The same, the same as it always was. {Kat & co}

[Professor Cole A. Halliwell]

The comebacks were getting old. Cole knew this. Constant appearing and disappearing would be wearing thin. Cole knew this. But it didn't change anything.

He returned to London, and to civilisation, the usual way. Dishevelled, unshaven, smoking a cigarette. Cole Aleksandar Halliwell was all he had always been known for: single, rich and troubled. It would make for a good book one day, or a pathetic film, but for now it was the very real, very boring life of a man who just couldn't grasp hold of anything for very long. A man who didn't really understand what he was doing back in London, back with wizards and witches and... shudder... the Bucketts.

He approached the bar, in his usual fashion, ordered a firewhiskey, in his usual fashion, took a seat alone, in his usual fashion, lit up another fag... in his usual fashion. He pulled out the Prophet, read the front page, and slung it over his shoulder, in his usu... yeah, you get it.

Cole was dressed simply enough: pinstripe shirt, skinny tie, skinny jeans, converses. Fairly standard. He had a slight smell of booze about him, as he always did, his hair was still jet black and slightly untamed. The charm of this man wasn't lost, this wasn't a downfall or a comeback, this was just a man who had found himself back where he had always belonged, and always been, even if he couldn't quite see it himself. This was a man who had been Professor of Transfiguration, auror, criminologist, one-time shop owner. What was he now? Some said he worked for the secret division of the aurors, others said he was working for muggles, a few even suggested he had left magic behind altogether.

None of these things were true, but even if they were he'd never tell you that. He was still an animagus, still swept about, circling countries and cities and people's homes. His father was still dead, his mother still murdered, his fiancée still AWOL, his first love nowhere to be found. She'd had a child or something, Kat Samuels. He should know as much, after the last fight with her husband, but Cole didn't really remember. It was all a haze of Hogwarts and the Ministry, with Potters and Slughorns galore in between. He had once been the very top of society - popular, good-looking, powerful. He led Hogwarts, he practically helped run it at times, though never against Hermione Potter's authority. Yes, Cole had once been everything but a celebrity in this world, the world of Harry, Ron and Hermione's Hogwarts.

But times had moved on, he was practically unknown in the Red Star Lounge. He liked that, a little, but he missed the old days. Where his sister was, he had no clue, what his responsibilities were, he also had no clue. What Cole knew was that this wasn't a comeback, and this wasn't a fall from grace, it was just as things had always been.

The Mihael, as he still liked to think of himself, leant back in his seat, watching the Quidditch match take place overhead, though not really concentrating. He sipped his firewhiskey, thinking about all things Rainne and Samuels. The day was drawing to a close outside, workers from the Ministry and the Alley slowly making their way in to the Lounge to get their evening catch-up drinks. He didn't miss this world, he missed who he had been. But this wasn't a fall from grace, this wasn't a comeback. This was how things had always been.

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[Kat Samuels]

Screw hiding out in Australia. She knew how messed up everything was right now, she knew that everything happening with Ivy scared the crap out of Straw, but quite frankly she had never been one to take it lying down. Kat Samuels-come-Buckett was a lot of things, but a woman who needed protecting way never one of those. Heck, if the men in her life learned one thing from her surely it was that she was not to be trifled with. She was a force of destruction, and she definitely had the balls to defend herself against another one, no matter what Straw thought.

It was for this very reason that she apparated into the Red Star Lounge. She would have a few hours yet before Straw finished work and realized what she had done, and she was going to take advantage of the first carefree moment in months and have a drink – or four. The babies were fine – Hyacinth was more than happy to take care of them, and Kat wouldn’t be here now if she didn’t know the woman could handle it. So there was absolutely nothing to stop her doing just that, spending the summer evening with a mix of firewhisky and butterbeer, and whatever else they could throw at her.

