shoes had—he made sure the dress was in place, but suitably uncomplicated enough she should be able to manage getting ou--Stop. Stop there. And then he put his hands on her waist and steered her unerringly for the bathroom.

"Oh, aye, yer nae t'irsty now, but ye gon' tae piss like a racehorse first chance ye get, ahn not 'ave a drop a liquid left in ye. Wake up wit' yer 'ead all cottony, and yer mouth like a t'ree day old sock. Nae pleasant, love. So if ye'll nae take a drink from meh, be a good lass ahn get a drink o'water while yer in there, aye?"

"You aren't 'upposeda be lookin at my rear! I told you, we're not really married," she sounded exasperated, and like a true drunk completely ridiculous. If she had been in her right mind... well if she had been in her right mind she wouldn't have started trying to get undressed in front of him in the first place. If she were in her right mind she would be at home in bed not in a flophouse. If she had been her right mind her night would have been wholly boring so maybe this being a little out of control, a little crazy, a lot drunk was a good thing in a way. She was getting some serious escapades out of the way with someone who knew how to get out of a jam...except when that jam involved how to deal with a Nix-sized Sophie who had had way too much to drink. She almost wished she were sober enough to appreciate that fact, almost.

When he was done untangling her she turned to look at him, her finger in the middle of his chest again, features contorted into that of a comically serious twenty-something, "You, Mister Ace Floggerbottom need to quit lookin at my bottom," her expression softened as she wrapped her slender arms around his neck and gave him a very tight Sophie-sort of hug, "mostly cause when it's gone you're gonna be real sad if you get any more attached". She giggled then as she placed a loud kiss on his cheek and took the shirt he offered toward a bathroom that was too awful to fathom. She'd almost rather get dressed in front of him, but some part of her knew there was only so much a sixteen year old boy could take from even her and she was getting dangerously close to his breaking point. It was a weirdly empowering feeling... that she quickly quashed.

Wanting to spend as little time in the wretched loo as possible, she shucked off the dress and slipped into the oversized shirt that fell at a mildly disconcerting length. It was not as long as the dress. This would be a problem for both of them. She wished she had had the foresight to grab her hair bungee from Hadley's shop when they'd left, but as it were her dark hair spilled over her shoulders in soft waves. They would have to make do. She was sobering a little - but no where near enough to be the one in control of the situation. Of course even if she had been... that might have been worse, it'd have given them both less pause to think about things. Not that she was really aware he was following her own line of thought - she had not been Nix long enough to realize his reaction was more than just shock. Opening the door she poked her head out before the rest of her followed, "I am not sure you will think this is much of an improvement".

"Sure we be married. Ye donnae remember th' ceremony? There were doves. Many a tear shed. Quite brief."  Deus nodded sagely, saccharine tones wrapping around the falsehood like a warm velvet glove, as easily as he would ask a bartender for a butterbeer on a Hogsemeade weekend.

Deus, for all that he was a lazy, layabout delinquent who spent most of his spare time involved in the unsavory, was pretty darn good at compartmentalizing his life. There was 'us' and there was 'them'. You kept them separate. You behaved like 'them' unless you were with 'us', and Sophie was very much a 'them'. Which meant Deus had to behave like a relatively normal sixteen year old boy who was her friend first, and not like a native of this particular street. Which meant, as long as she stopped dancing around partially clothed, she was safe. Ish. Mostly.

Hey, he was trying. But the 'sixteen year old boy' part was really more of a problem than his hazy ethics at the moment.

Her finger jabbed in his chest and he winced, not because it hurt, mind you (the thought of Sophie trying to hurt anyone was sort of hysterically amusing enough to distract him) but because it was such a Sophie-like gesture. He raised an eyebrow at 'Floggerbottom' and sniffed with affronted dignity. That did not deserve a response. Not at all. And then he grinned. "Aw, yer bottom always looks good, Soph. Tops in Gryffindor, wit'out a doubt." He said this with the air of someone who knew this to be fact and nodded sagely, and idly rubbed the cheek where she'd kissed him with a lazy, pleased smile.

By the time Sophie had emerged from the bathroom, Deus had tossed a pillow on the ground of the flat. The floor was wooden, so at least he didn't have to worry about who knew what growing in the carpet. He'd have gone and slept in the tub but, well, Sophie had seen the loo. Not the kind of place one lingered in. And he couldn't leave—this wasn't his personal flat. While it was unlikely any other employees of the Kelpie would be passing through, it still wasn't worth the potential risk to leave Sophie alone.

