Playing with Fire (гет)

And I have always loved playing with fire. - Astoria Greengrass
Notes: (See the end of the work for notes.)
Work Text: I’m sitting at my usual table in The White Wyvern, staring out of the vaguely dirty window. Rain is drizzling outside, dark clouds drifting overhead, transforming Knockturn Alley into something far more sinister than it is on a bright, sunny day. But even bright sunny days have a hard time penetrating the inherent darkness of the Alley.
People are passing by in a hurry, huddled beneath their cloaks, casting weather protection charms against the rain, cursing when they don’t work as well as they should. It’s fairly early for a stiff drink, and yet, I am already nursing my second glass of Firewhisky, the bartender, ancient Aeschylus, occasionally giving me disapproving looks with his one eye. The other was lost in some duel ages ago, the black patch across the empty space where it used to be familiar to me as my own father’s piercing green eyes. Aeschylus is like a grandfather, his calloused hands held me when I was born and probably killed someone in the same night, doing my father’s bidding. He doesn’t approve of my drinking. But, I have never been one to care about approval, so I merely salute him with my glass before finishing the Firewhisky, tapping my fingers on the table for another one.
There is a letter on the table in front of me, the contents mildly nauseating, and mixing with my pre-existing hangover, it’s not a good combination. Yesterday was Rona’s and Colin’s birthday, something we always joked about, how they were destined to be together. Or it would have been, had they not been dead. So, self-medicating with alcohol seemed like a good idea. And after receiving that letter, relieving my hangover with more alcohol was inevitable.
I rub my temples, keeping the upcoming headache at bay for a moment, trying to think of what