Her long blond hair slithered against her back as she sashayed towards the bar with a youthful taunt that was no longer evident in her face – bags under her eyes that even the best spells would not cover up. - too many sleepless nights, petty arguments. Some days she wasn’t sure she was cut out to be a mother, a wife. These days were few and far between though, single moments in a day full of beautiful memories – the quiet moments where the shadows of her former life dance across her dazed eyes and taunt her with everything that she used to be. Her hips are wider now – child birthing hips, her skin looser, the hint of laugh lines playing at the edges of her eyes. She is older now.

At least the one perk of that is that this drinking thing is completely legal.

“Firewhisky thanks” she calls to the barkeep, flashing him a smile that still - if nothing else - reaches her eyes. Pivoting around to survey the dimly lit bar her eyes flashed from old hag, to what looked to be a group of students before finally settling on her favourite booth in the corner which was occupied. Narrowing her eyes a little she tried to see the face of the person sitting there – man or woman? If it was a man she would have an easier job of convincing them to change booths. Selfish? Maybe, but the girl liked tradition. When she had claimed something as her own she didn’t let go so easily.

Behind her the barkeep cleared her throat and she spun around, grabbing the firewhisky off him with a nod before making her way towards the person in HER seat. Halfway across the room though she stopped dead. The way the paper was slung over the gentleman’s shoulder, it was… No, it couldn’t be. She had never thought she would see him here again, see him in London, let alone in her booth. If nothing else the dull ache in her heart led her to believe the news of her marriage had pushed him from her for good, and yet no, here he was; same black hair that could never be tamed no matter how often she tried, same old converse, same jeans hugging his legs. If he ever looked up she knew it would be those same blue eyes that make her question every decision she has ever made. Cole freaking Halliwell.

It was too late to turn back now though, she already had the drink in hand, so she did the only thing she could think to do – she closed the distance between them and sat down, uninvited. If he didn’t want to see her, he would leave whether or not she was sitting before him, and at least that way she would have her booth back to down however many drinks it would take to get over the shock of seeing him here.

Taking a deep gulp of her own form of liquid courage – and then another for good measure, Kats green eyes looked across the table at the face of her biggest regret and challenged him – “You’re sitting in MY booth Cole. I don’t care if you’re Cole Freaking Halliwell, I’m not letting go of this one without a fight”.

Oh if only, if only.

[Professor Cole A. Halliwell]

Well whoever this nice person was, Cole wasn't going to bother dealing with it. Things were as they had always been. She would recognise him, know he was a big deal, and move on.

It sounded arrogant and it probably was, but Cole knew that he had been something that women had desired. He knew he had been something that people bowed down to, that people respected. Whether he was working at the Ministry or at Hogwarts, he had a charm about him, a quiet confidence that, even though masked by insecurity, meant he could often manipulate situations to get them the way he wanted. Sure, he was a nice guy, sure, he'd never have admitted in years gone by that that was how he was, but he had aged. Even if things were still the same. Even if he was still the same old drunk, single man who lived as if he was in the noughties and was naughty just to make up for it all.

He hadn't looked at the woman yet, who had decided she would sit alongside him. Quite frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to, although the idea of a night of passion intrigued him. It had been a while. Things still worked, he was only 23, but he had spent so long in solitude or with Muggles, that there were certain things he'd missed out on. If things were as they always were, then the romantic side of Cole had somehow disappeared. The smile was there, the eyes remained, the lust and the love all still bubbled under the surface, but Cole didn't really believe that he'd find the one anymore. She had gone.

So a night of passion would be fine.

After all, he thought to himself, a man deserved to enjoy life. This woman was drinking firewhiskey. His kind of girl. She was obtrusive, a little rude, brash. His kind of girl. She was everything that he used to hate, but this was an older, wiser, matured man. At least, he hoped he'd matured. Tongue waggles were a thing of the past, winking was left in his teens. Cole Aleksandar Halliwell had moved on.