"Did ye drink anyt'in, lass?" He shouted to her before she left, and then sighed as she re-emerged.

At least he was prepared this time for the smooth expanse of slim legs. He was building a tolerance. Yeah right..

Steeling himself, he walked over to her and grabbed a corner of the sleeve, wand appearing in his hand with the speed only someone who'd mastered sleight of hand could manage. "Engorgio." The sweater slowly grew until Deus realized that any more and it wouldn't stay on her shoulders. Why did her shoulders have to be so tiny? He bit back another sigh and waved off the enchantment, which still wasn't as better as he'd like, but a definite improvement from where he was standing.

"Tha's only because Lou graduated. Even my sister liked Lou's bum," her voice was distracted as she shifted from one foot to the other, feet suddenly cold against the hardwood floor. Then of course she realized what she had just said and looked up at him, her eyes narrowed in thought, "Just how much time do you spend looking at Gryffindor bottoms in the first place? If we're married you can't do that anymore..." she trailed off her mind caught on another idea, eyes focused on the floorboards as she tried to piece it together. Drunk logic latched onto the idea of a list, a list about bums. A list she was on. Why was there a list like that? Who needed a list like that? And! Were Ravenclaw bums higher on the list than Gryffindor? Was each house ranked separately then overall depending on the number that dictated where your house fell - or were their two lists, one according to house and then one according to overall niceness?

"How come just the best in Gryffindor? I would think your wife's bum ought to be your favorite no matter what,"  she shook her head without looking at him, starting to shuffle away again - but he had her by the shirt sleeve. For a moment she thought she was shrinking as the sweater grew and it added to the woozy feeling already making her a little dizzy. "Stop making me smaller Floggerbottom! I'll be invisible soon," she tugged her arm away and stumbled a little, bumping into the wall, though it hardly phased her. She was rubbing her head sleepily, the way she had when she was a toddler and it was nap time but she didn't want to give in. This could not be attractive, at all - in the far reaches of her mind where reasonableness had gone to die she knew this. She knew she needed to get herself together or everything was going to be a bit more disastrous than even Deus could take.

"I'm not thirsty," she reiterated, though she wandered over to where he had placed the tankard of water and took two healthy gulps, trying to keep the neck of his sweater over both shoulders and up in front. It was an impossible task. It would have been impossible if she were sober, but in her current state of mind it was harder to keep track of everything that was showing. She raised the obnoxiously sized cup over her head and triumphantly said, "Drunk half"! Of course there came an awful sloshing in her stomach, which was either from the water or the fact she had nothing in it besides liquid poison. She had vowed, however, when she started drinking, that tonight would not be a reenactment of how her parents had met. She did not want to spew all over Deus... because even though it probably wouldn't have been the first time it ever happened to him she didn't think she could recover the way her Da had.

"The room is very spinny. I think I should sit," of course drinking tends to effect one's depth perception and rather than landing on the bed she found herself in a heap on the floor. The benefit to wearing a sweater more than four sizes too big for you was, of course, that it sort of fluttered over her legs and she was in no danger of showing anyone more than they had already seen (not that Sophie probably would have noticed at this point). Actually there wasn't a shot in hell of her noticing because she seemed rather confused by her placement on the floor rather than the bed. She looked down, then up, then at Deus, then at the tankard still in her hand "I think I missed the bed". A sort of bemused smile twitched on her lips as she rested her back against the frame and closed her eyes, "Y'wanna hear something funny? S'ok, I'mma tell you anyway, my legs?" she paused to look at him, "they have forgot how to stand up and not be jelly".

"Lou who?" Deus replied amiably and dismissively, as though it didn't matter, and it didn't--not to him. He was delightedly entertained, and decided right then that Sophie needed to be drunk more often. But clothed, preferably. Or not. No, clothed. Definitely clothed. "A great deal." He admitted with a perfectly serious face. He was lying, of course, but again, it was never characteristic of Deus to answer directly asked questions. "It's very serious business. Can't be distracted by Hufflepuff bums, you know. Must stay strictly focused. It's quite challenging." He clucked his tongue and smiled, acquiescing immediately to her request. "All righ' love. I shall focus on me dear wee wife's only from this point forward."

Because he was only human, he did steal a glance, though the self-control to do so cost him. Hands in yer pockets. Was there a spell that separated your brain from your body? Deus could use it right now. He held up a hand and shook his head solemnly. "Privileged information, love. Ah've already said too much."

