It was a slow night tonight. Word had gotten out somehow that Harry Potter had been in on Monday arresting drunks. Mac didn't think of him like that now though. She'd spoken to him. He was Harry in her head now. Handsome Harry with his unruly hair and charming personality. She hoped he came in again soon. She'd liked talking with him.

Her brother Brody was doing inventory in the back. Mac was wiping down some tables. She turned and looked up when the bell chimed signaling a potential customer. She rose a brow at the man that entered. There was something familiar about him, but Mac couldn't quite place him. She was usually good with names and faces, not that people recalled her. Unless she'd punched them. Then they usually remembered every line of her face.

"What can I do ya for?" she asked.

Greg dropped heavily onto the nearest bar stool. He looked up to see a familiar face. He knew her from Hogwarts, but as good as he was putting a name to a face he was coming up blank at the moment. All he could remember was that she was a Ravenclaw in his year... one with a wicked temper. Not that he'd ever been stupid enough to provoke her. He rather hoped that she didn't recognize him, as Slytherins with Death Eater ties weren't welcome in most wizarding establishments. After the hellish day he'd had, he didn't want any trouble. If he could make it through the evening without anyone recognizing him then maybe he could get completely drunk in peace. "Vodka, if you have it, please."

He sat back and waited for the inevitable 'I know you' or 'what are you doing home?' Ravenclaws were far from stupid, and he prayed that if she recognized him that she wouldn't kick him out on his arse. He truly didn't want to face the empty flat, that would lead to all sorts of bad situations.

Handsome. Mac grinned to herself. She liked a handsome man. She grabbed a clean glass and poured him a fifth of some of their better vodka. Mac sat it before him with a grin. It was too bad Harry had her attention these days because this one was a bit of a looker. She had a few smiles for him though. Because she always had a few smiles for the pretty ones and the ones who knew how to throw a punch. She just wished she could place him.

Mac set the glass before him. "Ya got a name, brother? I'm thinkin' I've seen ya a'fore, but I canna place ya, ya kin? It's damned frustratin'."

Greg winced mentally even as he gave her a half-smile. Morag MacDougal, that was her name. It had been the voice that clinched it for him. She was smiling so she truly hadn't figured it out yet. Would that change if he gave over the information? He decided to give her a chance to reconsider. It was risk her wrath or getting drunk alone. "You sure you want to know that?"

Mac raised a brow. "I wouldna have been askin' iffen I dinna want to know, now would I? I'm no' much for polite conversin', so I find that I'll be havin' tha' name now."

She had the feeling he didn't want to tell her who he was. That made her want to know all the more. What did he think she was going to do if she didn't like the answer? Toss him out? Not so long as he paid for his drinks and didn't get fresh.

Greg ducked his head and muttered, "Greg Goyle."

He braced for the order to get the hell out. He reached up slowly and pulled off the hood of his sweatshirt. If she was going to raise hell then she would have to do it to his face. He'd worn something that partially hid his face in hopes of going unnoticed. It hadn't worked and now he would have to deal with the repercussions of entering a wizarding pub rather than heading to the flat. Maybe he would get the chance to down copious amounts of alcohol after all.

"I heard you were dead," Mac said before holding out a hand. "Mac."

He seemed shocked.

"Ya thought I was gonna throw ya out then? Right. Dinna go tearin' shite up, and yer always welcome in here, aye?"

She gestured for him to shake her hand again. She knew who was who from the war, and she knew very well who he was NOT.

Greg struggled not to gape like an idiot. He took her hand in his carefully. He knew she was a fighter, but that didn't mean he wouldn't treat her with the same respect he gave every woman he came into contact with. He knew he was strong and intimidation was not to be used on a woman, ever. "I'll do my best, Mac. I can't promise that if attacked that I won't retaliate though."

She snorted and gripped his hand hard because she sensed the strength there. She wanted to let him know she wouldn't break. "I'd think less of ya iffen ya stood there and took it."

