Dragon keeping, for the most part, was a rather solitary profession and for some reason that worked incredibly well for him. Of course, he was an extrovert when it came down to it, but he found himself enough interesting conversations outside of work and didn’t normally mind the silence when he was working with dragons—well, the silence of humans, obviously, since dragons weren’t exactly quiet creatures. But every so often, he did have to work with others, and that was how he had met Ryder. Ryder was a bit younger than him, but every bit as interested—or borderline obsessed, with dragons as Dylan was. There were a couple different types of people that worked with dragons—there were the overly cautious ones that were in it for the science, and Dylan could tolerate those to an extent, even if he wondered why they didn’t pick a different career path if the creatures made them so nervous. Then, there were the over-the-top badasses, that did everything recklessly in order to prove that they were tougher than the dragons they were attempting to train—those, the ones that were alive, anyway, were always incredibly cocky and normally making up for some other deficiency. Dylan could attempt to get along with those types for a while, but that too got old. Then, there was everyone else—and that was where he classified himself, and Ryder as well. That was probably why he got along with the bloke so well, despite their age difference.

He took a long gulp of his firewhiskey while he waited for his friend to show up. They hadn’t worked together in quite some time, which meant Dylan really didn’t know what the bloke had been up to. He would be curious to hear about it, particularly if he had any interesting stories about the dragons he’d been working with. Ryder was working with the Ministry now, though, which didn’t sound nearly as bloody fun. If anyone could take the fun out of working with dragons, it would be those regulation-happy drones. Dylan had just finished work on a Hebridean Black, and it had been taken to a branch of Gringotts out of the country. Now, he had a bit of a break until his next tasked dragon was set to arrive from Romania, and he was actually looking forward to the break.

Dylan was unsure if he had just been early, or if Ryder was late, but he was on his second drink nevertheless. He had just been contemplating going over to chat up the ditzy looking blond across the bar when the door opened once again and he turned to his friend finally approaching, “Took you bloody long enough, Dawson,” he stated, grinning.

@ryder

Why on earth Ryder would agree to go on an outing that involved drinking after last night was beyond him. Perhaps it is because he just had a view of the world that consisted of living life to the fullest and sleeping when one was dead. Maybe it was because he was still intoxicated from the previous night’s activities and making poor judgment calls. Or it could be simply because he wanted to see his old friend. No matter the reason, Ryder was up for the challenge.

The poor man felt so hungover. He was not an alcoholic by any means. Right now a good haze was what he wanted because it was too confusing to still try to put together the way his life was. Giving up his ways of traveling and studying dragons for a stable desk job, but for what? Stability? What exactly was the stability he wanted? And then running into Alexandra and feeling… weird? Nothing made sense.

Alas, the man was not to think about such things tonight. He would enjoy his time with his buddy from the days of travel. Dylan was much older than Ryder, but they had always seemed to get along. He knew the bloke would give him hell for taking a desk job, but he would laugh his ass off once he heard he was still getting burned by dragons. Although, he wasn’t about to tell Dylan they made him go to a healer for it, even if he had rather enjoyed his time with said healer.

Ryder walked into The Three Broomsticks and spotted Grier and took a seat next to him. Inspired by his friend, he ordered himself a firewhiskey. Whatever he did, he was staying away from Gypsy’s Tears tonight. His drink arrived and he took a fair-sized gulp before turning to his pal. “What can I say, Grier? This is two nights in a row for me I’ve decided to make some bad choices. Cut a bloke some slack for being late, will ya?” Ryder let a sly smile creep to his face. “What do you know these days, Grier?”

Outside of work, Dylan liked to focus on finding bints to entertain himself with. Yes, perhaps he was getting a bit old for that but as far as he was aware, there wasn’t some specific age where it became unacceptable to fuck around. Though if there was a cut off age for that kind of behavior, he was sure he’d still be doing it anyways. It just suited his lifestyle better, and after losing Luvinia, he was sure that not caring about bints was a lot smarter of a move. But over the past month, he found himself in quite the intriguing situation; he had met a vampire out one night, for Merlin’s sake, and that had been surprisingly pleasurable and didn’t result in him dying—which was always a plus. But then, he had also met Kahina at Hogsmeade, and he must have found her interesting since she kept coming up in his thoughts as well—and he hadn’t even shagged her. Dylan supposed he had female friends, or at least, he considered Amaris his friend. But he had shagged her, and was now simply just her friend. Hell, this was why he shagged and left bints, he mused, because he was incapable of figuring any shit out other than that.