And then she was hollering about shrinking. Deus was not the type to try and hide his laughter that came at someone else's expense, so he just snickered and ruffled her hair. She'd probably have a bruise from that bump in the morning, but for now, at least, he was glad she didn't seem to feel it. An invisible Sophie. That would be handy right now.

She may not have found the childish motion attractive, but Deus thought it was rather endearingly charming, and yet another badly needed reminder to keep his hands off her. Not once, with the brief exception of steering her to get changed, had he slid his arms around her as he usually did, Sophie or Nix. He needed to get her to bed. And when she was back to normal, get her home in her own bed.

It wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight anyway.

He was relieved when she finally drank some of the water. Not as much as he would have liked, but any bit would help.  And if she had a wee bit of a hangover the next morning—the thought had some perverse glee, though he realized the suffering she was causing him wasn't entirely her fault—well, he may not always be around to keep her from taking that last shot. A little extra deterrent couldn’t hurt. "'At's me lass." He said approvingly. He'd have offered her something to eat, but all he had was beef jerky in this place, and the street stalls in Knockturn…well, he suspected fried newt tails on stick were not going to sit well with however many shots of flaming phoenix blood she'd had. Besides, eating now wouldn't do much good except possibly upset her stomach, and from the slight change in her coloring—Deus was paying very, very close attention to all that skin—they didn't need that. Bed. Let the worst of its way through.

He turned to pull the sheets and blankets back—before he'd left last time, he'd put a stasis spell on them, so while no one could say they were fresh as a daisy, they certainly weren't the musty, dusty sheets one would expect in an apartment that had gone unused in weeks—and the action caused him to miss the opportunity to catch Sophie as she abruptly went floorbound. Probably a good thing, as long as she wasn't hurt.

He snickered without malice and crouched next to her. "Aye, lass, ye did." His voice was low and lilting, the kind of warm depth that he'd use to get a scared puppy out from a hiding spot. "They'll do tha', when ye drink. Come on, up we go." He slipped one arm around her waist, shifting the weight of her head from the frame to his shoulder, as gently as he could. Slowly, because he really didn't want to be puked on, he lifted her from the floor to the bed, fluffing the remaining pillow to look as tempting as possible. "'Tis their way o' tellin' ye 'tis time tae close yer eyes fer a wee bit." He didn't say 'go to sleep' because the perverse streak she'd been displaying all day would probably make her get up and run around some more, and that would be unpleasant for all involved. "Donnae be alarmed if th' room seems tae be spinnin' a bit when ye do, lass." He shook his head with a wry grin.

He'd seen plenty of the Slytherin girls blitzed. Even most of them had a kind of innocence sometimes. He wondered if it was a girl thing. Of course, some of them started trying to strip you out of your knickers, and some of them started screeching obscenities and trying to tear your eyes out.

But at least he knew what to do with them...

Sophie started to say that if they were married there was no such thing as privileged information, and also that he had had the privilege of seeing her nearly bare ass'd so he might as well answer but her brain couldn't quite form the connection necessary to sass him at that moment. It had been a big day for her after all, from the moment he nearly crushed her to death to his miraculously keeping her from dancing on a table tops; this was not a typical Sophie adventure. Her adventures usually involved  falling from places (which techencailly she had  done) or doing something to torment Ruby (this probably qualified), the thing that set tonight apart from any other summer escapade was the lack of innocence. Oh sure Sophie herself couldn't really seem anything but in Deus' world, but in her world there was always a safety net, there was always more than one person to come to her rescue.

Deus might have taken a chance on her, letting her into his world just a little, but she took a chance on him too. She chose to trust that he wouldn't leave her high and dry, that he wouldn't let anything worse than too many shots of whatever that was she'd been downing at the bar. She had no reason to trust him so much, the person he presented to the world was always out for number one... but deep down that wasn't who he was, at least not completely. She liked having that secret, even if she wasn't really sober enough to know it belonged to her. She wasn't so far gone that she would forget, no matter how many of the night's events it might be better if she did. She wouldn't ask questions or be needy, there would be no expectation that things were suddenly now different between them (even though they obviously were). It all fit together perfectly in the hazy place her brain was swimming.