Well actually, no, he hadn't moved on, but he liked to think that he had. That he could revisit the world that he had always known and it would be exactly the same. The same people waiting for him, the same people loving him, the same magic coursing through his veins. So far he'd seen nobody, wanted to see nobody (least of all an ex) and quite frankly, couldn't be bothered to see nobody. That didn't make sense, he thought, but he didn't care.

He was Cole. Freaking. Halliwell. Man of the moment, star with the ladies (and the men), and altogether a joy to behold. He had loved life, even if he had hated some of those in it, and he had been everything the star of the school. But this was the real world, this was really London, and he really was here alone.

His eyes skimmed up the woman's figure, around her curves, over her breasts - her breasts! - and up her neck. Cole didn't even need to look at her face to know who she was, her voice - and her body - did the trick. She knew him. In the Biblical sense.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said, downing the firewhiskey and not waiting for a response, anger brewing beneath his skin. How dare she. How the f**k dare she. He went to the bar, ordered another (and a selection of spirits, to boot) and downed it, carrying drinks back to the table to complete. If she thought she was getting the booth she had another thing coming.

"Aren't you supposed to be off with Suck-it and making stupid freaking foliage-themed babies already?"

He glanced at her form again, noting the slight wrinkles and the signs of a woman who had already had triplets. "What did you call them? Rose, Petal and Thorn?"

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[Kat Samuels]

Well two could play at this game.

She had stayed silent as he threw insults at her, watched the anger curl beneath his skin, watched him stand and leave – as she had expected him to. What she had not expected him to do however was come back. She shouldn’t have really been surprised though, it’s what they did, they fought and yelled and hurt and ran away but eventually they always came back. This time it just happened quicker than expected.

When he got up and left she had downed the rest of her drink, mirroring his action without a second thought. Her throat burned and she wanted desperately for anything to cool it, but the pain was necessary- it woke her up. This was a battle – this was the battle – the one she will fight one way or another for the rest of her life. It wasn’t about a bloody booth anymore, it was personal, and she wasn’t about to let him win. He wasn’t the only one she’d burned but one day he would get over it, she had to face herself every day and that was far worse than anything she’d done to him.

Now he was sitting down before him again, a handful of drinks in front of him. Without dropping his gaze Kat stole what looked to be vodka from his grasp and downed it quicker than she had the firewhisky. “Since you got up before I could answer, let me tell you now what the hell I am doing here.” Her voice was icy as she glared at him, her inner frustration distorting into a hatred that could rival his own. A hatred that she knew was anything but. “I am here getting shitfaced, absolutely plastered. In a word – drunk. Looks like you’re going to join me, although by the smell of you it’s a state you’re all too familiar with. Honestly, what the hell happened Cole?”

She was slipping, letting her guard down and letting him see that she cared. Shaking it off with another drink the witch glared across at him once more. “Katie-Scarlett Suck-It, how apt, just the seventh year tramp turned mother. If the way you were looking at my breasts a minute ago says anything though looks like I’m still the one to get you going”. She was bitter now, striking low blows that he never deserved, but he was insulting her family. Hate her, hate her all he wanted, but her children had nothing to do with this and her protective motherly instinct kicked in – even, it appeared, while she was drunk.

“Rose, Petal and Thorn, cute Cole. Still, looks like in this picture you’re the biggest prick.”

Closing her eyes Kat took a deep breath finally, shaking her head at herself more than anything. When she opened them again there was another drink in front of her, courtesy of an overly concerned barkeep. Thanking him and adding a reassuring smile, she sipped at the butterbeer slowly. “Goddamnit Cole, I’m meant to be beyond this, composed, I’m meant to be a freaking mother, and then here you are out of the blue and I’m spitting fire again. We’re not seventeen anymore, and yet whenever I see you I’m throwing fits and questioning and damnit, lets just get drunk and then tomorrow I’ll just be your latest hangover. If you’re lucky we’ll even black out and you wont remember me at all”.

[Professor Cole A. Halliwell]

Of course it was true. She still got him going, she still turned him on. She still made him think that life was worth living and that he was great and on top and everything that he used to be.