The first thought that came to mind when looking at his friend was that he looked like absolute shit. Either he was sick, hungover, or his desk job was taking more years off of his life than Dylan had anticipated. He really wouldn’t be surprised by that option at all, though more than likely the bloke was just hungover—though that clearly wouldn’t stop Dylan from taking the piss about it. After all, what were friends for—or some shit like that? “Two nights in a row? Amateur,” he replied, shaking his head, ruefully. So a hangover had been the correct guess, he noted. It almost would have been more amusing for it to have been the Ministry, “I was going to guess that your Ministry job was actually bloody making you physically ill,” Dylan added, shrugging. Dylan wondered if Ryder even got to do anything interesting at all there; as Dylan had had many jobs after returning to London, but working at that bloody place had never even registered as an option. It simply hadn’t seemed like a place for anyone that wanted to have even a bit of fun in their damn lives. Of course, there were exceptions—Dorian worked there, and apparently so did his girlfriend. Ryder was another exception, but other than those three, Dylan was relatively convinced that the Ministry was full of the dull and mindless type.

Even just the thought of a desk job was enough to make him want to attempt to wrestle a damn dragon just to prove a point. Dylan didn’t know how Ryder could stand it, really, or what was going through his head when he’d made the job switch. But to each their own, he supposed. Shrugging, Dylan took a swill of his firewhiskey, “Been training a Hebridean,” he told the bloke, knowing that he’d well know of that breed of dragon and their natural aggression. The current burns on his arms were enough to prove that point well enough, especially since he obviously hadn’t put anything on them to heal it quicker. Hell, maybe talking about this would make Ryder miss the days where he didn’t have to report to the damn Ministry, “What about you? Get any killer paper cuts recently?”

A laugh with a friend should never be painful. Damn, maybe this desk job is making me soft. Ryder used to be able to hold his alcohol like a champion. Hangovers were a rarity. Now, he felt like some old man. Surely, that wasn’t the case though. Dylan was a few years older than him and still going. If I knew this settling down shit would mean becoming a pansy, I wouldn’t have signed up for it. He took another gulp of his firewhiskey. The only hope that new alcohol would drown out the old toxic.

His suspicions that he was off his game were confirmed by the bearded man. Dylan had always been able to hold his liquor well, and he had always done a better job at it than Ryder. Or at least, Dylan was doing a good job at pretending to hold his liquor better than Ryder. The ministry worker often wondered if there were some wonderful, embarrassing tales of Dylan’s drunken adventures that were long kept secrets from the world that would only be revealed with a record breaking amount of whiskey. “What can I say? Maybe I am getting soft anymore. Wouldn’t have taken the job if I knew that was part of the package,” Ryder joked. Truth be told, he probably would have. Maybe the universe had good reason for lowering his tolerance for drinking. “Oh don’t worry, Dylan. The ministry hasn’t made me-” Ryder clenched his gut and held his hand to his mouth. He made horrible noises like his gut was wrenching. Gagging sounds came from the poor man. Then, suddenly, he shot up laughing good and hard looking to see how his friend would react.

Dylan went on about his recent dragon endeavors. He mentioned that he was now training a Hebridean Black. Ryder swallowed another large gulp of firewhiskey. A small stint of jealousy welled up inside of him. Training a dragon was always fun, but he didn’t care for Hebrideans. Perhaps a different type of dragon would instill more envy. No, he found Hebrideans to be the most unattractive of the dragons, except for their purple eyes. “Well, I hope you have a surplus of deer you have access to for training that thing. Has it been easy to train?” Ryder didn’t imagine Dylan would have too much trouble with training a Hebridean as he had been doing dragon keeping for a while and was very talented at it.

The jokes about his job at the ministry were to be expected, so he was prepared. He knew Dylan would have his own opinions of what he did. Hell, even Ryder thought for a long time this would be just a boring desk job. “This may surprise you, Grier, but I actually do get to go out and see dragons occasionally,” the ministry worker said in mock shock. “Actually had to go relocate a Welsh Green that was stirring up some trouble for some local sheep farms just the other day. Bastard burned me. I don’t know if I’m losing my touch or if it was just pissy because I moved it away from its food.” Ryder went to rub where his burn had been before Alex healed it, but decided not to as it may prompt Dylan wanting to see the burn. Then, he would have to explain his trip to the healer, which Ryder required more alcohol before diving into that story. Almost as if that thought was his cue, he downed the last gulp of his firewhiskey and signaled for the bartender to bring more.

