Sweet Mimosa

Sweet Mimosa.

***

"Have you ever had a mimosa? No? That is a pity, because I love mimosas.

I first had one at midnight, New Years Eve. I was ten years old at the time, and I have loved mimosas ever since. They seem to have a certain... flavor to them that is unique. They have a sweet taste to them that comes from the mixture of champagne and orange juice. It isn't a particularly hard drink to make, but it adds a sophisticated air to the person drinking it.

She was a bit like a mimosa. She wasn't a hard person to understand, nor was she rich, but she had that sophisticated air that a mimosa drinker seems to have. She had a sweet and delicate personality, but her fiery temper added the same extra something the alcohol does.

She was also intoxicating if you spent enough time with her. Her cool, calm sense of humor made you so lightheaded that you thirsted for more. When she left, you would get a terrible headache for want of her ambitious personality. Then, just when you were feeling better, she would waltz right back up to you, making you remember why you loved her taste and feel in the first place.

Like the knowledge of what a mimosa tastes like, I have known her since I was at a young age. Twelve, to be precise. Even from the beginning, I loved the buzz the alcohol of her temper raging down upon me gave me, and I have many memories of getting drunk on it. I would often taunt and tease her, just to feel it, just as I would sneak the glasses of mimosa into my room when I was home during the summer.

I was sixteen before I truly had the chance to understand and feel her sweetness. I was, ironically enough, in the Hospital Wing suffering from a hangover. If memory serves, I'd had too much of the spiked punch at the Slytherin celebration of winning a game for the first time in six years.

She was part of the Magical Healing class that the school had to offer as an elective, and that particular Sunday had been assigned to her as part of that class. I don't know if it was just good bedside manner, or whether she really pitied me of my headache, but she was kinder than I had ever seen her.

In retrospect, I realize that I had only seen her when she was angry, and for some reason always angry with me. But I was sixteen, and her sweet constitution enticed me. I try to remember if the excruciating headache was why I didn't want to argue, but that day I was as polite as I could be and that was my downfall.

After I was released, I tried to talk to her as much as possible, for after that first day, like my first glass of mimosa, I was addicted. Since she had seen how polite I could be when I tried, she didn't avoid me in any way.

Soon we were friends, then lovers. Years went by, and we both graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We both worked hard for the War, she as an advanced Healer, and I as a spy. We were engaged, and she was working an extra shift at St. Mungo's on the day it was attacked. She didn't make it."

The young man sat before me, twirling his nearly empty glass of mimosa, telling me of all his troubles. I was used to this by now, after all, this was practically in the job description.

And it wasn't just him. Many people, all with different troubles, had sat in that chair. All dealing with sorrow and grief, all having a story to tell.

As I wiped the bar clean, I watched as the young blonde man continued to twirl his glass, his slate gray eyes focused on something only he could see. He was dressed in all black, with a single flower that I didn't recognize, in his chest pocket. Curious, I didn't hold back from asking.

"What kind of flower is that?"

The fair young man gave me a grim smile and answered:

" An orange blossom."