"You think it's just like that?" he shot across the table, not bothering to look at her, staring instead straight ahead at the Quidditch. "You think you can just waltz back in here, demand to have your booth back and say we should get drunk?"

He wasn't a teenager anymore, but he also had a clearer look at life, or so he thought. More black and white, more yes and no. Cole didn't have time for people like Kat. He didn't have time for the past.

"You think too highly of yourself," he continued, still staring straight ahead, "to think that you can be 'my latest hangover'. I don't need you, I don't need your time or your energy or your effort. If you think you need me, then you need to reassess your marriage." At this point he looked over at her, this vicious remnant of a past love.

He took everything in. Her skin, her hair, her eyes, all that he had known and all that she now was. She hadn't changed, much, just had children and come back to haunt him. A reminder of what he used to have and what he couldn't touch, what he couldn't reach for anymore. As if he would let her become just the next hangover, as if he could just let his guard down.

Cole maintained his gaze, catching her eye and refusing to let go. "Why is it every time I disappear and come back, you're here waiting? Why can't I go and come back and you not be here? Why do I have to pander to you, why do I have to fight for you, why do I even have to care about you?"

He sighed, clenching his fist and downing another firewhiskey. "I will not spend every time I'm in London trying to win you back, only to lose to S- to him. What do you want from me, to hug and be friends? Screw that."

Thing is, things were nothing like they used to be.

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[Kat Samuels]

Of course she had known it couldn’t be that simple – that he would just drop his guard and forget it all for one night. No, she had hurt him too much – hurt them too fully over and over and over again, it was too far beyond repair. Still, she was a selfish creature and she loved him, she would always love him despite the pain that this would cause him, she just couldn’t help it. He was every thing she had trouble letting go of – he was the reason she was back, the reason she was here now trying to drink her responsibilities away because at the end of the day there would always be two sides to her. She was forever a mother and Straw’s wife, with the wild and crazy seventeen year old that loved Cole trapped inside. It wasn’t healthy, but it was how it was.

If she ever stopped to think about it – really think about it – it was strange even that she had chosen to spend her adult life with Straw; he was the love of her childhood, quirky, playful Straw. Cole came later, when she was older, more mature. He would have been the natural choice…

She was doing it again, questioning everything. Just one look at him and she was always ready to throw everything away. He spent every minute in London trying to win her back? She spent every other minute struggling with herself, and when she saw him – God – It took all her willpower not to give in. She couldn’t hurt Straw like that again; even though she knew her just being here was going to do just that. She couldn’t hurt Straw, but time and time again she could hurt Cole. He didn’t deserve it either.

Somewhere between Cole’s words and her own thoughts tears had started to fall from her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand; this wasn’t about her own pain. She understood what she needed to do now – she had to make him hate her, it was the only way to stop his pain. She needed to replace the parts of him that still loved her with hate, only then would he be able to look at her without remembering everything that was. Maybe then he would be able to move on, to get out of this depressive rut that she had left him in. Maybe then.

“Oh grow up Cole. I don’t want to be your bloody friend, we’re a bit beyond that now don’t you think?” She tried to throw that icy tone back into her voice but this was going to be harder than she thought. If nothing else she glared across at him, her eyes seething with the hatred she had for herself. “You’re actually pathetic. I’m here living my life, you’re the one that keeps popping in and out of it thinking you have a chance. It’s time to wake up from your drunken coma – you’re not the head boy with the hot arse anymore Cole, you’re drunk and you’re pathetic so why even bother? It’s not like you stand a chance anymore.”

Liar liar pants on fire.

Taking another of his drinks from him as if to illustrate her point Kat downed it before slamming it down on the table and arching her back against the booth challenging him with her stare. It wasn’t easy, inside she was screaming, it took all her willpower not to reach across the table and take his hand in her own. She couldn’t baby him through this anymore, it had been years. He had to let her go one way or another.