It would be harder when they were memories and he went back to his public persona, to kissing any girl that walked by. But maybe it wouldn't matter, maybe she had enough Nix in her for it not to hurt, maybe... as he picked her up off the floor she rested her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath wrapping her arms around his neck. There was a sleepy sort of smile that tugged on her lips as she tried to hide the fact she was clinging to him for dear life. Her entire body felt like it had lost its bones. She was, for all intents and purposes, a flobberworm. He made a nice leaning post though, even if he smelled like the bar. She rested her forehead against his jaw as he tried to put her into bed, managing to resist for a moment, 'Hey, wait, y'wanna know something else," she didn't wait for him to answer, "I had the best night, cause-a you Mister Ace-Deus".

She sort of flopped onto the bed, eyes half closed as she muttered, "So much better than Logorrhea and stupid Figaro bellowing about wanting to kiss Envy Katakura, which why would he even say. I mean we only dated a month, and he slobbers when he kisses, but I was his girlfriend and it seems like a mean thing to say in front of someone you used to want to kiss with tongues but don't anymore. Not that I want to kiss him with tongue," she looked up at Deus then and shook her head, "I don't! You don't believe me, I can tell, but really. Iss Fig. He's hopeless. Not as hopeless as Chance though, cause Chance never even kissed me back. That was awful," she paused  and narrowed her eyes, looking at the lumps of her feet underneath the blankets, "did I ever tell you that story? It's a dumb story, but it's the story of my life".

She blew her hair from her eyes and gave a one shoulder shrug, "I kissed a boy, well not any boy, Chance - but it could have been any boy, even stupid Envy-tongue-kissing Figaro, and he would rather have been kissing Fauna Blake. Only, I was half asleep when I did it, so I'm not sure that counts. Do you think it counts? I don't think it should. That's not really fair because it means all my kisses have been not awesome - and it didn't even have tongue so shuddup," oh the things a sleepy drunk mind could come up with as it clung to the arm of her knight in crinkled tinfoil. "Maybe I should have kissed Pudge. He looked like he wanted to kiss me. That was weird, right? He had a big nose. I wonder if that makes kissing hard. Hey! You've kissed people with big noses I bet, does it get in the way?" she looked up at him with her head cocked to one side quizzically finally pausing long enough to let him answer.

If he had to confess, the real reason why Deus was so good at his public persona was simply because it wasn't really a persona. The selfish, flirtatious slacker was as much a part of him as the boy who didn't want to ruin one the few innocent friendships he had, who was as much a part of him as the not-so-much-a-boy who carried a knife along with his wand, and had seen it, with pleasure, bite skin and pour blood in hazy moonlight. He was callous, he was kind, he was violent, he was funny, he was all of it and none of it was a lie. He just never showed his whole hand. You saw a card or two at a time—the others were always there, blurred in the shuffle until the right hand went to draw.

He didn't remember a time when he couldn't see thestrals, because death was something he'd seen and accepted before he was old enough to have magic of his own. Survival and knowledge had a way of shaping a person from contradictions and dichotomies.

Which was how and why Deus could both plan for the future and not bother with it. He didn't analyze—he just figured, a subtle but distinct difference. He lined out all possible consequences, determined if they were acceptable or not, and if they weren't, he put plans in place to avert them. If they were, he didn't bother with them anymore. They'd happen or they wouldn't. If this night changed things between them, it wasn't unacceptable. It would happen, and he'd deal, one way or another.

And he was good at dealing.

He laughed, warm and rich and pressed a feathersoft kiss to her temple. "Glad tae oblige th'lady." He said.  And grit his teeth. See. Best night. Make sure it stays that way. He tried very hard not to listen to the part of his mind that said he could do just that—for both of them—if he stopped being a prude.

Not. Sober.

Deus raised his eyes skyward and tried not to cuss out loud. He made an effort to detach her and lay her on the bed, but her arms were tight and her body as boneless as water, so instead he sat on the side of the bed and tried very hard to think of her as an overlarge kneazle. When at last she detached, he remained sitting on the edge, still in his jeans and shirt, though he'd kicked off the boots. One hand lazily played with the silk strands of her dark hair, and then continued stroked through her hair and over her back in an unconscious motion, like he would with a sick child.

And raised a very, very interested brow as Sophie began to spill as though she had ingested Logorrhea. All of his good intent was being used up at the moment, so there was none to spare to stand on his shoulder and hiss that he should politely pretend to be deaf later. Heck no, he was taking notes. He smirked slightly as she grumbled about Figaro's kissing ability. Poor bloke. He hid the smirk, re-arranging his features into the sympathetic mask he'd used a hundred times before on others, drunk and sober alike, and made the appropriately soothing noises at the right intervals. A snort of disgust here, a small, conspiratorial chuckle there.

