Sometimes, things that seemed rather terrifying at first sight assumed an exactly opposite character on closer look. An alternately frustrating and relieving tendency of most seemingly terrifying things, really, to turn into something that considered itself quite amusing. The barmaid, of course, being a superb example, although Alannah was more relieved than she was frustrated by the revelation of her frivolity. Cheeks flushing somewhat fast as whatever colour had drained out drained right back in, Alannah nodded, trying to find it in herself to be a bit more annoyed by this display of unlikely barmaid behaviour. One was supposed to be either extremely strict about the age limit or despicably unconcerned. To pretend like that put one under the age limit in something of a soup; not to mention when this person was doing something they would probably have been better off not doing, it was most distracting. However, the tension almost tangibly rolled off her shoulders, and she found herself mildly grateful.

"Well, maybe I could still get you something to drink while you are waiting?"

The Slytherin girl started to shake her head and then nodded, changing her mind and placing an order for, "A firewhiskey, please?"

It was a tactic, Alannah was sure. A marketing tactic to cause suitable strain to the customers' nerves, leaving them faced with the tempting prospect of something that generally worked wonders with that sort of a thing. A drink would not have been ill-timed right about now, the liquid, from her limited experience of it, having served to soothe her nerves before. Certainly, it also inspired a lot of subsequent foolery, and at this juncture, the only thing she was absolutely certain of was that foolery in the next few minutes would be an immensely bad thing. But while Alannah's was not an enormous capacity, she did not think a single drink could do very much in the way of driving her to madness, or something of the sort, really. And it seemed altogether to conspicuous to not order a drink when in a place like this, which she would not have come to under any other circumstances, really. The smell had, quite possibly, grown a bit more insistent over the course of the past few tense moments, and she found herself feeling utterly befuddled as to why anyone would want to come here.

Especially if one was the sort to have maintained a fairly higher class image of a pristine, refined, pureblooded sort. Reasonable, then, it was to assume that such a person had a motive, a reason other than the pleasure of the ambiance of the Hog's Head. A rendezvous with someone less likely to be welcomed elsewhere, perhaps, or the requirement to talk in a place less public than the Three Broomsticks? It seemed highly probable to her, for she could not imagine Montague, unpleasant as he certainly was, actually wanting to come here.

And it seemed to her that he had arrived upon similar conclusions about her, for his look upon her remained steady and grew increasingly more unsettling; as though he knew why she was really here. Which would have been a revelation to her as well, somewhat, because Alannah was not really sure what she was doing. Oh, she was aware that she was sitting here, waiting, watching... but she was not really sure what she was watching and waiting for. The connections in her mind were infinitely clear, and perhaps all she looked for was some kind of confirmation; but had there not been adequate confirmation? Alannah did think so, and knowing what she knew, she could have written a single letter to bring the world crashing down around some people. Or not crashing, so much as crumbling, and not so many people as just one. But that knowledge did little to illuminate what she was to do next. That single letter to her mother would have fixed it all, but really, was that the way out? Did she know enough to really say anything?

Or was she not taking that way out because she didn't want a way out so much as... oh, but that was going too far, wasn;t it? To want something, one needed to know what it was. And Alannah didn't know. The only person who could tell her sat before her, a matter of tables away, but the idea of going up to Charles Montague and politely asking him to throw light upon the ambiguity was laughable to the point of being actually amusing. Not that she laughed outright, laughter being the very last things likely to come to her when placed under ever so critical a gaze, a gaze she could not help but return with a partly nervous, partly defiant look of her own; for whatever else the case may be at present, the beloved Head Boy did not fail to inspire in her a sense of infinite annoyance, a need to be randomly defiant and antagonistic. Perhaps not so randomly, though, given the history here; which made it all the more unlikely that he would be forthcoming, as it were.

As she watched, the barmaid she had branded as 'somewhat obnoxious' headed back to her rightful location, engaging in a few words with Montague, who ordered another drink and paid in gold, making her suddenly nervous about the more logistical matter of the cost of her drink. She was sure Montague had overtipped, especially in a joint like this, but one could not be sure, really. Going over how much money she exactly had in her possession, Alannah pondered the matter; for while this place did not endear itself to her by any stretch of imagination, it would be infinitely embarrassing to be kicked out of here, of all places, where the more despicable were accepted, by the looks of it. Only now did she actually look around to observe the other people in the bar; none were students, aside from the two of them. Unsurprising, but unnerving at the same time, not only because another student could have made matters a lot less awkward, by merely providing distraction if nothing else, but also because the other patrons of the joint were... well, the word 'contemptible' certainly came to mind. And for the first time, it occured to her that this idea could have been foolish for more than the one more obvious reason.

"Here you go."

"Right," said Alannah, her eyes snapping back to the young woman, and she nodded. "Thanks."

Oh, she was sure that she could safely have left the 'please's and 'thank you's out of her speech, but a creature of habit was unlikely to stop if the sky was about to fall upon their heads. Reaching for her drink, she did not bring it to her lips, the sudden realisation that the glass may or may not have been the cleanest as such a joint stopping her for a moment. Really, why Montague had to have picked this joint, of all joints... but she knew, didn't she? No one asked questions here, apparently; although Alannah thought it would have been rather foolish to assume no one was watching. Perhaps it was that Montague had been observing her so discretely for the past few minutes, or just an instrinsic paranoia that came from doing things her mother would have disapproved (although there was little that she did that her mother did not disapprove of), but the girl felt distinctly scrutinised, watched.

Which, seeing as how she was here to do the watching, was a bit disconcerting.

"That young man over at the bar asked me to bring you there."

Startled, for she had not realised that the barmaid was still there, Alannah looked up, a very surprised "What?" escaping her lips at this information. But she prudently refrained from asking 'what the devil for?', realising that that would have been feeding this most intent look that the barmaid was now giving her (so much for being the wond doing the watching). "Well, that's..." Odd. The word died on her lips. "Right, thanks," she said, nodding at the barmaid, and trying to keep her expression neutral.

To say that Alannah was taken aback by this would not have been too far from the truth. It would even have been hitting the nail on the head. However, to say that she was about to comply readily and bounce away to chit chat with Montague was stretching it a bit. In the first place, she did not bounce. The growing feeling of unease reached it's pinnacle and then pushed past it, as her eyes flickered back to where Montague sat. What the devil did he want to speak to her for? Or, well, she knew, but she had not been expecting a direct approach. Certainly, it was far more than she had granted to him thus far, and far more than she would have dared to do. For a moment, Alannah considered telling the barmaid to ask him to come to her table, but she decided against it, not in a small way because of the generally disconcerting presence of the other people in the inn. Oh, certainly, she was not making a get away by heading further in, towards the bar, but even so, comply she did, if not so readily. For all said and done, she was watching and waiting for some sort of opening, wasn't she? Even if this was likely to be anything but, quite possibly a more confrontational attempt to find out what she was 'up' to.

Whether it was the defiance she inevitably felt in the presence of Charles Montague, the need to rise to a challenge, even if it was disguised as a subtle request, she found herself leaving her seat and making her way towards Montague, and settling down on a barstool beside him. Bringing her drink to her lips, and suppressing the slight cringe at how strong it was, she raised an eyebrow, looking rather directly at him. And unsure of how to open the conversation, - for certainly, a conversation was in order, wasn't it? - she cleared her throat ever so slightly. "Getting bored?" she asked, with a quirk of her eyebrow. If he wanted to talk, after all, he'd have to lay out his cards on the table first.