The Bear and Barnacle

Minerva considers herself well aware of her own character flaws. She thinks this is a virtue. She is aware, for instance, that she will do almost anything on a dare. She thinks this is probably a major reason she was sorted Gryffindor despite her noted tendency to Machiavellian morals; Slytherins are often interesting, intellectual, kind individuals, and the presence of one in their common room who can be induced to do anything just by telling them they don't have the balls for it arouses killer instinct like a small, furry animal arouses it in a more literal viper pit.

And Minerva, congenitally, will go to great lengths to prove that she does, in fact, have the metaphorical reproductive organs for anything and everything.

This is probably stretching it.

“Might I ask just why you had this lying around?” she asks archly. She's behind the counter at Ici, Amour, having been left in charge while Victoire is away giving birth.

“The girlfriend liked it,” says John, referring to his two-year-old Alsatian, Mary Ann. “I buy her anything to keep her in style.” John is a Muggle chemist who started flirting with Minerva in a store a couple of months ago. Minerva reciprocated the flirtation once he proved himself able to make a clever and subtle pun on “encyclopedia.” They're now casually seeing each other as Minerva rediscovers the numerous joys of being theoretically young enough to keep her dignity in situations that were unthinkable this time last year.

“How exactly did she demonstrate liking?”

“Looked at me with longing eyes?”

“You've got to be joking,” Minerva says, as her eyes slowly travel further down from the hanger he's holding.

“At least I didn't bring the naughty schoolgirl outfit.”

He has no idea. “When I asked if you would help me come up with something for a fancy dress party this is not at all what I had in mind.”

“You said you wanted something you're usually not.” This had, in fact, been Dora's specification for letting Minerva into the pub tonight.

“Touche. The answer is no.”

“Well, if you don't have the courage ...” John sighs theatrically.

“Give me that.”



She turns up at the Pub on the night of the thirty-first with her soul cringing, though she is outwardly composed if a bit ironic of countenance.



Minerva is aware of her own character flaws, but as she self-consciously adjusts a fluffy pink maribou angel wing, she wonders exactly how he knew about them.

Lucius regarded the painting in front of him thoughtfully. It was an adjustment, to be sure, to get used to the paintings not moving, not responding. That obvious lack aside, he had to admit that some of these Muggle artists had done good work. To capture life so succinctly, even if so frozen. He missed the art in the Manor, not the Portrait Hall perhaps (one can only listen to Great Uncle Mordran ramble drunkenly for so long about how great he was…why the artist had insisted on putting wine in the picture, he never knew), but the landscapes and scenes in the Library and the Study.

He found he was rather enjoying this little charity art silent auction. All the influential members of the local community were there, so of course he needed to be seen, but he never expected to actually enjoy the art. He was of course vastly enjoying the social aspect, charming and subtly flirting with the women and discussing business with the men. Lowered voices, discussing how disappointing certain members of the Council were, all while being entirely too friendly and engaging with the less-disgraced members of the Council who are present.

All in all, the evening was going rather well. He caught Mr. Gibbons’ eye across the room, and the man nodded and smiled in return. Yes, everything was going quite well.

He found himself in front of a painting of a young mother & father and their happy child, and after staring for a moment wistfully, he moved on to a beautiful painting of a dark forest and wrote a decently high number on the auction sheet.