Out of Time (Open)

[Declan McKenna]

Hogsmeade had changed very little in 17 years. The insipidly sweet granny haven tea shop was still on high street. Gladrags was still churning out fabulous designs.  The Owl post was still covered in bird shit. The Three Broomsticks was still the heart of the village. Declan McKenna had escaped from his family after 72 hours of smothering love. He still couldn't believe that it was October 2038. It was all one bloody elaborate joke. He'd just had an accident, hit his head a bit when he'd apperated home to get the ring. He'd wake up and it would all be right again. His bride would be a bit pissed that he'd gotten hurt on their wedding day, but they'd just find the minister and say their vows. Move into the little apartment on high street.

He could almost convince himself that it was August 2021 except for the fact that it was bloody cold outside instead of the sweltering heat of summer and dry leaves were crunching under his feet. The signs warning of demons at night were gone. There was no curfew and the town was bustling as the sun went down instead of eerily quiet. There was no escaping from the fact that he was a man out of his time. Anger rushed through him and he viciously kicked a pine cone out of his way. It wasn't bloody fair. Why did he have to get caught up in some magical fluke? Why did the love of his life have to be 17 years older than him? He hadn't seen her since he reappeared. He wondered if she knew he was back. If she even cared? His family was reluctant to talk about her. She'd just moved out of town. No longer lived in Hogsmeade. Probably best to let her contact him. If she wanted to. She had a new life now, a new family. Without him. A part of him was angry that she'd moved on. That she found someone else to start their life with. But that was selfish of him. She thought he was dead for nearly two decades. Of course she'd moved on. But he was still bloody pissed that he lost her. If only he'd not been an idiot and forgot the wedding ring. He'd be married. He'd have kids. He'd be a freaking awesome qudditch star. Instead he was a 19 year old jobless lout with no clue on what to do next. He was noticing the differences now.  A few new shops. New songs playing. New smells. 

Declan turned the corner and headed across the street to the pub. He needed a bloody drink. He pushed open the familiardoor and just stared remembering the time he'd danced with Daisy in the corner. The times he poured drinks behind the bar. There was a different bar tender now. Declan wondered how long the guy had been working there. Resentment flooded through him as he wondered if the guy had been his replacement. Maybe he could get his old job back. 

Declan slid onto the bar stool and ordered a firewhiskey. When it came, he just held it in his hands and stared into it's depths. He remembered being in there so clearly the night before for his stag party. He'd been shooting back the stuff as his mates encouraged him. He'd done a scottish jig in the center of the room. Now it was quiet, a few people were enjoying a quiet supper. A young couple with a little kid sat in a corner booth. Declan couldn't help but watch as the young mother tried to feed the squirming two year old peas. The offending vegetable ended up flying across the table instead of the kid's mouth.  He imaged a strawberry haired curly mess doing that to him and a ghost of a smile spread across his lips before disappearing. He tossed back the shot and ordered another. 

[Emory Williams]

Emory was pissed to put it lightly. What should have been a pretty much instantaneous movement, had instead taken 17 years. 17 years! How did that happen?! He chuckled mirthlessly. He had almost had him. 15 years of thinking about nothing else, of spending years chasing up leads, 2 years of fighting in the awful war, and he had been seconds away. Seconds. And now, now he was 17 years too late. He might as well start again from scratch. There was nothing. People he had known were now in their fourties and fifties. He should have been 48 by now. Merlin, that was a thought… 17 years of lost chances.

The dumb Ministry worker had tried to cheer him up by telling him to ‘look on the bright side, it’s like you’ve found the secret to staying younger! Everyone will be so jealous.’ Emory snorted in disgust. It wasn’t anything like that. Not even close. He’d gone to see Magritte first. Though they’d separated long ago, decades for her, he still had to see. To make sure this wasn’t some elaborate hoax, or worse, a curse.

She’d met him at the porch of her house, crying, with two teenagers at her back and a young babe in her arms. Her youngest children and her first grandchild. She still looked as beautiful as she had when he’d met her, but there were the signs of age marking her around her eyes and in her hair. She’d lost the glow of youth and instead had the calmness of age. She’d been happy to see him, happy that he wasn’t dead but after a quick chat over some cheese and wine and a brief introduction to her husband, Emory had left. It had been too much. He could have had that. Not with her. They had tried and it hadn’t worked. But he could have found someone else in those 17 years. Could have settled down. His whole future had been right there. Kill the killer and finally be at peace enough to let go of the past.