Mac went back to wiping down the tables and keeping an eye on him. Not that she felt threatened, but she was studying. The Goyle she recalled had never been far from Draco Malfoy or Vincent Crabbe. She wanted to ask where they were, but thought the better of it.

"So obviously ya dinna die. I'm nosy by nature, Ravenclaw and all. So what have ya been doin' then? Iffen I can ask."

Greg tipped back the glass, draining it with ease. He was going to need a lot more vodka if she was going to quiz him. In the past he would have just asked for the entire bottle, but that was one of those bad habits he was trying to break. It wouldn't do him any good to tarnish his family name further. He had a feeling that she would eventually wear him down and after the day he had, he wasn't up for that. "I was out of the country. Just travelling."

He watched as she refilled his glass, wondering if she would leave it at that. He highly doubted it. He was finding that he didn't mind all that much, as long as she kept the vodka coming at a steady pace.

Mac grinned, sensing his reluctance to talk. "Travelin' where then? Iffen I can ask?"

He shrugged, downing the second drink. "America mostly."

He was not very forthcoming with the information. Mac was grinning. She was willing to bet any question he could get by with answering with one or two words would sure be answered that way.

"No' much of a talker, aye?"

It was quiet though, and she wanted a bit of noise.

"America's no' the smallest place. Anywhere in particular ya recall likin'? I never been much out of Scotland m'self."

"East and West coasts mostly, the mountains too." He nearly laughed when she refilled the glass before he could set it on the bar.

Mac leaned on the bar. "Coastline and mountains."

She noticed her brother peek his head out to check on her. His eyebrow went up at her and Greg Goyle, not that Brody knew who she was talking to. All her brother saw was a man he didn't know talking to his wee sister. Mac waved him away. It wasn't like that. She was being an ear tonight, nothing else.

"Tha's m'brother. Dinna let him bother ya none. He thinks I should be a nun. I have other ideas."

Greg took a moment to appreciate the tall, very handsome man looking out from the kitchen. His shoulders were wide enough to give the impression that he may not make it through the doorway and his long, dark hair was falling in his eyes. Bright blue eyes that would have given him away as Mac's family even if she hadn't tipped him off were pinned on him for only a moment. He bit back a sigh as the man disappeared back into the kitchen. He shifted his gaze back to Mac and hoped that she hadn't noticed his preoccupation. "A nun? Really? Dare I ask what your 'other ideas' are?" he said teasingly.

"It'd be better iffen I showed ya, but I've already got m'eye on someone, no offense, and I'm not the sort that has more than one bloke at a time despite what ya might have heard."

Mac set the bottle of vodka before him. "Take it easy on that. I dinna want to have to carry ya up to m'room to sleep it off."

Greg slowly grinned. He'd put her on his 'do not touch' list back in seventh year so she had nothing to worry about where he was concerned. He'd seen her form of retribution and had vowed never to intentionally brass her off. Still, he was perfectly honest when he said, "I wouldn't want your brother to tear me to bits for something I wouldn't do."

She couldn't decide if she was offended or not. She put her hands on her hips, scowling. "Wouldn't? Why no'? Everythin' where it should be on m'body. No extra parts or misshaped thin's. And I'm quite bendable, I'll have ya know."

Greg held his hands up in surrender. He couldn't tell her that he knew what had gone on seventh year. He also couldn't tell her that he'd been nearly drooling over her brother only moments before. She would surely slap him for that! He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he hadn't stuttered for years. "I wouldn't because you aren't the sort of woman that gets picked up in bars. You didn't kick me out on my arse and that counts for something with me, Mac."

Her hands were still on her hips. She cocked her head to the side. She didn't know if she believed him or not, but she was not going to give him a hard time about it. For now. She'd get to the whole of it eventually - because Mac felt certain there were words in between the ones he said aloud. She was not one to let a thing go if she felt she didn't have all the facts, but she was also patient. She'd let him know he could drink in here without being hassled. Perhaps he'd be back. Perhaps if he got used to her, she'd know why he 'wouldn't' with her - because now she was curious.