[Professor Cole A. Halliwell]

Cole stood and moved to the bar, taking another drink and slamming it back, before returning to the table with two cocktails, tossing one in Kat's direction.

He gulped it down, not looking at Kat, and lit up a cigarette, puffing on its noxious fumes with more intensity than he intended, smoke billowing out from his nostrils and mouth as he exhaled. He refused to be a guinea pig, some kind of voodoo doll in the lovelife of Katie Scarlett Samuels, and yet he also couldn't quite let himself go, or let her go, for that matter. He drunk down the alcohol, knowing it wouldn't help, and waited for the nicotine rush to hit, knowing it wouldn't help. There was nothing that could help feelings of regret and pain, only things that could mask them in a delirious stupor, and that was what he was going for.

It wasn't simply that Kat wouldn't have Cole. So many times Cole wouldn't have Kat, whether it was that she left him too soon for him to understand, or that he built up walls to prevent their coming together. The man was a messed up creature, and as he continued gulping down the chemicals in the cigarette he knew that this time, it was all the same, that this time, he was going down the same path. The same routine of fighting, getting drunk, making out, regretting it all. As if she wouldn't have him, as if she was just getting on fine without him. The thought practically brought a smile to his face, and as she started to stare, he laughed a mocking laugh, whether it was in anger or in despair, he wasn't sure.

"The head boy with the hot arse, eh?" he said, refusing to look at her. "Well it seems you're having trouble getting him out of your mind."

He finished the fag, throwing it to one side where it, of course, disappeared, and took a long draught from the cocktail. The alcohol was beginning to go to his head, standing up had made him realise that, but he refused to back down - and he refused to show any signs of weakness. If he slowed down his drinking, slowed down his comebacks, she'd know. And then maybe she'd be gone. He couldn't quite handle that yet.

"You're living your life, are you?" he finally said, slowly and purposefully. His eyes met hers, and he stared a cold stare straight into them. "You're living your life, with Straw and three kids. Didn't he ship you off to Australia?" He smirked. "Yeah, I heard that. Where are the kids? You didn't bring them along to play too, did you?"

He broke the gaze, and finished the cocktail off, the alcohol beginning to course through his veins, loosening him up, removing the inhibitions, his mind no longer stopping him saying things he knew he shouldn't. "You're sure they're Straw's, right? That would be awfully ironic, if they turned out not to be his. Tell me, can you even excite him, or does he just lay there while you get it over and done with?" He looked back at her, an eyebrow raised. "Or do you not do that stuff anymore? Go on, you can tell me, I won't tell."

He laughed his stupid laugh again, regretting the laughter as it left his lips, but powerless to stop it. "Now I'm going to go get a butterbeer," he said, standing, "and I'll walk extra slow so you can get a good look at my arse. We both know it's what you want."

And that's exactly what he did.

He knew he was being a dickhead, he knew that she wasn't going to appreciate any of this, that potentially he was destroying whatever chemistry, whatever deep love for each other they had left, but in his now-tipsy state, he didn't mind. This was an endless game, an endless war of wills, and Cole was not someone who ever lost.

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[Kat Samuels]

He was certainly making this easier than she thought it would be. There he sat in front of her bringing up her own thoughts, every thing she hated about the last few months, every thought she hated that she still clung to. It was like having an argument with herself. The fact he was fighting it though… damnit, he may end up hating her but he wasn’t ready to give in to that so easily. The fact he was even trying to battle her on this showed he still cared.

The smoke from his cigarette swirled in the air between them and she almost choked on the fumes. He was literally trying to kill himself, and her while he was at it, her anger at his total disregard for himself growing with every drag he took. She was drawing it from anywhere she could get it now, the anger, the strength she would need to get through this night. Was she doing the right thing? She didn’t know anymore. Maybe it would be easier to just leave, let him be, but she knew if she did that there would always be other nights, other drunken moments and it would never ever end. She always gave in to him. Tonight she couldn’t.

