The Bear and Barnacle

Before he sent Horatio back to Mr Malfoy (with profuse thanks and an extra-large bag of owl treats) Q had another note to send. It had been surprisingly difficult to write. He wasn’t much of one for letters in the first place and getting the proper tone had nearly given him fits. He’d decided to go with almost formal and hope that it didn’t sound too stiff.

To Mr Sirius Black-

Sirius,

Forgive me for being presumptuous, but I would very much appreciate it if you could join me this evening at the Bear and Barnacle. I have something I wish to discuss with you. If you can make it, around 7 would be an acceptable time. I look forward to seeing you and thanks.

Sincerely,

Quirinus Quirrell

He didn’t like this joke. This game was not fun.

On first glance, you would look right over the boy. Just a child, nothing of consequence.
The boy, gangly and awkward as most 11 year olds, sat cross-legged on the sidewalk. On closer inspection one would see the very un-childlike look in his eyes, or the mix of small burns and shallow cuts lining his arms beneath the oversized t-shirt he wore. As if possibly he was not convinced he was real and kept testing the theory. Occasionally he would lift his head to watch the passerby in the street, strands of green dangling over his eyes, before his eyes returned to the ground and his hands to the box of matches he was currently lighting one by one. A pile of ash, burnt items, and spent matches lay in front of him. Every few moments, one small hand would reach up to touch the sides of his face, and the scars there, as if to assure him of their continued presence.

He was small, but anyone assuming he was also helpless would be startled to find themselves spilt from navel to nose in a matter of seconds.