"And Brody's no' the one ya worry about gettin' violent. I no' only do a bit of barmaid here, but I'm the bouncer."

Greg picked the glass back up and shot her a look, one that said that he knew she could handle herself but that it amazed him. She was so tiny and yet it would be a painful lesson for the idiot who thought she was a pushover. He hadn't missed the glimmer of interest in her eyes, not for him but for what he hadn't said. It was a change of pace. For the past few years, since he'd lost all that extra weight, women and men alike had only wanted one thing from him. It was oddly endearing that Mac had made it clear that she wasn't going to be one of the crowd. He rather respected her for laying it out on table immediately that she wouldn't be out for a quick shag. "Duly noted," he replied wickedly.

Mac grinned. "So ya know what I do. What do you do? Aside from sit about, drink, and look pretty."

"I live off my inheritance," he said dryly. "I'm a man, we don't look pretty, but thanks all the same."

He sat back, nursing the drink now that he had found a bit of amusement. Mac was unlike any girl he'd been around, ever. Maybe, just maybe he would stop in on a regular basis just to have a bit of a chat. She didn't seem to mind having him about, and he should give her the chance to try and wheedle information out of him. He topped of his drink and prepared to stay as long as Mac would let him.

"So say ya," Mac said as she took her cloth and started wiping off tables again. "I think some men are very pretty. Knobby fingers, sharp cheek bones, hairy man legs, hair leading a trail to yer pants... pelvic lines. Those are nice."

She chuckled.

Greg snickered. He had a feeling that there was all sorts of wicked fun to be had while Mac was around. It was a good thing wicked was the best sort of fun to be had. Fully prepared to egg her on and swearing that he wasn't going to blush no matter what she said, he leaned over the bar and replied, "Pelvic lines? How does a nun such as yourself know about those?"

Mac looked at him. "I said m'brother wanted me to be a nun, no' that I was. There's a difference." She almost told him to ask his mate Blaise how big of a nun she was, but didn't. Maybe he didn't know. Not that she minded if he did. Mac wasn't one to hide who she was.

She leaned close so no one else could hear her though. "When a man's trou are hanging low, and you've those lines, like an arrow pointin' ya to where ya want to go. Tha's sexy."

She winked at him and went back to work. There was a man at the far end of the bar raising his glass. Mac went to fill it.

Greg watched her move with an inborn grace that couldn't be taught and pondered just why no one had snagged her just yet. He hadn't seen any sign of a boyfriend... or girlfriend anywhere in the pub. If she had been his, Greg would have a spot staked out when she was working. Not to protect her, since she could do that well enough on her own, but to make damn sure that everyone understood that she was taken. When Mac made her way back down to his end of the bar, he couldn't resist teasing her again. "Low riding trousers are what does it for you? You should hit the clubs in muggle London then."

Mac eyed him. "I never been to a muggle anything. The village I'm from is mostly wizards. They all walk about wit their trou fallin' off in muggle London though?"

She leaned on the bar, propping her boot on the bottom shelf. She was interested about people walking about like that.

Greg smiled smugly. "You should go sometime." He leaned closer to whisper. "Nearly falling off trousers as far as your eyes can see. Sound like something you'd like to see?"

"I always like new experiences. Why? Ya offerin' to show me about the low waist trouser area of the muggle world?"

Greg grinned wolfishly. "Of course, wouldn't want you to have all the fun."

Mac grinned at him. Who would have thought? "All right, but dinna go thinkin' it's a date. I've m'eye on persons other, aye?"

Greg shook his head. "Consider me your tour guide. I'll make sure you don't land in a muggle jail or get into a brawl. Sound like a plan?"

"I'd make no promises about brawlin'," Mac said with a huge grin. "But it sounds more than fine."


{SUMMARY} Greg wanders into Three Broomsticks for a drink and experiences the blunt intensity that is Mac.