I Insist ((Dylan))

[Williard Thoth R4]

"Here we are," Ptah said parking the car.

"How long is it going to take for your friend to get here," Sarah said pulling her purse up from between her legs.

"I do not know. But I wanted to get here early anyway," he said running his hand lovingly through her hair. "How long has it been since we have actually sat down in the Leaky Cauldron instead of just passing through to get to Diagon Alley?"

"Well I say.........I don't remember Mr. Thoth. Thanks to our jobs, and that gorgeous young man in the back seat," she said winking at her son through the rear view mirror, "we just haven't had the time."

"Alright. That settles it then. Let's go on in and have a drink shall we?"

Honestly, Williard didn't think that he himself had ever actually sat down in the Leaky Cauldron for a drink now that he thought about it. He never thought that he could; he always thought that the place sold nothing but alcohol, which was kind of silly on his part. He got out of the car and entered the Leaky Cauldron through the front door after his mother; his father had held it open for the both of them.

"Lets sit over there shall we?" Sarah pointed to a table in the far corner. "It should-"

"Well Merlin's beard! If today isn't my lucky day!" As Williard turned he noticed a huge smile on his father's face. "Ptah and Sarah Thoth, in my pub. I've seen the two of ya' pass through here with this one," he said nodding at Williard, "for the past two years, and never was able to catch up to ya' to say hello."

"Tom!" Sarah launched herself at the old man, hugging him tightly. "Ptah, how could we have not-" She was unable to finish her sentence.

"I don't know, but it sure is good to see you. It's been how long, twenty-something years?" Ptah also hugged the man named Tom.

"It sure has. And who is this?"

"Oh, I'm Williard, sir," he said extending his hand politely.

"No need to call me sir, laddy. Tom will do just fine. Well, sit down, and drinks are on the house."

"Oh that's sweet of you Tom but that's not necessary," Sarah said putting her hand on his forearm.

"Nonsense. What would you like? Firewhisky, or-"

"Oh, we don't drink very much. You know what," she said looking playfully at her husband. "How about three butterbeers? It's been forever since I've had one of those suckers."

Ptah smiled, and Tom laughed. "Alright, six butterbeers comin' right up." Tom turned on his heel and went straight behind the bar.

"Um, who is that?" Williard felt it a stupid question, but asked anyway.

"Sweety that's Tom. He owns the Leaky Cauldron. Has for years now. He really is a sweet man, you'll do good to have him as a friend."

"Yeah, maybe I'll get free butterbeer," Williard said hopefully.

"Then you could take Kellan out every once in a while," Ptah said scanning the door. Williard cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. The likelihood of that happening was as possible as Williard sprouting two huge batwings at this very moment. Then, a question that Williard had been meaning to ask crept up in his head.

"So.......what exactly is Uncle Gavin going to do to Kellan?"

Sarah, looked down at her lap and moved a piece of hair behind her ear. "I don't know. But, Kellan was very out of order."

"What is going on with that boy?" Ptah asked taking off his jacket. "I have never seen him act like that toward you before Anu. Are the two of you getting along?"

There was the question Williard hoped would never come because he didn't want to answer it. Luckily, his mother spoke.

"Gavin has always had a bad temper. Gets it from our mother. Speaking of which, she'll be at the house on Christmas day." Before Williard or Ptah could groan at the news, his father had practically shouted out.

"Hun, there he is! He's here.....uh," Ptah waved his hand at a well dressed and well groomed wizard who had just walked in the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You two have fun."

"Alright," Sarah said resting her chin on her hands.

"Who's that," Williard asked.

"I don't know."

[Dylan Caoimhe]

"Don' I re-conize' you fom' somevere?"

"Sir I am quite incapable of telling you what you do and don't recognize, and so are you at the present moment," he said annoyingly clearing the drunken man's table. It was barely one o'clock in the afternoon and this guy was already drunk beyond belief. The day had started out so smoothly and had only gone downhill as the day went on.

"No, no, no! I 'ave sheen you bevore."

Dylan stopped what he was doing and took a deep breath. "Sir, you're drunk right now. I doubt-"

"Dylan! What's going on over there?" Tom was behind the bar bent as if he were about to pick something up. Before Dylan could answer, Tom looked at the guy, and fury etched itself across his face. He marched over and snatched the already half empty drink from the man's hand. "Damnit, Pete! Come on," he said lifting the man up to his feet by one arm. "I'm sending you home." Dylan watched Tom lead him to the back and then returned to cleaning the table which had lots of drunkenly spilled alcohol on it. "Dylan! Would ya' mind serving that table in the corner six butterbeers for me?" Tom had peeked his head around the corner.

"Yeah, no problem," he said wiping up the rest of the mess. He quickly went behind the counter and pulled out a tray, and using both of his hands, he pulled out six bottles of ice cold butterbeer. He scanned the tables in the corner, and could see one occupied by a dark haired woman with a kid sitting next to her. "Must be who this is for," he said to himself. He quickly walked over and put on a smile for the woman. Normally, this would not have happened. But given that this was more of a "family situation," as Tom had put it, it was always good to greet with a smile. When the woman smiled back though, it caught Dylan off guard for some reason, and his smile faltered a little but he picked it right back up. He couldn't explain it, but he suddenly had this full feeling; it was like he had been waiting to see that specific smile from this specific woman. He was standing in front of their table before he knew it, and he shook his head. "Uh, hello. Six butterbeers, right?"

