Carmen - H.S

Chapter 17

The sky was beginning to dim when they pulled up in front of the club. Stars were sprinkled across the night, little dots of luminescence in the overwhelming dark. The club was inconspicuous enough, but Carmen knew that its plain facade concealed a place thrumming with energy, exploding with light and sound. Excitement bloomed in her chest, blurring her already hazy vision, and she tugged at the car door in a frenzy.

"It's l-locked," Harry piped up softly.

"Well, open it, asslamp," she snapped.

Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of that, he stretched a hand toward the button that would open the car door. It seemed like a terrible idea to let Carmen go into a club when she was already buzzed. He could just imagine Ron's stern, disapproving face upon finding out that bit of news, but was he really going to say no to her? Maybe instead he could gently push her in the right direction and convince her to just go home.

"That might not be the best idea," he said, and she squinted at him as if she was in severe need of some prescription glasses.

"What? I can't even hear you, arse."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she kept talking.

"Why'd I just say arse?" she muttered in a daze. "I'm not even British. It's your fault," she accused with a hiccup, pointing her finger at him. "You- you made me British."

He only blinked at her in surprise, at a loss for what to do or how to respond.

"Fuck, now what am I gonna do? My career is over," she sighed, tugging at her silky locks.

"She's drunker than I thought," Harry whispered to himself worriedly.

"Speak up," she hissed.

"You shouldn't go into the club."

"You think just because I'm British now you can tell me what to do?"

"What? No, that doesn't even-"

Harry stopped in mid sentence and flinched at his own voice. Unconsciously, he'd begun to speak louder, and though the volume wouldn't be considered very high by most people, it was thunderous to him. Something was collapsing within him, a fragile structure linked to vital organs that was tugging everything down with it. He almost gasped at the force with which it came tumbling down.

What was he doing here? What was he doing with his life? He was ordering some drunk, bratty pop star to stay clear of a club, and for what? To maybe someday sit behind a desk that was on a higher floor than the one he worked at now? With a sigh, he tried to work the tension from his rigid body and leaned back in his seat.

"Just go," he murmured.

"What?" She stopped pulling at the door, which she'd been doing the duration of this entire odd conversation. "You're not gonna try and stop me?"

He shook his head placidly, not daring to speak and unlocked the doors.

"But- but," she stammered, appearing confused. "What if something happens to me?"

He shrugged, prompting a pout to present itself on her plump lips.

"Fine. I'm, I'm gonna go and get even more wasted, mate," she retorted in a horribly fake accent. "You'll be right sorry." She giggled at herself with a little snort before opening the door and stumbling out into the chilly night.

A blinding flash went off from the bushes, followed by another, and he used his common sense to determine that it was probably the paparazzi. If there was ever a chance Ron wouldn't find out about this, it was definitely gone by now. He felt a small twinge of guilt in his chest for letting her go so easily, but there were better things to do with his life than worry about Carmen. He just had to find them.