“Not too late to quit the bloody place,” Dylan suggested, raising a shoulder in a shrug. It wasn’t at all surprising to Dylan that anyone could go soft working at the Ministry, even someone who worked with dragons for a living. He also really just didn’t bloody trust the Ministry at this point, though he was unsure if he ever had. It seemed as though they were always at fault for something horrible going on—and this time, it was clearly them instigating the treatment of purebloods and Death Eaters. Or, at least the Minister and his direct employees. Normally Dylan didn’t bother himself with any of the political bullshit that went around, but he found himself paying a bit more attention after Luvinia had been killed. He raised his eyebrows as Ryder began to have some sort of fit, looking him over with mild amusement as he took a swill of his drink. Honestly, Dylan wouldn’t be at all bloody surprised if Ryder really did drop dead from the boredom of that damn place; he had no idea what would have prompted him to make the change, but Dylan couldn’t imagine having to dress up and go to the damn Ministry every day, “It’ll kill you faster than a dragon,” he said dryly, grinning, once Ryder had stopped his antics.

The Hebridean wasn’t difficult to train, though it had been a rather long process. Dylan had dealt with more aggressive dragons in the past, and less. Really, it was quite the average job, but the bitch had certainly left him with enough burns—though some would tell him that was more because of his tendency to be reckless while working as opposed to a burn that couldn’t have been avoided, “No more difficult than the last, really,” he stated, shrugging, “Just finished up, so it got sent to some Gringotts branch,” Dylan added, quickly finishing off his firewhiskey and ordering a new one. Merlin, he hated breaks in between dragons, as he knew that he was going to get really bloody bored. Luckily, it wouldn’t be too long until the next one arrived.

Dylan knew that he didn’t have to tell his friend that a Welsh Green wasn’t exactly the most challenging dragon in the world. In fact, Dylan considered them to be one of the more boring breeds—as did any dragon keeper that had been around for a while. This only proved to Dylan that he would never be leaving his job to join the Ministry’s payroll; Ryder seemed content enough with the decision, and so that really wasn’t Dylan’s problem. But personally, he knew that he could never do it. He’d be training dragons until it killed him, more than likely, assuming a dragon ever was able to actually kill him. He couldn’t really imagine ever being old or slow enough for that shit to happen, but he supposed it would eventually, “And let me guess, the Ministry sent you right to St. Mungo’s.” As much as Ryder would try to deny it, Dylan knew how working at the Ministry was. As he said, he had been around quite a while, and had met people who worked in the dragon research and restraint bureau. Hell, they’d send their employees to the hospital for a scratch, which was just bloody ridiculous. Dylan couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone to get any injuries healed, preferring to just let them heal on their own, “They give you a week of sick leave too?” Dylan joked, before raising his glass to his lips and taking a long swig of the fiery liquor. Merlin, that sounded like absolute hell.

It was not at all shocking that Dylan would start in on encouraging Ryder to leave his ministry job. Dylan had never really given Ryder the impression that he cared much for the ministry. The young ministry worker had no idea if Dylan’s hatred for the ministry had anything to do with politics and the treatment of the death eaters, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it did. Many people were upset about the treatment of the purebloods and death eater, including Ryder. Sure, he thought the death eaters deserved some punishment, and as a muggleborn himself, he certainly didn’t think they needed to be let off easy. However, he thought things had gone too far. The dark haired man tried not to think about it. His department didn’t work too closely with the minister that was enforcing these harsh laws, and honestly, Ryder wouldn’t know what other job to take for a dragon lover like himself besides dragon keeping. “It’s not too bad. Besides, it pays well and I need the money.” He figured this was something maybe Dylan could understand. Dragon keeping had never paid too handsomely.

Dylan was a mighty fine dragon keeper, at least, Ryder always believed him to be. Dragons usually gave him no trouble, and the two had once dealt with dragons more fearsome than the ones native to these parts. The Hebridean had apparently given him no trouble, which Ryder was willing to believe due to his extreme talent with the beasts. “Gringotts you say,” Ryder rubbed his face in curiosity as he spoke. He had only heard of the Ukrainian Ironbelly working for security at Gringotts, but there had been rumors they were going to start expanding to using other types of dragons. “Any idea what they needed it for?” Grier probably didn’t know and was just told it was needed, but he figured it was worth a shot to ask.