Chance, he thought derisively, was a dipshit.

Fig, well, Fig was just hopeless, and really, if Sophie had been expecting anything else…well, it was Figaro. The boy was his own force of nature, and to expect him to be anything else was folly. Not much sympathy there.

Though, really, she was right about him bringing up Envy not being his brightest move. This from a boy who…well, nevermind. This wasn't about him. It was about Sophie. He kept stroking her hair softly, hands rough and calloused but warm, finding it much easier now that he was pretending she was just a big fluffy cat. He shook his head as she asked if she'd told him the Chance story, and kept listening, letting her get it out with only the barest responses to let her know he was listening.

"Fauna who?" He murmured, raised eyebrow and eyes focused on her half-closed ones, with the same dismissive tone he'd allotted Lou, because he suspected Sophie needed to hear it, based on the waterfall of words he was sorting through. A 'nae' to the half-asleep kiss counting, along with a soft snort that amounted to 'of course not'.

She had his arm trapped, and the other one finally stilled in its stroke, instead curling the tips of her hair around his rough palm, gently twisting and tangling and releasing. "Pudge kisses like a fish, all mouth open, mouth closed, mouth open, mouth closed." He demonstrated, for effect. "Ye were right nae tae indulge 'im." If he were the jealous type, he'd have gone out and decked Pudge for the thought. But he wasn't, really. He was too mellow for jealousy. And too lazy. Way too lazy. Humor took less effort. He rolled his eyes at the That's weird, right? because no, looking like that it was not. For that matter, acting like she did, she'd have endeared herself to anything male or female on two legs and interested in girls. "Th' bartender wanted tae take a bite, too. Good t'ing I gotcha outta there." It was true, though he doubted Sophie had noticed. The bartender had been a girl with a blood red mohawk and as many tattoos as Pudge and Tiny combined, with spiky heels that put even Nix's to shame.

Only the knowledge of what the bartender would do to him if she knew he tried kept him from closing his eyes and picturing that fantastic little image.

For that matter, Sophie'd probably be pretty scary too, but he couldn't think of both of them at once because that was just too much right now.

Long freaking night.

 "Hmm." He thought, pretending to consider her question very carefully. He stroked his chin, lost in thought, and then, because he figured he was in control enough—barely—for it, he ducked and placed a quick kiss on her small nose, and then a sweet, lingering goodnight kiss on her lips. It wasn't brotherly. It wasn't even particularly friendly, because some of the edge he was feeling at having her next to him in nothing but skin, his sweater, and white lace, hard and almost angry, was mixed with the sweetness and the linger of alcohol on both of their lips.

And instead of answering, he ran one more hand through her hair and pulled back, eyes closed with the strain of stopping. And said in a growl, because that was all he could really manage at the moment, "Now go tae sleep."

"Don't patrah- peyter-," she narrowed her eyes a little, annoyed with the false starts and thick tongue, "Don't just indulge me. You know very well who I mean. You are not as sneaky as you think Mister-Fifty-Bajillion-Names. I see your secret," she tapped the tip of his nose as he made his reassuring nose. It wasn't that he was bad at...whatever it was he was trying to do, it was just the idea that anyone would not have an idea who Fauna Blake was, was blatant insanity or a bald-faced lie. Sober Sophie would have appreciated the gesture, at least to some degree. It was just... Drunk Sophie knew that Deus liked all women too much to ignore or be unaware of either girl. He might want to pad her ego but it'd have gone better if he gave her something to hold onto besides being dismissive of prettier girls' existence. Alternately she was just an argumentative and contrary when intoxicated.

"That doesn't look very nice...but how do you know how Pudge kisses anyway? See, you can't just make things up like that. He could be a very nice kisser. I mean it has to be better than non-returned sleep kisses and having Fig choke me with his tongue. I can't keep practicing on Lucas. It's just getting weird at this point," she was rambling again, absently rubbing one eye as she fought the urge to fall asleep. She didn't want to wake up yet and that was what would come next. She would wake up and the spell would be over and then she'd have to go back to being completely Sophie. Sophie who cared more about making other people happy, Sophie who let weird things happen and never confronted them, Sophie who dreamed big things but was terrified to try and have them, Sophie who both felt too demanding and too meek about too many of the important things in life.