He downed the golden liquid in his glass and signaled for another. What else was there to do? He’d lost everything. Been declared dead for fuck’s sake. He had no idea where his father’s staff was and Bird was probably dead by now and they had been the only things he had cared about. All his friends were 17 years older, had experienced peace and quiet and proper maturity. Whereas he was still woken by nightmares of the battle that felt like it was only days ago.

The door opened and Emory watched grimly as a young man stood at the doorway, seemingly lost in thought before moving to the bar. He recognized that look. He stood, swaying a little as the alcohol took hold of his brain and made his way unsteadily towards the newcomer.

“You too huh?” he said leaning against the bar and watching the other man down his shot. Emory turned to the bartender. “Oi, you boy. Give us the whole bottle will ya? Think we’re gonna need it,” he grabbed the offered drink and glanced back at his new companion. “So what’s your story?”

[Declan McKenna]

Was there a sign on his forehead? LOOK HERE FLUX VICTIM WALKING. Make way for the damned. Maybe there was a smell about him? Old and musty. Like forgotten books. Declan pulled his gaze away from his drink to stare at the man who was leaning against the bar. He looked like he'd been dragged through hell and back. He obviously wanted to talk. Declan shrugged his shoulders in a what the hell gesture and reached for the bottle. He poured himself a glass.

"Similar to yours I bet. What were you 17 years too late for? I was late to my wedding." He said with a bitter laugh. He took a healthy swallow of the liquid. Late to the date was his story. There was very little else to tell. He missed out on starting a family with the woman he loved. He didn't blame her for moving on but he wanted to punch something when he thought about how someone else was touching her, loving her. His fingers tightened on the glass. He hated feeling angry and helpless. Violated. He felt like someone had come in and destroyed his life.

[Cain the Scorched]

Cain floated through the wall of the Broomsticks, heading to the bar. The bartender took down a bucket and laid it on the floor, the ghost hovered above it. This great Reappearance was bringing back memories for him, of things he wished he could forget but could not--would not. So many lives lost, and many lost because of him. It was really bringing him down, and so he'd left the Ministry, coming back to the old familiar Broomsticks, where he could get the rawest whisky and almost taste it, and the Bartender, kind soul, would give him a bucket so he wouldn't make such a mess when the whisky passed right through him.

 "Thanks Ned." He accepted the glass and sipped it, sighing deeply. He couldn't really move on, not as Alex and many others had. He was stuck mostly as he had been at the time of his death, the same thoughts and feelings and knowledge. He was an echo, and yet he'd chosen this, to remain as a reminder of the terrors before. As whiskey dripped into the bucket, Cain looked around and noticed the two mopey looking men not too far from him. More Lost?

Some were calling them the Returned now, instead of the Lost which had been colloquial for the disappeared. But Cain knew they were still Lost, out of time, out of place. It was a feeling he greatly sympathized with. "Gentlemen" He raised his glass slightly with a nod. 

[Emory Williams]

"Similar to yours I bet. What were you 17 years too late for? I was late to my wedding."

Ok. Ouch. That was a tough one. “I missed out on killing the guy who murdered my family.” Emory said, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Looks like we both got royally screwed over. Did you look for her yet? I went to see my ex-wife. Weirdest experience of my life. She was older. Had kids. The whole shebang,” he continued, the drink slurring his words as he rambled. “And here we are, not a day older. Did that prat at the Ministry give you the same shit about how we should be grateful we’re younger? Dim gwerth rhech dafad Twmffat*!”

He was about to continue his drunken tirade with a few more choice words when a solemn “gentlemen” interrupted his rant.

Emory glanced over and had to take a double take. Was that a ghost? Or was he even more spectacularly drunk than he’d thought? He squinted.

“Cach**!” he exclaimed. “Is that you Cain? Why are you dead?” Though he’d known the boy only in passing and by association, he knew enough to know he shouldn’t be dead! He put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. “Cachu hwch***” he muttered. The world was officially a messed up place.