Another firewhiskey appeared before Ryder courtesy of the bartender. He was going to have to drink this one a little more slowly if he was to have any hope of continuing a coherent conversation with his old colleague. When Dylan had guessed without hesitation that he had been sent to St. Mungo’s, Ryder could have cursed. Damn that Grier and his know-it-all ass. Maybe it was just because Dylan was older and had been doing dragon keeping for a bit longer than Ryder had, but Ryder had always found Dylan to be fairly wise and in the know on things. He should have known that Dylan probably knew what had happened. “They did send me, despite my protests. I’ve had way worse, you know that,” he smiled before taking another sip of his drink. Burns and scratches were sort of like war medals in the world of dragon keeping. “But I guess it wasn’t all bad. May not have gotten that sick leave, but I did run into an old friend.” He was careful to leave out the part that she was a woman, but he was sort of expecting Grier to pick up that his friend was female.

The list of reasons to avoid working at the Ministry was incredibly long, at least in Dylan’s opinion. There were certainly very few benefits, and a hell of a lot of drawbacks. Why would anyone want to go to that bloody place everyday? After everything that happened with Luvinia, Dylan was sure that the Ministry wasn’t going to stop until all of the purebloods in their world were treated like nothing more than criminals—like they were Death Eaters just because they happen to be from a pureblooded family. Dylan knew that didn’t really affect him, as a halfblood, but it had caused the death of his fiancé and countless others in this ridiculous attacks. Obviously that didn’t affect Ryder in his department, but he still couldn’t imagine working for such a corrupt body, no matter the paycheck. He nodded in response to his friend’s comment about money, knowing that he needed to push away these more serious thoughts for another time. It wasn’t Ryder’s fault that Dylan disliked the Ministry—hell, he was just trying to make a living, “Don’t think I could be paid enough to wear business professional every day,” he said, dryly, which was another drawback of working there… albeit, a less serious one—which worked well for this conversation. After all, he knew what most people considered him as, which was having more brawn than brains; no one would suspect anything more out of him, though he didn’t mind that in the slightest.

Dylan had been surprised to hear that the Hebridean had been heading for Gringotts, as it wasn’t the normal breed of dragons that the goblins liked to use to guard their vast amounts of treasure. Normally, they used the Ukrainian Ironbelly, and those were an absolute nightmare to train as well. Their flames were ridiculously hot, to the point that even he had to go to St. Mungo’s once after a particularly bad burn. But, apparently, the bank was straying away from the use of only one breed of dragon, wanting to branch out and see if any other options would fit their needs better, “Well, you know Ironbellies are a bloody bitch to train and they’ve been having trouble with them in some of their branches,” he stated, shrugging, before pausing to take a swig of his firewhiskey, “Plus, the number of Ironbellies are dwindling fucking fast… I think there’s only a couple dozen left in sanctuaries and in the wild at this point. They need to start looking at other breeds before they go extinct,” Dylan concluded, knowing that it was certainly a possibility that there would be no more Ukrainian Ironbellies left in perhaps a decade.

Laughing at the look on Ryder’s face, Dylan was more certain than ever that the man had been sent to St. Mungo’s. Yet another drawback, he mused, grinning as Ryder admitted to it. Dylan was unsure that any dragon keeper worth their salt would go to Mungo’s for any injury given to them by a Welsh Green, and he knew that Ryder wouldn’t have gone if the Ministry hadn’t been so damn strict with their ridiculous regulations, “Of course you’ve had worse than a Welsh Green could give you,” he stated, still chuckling under his breath. He raised an eyebrow as his friend continued, bringing up an ‘old friend’ that he’d come across while at the hospital, “An old friend,” he repeated, figuring the vagueness had to mean that it was a bint, or he would just come right out and talk about this friend he’d run into, “You’re being purposefully vague. Was it a past shag, ex-girlfriend—what? Some fit bints work at St. Mungo’s, so I know you’re not bloody talking about some ponce.”

The Ministry wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, and hell, who knows, Ryder wasn’t sure if it was a place he would want to stay until he was ready to retire. In his defense though, Ryder didn’t like to picture things way down the road. He never liked to picture himself old and rundown. The man wanted to keep going as long as he could. The thought of an aging body limiting his mobility and ability to do daring things, crushed his soul. There were times where he would hope to die at a younger age as he faced danger rather than to grow old and feel the heartache that comes with age. In fact, carrying his thoughts there now caused his mood to shift. He prohibited himself from going further.

He transitioned his thoughts to about what Dylan said. Ryder laughed at his words. “Well, I can’t argue there, Grier. I would be surprised if you even owned a suit, to be honest.” The ministry worker knew his friend was cut out for a life that didn’t have room for professionalism, fancy clothes, or business meetings, and honestly, there was nothing wrong with that in Ryder’s opinion. Hell, he pictured himself living that sort of life for the rest of his days at one point. But then something in him changed. What changed was still unknown to the poor man.