She wasn't ready to be Sophie yet. She wasn't ready to give up the nice bottom and the decent rack and the way that Deus had maybe looked at her when he wasn't trying to look everywhere else. She would have told him all that too except then his mouth met hers in a kiss that was full of a hard edged longing she didn't know what to do with. It shocked her system, like being dumped in ice cold water after being hauled out of a warm bed. For a moment she could do nothing but be stunned; stunned and kissed. Then, on instinct (because it wasn't as though she had a lot of experience with this sort of thing) she returned it. She felt as though all the oxygen in her body had been sucked out, her lungs burned and her brain felt bot connected and hazy at the same time. This was not like the kisses in Hadley's shop or anything else that had ever happened between them.

It would have been easy (and also foolish) to think for a moment that a kiss was more than a kiss - but that kiss, it felt like a promise... or maybe a threat. It was hard to say because her mind was woefully jumbled and disoriented when it ended all too soon. He pulled back, though her fingers were still tangled in his shirt front - when had she even done that? Her heart hammered in her ears and her stomach twisted up in knots that had nothing to do with it's current contents, eyes fluttering open to look at Deus, really look at him, for the first time since they'd entered the tiny flat. It was sinful for someone to be that gorgeous and to kiss you like that, like you belonged to them - when there was no chance in the universe for you to keep them. For the first time in the whole night she felt so far out of her element she was sure she would disappoint him.

Reaching up she ran her thumb over his bottom lip, trying to wipe away the trace of red that lingered there. She wanted so badly to be someone other than she was, to really be Nix because she would know what to do in this situation. It felt like most anyone in the world would know better in this situation. Kisses weren't promises, she wished she was the kind of girl who could know that. She wanted to be. She wanted it to just be fun... but somehow it didn't feel like just fun. She would turn it over in her head from every angle, probably in the hopes of finding some sliver of something more that just wasn't there. She had done it with Devlin. She had done it with Chance. Maybe someday she would learn her lesson but odds were not in her favor. "You don't have to..." she stopped, embarrassed that her voice sounded so raw in her own ears.

Gordic's Garter's could she be more pathetic? "I mean... the floor isn't that comfortable, or clean," she paused looking over the edge of the bed for a moment before turning her eyes back toward him, "I sleep better when I'm not alone"? Her voice ended on a high note, a question, she felt suddenly too conscious and aware of what was happening. She wished she could go back to amused oblivion but he'd managed to snap her right of that hadn't he? Still, she scooted over in the bed and laid back, looking up at him, waiting. She hated that it felt like begging, and she wished she could just shut the hell up - but Sophie had never been good at shutting up and she was back to being Sophie now, at least in Spirit if not in body. "At least till I fall asleep. I'll feel less guilty..." she trailed off, and rolled into her side to face him, small playful smile tugging on the corner of her lips, "I promise your Maidenly virtue will remain intact".

Deus frowned, and gave Sophie one of those looks that suggested she wasn't being very bright. He did that from time to time, because he certainly had no need to spare people's feelings to play politics. He caught her chin, and let some of the heat he was holding in check filter into his gaze. Sure, he knew who Fauna was. And yes, she was a stunner and sweet as apple pie from what little he knew of her. But he hadn't met her, didn't think of her except when someone else mentioned her, and she wasn't Sophie, who had played red herring for a thieving escapade, did stupid tangos with him in the middle of the street, put on a daring dress and poured her soul—well, at least her general feelings about boys—out minutes before. And so she was nobody. Funny thing about guys and girls, the flashiest of supermodeling witches would take second place to flesh, blood and stupid little sparks of fun.

But he didn't say any of that. He just gentled the grip on her chin, tapped her cheek, and smirked, though it didn't reach the smoldering hazel of his eyes, which spoke for him this once.

I see your secret, she'd said, and Deus had to laugh, one rough bark of amusement.  Of all the secrets she could have tried to ferret out, that one was a poor choice, as it was hardly a secret. And he let her have the victory,  playing an affronted 'hmph', while his thoughts, amused, drifted to all the things she didn’t—and never would—know. She knew more than most, borne of a kindred understanding of his spirit. But personality traits were intangible, and no one, not even Sophie was privy to the sorts of secrets that he had in droves.

"Sources." He said dismissively, of his knowledge of Pudge's kissing ability. It was on another list. Knockturn Kissing Ability. Deus was mellow enough—and cocky enough—to not be the least bit offended that Sophie was omitting his kisses from her litany, and he let their absence pass without question. But his expression hardened visibly before being swept back to clean amusement in the same breath as she mentioned Lucas. Wasn't he supposed to be sweet on Livi these days?