---

* Useless idiot
** Shit
*** Pig's Poo (or 'It's all gone wrong')

[Declan McKenna]

A bloody ghost entered the bar and ordered a drink. It was fascinating, watching a ghost take a shot. Good a ghost taste whiskey? It was some powerful stuff, Declan could smell the fumes from where he sat across the room. He couldn't help but stare as the amber liquid went through the ghost's mouth and them just fell into a bucket.

Declan's glaze flickered back and forth between his companion and the ghost. Declan nearly spit out his drink when the man nonchalantly said he missed out on killing a murderer. Missed out as in about to deliver the final blow?

"I missed out on killing the guy who murdered my family.” Emory said, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Looks like we both got royally screwed over. Did you look for her yet? I went to see my ex-wife. Weirdest experience of my life. She was older. Had kids. The whole shebang,” he continued, the drink slurring his words as he rambled. “And here we are, not a day older. Did that prat at the Ministry give you the same shit about how we should be grateful we’re younger? Dim gwerth rhech dafad Twmffat*!”

Declan hadn't looked up his almost wife. It was one of the reasons why he was here at the bar. His family bloody well knew where she was and what happened to her and they've all been mum on the subject. He was tired of their deflections and excuses. He would find her. He would send her an owl.

"I've spoken with the wanker, I wanted to pinch his little head off when he said that I have an opportunity to make a better life, meet more people," He scoffed as he finished off his drink and ordered another.

“Cach**!” he exclaimed. “Is that you Cain? Why are you dead?” Though he’d known the boy only in passing and by association, he knew enough to know he shouldn’t be dead! He put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. “Cachu hwch***” he muttered. The world was officially a messed up place.

"You know the ghost?" He asked his voice a tad loud. Declan waved hello at the ghost. "Flux get you too?" He called, a little drunk and getting loud with it.

[Cain the Scorched]

“Cach**!” he exclaimed. “Is that you Cain? Why are you dead?” Though he’d known the boy only in passing and by association, he knew enough to know he shouldn’t be dead! He put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. “Cachu hwch***” he muttered. The world was officially a messed up place.

Cain placed his whisky glass on the bar, taking a closer look at the men. Was that--it was! Emory Williams. Though they had met only rarely before his capture, and not since his escape, Cain never forgot a face. Part of his whole social butterfly persona had been remembering each and every person he had interacted with, and as much about them as he could. He floated closer, eyes on the second man. He didn't recognize him, though he looked several years younger than himself and Emory.

"You know the ghost?" He asked his voice a tad loud. Declan waved hello at the ghost. "Flux get you too?" He called, a little drunk and getting loud with it.

Cain rolled his eyes slightly, then held out a scorched hand. "He knows "the ghost." " He replied sardonically, head tilting as he examined them. "Merlin's balls you two are drunk. And I had... a little mishap." He hated talking about it. He hated being reminded. No one wished to discuss their dying-day.

[Emory Williams]

"You know the ghost?" Declan asked his voice a tad loud, waving hello. "Flux get you too?" He called, a little drunk and getting loud with it.

Cain rolled his eyes slightly, then held out a scorched hand. "He knows "the ghost." " He replied sardonically, head tilting as he examined them. "Merlin's balls you two are drunk. And I had... a little mishap." Emory nodded in agreement to both the first and second statement and left the dead conversation for another time. There was enough reason to wallow without adding death to the conversation.

“Yes Cain, yes we are. And you know why? Because the universe is a thorough piece of shit and we have been screwed over by it. And if you are truly dead, then so have you. So cheers and a big Fuck You Universe!” Emory declared loudly raising his glass in a toast and causing several other patrons to either snicker or glare in their direction.

He downed his drink with a satisfied sigh and smacked his glass on the counter, earning a slightly disapproving look from the bartender. Emory gave him an apologetic grin. It wasn’t his fault that the world was shit after all. “So Cain, what’s happened in our absence? Anything good to share? Any bad news I should prepare myself for? Is there anything to look forward to in our apparent good luck of postponed youth?” he asked sharing a sarcastic glance with Declan. Good luck his arse.