Ryder’s thoughts at this point were way too serious for him. He took a swig of his firewhiskey and felt relief and alcohol wash over his soul in a refreshing way when Dylan started taking about the Ironbellies. It wasn’t surprising at all that he went this route rather than discussing what the dragon may be protecting. For one, the dragonkeeper probably didn’t know, but also, dragons were always way more interesting to discuss. Ryder nodded in understanding when he mentioned that Ironbellies were hard to train as well as they were going extinct. “Ah you don’t have to remind me. I hated when we used to get asked to train them.” Truth be told, the ministry worker had expected at some point to be called Gringotts to deal with the troublesome dragon. Now that they bank was moving away from using them, maybe he wouldn’t be getting calls as much as he expected. “It is a damn shame they are going extinct. They are one of the better dragons to work at in my opinion.” The ministry worker began to think about what kind of work was being done to help the breed. With his position, he could probably look into that and see if he needed to pitch preservation efforts that to the department.

A scowl crossed the young man’s face as his friend chuckled at him having to go to St.Mungo’s. Even his words about having dealt with tougher dragons seemed to mock him. Ryder did sincerely hope that the ministry wasn’t going to send him to be checked every time he got a damn scratch. It would be hard to get any work done if they would be doing that. It was why when he was a dragonkeeper, they never really went to get their injuries examined. If they did, they would never be out of the damn hospital.

Dammit, Grier! Him and that damn mind-reading ability. “What are you, a fucking legilimens?” Ryder took another gulp of his drink. He didn’t really like that Dylan was referring to Alex as a ‘past shag’ or a ‘bint,’ but he couldn’t hold that against the man. How coud Dylan know who he was thinking about, and plus, that was just part of Dylan and how he talked about women. Ryder had grown accustomed to it when the two used to work together. “Yes, it was female, but it seriously is just a girl I went to school with. She was a year behind me. I hadn’t seen her since I graduated. No past shag or ex. Just a friend, and it was… nice to see her again,” he paused and took the last drink of his firewhiskey.Shit I finished that faster than I wanted to. Unfortunately, his lips weren’t loose enough yet to elaborate on Alex, and with how the conversation was going, he had no doubts his friend would press him for more. “I have a feeling I’m going to need more alcohol.”

Really, except for the higher pay, Dylan couldn’t think of one benefit to working at the Ministry—and since he didn’t find himself needing much money, the paycheck wasn’t at all a draw to join the crowds of nine-to-five employees in the depressing building. He avoided the Ministry even not working there, finding it to be an absolutely horrible place, so he could only imagine how much he would hate having to go there every day. Though perhaps a switch would flip someday and he’d find himself wanting to work there... it didn’t seem possible, but then, Dylan never would have thought that Ryder would make the change and all of a sudden he had. His lips quirked up into an amused smirk at his friend’s words, as he had come across the problem of not having a suit only once in his life, and hadn’t worn it since. He had never seen the point of even owing any clothes that were business professional, as he’d not once found himself in a situation where he needed to be dressed up. That was, until Luvinia’s funeral, and then, the last thing he had wanted to do was go bloody shopping for something appropriate to wear—so his sister had done it for him. “I do have one suit,” he said, still smirking as he lifted his glass to take a long gulp of the liquor, “Bit old though, and I only wore it once… actually, I might have thrown it away,” Dylan mused, chuckling under his breath. It was just a pointless piece of clothing to have, in his opinion.

The problems that were encountered when training an Ironbelly were numerous. They were one of the bigger dragon breeds, which always added a bit of complication, and their particularly hot flames caused issues as well. From what he had heard, that was where the problems were coming about for Gringotts. They were causing more damage, making them more trouble than they were worth when the chance of a break-in at Gringotts was so low anyhow. It was logical, in his opinion, to want a slightly more manageable dragon, but one that would still stop anyone from stealing from the goblins. He chuckled in response to his friend’s dislike of training the Ironbellies, before finishing off his firewhiskey. Although they were a bitch to train, Dylan did like the challenge that it brought—even though he was still aggravated that he’d actually had to go to St. Mungos’ because of one of them. Dylan ordered another firewhiskey after making eye contact with the bartender, before turning his gaze back to Ryder, nodding. No dragon keeper ever liked to hear of a breed nearing extinction, but unfortunately, it wasn’t something that he could do anything about. Ryder, however, might actually be able to, which Dylan supposed brought about maybe one other benefit to working at the Ministry, “Use your Ministry ties for good, then,” he suggested, grinning. Dylan wasn’t sure that anyone in the Ministry would actually give a damn, but it might be worth a shot.