Deus wasn't really an angry sort of fellow, but he also wasn't really prone to liking people as anything more than amusing sheep. The Slytherin girls—and Sophie—were some of the very few exceptions, though he acknowledged that once they parted ways from Hogwarts, it was entirely possible those tenuous friendships, acceptable in school where academics equalized and money could only buy so much, would dissolve back into casual mutual amusement. Point was, that made three of Deus's girls that Lucas Norwood seemed to be mucking about with.

Really. Wasn't he a Ravenclaw? Weren't they supposed to be smart?

Deus made a mental note to pick a fight with him when school started.

"Nae, definitely not. In fact, ye should deck 'im next time 'e tries." If she'd voiced her fears about the morning, Deus would have smacked her on the back of the head. Gently, of course. Who she was and how she behaved wasn't a spell, it was a choice. And yeah, she'd be herself again—but she'd be herself with a taste of what it had been like to branch out a bit. What she did with it was her choice, and no, it wasn't always an easy one.

At least, not for people who weren't Deus.

Deus gently disengaged her fingers from the front of his shirt, suspecting what it meant and hoping it was just emotion from a heady night and a lot to drink. It wasn't something he could handle right now—not with the rest of what he was handling, not all at once. He didn't have any words for her. He wasn't a fairytale prince, or a shining knight. He was a selfish boy with a bad family who liked to play with fire, and if it caught a moth or two, well, they'd come of their own free will, right? He had the potential to be kind, but Deus was not, and never had been, a particularly nice person. He didn't hide that fact intentionally, but most people were too caught up in the smile and easiness to notice. People persistently underestimated just how cold he was, and that was fine by him.
 
"Yours won't." He said flatly, not bothering to hide the hard edge of his voice in the hopes some sense of her position—and his—right now would get through the haze in her head. "Ah'm nae a fehckin' saint, Sophie, and ye ain't wearin' much." And what ye ARE wearin's enough tae tempt an empty suit o' armor. His smile was hard but he shook his head. He was better than this. Or rather, he was usually better at this, for contrary to popular belief, teenage boys weren't always hormone-rattled idiots. But Sophie hadn't been the only one drinking, for all that Deus had a little more experienced holding the large amounts of liquor.

But the wavering note in her voice had him sighing. "So stay under th' blankets, aye?" And he reached for the pillow he'd tossed on the floor earlier, tucking Sophie in and then flopping on the top of the covers on his stomach, still in his socks and all. His wand had disappeared into the lining of the pillow, where he could reach it easily if needed. And then with a wild chuckle, because he knew what would be coming when the alcohol wore off, he closed his eyes and tried to remind himself he was sleeping next to a very large kneazle. And because he'd been mean, and knew it, and wasn't going to apologize for it, he leaned to place a cheery, energetic kiss in her tangles of hair before returning to his own pillow.

"Sweet dreams, Soph."

She was caught off guard by the edge to his voice, the laid out fact of his torment. She wasn't trying to make things hard on him - and for a moment she felt like jerking away in utter mortification. It was a cruel (but necessary) reminder that this had all just been fun and games. If he wasn't who he was, or more to the point because he was who he was... it could have all gone very differently. She was so used to being patted on the head and never let out of the prison of expectation she'd spent most of her life designing... it all just seemed strange and too much for her to process. It occurred to her to apologize, to retreat back into being childlike and unassuming, but it also occurred to her to tell him to get over himself he thought he was the only one having issue keeping busy hands to himself. Granted she had been more freewheeling with the physical affection, he had just tried to melt her brain.

"Saints are boring. Pious people are boring. Being handled with kid gloves is boring," she didn't sound angry or like a crazy intoxicated person. She sounded like herself, her honest self. She looked at him with her eyes he so often described as puppy-like and innocent, her own edge to them as she leaned in a little more closely, "I'd apologize but I'm not sorry. At all, in the least little bit," and she wasn't. Leaning forward she placed a kiss on his forehead before rolling over and giving him as wide as the narrow bed would allow. She wasn't sorry but she didn't want to make it worse for him either. It could be like that couldn't it? Of course she didn't like the feeling that he was fed up with her antics, that part was terrible... but the way she saw it was he'd come along on this little adventure. He'd given her just enough rope to hang the both of them, he was as accountable as she was.