"I'm back," a man said popping up out of nowhere. "My friend had to leave, he couldn't stay so we rescheduled. Hello," he said holding a hand up for Dylan to shake.

"Hello," Dylan said taking his hand. When he looked into the man's eyes, he felt his face drop somewhat. There was something so familiar.............

"Dylan!?"

He knew that voice.......he tore away from the man's eyes to the boy that had been sitting in the middle of them with his head down. It was Williard. Dylan felt his mouth open in shock, but quickly closed it.

"Sweety you know him?" The woman asked her son, patting his back. Dylan could see the excitement in Williard's face. This day could not get any weirder.

[Williard Thoth R4]

"Yeah I know him! He goes to Hogwarts!" Williard could hardly believe it, and then he remembered that Dylan did indeed say that he would be working during break, he just didn't say where he would be working. "He's a Sixth Year. Slytherin," Williard said sitting up a little straighter. His mother had made a slight face at that last bit of news, so Williard elaborated. "He's really a nice guy. He helped me out with Quidditch one day. He trained with me, and even taught me some stuff."

"Well in that case, I'm Williard's father," Ptah said once again extending his hand. Dylan took it once more.

"Nice to meet you," he said sitting the tray down.

"I'm his mother, Sarah," she said with a smile. Dylan looked hesitant, and Williard thought this must've been pretty awkward for him, but Williard was to excited to worry about being courteous.

"I'm Dylan. Uh.....Caoimhe. Dylan Caoimhe."

"Caoimhe?" Ptah squinted his eyes, poised to ask another question, but then something happened.

Williard jumped. His mother had dropped her butterbeer on the floor, the glass shattering everywhere. Her hands flew to her mouth, and tears welled up in her eyes. She had gone completely pale, and looked as if she would be sick. Williard turned a little and put his hand on her back. "Mom, are you okay?" She didn't answer. She stared at Dylan as if he were the ghost of a long lost relative or something.

"I nee........I nee......I need to g-go. Now."

"Mom, what-" But she was out the of the booth before Williard could further inquire.

"Sarah-," his father started, but she kept walking out of the door. Ptah got up and ran after her, but when he got to the door he turned around. He looked at Williard concerned. "She apparated."

"What's wrong with her?" Willard stood up and put his jacket back on.

"I don't know. We had better go home. Come on." As concerned as he was about his mom, he didn't forget about Dylan.

"Oh, Dad! I invited Dylan over for Christmas dinner. Can he come? If he can that is," Williard said looking at Dylan who looked confused and exasperated.

"No. I-" Dylan started, but Ptah cut him off.

"Well do you have any plans for Christmas?" He put on his jacket and was still staring outside the pub window searching for his wife. Dylan looked on the brink of something, and then sighed.

"Well, no, but-"

"Then I insist. I'd love to have you over." Ptah clapped Dylan on the shoulder, and then left, beckoning Williard to follow him.

"I'll owl you the address," Williard said before he left the shop.

[Dylan Caoimhe]

He stared after them as they left, sort of in a daze, but aware of his surroundings, vaguely, all at the same time. That woman........that Sarah.......he recognized and connected with something in her eyes. And that man........there was something so familiar about his face, but Dylan couldn't remember; he wasn't even sure if there was something that he was supposed to, or should remember. But, why did she cry? Why did she get up and leave like that? Had he done something without realizing it? Surely he hadn't because if he did, then something would have been said to him, right? He watched Williard and his father get into their car, and hurriedly pull out and drive away. It wasn't until he side stepped to watch the car disappear that he snapped to his senses; he had stepped on and crushed a piece of the shattered glass from the butterbeer, and the sound seemed to echo inside his head. He removed his towel from his shoulder, covered his left hand, and scooped up the shards into a pile, all the while soaking up the spilled butterbeer. He felt like he couldn't breathe but, he kept cleaning.

"Where'd they go?"

"Huh," he said breathlessly. Dylan pivoted around on his toes, still crouched down, to see Tom standing there looking extremely disappointed.

"Ptah and Sarah. Where'd they go? They didn't even drink their butterbe--did you break that?"

Ptah..........that was the man's name..........he came back to himself once more. "Uh no. Um.....Sarah.......she did it. It was an accident though." Tom eyed Dylan but then smiled. Surely he knew Dylan wasn't a liar.

"Alright. Well, it was nice while it lasted. So, Christmas is in two days. Do you have anywhere to go yet? My offer still stands."

"Er......" Dylan stared at the floor. As much as he probably didn't realize it at the moment, he wanted to go to Williard's. Now, anyway. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt as if he almost had to go. Well in a way he did, now that Williard's father had extended the invitation now; even insisted.

"Dylan? You alright? Did you get enough sleep last night, lad?"

"Uh....yeah, Tom, I did." Well, technically he had only gotten three and a half, four hours tops of sleep, which wasn't much, but at the same time it wasn't new to Dylan; he had run on less sleep than that many times before.

"Well, hurry up and finish here then."

"Alright." Dylan carelessly threw the soaked towel over his shoulder and went to retrieve a broom and dust bin from the closet. He hurriedly swept the glass into the bin, but before he tossed the contents into the trash, he noticed a finger print on a smooth, triangle shard of glass. Hesitantly, he picked it up and slid it inside of the side pocket of his apron. He wasn't sure why he had done it, but, he felt like he almost needed to. He dumped everything else into the trash bin, and tried to refocus. Today seemed like it would be another busy day; he had to push everything else to the back of his head; until tonight anyway.