A Conflict of Ideals

The laughter that met the ears of Baldric Wood when he stepped over the threshold into Quality Quidditch Supplies immediately set his shoulders up and teased his skin into a regiment of goose pimples. After dumping his bag in his locker he emerged onto the main shop floor only to find two large packs of what looked like flyers advertising the fifty-percent off sale on nonsensical yet vital items like gloves, shin-guards and bits of team paraphernalia like out of date jerseys, mugs etcetera. There was sticky note on top of them with his name scrawled in his manager’s familiar chicken scratch which, over the course of the summer, Baldric had become semi-fluent in. He ripped it off with a testy sigh and screwed it up, tossing it in the direction of the bin, christening it with the first piece of rubbish of the day. Baldric didn’t bother to meet the eye of his co-worker. The snickers hadn’t stopped. He knew it was some sort of hazing process but that didn’t, by any means, make him feel better.

The air outside of the shop was cool and crisp, bracing them for winter. At Hogwarts, the first flurries were already threatening to fall but in the southern reaches of the country it was a little bit more favourable albeit wet and somewhat groggy. Yet, it remained fair in terms of temperature and though he stuffed his hoodie into his bag, Baldric didn’t hang onto it and left the shop with the flyers in his arms, putting some up on lampposts and walls here and there and stuffing others into the pigeonholes outside of the shops as he made his way down through Diagon Alley. In the Leaky Cauldron he instructed Tom to hang them up somewhere, anywhere, so long as people saw them and he managed to even make a sale when there, putting down an order in his notebook for a man with a purple pointed hat on for a set of shin-guards. Allegedly he coached a team but Baldric couldn’t be sure and from there pressed on into London.

Lunch consisted of a Ginster’s pasty and a bottle of coca cola which, while satisfying, certainly didn’t fill Baldric and he found himself tempted by many of the sweets on offer in the windows in the main hubbub of the city. However, once he was out into the suburbs that were as suburb-like as London could manage the temptation evaporated and Baldric faced actually doing the work he was set, going through the monotony of stuffing the flyers into letter boxes. It was when he hit apartment buildings that things became tricky and negotiating lifts and flights of stairs became more of a challenge than actually posting the flyers. They thankfully catered for both Muggles and Wizardfolk. Their folk saw the real ad while Muggles got some pizza company that was laden with a charm that made them want to throw away the leaflet. It certainly was helpful. What would have been more farcical was if he had to pick and choose which houses he gave them to according to a list. It just wouldn’t have happened.

The nicer part of London made a very important change to Baldric’s mood but it also did so to the weather and it changed most violently to rain which saw him shelter in the apartment building he’d first stepped into before the deluge. Baldric shot a dark look out at the world he’d left behind and ran a hand through his hair before making his way up the stairs to the first set of doors into which he distributed the last of his first stack of fliers. He approached the last door as he was bringing out the second set and unbeknownst to his half-closed eyes, focused on the beat of the music drumming into his ears via his iPod, he scooped up his keys with the fliers and it was only once it was through the door that Baldric noted how heavy that flyer had been. He took one of the earphones from his ear and blanched upon hearing the crunch of keys on wood.

“Shit.”

Sighing heavily, Baldric rubbed his hand over his face and brought his first up to the door. He knocked heavily, insistently and dropped his hand back to his side as he waited. He was just about to knock again when the door was wrenched open and before he could even begin to speak, the breath was stolen from his mouth by the sight of the man before him. He looked as though he’d been stolen out of some sort of elite of young men who dated particular young women for the sake of money and social status - not to mention, I’ll have you know, good breeding. He was pale with mirthful yet serious blue eyes overlooked by not overly thick eyebrows and framed with the slightest bearings of eyelashes which twinged together at the sides. His nose was broad but not so much that his face was dwarfed by it and his lips looked recently kissed, puckered by waxy lipstick while hands thrummed through his hair, tossing it this way and that.

Baldric’s hand found his own hair and he gripped at the roots for a moment, trying to glean some sense from himself before flashing a smile at the man before him.

“Sorry, look, I dropped my keys through your letterbox. I wasn’t watching what I was doing,” he held up the earphone that had crassly kept him from watching what he was doing and felt his cheeks warm. “Sorry, again. I don’t mean to bother you, you’re obviously busy. If I could just get my keys I’ll be off.”

Again, another smile flashed past his lips. Hopefully he came off as friendly as he did harried and embarrassed. Knowing his luck he’d probably left his flies undone, too; though why he actually cared, why he felt so flustered was a complete mystery.

The more Robin visited London the more confident he felt in his preference of Dublin. His father had repeatedly suggested that he sell the small apartment in Ireland and purchase a flat in a more useful location. It was true that he frequently needed to travel into London and around England, trips that by muggle transportation proved quite lengthy. But because of the love of his current home and his natural stubbornness he had refused to get an apartment in town. This only became a problem when he needed to stay overnight, in which case he overtook Elijah's apartment and claimed it as his own.

Tonight was such a case. Robin planned on visiting Gringotts the next day to get into the family vault and pull out a few pieces that his father had requested. He had left Dublin too late and by the time he had reached London the bank had been closed, prompting him to use the hidden spare key and let himself into Elijah's apartment.

Elijah had, not surprisingly, been gone, and Robin was almost positive he was in Scotland at the main house. Robin had sent an owl to Della not too long after he had moved in, telling her he was going to be away for the night. As soon as the owl was in the air Robin started to regret sending a note. If she hadn't known his return time she would have probably been much less likely to get into trouble. Azkaban had turned a very smart girl into someone very dumb and Robin intended to do his best to save her from herself.

Robin was watching the Quidditch match on the muggle television that Elijah had on the wall and drinking a glass of scotch when he heard a knock on the door. Reluctantly to miss any of the game, he stood and set down his drink. Robin made his way across the small apartment and stopped in front of the closed door. He noticed the small package that had dropped through the mail slot and bent down to pick it up. Robin swung open the door, Elijah's mail hanging in his hand. Lazily he ran his hands through his hair as the boy on the other side spoke.

"These?" He held up the envelope and shook it gently before hanging it across the doorway to the young man. "And it's really no problem. You're not bothering me at all." He gestured to the Quality Quidditch Supplies flyer that was now back in the other man's hands. "Just watching the match."