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The first day of the conference went smoothly, which was probably the first sign of things going awry. All the booths and guest speakers had arrived, the catering team had executed flawlessly, there was no drunken brawling between the flying professors and the astrology professors, no duels, and all of the hotel accommodations had been taken care of.
The second day, however, was a complete and utter disaster. What with the arrival of the worst July rainstorm Lincolnshire has seen in ages, and the tents being packed away rather securely (it was July, after all), coordinators had hundreds of soaking wet educators on their hands. Luckily enough, the bars in Digby were all open, dry, and warm, which is where Rey found herself smooshed between two very drunk Arithmancy professors.
Said professors had just discovered they’d been in Hufflepuff the exact same time as one another. The budding romance of it all was only serving to make Rey’s eye twitch in distaste. They left before she could say anything bitter and regrettable. She didn’t have nearly enough firewhiskey for this. Before she could hail the bartender, another solid form slid next to her at the table. Merlin, I just want to go back to my apartment and make some tea, pet my cat, and take care of my plants.
Her new companion is already fairly drunk, and well into some stage of brooding, by his unimpressed expression. She looks at him with her eyebrows raised, waiting to see if it’s going to be him or her saying something stupid and obvious. She opens her mouth to speak when she’s sure he wasn’t going to, but he interrupts her.
“You know your eyes have flecks of gold in them.” he says, his deep voice surprising her and piquing her interest. However, his lame attempt at flirting leaves much to be desired.
“Did the stars tell you that?” she asks with a quick, scathing smile. Looking him up and down, his fairly imbibed state notwithstanding, he was dressed like one of the bleeding-heart astrology professors, or maybe even a divination professor. His robes were all black, and made of some lacquered woven material she wanted to get a better look at. His sleeves were snug against his thick arms, and ribbed in layers to his second knuckle on his thumbs. He bore a silver signet ring on said thumb, with an inscription she didn’t have time to look closer. When she turned her face up to his, and she met his dark, warm eyes, she had no choice but to admire that face so close to hers. His longish hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of his head, but a few tendrils had spring loose, and framed his face alluringly. Though pulled into a frown, his thick, plush lips dripped temptation.
“What makes you say that?” his voice sounds forced, like she’d ripped the words from him.
“I don’t believe I’ve looked you in the eye until just now.” she says, spiteful against the wavering confidence in her tone.
“And you think I consulted the stars because you thought I couldn’t see your eyes at a time you remember?” he looks like he wants to be amused, but isn’t.
“Your flair for the dramatic tells me you’d rather read tea leaves.” she finally gets another glass of firewhiskey, and the congratulates her wit with a large gulp of it. “Out of curiosity, how did you know what my eyes looked like without me remembering?”
“We ran into each other once in school. You were nearly about to fall off the stairs if I hadn’t caught you. I’ve never seen eyes so big.” he says, and looks at her glass. He orders himself one. “It’s stuck with me my whole life.”
She’s stunned at his casual yet intimate confession. She tries to remember back but it’s been ages since she was at Hogwarts. Before she can speak, he interrupts her again.
“Someone slipped veritaserum into my glass. I shouldn’t be trusted.” he warns, tone turning grave.
“Maybe I should find a table to sit at, then.” she says, starting to move off her stool. She’s stopped by a strong, large hand around her bicep. She almost gets a good look at that ring, but he’s speaking again.
“I’d rather you stay with me here.” the sentiment is lost due to his now-understandable forced speech, but she finds herself sitting.
“What’s your name?” she asks him.
“Kylo Ren.” he answers quickly, without a beat.
“I’m Rey.” she says. “I teach Herbology at the London site. And I have a cat named Gillian who is better company than most of my coworkers. Also your arms are one of my favorite features.” she screeches to a halt, eyes going wide once more. It makes Kylo Ren laugh. It’s a pleasant laugh. A very very pleasant laugh.
“There’s that same exact look.” he says. “May I see your drink?” he asks, taking the glass anyway and sniffing at it oddly. “Just as I thought.” he says.
“Just as you thought what?” she asks.
“My drink wasn’t the only one spiked with veritaserum. We’d better leave before things get much worse here.”
“We should leave before things get worse.” she agrees, and they leave just as they hear two witches start an epic row over their opinions on sun position during solstice.
It’s still raining, but he tells her there’s a pub nearby they can dine at. It’s better than nothing.
When they sit in the cozy pub, somewhere in the back, more of his hair has fallen out of its knot. With a sigh, he pulls the black cord holding it in place, shaking out his shoulder-length raven locks. They’re not as wet as her hair, thanks to his thick hood. She knows she could probably cast a drying spell on herself, but she knows it’d be no use when they go back out again.
“Well Mr. Ren. You know me, but I know almost nothing about you. Go on, say something embarrassing.” she says, an amused gleam in her eye.
He looks like he would rather go back into the rain, but he relaxes and orders two pints and a plate of chips before he sets in. “I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.” he admits. “Ex-auror. Ex-minor league chaser. Ex-a lot of things.” he says. “I took the teaching gig because if someone was going to teach children how to protect themselves, it might as well be from someone who has a background in it.”
His confession isn’t quite the ‘I read romance novels while my students take exams’ that she was expecting, but it opens up a lot more doors of conversation. “So you’re a new professor?”
“I start my first schoolyear in September.” he nods. “I came to this...disaster in the hopes I might prepare myself for what’s to come.”
“There’s never a quiet year at Hogwarts.” she says with a laugh. “It’s why I work off-site in London. Never could get the hang of the greenhouses in Scotland.”
“So you like herbology.” she nods, eyes daring him to slight her for it. She knows fifty plants off hand that could kill you if you walked past them in the forest at the wrong time of day. She wouldn’t shed a tear for the people who underestimate her field if they stumbled across one. “I’m sure it makes cooking interesting.”
“I’m an awful cook. I could burn water.” Their beers and chips arrive then, and they don’t have the time to interrogate one another for quite awhile.
“I don’t blame you. My mother was never stellar in the kitchen, she never went near the place.”
“And your father?” his eyes turn colder, then.
“He was hardly in the house for ten minutes a week, I hardly knew him.”
“Oh.” she looks down at the table, and thinks about her own parents. Or lack thereof. “I’m not sure which is worse, having a parent around for so little time or not having any at all?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
They sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment.
“If we weren’t in our present unfortunate states, would you have come up and talked to me?”
“Yes.” his answer is truthful and immediate.
“Would you have been as honest with me as you are now?”
“Doubtful.” Kylo Shrugged. The response makes her laugh.
“What would you lie to me about?”
“Hm...I probably wouldn’t have started talking about your eyes. I probably would have made up some story about us being in the same house, the same year, even though that’s all lies as well. I’d probably do a little charm for you to impress you, and I’d stand very close to you.”
“What purpose does that have?” she asks, a little breathless.
He smirks. “Let me show you.”
They end up over at the billiards tables nearby, and she groaned when he’d suggested pool (“I’m utter bollocks at pool!” “You just need a teacher.”) Her small body is bent over the felt, and his large one hunched over hers. His hands over hers on the cue stick was thrilling, but his soft, warm breathing against her neck was driving her absolutely mad. “And this…” he whispers in her ear. She can feel his blasted hair against her skin. “Is how you shoot a combo.” her hands jerk forward almost bonelessly under is. The white cue ball goes sailing into the others, but before she could see them sink, she’s turned around in his arms and kissing him furiously.
He’s still got a grip on the cue as he returns the kiss, but it’s all short-lived when the pub owner yells at them to get a room or get out.
They elect to do both.