Confident in that the barkeep would perform as requested, Charles turned his back to the rest of the rowdy clientele and diverted his attention to the provided beverage; though he made no effort to drink it. However short a notice, he needed to consider the situation. Turning his head and throwing a minute glance across his shoulder, he felt little or no apparent satisfaction as he noted the success in his attempt to draw Morgan out of hiding (if that was even a proper term for it). To be entirely frank, he was not quite sure of what to say or do even once she had joined him. That she came off as an unlikely thorn in his side was very much beside the point, given that even if she posed a threat there was virtually nothing he could do about her at the moment. Pity that, as he would have preferred to squash a potential nuisance before it became a problem; though, out of sheer necessity, one couldn't go about revealing one's questionable allegiance to the Dark Lord by disposing random Hogwarts students. To rid himself of Morgan would perhaps be the best short-term solution, indeed; though, needless to say, the ultimate consequences of such a brutal and mindless act was likely to be severe. If effectively ridding him of the current threat, it would merely put him at greater risk in the long run.

He had already fled escaped the clutches of so-called justice once; and, Merlin, did he doubt that he would be as lucky a second time around.

As such, exposing himself to the risks of that solution was out of the question. Especially so given that he was already threading on dangerous ground. The subsequent rendezvous with his master was a jeopardy in itself, this even without the odd student nosing about in his wake - and, in retrospect, his recent move could very well have served to increase the danger of the situation. For by granting Morgan acknowledgement, uncharacteristic of him as it was, he was practically doing a grand job at confirming any suspicion concerning his activities. Or if there were none to begin with, perhaps his actions would inadvertently plant them in her mind? Ultimately, reason proclaimed that it would have been best to ignore her; though as the barmaid had already carried out his request, it was too late for second thoughts. No going back, in a sense. As such he was merely operating on a hunch, never mind the dangers of relying on something as primitive as instinct. In the matter at hand, however, there was admittedly little else to rely on; for, as a matter of fact, there were no palpable evidence that proved whether his fears were valid or not.

Granted, Charles thought himself beyond simple paranoia; though, to be realistic, he would only fool himself if he as much as attempted to deny that he was feeling quite ill at ease. Was he, the ever so casual and indifferent head boy, on the verge of loosing his nerve? Unfortunately it seemed that way; and though it was partially to blame on his primary reasons for being there, his discomfort was merely enhanced with every passing second as he realized that perhaps he had made a mistake. Quite disturbing, in a sense, as it was too critical a point to tolerate stupidity on his part. Not that any of his superiors where present to witness it, though that was quite beside the point! As was, in fact, the whole deliberation of the pros and cons of the respective alternatives he had; after all, he had already made his move. Perhaps he had been rash, perhaps he had acted foolishly and prematurely, though on the positive side the situation was narrowed to only one option. Basically any doubts regarding the sensibility of his choice was of no relevant consequence, given that either way he would find himself forced to deal with the root of the problem.

"Getting bored?"

The root of the problem being the one that, at that very moment, perched herself on the barstool beside him; giving him a pointless status check in the process by announcing her presence. As if he wasn't expecting her. Rolling his eyes, he pushed the remaining fire-whiskey her way; the unorthodox welcoming gesture followed right on queue by a rather sufficient explanation. Or something along the lines of that.

"Cheers, Morgan," He stated, leaning his head slightly backwards as he finished his own drink. Attempting to stifle the spasmodic grimace that followed, he returned the glass to the counter; eyes averting in her direction as he finally saw fit to return her gaze. "It's on me," he reassured her with a shrug of his shoulder, the customary sneer on his in tune with his general disposition. Though, given their location, he was determined to maintain a degree of civility to the conversation "Just spare me the attitude. I didn't come here to suffer your insolence,"

He was referring to her initial comment, of course, though whether or not he was one to talk was as debatable as it was irrelevant.

Obviously he hadn't invited her for some casual chit-chat over a drink; for, despite what it seemed like, Morgan was not and would never be considered as anything along the lines of a pleasant acquaintance on his part. A mutual feeling, for sure, as he doubted Morgan expected anything but thinly veiled contempt from him. Veiled contempt, yes, though presumably laced with some manner of purpose - after all, to say that they weren't on speaking terms under normal circumstances would be nothing short of an understatement (if nothing else, their mutual history had assured as much). Besides, even her insignificance be damned, Charles wasn't particularly inclined to exchange pleasantries with anyone at the moment, as long as it could be avoided. Oh granted, asking her to join him hadn't been a required part of his agenda, though that was quite beside the point. Supposedly it could yet serve some manner of purpose, however thoughtless an impulse it had been to bring her closer in the first place.

Improvisation, though generally an unpredictable approach, could be a surprisingly efficient way of gaining result. Quite a pity, though, that he wasn't yet certain of what he was trying to accomplish. All things came in due time, however.

"Now tell me, Morgan," He continued, going straight to the point if you will; his voice obtaining a harsh and commanding quality even though he kept it low, in order to avoid attracting unwanted attention from curious patrons. "Why are you here?,"