She closed her eyes and tried to turn it all off. Five minutes ago she had been close to just nodding off in his arms. Now she couldn't stop the pounding in her chest or ache that was forming in her head. Some day she would learn to stop before everything got messy and complicated. Obviously that day was not today and not with Deus Deres. She should have known better but he was so good with that easy beguiling smile. It was easy to forget to remember all the things she knew, all the lessons she had had to learn the hard way. Of course most of them wouldn't really do her a lot of good with Deus, lessons about boys like Chance didn't really fit in this world. There was some secret unwritten code she would have to learn if she wanted to keep doing... whatever this was, the prolonged game of pretend. Listening to the steady rise and fall of his breath she slowly rolled onto her back, the pinkie of her left hand wrapping itself around his.

He watched the conflict cross her face, read it like a book. The embarrassment, the upsetting, the resilience and spark of well-deserved self-righteous anger. And was relieved. Somehow, airing it made it easier to deal with, and some of the tension visibly drained from his shoulders. He swung back into balance, a bit. Unsnarled a little bit of the knot in his gut, and felt like he was standing on a little more even ground. It occurred to him part of the problem had been that he was used to playing with people who knew the rules, and Sophie didn't. Not yet. And at least now she was aware, and Deus felt the field had been evened. House still had the advantage, but the odds weren't long. And with that knowledge, some of the hard edge flowed back into the lazy graced that was more characteristic of Deus's moods.

And he could make fun of it now, because while his blood was still hotter than dragon's breath, he didn't feel quite as much in danger of ruining them both. So he laughed, easy and without the edge—though still a bit low and rough—in a way that said he agreed entirely, and then snorted in a most undignified manner at her not-quite apology. "Sophie Flickwick, ye're a hell of a lass." He murmured sleepily, because now that his head was on the pillow and the exhaustive task of being a decent human being was no longer quite so overwhelming, he was feeling the effects of his own indulgence. "Hell of a night." He said, wry amusement wrapping around the words, though it was unclear if he was speaking directly to Sophie or his pillow. He neither apologized himself nor responded to her lack—it wasn't in his nature.

He wasn't asleep, not quite—and he was amazed how close he was given what had been going on earlier—when he felt her hand. Not content with that, he untangled his pinky to move his hand so it first covered, and then tangled with hers, capturing it entirely.

And then he slept.

---

He woke up like he always did in an unfamiliar bed, all at once and tense. He squinted at the watery moonlight through the window and decided it had only been an hour or two, which put them at just a few hours before dawn. A quick glance at the softly breathing girl next to him told him why he'd woken up—Sophie had turned back to herself next to him. He grinned, because he'd seen how much she'd had, and he suspected that no matter how sober she'd sounded those last few minutes, she was probably out for the night, even if a thundering herd of thestrals came through the room.

Stretching, he felt the crack of bones that protested sleeping in jeans and staying enchanted for so long—he still wore his watch.

He slipped out of the bed, and disappeared into the hall for a minute or two.

When he came back, he had a small bowl of powder. He gathered up Sophie with infinite care, wrapping her in the sheet in addition to the sweater that swam on her. And then he crawled with her in his arms into the squat fireplace, juggled her, his wand, and dumped the bowl of powder.

"Flickwick Residence"

With a silent roar, the flames swallowed them both, and Deus stepped from the squat fireplace into the home of his sixteen-again friend. He tensed, but there was no one there but the dogs to greet him, and the house was quiet. He paused at that silence--it seemed so wrong here.  But he didn't have time to think about it further. He knew the place like the back of his hand from the few times he'd visited, and it was easy to slip silently up the stairs with his sleeping bundle and deposit her in the small space allotted on her bed that was not dog-filled. He dodged the jaws of the little one who didn't like him—did it like anyone?—and tried not to envy the beasts that immediately flopped all over his sleeping Gryffindor.

The boy tucked her in like a child, slipped the red heels under her bed, and disappeared out her window.

He slipped back in—this time sixteen again himself—to leave a bucket of water  with a flower  leaning against it, next to a small, completely absurd wizarding portrait (clearly stolen, if one went by the odd way the frame hung) of a dragon, a phoenix, a hippogriff and a unicorn all shiftily playing poker and a note that said—

The water's to drink, not to drown yourself in, at least until someone invents a hangover potion. Cheers!

There was a flashy splotch of ink to suggest a lipstick kiss and a flashy heart, and then, simply stuck to the paper with a spell, an Ace of spades.