Dylan’s grin only widened at Ryder’s scowl, finding the concept of being sent to St. Mungo’s by any injury given to him by a Welsh Green absolutely hilarious. As far as many dragon keepers were concerned, that breed could be a bloody pet. He nodded in thanks as the bartender returned with his drink, laughing loudly as he had been correct about the bint, apparently, “I wouldn’t tell you if I was,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Being a legilimens would be a useful skill, especially with the world going to shit. Dylan liked to consider himself perceptive, and his friend more than likely wouldn’t have brought up some random bint he ran into at St. Mungo’s unless he had been stuck on it and thinking a hell of a lot about it himself, “Oh, I’m sure it was,” Dylan replied, dryly, finding himself rather curious about this witch. It was getting to the point where Dylan didn’t have many bloke friends that shagged around like he did; Dorian used to until he got back together with Gemma, and Ryder had never really been the type. It wasn’t as if Dylan cared, as he was more than likely never going to settle down. But since he at one point was going to, he did understand when others made that decision. He just found it a hell of a lot easier to remain unattached. But if Ryder was talking about some bint, Dylan had a feeling that there was more going on there, “You’re going to need more alcohol to keep up with me,” he agreed, nodding.

If anyone were to ask Ryder what the switch in him was, he would never be able to explain. Maybe it was just being tired of ridiculous living conditions and not having the money to afford something bigger. He had never been the most financially savvy, spending his income on the craziest drinks and top notch dragon handling gear, so it was unsurprising that he hadn’t much when it came to savings. Even now with his higher paying ministry job, he needed to build up some savings before he could afford a bigger and better place for kids and a wife. Maybe that was the sudden switch in him. A desire for a family. He had always hoped for a better family than the divided one he had growing up.

As another glass of firewhiskey appeared before the young man, he gave a hearty laugh at his dragon keeping friend. “Surely the alcohol hasn’t affected your memory so much that you can’t remember if you own a suit or not.” The younger former Gryffindor took a sip of his firewhiskey. “So what was the one time you wore a suit? Sister’s wedding or some sort,” he asked casually. Ryder figured it would have to be something special if the man did finally manage to wear something so formal and unfitting to his personality.

A lot of people may say that dragons were a nuisance that served no purpose, but those people were absolute morons in his open and honest opinion. Dragons served a great security purpose in a lot of cases if they could be trained well. Not to mention, the creatures were simply just majestic and beautiful. But no, most folk believed them to be dangerous creatures that deserved death, and those were the real monsters in Ryder Dawson’s eyes. Sure, the Ironbellies were a pain in the ass to train, but once they were, they were probably the most loyal and protective creatures out there. Dylan suggested using his ministry connections to help out to see if they could get the dragons protected. “I plan to. I suppose it is about time that I actually meet this damn minister anyway, as he will have to approve my proposal.” Ah shit, writing that won’t be an easy task.

Ryder knew that Grier was finding way too much satisfaction in tormenting the poor bloke. Over simply just running into an old friend. Ryder shook his head at his friend. It surely wasn’t disbelief that caused him to shake his head. Oh no, this was perfectly expected of the dragon keeper. Dawson rolled his eyes at the comment about how Dylan would never tell him if did possess the power of legilimency. Ryder took another drink to provide him the liquid courage he needed to say what was on his mind. “I’ll admit, she looked nice,” he said. He began envisioning the embrace that the two had shared. He remembered feeling every inch of her in his arms, becoming suddenly aware of how soft she felt and how rather large her chest was. Was she always like this at Hogwarts? Oh Merlin, why am I thinking about this. He hoped that there was no outward sign of what he was thinking, but he had feared his face had gone red. Perhaps he could just play that off as intoxication, which was something he desperately wanted to be right now.

Nodding in agreement with Dylan, he picked up his glass and downed the rest of the whiskey. As he chugged it, he could feel the burning in his throat, but he fought against it. Letting out a slight noise of pain as he slammed the empty mug against the bar, he raised his hand to the bartender signifying a need for more. It would be only a couple more sips before Ryder began to spill all. He could already start to feel the blurriness set in as well as the complete disregard for any sort of filter his mind put in place when he was sober. “I’mma guessing that I may be gettings close to the point I need to be for ya, Grier,” he managed to slur together.