She didn’t speak as he rambled on, didn’t question any of his accusations. She drank slowly from the cocktail he had given her and when, finally he stood and walked towards the bar once more she did exactly as he expected her to do – she stared at his arse because not to do so would suggest further that that was what she wanted. She even, when he looked back towards her, raised her glass and toasted his arse, finishing the cocktail in a gulp.

Realising now that there was nothing else to drink, Kat had no choice but to follow Cole to the bar. As she stood up her head was spinning, she had to concentrate on every step just to get her across the room with her head still high. She was not going to lose this. She wasn’t however going to let his comments go totally unnoticed. The was just enough room between him and the bar for her to slip in so she did just that, her body pressed up against his as she leaned forward and called for another firewhisky. They were close now – too close, closer than they had been in a very long time but she pushed that aside and spun around stepping into him once more.

“You know very well how excited I can make a man Cole, don’t even question that that is any less true for Straw. But I wouldn’t make this a ‘my wand’s bigger than your wand’ competition Cole, I know how much you hate losing”. Leaning against the bar now, still inches from him, Kat chugged her firewhisky, licking the liquid from her lips when she had finished. Looking up directly into his eyes now Kat smirked, “but you lost this game years ago, the fact that you’re even still trying is nothing but pathetic”.

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[Professor Cole A. Halliwell]

He couldn't help it if she impressed him, if he still wanted her close, if he still wanted her body in his arms. He couldn't help it if as she slid in between him and the bar he wanted to take her at that moment, whisk her away with him forever and to never return, never go back to Straw. But this was all so much bigger than simply him and Kat having a night together, and he knew that's not what she wanted, that she was just toying with him and winding him up.

Two could play at that game.

The war of flirting had been an endless game that the two had played. It was the same old routine, the same sequence of events. They'd probably kiss, they'd probably regret it in the morning, Straw would probably punch Cole. It's okay, Straw punched like a girl. And he was supposed to be an auror.

Kat spun round and spoke words, venomous words, to him. He knew the game she was playing, and he held the gaze, allowed his body to just touch hers, the contact exhilarating as well as angering. If she thought she could simply use temptation as a tool to manipulate him, she was sorely wrong.

His head was beginning to pound with the alcohol, but he took a long draught of the beer that he'd now bought, purposefully swallowing it and resting the glass back down on the bar, maintaining her gaze. He wanted to smile, he wanted to kiss those lips, but he knew he wouldn't. His head continued to pound. Cole looked deeper into those eyes, waiting, wondering what was going on behind them, what exactly she was trying to achieve. Kat wasn't going to win this war, she was right, he hated losing. She knew him too well, she knew how to play him. It was a good thing he knew her too.

He took one hand and wrapped it around her waist, knowing she wouldn't squirm or move away, knowing she'd play along as long as he didn't make a move on her. He pulled her close, bending his neck down slightly as he did so so he could get to her ear. He knew he stunk of cigarettes, he knew the alcohol was doing all the work now, but he didn't care. These things were as much him as he was at the peak of sobriety. Alcohol and nicotine - they just made him act as he secretly wanted to, not any different to what he wanted to do, even if not what he intended to.

Cole let his and Kat's bodies linger for a moment, clung together in an all-too-familiar position as he approached her ear, a raspy whisper escaping his lips as he did so. He knew she'd feel his breath on her ear, the moisture of his lips creating a humidity down the side of her neck that would make her heart flutter. He knew that she could feel the tightness of his arms and stomach against her body, he knew that she fit this pose like a glove. Cole knew that as his hair brushed her cheek, as his scent wafted up her nostrils, as the sound of his voice was suddenly so close to her ear, that she would remember old things, old times, old ways of being.

His words.

"Then why are you here?"

The man waited a moment, holding her for just a few seconds, before letting go, and moving without a second glance back toward the booth. She was not getting 'her' seat back without a fight.

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