Standing near the entrance to the pub, Blaise had already looked over the crowd. "Slim pickings," he sighed to himself, resigned to an afternoon of Madame Malkin fawning over his 'lovely skin' and 'slender build'. Ugh. Turning to slip out once again, he spotted bright red hair bobbing in strange rhythm towards a lone table. Blaise always did like red heads more than he should. Intrigued, he stepped closer before realizing it was the youngest Weasel.
She had a cane, hence the strange gait. Must be something to do with the 'accident' she mentioned. A smile slid over his face. He should have lunch with her, because even if it wasn't civil, it would be damned fun to pit wit against wit with her. Striding over to the table and inclining his head ever so slightly, he indicated her cane and let a half-smile pull at his lips, "I do hope you hexed whomever she was into the next century for that."